Fear No Evil

Davey pressed his fingers to his eyes.

Oh … if only they could have got to the Pigeon River in the trucks. Right on the edge of the Great Smokies …

He slowly dragged his hands down his face.

Well, they were only eighty, ninety miles from the Smokies. Less than five days, at twenty miles a day.

He could keep the animals together for five days. Fifty, if he had to. He was not worried about that; what he was worried about were all the highways he had to lead them across.

Sams Gap, seven miles ahead.

Then Devils Fork, fifteen miles.

Then Allen Gap.

Then Hot Springs, on the French Broad River.

Then the Interstate 40 and the Pigeon River. With the Great Smoky Mountains across it…

The important things were to keep going as hard and as long as possible.

And rest … just for an hour.

He was hungry, but his hunger did not matter. What mattered was that the animals rest and eat. He ferreted in his knapsack and pulled out a bar of chocolate. He began to eat it distractedly.

None of the animals was in condition for such hard work. Sam and Champ were both intent on the chocolate. He sighed and pulled out another bar and unwrapped it. Sam’s wolf eyes were agog with anticipation. Davey held the chocolate out to him.

‘Try,’ he said, ‘to at least taste it.’

Sam grabbed the chocolate and in two gulps it had vanished. He thumped his tail once and looked hopefully at his master.

Champ croaked and looked at him with big eyes, then held out both hands, cupped.

‘Chocolate,’ Davey advised him, ‘is not what chimpanzees like. Chimpanzees like grass, leaves, roots and similar.’

He should not have done it, but he felt sorry for Champ. The little animal did not know whether he was a human being or a chimpanzee. In the circus ring he thought he was a chimp; with Davey he thought he was a person. In both situations, Champ had an inferiority complex because he was so small. Davey scratched the animal’s small head as it chewed the chocolate with relish.

Sally was standing all by herself, in the mud, huffing. It only covered her big blunt toes. She had tried to lie down in it, and her flanks were black with mud.

Oh why, for God’s sake, had he weakened?

If he had known this was going to happen … He could not bear to think what was going to happen if she could not keep up. How could he leave her? It made him desperate just to think about it. …

He heaved himself up, plodded into the mud and crouched beside her. Sally opened her eyes, startled.

‘How’re you, old lady?’

Sally sighed.

‘I’m sorry, old Sally.’

Sally wheezed long-sufferingly. ‘Let’s look at your feet.’ He tapped the back of her knee, lifted her hoof and peered in the bad light. It felt rough. But he knew hippos grazed over many miles in Africa, and they could run fast and far, lungs as tough as saddlebags for all their underwater work. But Sally was an old hippopotamus.

‘But when we get there, you’ll love it, Sally,’ he whispered. ‘There’re beautiful clean rivers for you and even a big lake, and all kinds of things to eat.’

Old Sally groaned, listening to the soothing voice of the only friend she had ever had. Her eyes began to droop.

‘And it’s warm down there now. Sally. You’re going to have a lovely time this summer. It’s all going to be worth it.’

He hugged her big fat neck.

And when the winter came, and the rivers got freezing? He felt his throat thicken. Because when winter came, it would not matter. When winter came, old Sally would not be around anymore.

‘All right, Sally … Sleep, old lady.’

He stood up, stiffly, and looked through the dappled light at the big cats. Mama was waiting for him, next to his knapsack. The circus cats were together on the opposite bank, staring at him, still waiting to be fed.

‘I’m sorry.’ There was nothing he could do about their food tonight; he had to put it out of his mind.

But the elephants were all right, and the gorillas and the chimpanzees. The elephants were feeding now, huge gray shapes shuffling wearily, their trunks reaching up, curling round a bunch of leaves, then down to their cavernous mouths, then chomp, chomp, chomp. Old Jamba had assumed natural dominance over the young zoo bulls. When she moved on, they moved.

He sat down again, next to Mama. He just wanted to collapse onto his back, but he had not yet finished rounding up his worries.

Dear old Mama. He scratched the back of her head, and she arched her neck and back. Sometimes she gave an angry moan at the circus cats. ‘Come on, Mama, they’re all right.’ He nodded at Sultan, the circus tiger. ‘How do you like the look of him?’ he whispered. But Mama wasn’t having anything to do with Sultan.

Davey’s heart went out to Sultan. The lions did not want to have anything to do with him either, although they worked with him. They barely tolerated him. He had to be caged apart because the lions would bully him and wouldn’t let him get anything to eat. Even in the ring they snarled at him. Old Sultan wanted to be part of the lions; they were the only family he had ever known. He even thought he was a lion. In the ring he had a hard time from Frank Hunt, too, because he was not the brightest tiger. Sultan performed with bloody-minded reluctance and only because he was terrified of the whip and the electric prodder and because he knew that was the only way he was going to be fed.

He sat all by himself, with a nervous, long-suffering aloofness, watching Davey, waiting for his supper. He blinked and averted his head as Davey crouched in front of him, and took his big furry cheeks in both hands.

‘Never mind, Sultan. Tigers are smarter than lions really. And you’ve got another tiger to live with now.’

Sultan just sat there pessimistically, eyes averted, having his cheeks scratched, feeling sorry for himself. Davey stood up, wearily.

The lions were all watching him. Nervous of the darkening forest, waiting to be fed, waiting to be told what to do. Big Tommy sat in the middle, staring, as if ready to come padding straight at him to kill. But Davey knew that killing was the last thing on Tommy’s mind. Tommy wouldn’t know how to kill a chicken if it were thown at him squawking, except by playing with it. It was going to be difficult teaching them to hunt. Except maybe Kitty.

As if reading his mind, Big Charlie said, ‘Don’t worry. Kitty will catch on quick. And show the others.’

Davey nodded. Kitty’s eyes never left Davey, her thick tail poised.

‘But she’s the one I’m worried about,’ Big Charlie rumbled, watching her. ‘Got the devil in her heart.’ He added, ‘She’s the only one I won’t turn my back on.’

Davey shook his head and smiled. He did not believe for a moment Kitty would turn man-hunter. But he never turned his back on her either, in her cage. She would come creeping up on him. Not to attack, but to pounce and play, four hundred pounds of jaws and claws. One pat with those paws could tear off a man’s face. He was careful with her; Charlie didn’t mess with her; Frank Hunt was downright frightened of her. And Princess, the other lioness, hated her.

Tommy liked Kitty, but Princess picked on her. It happened now. Kitty started toward Davey, and, as she passed, Princess hissed, ears flat, fangs bared and a big paw ready to swipe. Kitty stopped, eyes half closed, ears back, head averted. Her paw was ready too, but she did not rise to the challenge, nor even hiss back. She just waited for Princess to subside. Charlie and Davey smiled. Kitty was not afraid of Princess; she was indifferent. Princess was the matron of the pride; Kitty accepted the fact and did not care.

‘Okay, you two,’ Davey said.

Princess turned and stalked away angrily, and Kitty padded menacingly over to Davey. He held out his hand, and she arched her back and wiped her big flank along his leg, tail up. He put his hand under her whiskery chin and scratched. ‘You’re not afraid, are you, Kitty? I’m relying on you.’

He straightened up and sighed.

‘You okay, Charlie?’

‘Sure.’ He lay on his back. ‘Stop worrying now, Davey. It’s happened.’

Davey shook his head. ‘A few more hours, and we would have made it in the trucks.’

‘It’s happened. Ain’t nothing we can do about that. But we’ll still make it. Now, get some rest.’

Davey smiled at the big Indian.

‘Come on.’

He gave a low whistle and started to lead the animals back up the steep mountain to the Appalachian Trail at the crest. Then he started to jog, his face tense, his arms hanging slack, but it was twice as fast as walking, and he could keep it up for hours.

The sun was setting. A minute later, as he came around a bend of laurel, he saw the man.

His heart lurched and he started to spin around to shout a warning, but he cut it off.

The hiker had his back to him, one hand on his hip, looking impatient. The next instant Davey saw a girl emerging from the bushes, head down, pulling her jeans over her thighs and muttering. Davey turned desperately, to lead the animals off the trail, and the same moment the man turned.

He could not believe his eyes. His jaw dropped, and he went ashen, speechless. He was a keen backpacker; he carried Ed Garvey’s famous book on the Appalachian Trail like a Bible; he had hiked other wilderness trails; but nothing had prepared him for what he saw: a wild-looking man with a huge elephant behind him. He started to scream, but it just gargled in his dry throat. At that moment his wife looked up, and she screamed for him.

Her eyes widened and her mouth opened to its fullest and the cords stood out on her neck and she clenched her fists to her bosom and her jeans dropped and she screamed. A wild female wail of paralyzed horror that galvanized her husband into action. He grabbed at her arm to plunge off the trail, and at the same moment she turned and fled in the opposite direction.

The man flung himself off the narrow trail into the steep undergrowth, stumbling, out of control, gasping for his wife—and she fled down the trail wild-eyed, her jeans below her buttocks, bellowing her terror to the sky, and Davey yelled, ‘It’s okay—get off the trail!’ But she could not hear him, and she could not run with her jeans bunched at her knees, and she stumbled and lurched, desperately trying to yank them up, looking wildly over her shoulder and the more she could not run the more terrified she got—then Davey plunged off the trail on the opposite side. With a piercing whistle to his animals, he ran down the steep mountain, leaping and bounding, the animals lumbering and blundering after him.

For a hundred yards he crashed down the mountainside, then he swung south again, parallel to the Appalachian Trail.

Until well after dark he kept them trekking doggedly across the wild mountainside. It was killingly slow going. His legs trembled, and his stomach was a knot of exhaustion. He bitterly regretted not having just blundered on down the Appalachian Trail after the screaming woman until she had thrown herself off it, out of the way. But he could not bear to see her so frightened, and she could have fallen and been trampled; as it was he was worried that she might have run so far that she could not find her husband afterward.

When it was properly dark they stopped and threw themselves down, to sleep for four hours.

King Kong was fully grown, and the hair on his back had turned to silver. He weighed six hundred pounds, and his shoulders were thick and powerful. He stood nearly six feet tall, and his shaggy arms reached below his knees; his knuckles were twice as broad as a man’s, and his jaws were big and strong. In the zoo, nobody had dared go into his cage without elaborate precautions, except David Jordan. When they asked him how he did it he had replied ‘because he knows I understand.’

A gorilla understands very well. King Kong did not remember much about his life in the Congo, but he remembered the green things and the space, the joy of climbing through the trees. For ten long years he had sat in his cage with the other gorillas, under a neon light, with a concrete tree and a concrete floor, and he looked at the people who came to stare, and grin, and make faces at him; he knew they were the same kind that had massacred his clan to capture him, but he also knew they could not get at him in here, and time had numbed his fear. But every day of his life his great body yearned for space, to stretch his limbs, to walk and run; for green things growing, and real earth, and trees to climb, and sun and wind and sky.

And that is what Davey Jordan understood, and most zoo men do not. Zoo people will sincerely say that their animals are happy, because they are fed and safe from predators; that they neither remember much nor instinctively yearn. But David Jordan had the gift, the heart and the compassion to be able to put himself into the big black breast of the gorilla, and feel what he was feeling, so that he felt like a gorilla himself. When he sat in their cage, and talked to them, and even made their sounds, King Kong knew that David knew what his gorillaness wanted and needed and yearned for. But even more: King Kong knew that Davey was not a gorilla but a creature superior to him. And to everyone in the animal kingdom, superiority is important.

Now King Kong understood what had happened, although it was very confused in its urgency. He knew he had been set free, and he sensed the fear and the excitement of the other animals, and he was frightened. There was not yet any joy of freedom, but he sensed that he was running for his life, and he would keep on running forever, following his leader in this desperate race.

Now his leader was asleep, and King Kong wanted to sleep also. But he was frightened of the dark forest about him. He wanted to be up above the ground. He did not yet remember how to build nests in trees, although he knew he wanted to.

He looked up at the trees uncertainly. He knew how to climb a tree. But he also knew, just by looking, that in these trees he could not lie down to sleep. The big gorilla looked around at the darkness apprehensively, then, uncertainly, he began to do the best he could: he began to scrape the leaves and twigs into a circle about him.

The other gorilla watched him. Then slowly, uncertainly, she began to do the same. King Kong lay down on his side in his nest, and tucked his shaggy legs up to his shaggy black stomach, and he crooked his arm under his big worried head as a pillow.

thirteen

A forest road crossed the crest of the Appalachians, through a treeless sag at the base of Big Bald Mountain.

It was after midnight. Dr. Elizabeth Johnson sat, locked in her rented car, on the dirt road, hidden in the trees on the edge of the sag. Trying vainly to sleep; waiting for first light. She had bumped her way over all the crisscrossing tracks, peering into the darkness for the shining of eyes, the flash of movement; she had even gotten out and tried to examine the road for spoor in the headlights: it had been hopeless. Scores of miles of winding tracks through a hundred square miles of wilderness. She had been frightened every time she got out of the car.

She was frightened now, locked inside it, sick with the fear the deputy Sheriff had instilled into her, the horror of the men in the Erwin gun shop. She had wrapped her new sleeping bag around her shoulders. She had eaten, and had had a good few nips of whisky. But she could not sleep. She had a lot of tramping around to do tomorrow if she hoped to find them before the gunmen of Erwin. But she was too desperate to sleep.

She sat in the dark, nerves screaming with exhaustion. Big Bald rose treeless to the south, ghostly silver in the moonlight. It was completely still. Spooky. O God, the wilderness was spooky. She had tried to dismiss her fear contemptuously, then to examine it logically. But it was man’s primitive fear of the wilderness itself, its wildness, that she was afraid of, just as much as a madman with an ax. Driving up here, she had been fearful that demons would leap out of the shadows. Demons—the same that had frightened cavemen and the Pilgrim Fathers and made them set out grimly to ‘conquer the wilderness,’ turn it into a garden, to take its primeval menace out of it. Childish … But no—it was the primitive man in her.

She took a deep, tense breath, and reached for the whisky bottle.

If Bernard could see her now … Then she felt foolish for even thinking about him. She lit a cigarette with shaky fingers, and inhaled grimly.

She took another sip of whisky, and almost gagged. Then she could hear Jonas Ford saying, ‘Whisky isn’t a very feminine drink, my dear.’ Well to hell with you, Jonas, it tastes damn good, and it’s making me feel a whole lot better. Where the hell are you? While I sit here scared witless …

She sighed.

She was not being very reasonable. It had been her wild decision to hurl herself onto a plane and get down here. Jonas was doing the right thing, staying to organize things. And what good did she think she was going to do here, anyway? What was she going to do even if she found David Jordan and the animals?

She massaged her forehead with her fingertips.

She did not know.

Except somehow stand between the animals and a bloodbath, somehow shout the hillbilly gunmen out of shooting, somehow warn David Jordan about them, somehow shout some sense into him …

David Bloody Jordan … A fat chance she had of talking any sense into him. She remembered him clearly, and he was obviously very bright—even Jonas Ford had once described him as ‘very intelligent,’ and coming from Jonas that was quite something. The keepers had talked about him with such awe, and all the stories—like the time one of the grizzly bears had got his paw jammed in a tin can that some idiot had thrown into the pen. He was going berserk, and the staff was trying to lasso him to tie him down and there was a terrible hullabaloo, and apparently David Jordan had just walked into the den, cool as a cucumber, grabbed the enraged animal’s paw and wrestled the can off. ‘Quite fearless,’ the curator of mammals had described him. ‘Damn stupid,’ Jonas Ford had said. But even Jonas had described him as ‘quite a remarkable fellow,’ and the previous vet had said that he had ‘almost a Saint Franciscan ability with animals.’ She had heard a good deal about him before he had unexpectedly turned up at the zoo.

She’d heard the commotion in the Big Cat House, and gone over to investigate, and there was the great Davey Jordan going from cage to cage, and the cats were beside themselves with excitement, purring and rubbing themselves against the bars. She had watched, fascinated. She had read a good deal about people who can do wonderful things with animals. Quietly she had walked up to him. He paid no attention to her, just stood there, in his own private world of the animals, and he was smiling and talking to them softly; she could not catch the words but they were loving, and the look on his face was? … It was a beautiful private world she had glimpsed, of love and understanding between a man and animals, which she felt she had no right to enter, an inter-feeling she would never achieve with animals no matter how hard she tried. It had been an intrusion on her part when she finally tried to talk to him. He had been vaguely aloof, almost abrupt, as if he couldn’t waste his precious moments.

She could not remember now what she had said as openers—doubtless something corny—but she remembered he had said: ‘It’s not that animals are like us—it’s us who’re like them. If you put it the other way around you’re denying the theory of evolution. We’re all part of the same animal kingdom … every Behaviorist from Flaubert to Desmond Morris agrees there’s hardly an aspect of animal behavior that isn’t relevant to ours.’

And with that he had excused himself, leaving her feeling foolish. And she had been astonished at the articulate wisdom falling from the lips of a circus hand.

Which, afterward, she had resented. After all, she was the veterinary surgeon around here, it was her domain. But she had never forgotten the look on his face, the sweet vision she had glimpsed behind those eyes.

But, by God, she resented it now, with anger and fear in her heart, sitting like a fool again in her rented car in the middle of the wilderness in the middle of the night. Why was she always such a … sucker? For the … grand emotional gesture?

She lit another cigarette, and longed for daylight.

At three o’clock she was suddenly awake with a start, realizing she had been asleep. Her eyes darted about in the silent moonlight. Then they widened, and her stomach contracted.

A mass of moving blackness was coming out of the black forest onto the open grassy sag.

A man was jogging in the lead, and behind him were the big cats, ears back, tails low, then the elephants, then the gorillas, then the enormous bears, and behind them all was a huge man loping along with a dog. She gasped and wanted to run. All she knew was the raw human fright of wild animals coming at her. She cringed and stared. Then came the astonishment; such a disparate mixture of animals all following one man! She sat rigid at the spectacle of the magnetism some rare people have … then David Jordan glimpsed her car on the edge of the forest, and he stopped.

She collected her wits, and rolled down her window frantically. ‘Mr Jordan!’

He turned and started running for the forest, and the animals whirled around and followed him. She scrambled out of her car.

‘I’m the zoo vet—Dr. Johnson—I’m alone!’

He disappeared like a shadow into the forest, the animals crashing through the undergrowth after him. She yelled, ‘Wait—’ and stumbled into the open. ‘Mr Jordan! Look, I’m alone—I’m unarmed!’

She waited for his response, heart pounding, frightened. Then his hoarse voice came out of the black forest.

‘What do you want?’

She was so relieved she was almost crying. ‘Please—I’ve got to talk to you!’

‘What about?’

‘About the animals! This is a terrible thing you’re doing. You’ve got to give them back, for their own good!’

‘They’re not going back.’

She cried desperately across the moonlight: ‘You’ve got to listen to me! They’re going to be shot. I’ve seen the gun-crazy hillbillies in Erwin! I’ve seen them, I tell you—buying guns! And at the roadblocks. And the police are after you, and they’re not much better. You’re going to be surrounded!’

Davey crouched in the dark forest, his sweat glistening. ‘Where are they?’

‘I don’t know exactly. Last night they were at the last highway back there!’

‘They’re crazy if they shoot, that won’t get the animals back.’

‘Even the police will shoot! They’re frightened, don’t you understand? They aren’t used to wild animals here!’

‘Tell them they’re not wild animals—they won’t hurt anybody.’

Suddenly, a man called out behind her. ‘Okay, nobody else here.’

She spun around with a gasp, and stared up at the biggest man she had ever seen. ‘Who’re you?’

‘I won’t hurt you, ma’am.’

Davey stepped out of the forest, the big cats slinking behind him. She stepped back toward her car.

‘Please tell them everything will be all right if they don’t interfere,’ Davey called.

She cried, ‘What are you trying to prove?’

‘Just tell them to leave us alone.’

She cried, ‘This isn’t where these animals belong. They can’t fend for themselves!’

‘They’ll learn.’

‘The police art after you, I tell you. And the hunters—you know what they’re like. You’ll be shot to ribbons!’

He broke into a jog, and the animals started after him. She stared in amazement all over again, then shouted desperately, ‘Listen, I’m a vet; I know what I’m talking about. Don’t you remember me—Dr. Johnson?’

He did not answer.

She cried: ‘Where are you taking them?’