The animal cried out again in the dark, over and over, until in mid-screech, it stopped. A heavy thrashing sound followed by splashes marked the creature’s end. “I guess it makes them sad, Caprice.”
“Do I make you sad?” In the truck cab’s dim interior, she sounded exactly like a two-year-old. He remembered when she was a little girl, before he knew that she wasn’t normal, that she’d never “grow up,” that her DNA showed that she wasn’t human. Before she started talking uppity and making him feel stupid with her baby-doll eyes. Before he’d forbidden her to call him Dad. He’d thought she looked a little like her mother then. He still caught echoes of her when Caprice combed her hair, or when she fell asleep and her lips parted to take a breath, just like her mother. The air caught in his throat thinking of those times.
“No, Caprice. You don’t make me sad.”
Hours later, long after Caprice had gone to sleep, Trevin drifted off into a series of dreams where he was being smothered by steaming Turkish towels, and when he threw the towels off, his creditors surrounded him. They carried payment-overdue notices, and none of them were human.
Trevin was up before dawn to feed the animals. Half the trick of keeping the zoo running was in figuring out what the creatures ate. Just because the parent had been, say, an o-form horse didn’t mean hay was going to do the trick. Caprice kept extensive charts for him: the animal’s weight, how much food it consumed, what vitamin supplements seemed most helpful. There were practicalities to running a zoo. He dumped a bucket of corn on the cob into the pigahump’s cage. It snorted, then lumbered out of the doghouse it stayed in, not looking much like a pig, or any other animal Trevin knew. Eyes like saucers, it gazed at him gratefully before burying its face in the trough.
He moved down the rows. Mealworms in one cage. Grain in the next. Bones from the butcher. Dog food. Spoiled fish. Bread. Cereal. Old vegetables. Oats. The tigerzelle tasted the rump roast he tossed in, its delicate tongue, so like a cat’s, lapping at the meat before it tore a small chunk off to chew delicately. It cooed in contentment.
At the end of the row, closest to the river, two cages were knocked off their display stands and smashed. Black blood and bits of meat clung to the twisted bars, and both animals the cages had contained, blind, leathery bird-like creatures, were gone. Trevin sighed and walked around the cages, inspecting the ground. In a muddy patch, a single webbed print a foot across, marked with four deep claw indents, showed the culprit. A couple of partial prints led up from the river. Trevin put his finger in the track, which was a half-inch deep. The ground was wet but firm. It took a hard press to push just his fingertip a half-inch. He wondered at the weight of the creature, and made a note to himself that tonight they’d have to store the smaller cages in the truck, which would mean more work. He sighed again.
By eight, the softball fields across the park had filled. Players warmed up outside the fences, while games took place. Tents to house teams or for food booths sprang up. Trevin smiled and turned on the music. Banners hung from the trucks. DR. TREVIN’S TRAVELING ZOOLOGICAL EXTRAVAGANZA. SEE NATURE’S ODDITIES! EDUCATIONAL! ENTERTAINING! By noon, there had been fifteen paying customers.
Leaving Hardy in charge of tickets, Trevin loaded a box with handbills, hung a staple gun to his belt, then marched to the ballfields, handing out flyers. The sun beat down like a humid furnace, and only the players in the field weren’t under tents or umbrellas. Several folks offered him a beer—he took one—but his flyers, wrinkly with humidity, vanished under chairs or behind coolers. “We’re doing a first day of the tournament special,” he said. “Two bucks each, or three for you and a friend.” His shirt clung to his back. “We’ll be open after sunset, when it’s cooler. These are displays not to be missed, folks!”
A woman in her twenties, her cheeks sun-reddened, her blonde hair tied back, said, “I don’t need to pay to see a reminder, damn it!” She crumpled the paper and dropped it. One of her teammates, sitting on the ground, a beer between his knees, said, “Give him a break, Doris. He’s just trying to make a living.”
Trevin said, “We were in Newsweek. You might have read about us.”
“Maybe we’ll come over later, fella,” said the player on the ground.
Doris popped a can open. “It might snow this afternoon, too.”
“Maybe it will,” said Trevin congenially. He headed toward town, on the other side of the fairgrounds. The sun pressured his scalp with prickly fire. By the time he’d gone a hundred yards, he wished he’d worn a hat, but it was too hot to go back.
He stapled a flyer to the first telephone pole he came to. “Yep,” he said to himself. “A little publicity and we’ll rake it in!” The sidewalk shimmered in white heat waves as he marched from pole to pole, past the hardware, past the liquor store, past the Baptist Church—SUFFER THE CHILDREN read the marquee—past the pool hall, and the auto supply shop. He went inside every store and asked the owner to post his sign. Most did. Behind Main Street stood several blocks of homes. Trevin turned up one street and down the next, stapling flyers, noting with approval the wire mesh over the windows. “Can’t be too careful, nowadays,” he said, his head swimming in the heat. The beer seemed to be evaporating through his skin all at once, and he felt sticky with it. The sun pulsed against his back. The magic number is five-seventy-eight, he thought. It beat within him like a song. Call it six hundred. Six hundred folks, come to the zoo, come to the zoo, come to the zoo!
When he finally made his way back to the fairgrounds, the sun was on its way down. Trevin dragged his feet, but the flyers were gone.
Evening fell. Trevin waited at the ticket counter in his zoo-master’s uniform, a broad-shouldered red suit with gold epaulets. The change box popped open with jingly joy; the roll of tickets was ready. Circus music played softly from the loudspeakers as fireflies flickered in the darkness above the river. Funny, he thought, how the mutagen affected only the bigger vertebrate animals, not mice-sized mammals or little lizards, not small fish or bugs or plants. What would a bug mutate into anyway? They look alien to begin with. He chuckled to himself, his walking-up-the-sidewalk song still echoing: six hundred folks, come to the zoo, come to the zoo, come to the zoo.
Every car that passed on the highway, Trevin watched, waiting for it to slow for the turn into the fairgrounds.
From sunset until midnight, only twenty customers bought admissions; most of them were ball players who’d discovered that there wasn’t much night-life in Mayersville. Clouds had moved in, and distant lightning flickered within their steel-wool depths.
Trevin spun the roll of tickets back and forth on its spool. An old farmer couple wearing overalls, their clothes stained with rich, Mississippi soil, shuffled past on their way out. “You got some strange animals here, mister,” said the old man. His wife nodded. “But nothing stranger than what I’ve found wandering in my fields for the last few years. Gettin’ so I don’t remember what o-form normal looks like.”
“Too close to the river,” said his wife. “That’s our place right over there.” She pointed at a small farm house under a lone light, just beyond the last ball field. Trevin wondered if they ever retrieved home-run balls off their porch.
The thin pile of bills in the cash box rustled under Trevin’s fingers. The money should be falling off the tables, he thought. We should be drowning in it. The old couple stood beside him, looking back into the zoo. They reminded him of his parents, not in their appearance, but in their solid patience. They weren’t going anywhere fast.