The Last Zoo, a short story Read online

THE LAST ZOO

  A short story

  by Sara Zaske

  sarazaske.wordpress.com

  THE LAST ZOO

  Copyright 2012 Sara Zaske

  All rights reserved.

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  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual events, organizations, or persons living or deceased is entirely coincidental.

  The Last Zoo

  The intern was all wrong. But then, any intern at the City Zoo would be terrible, even one without a ponytail and round purple-tinted glasses. Still, the kid had a sextuplicate form, and the top sheet said that this Max Mejora, an anthropology graduate student at the State U, wanted to intern at the zoo.

  “I don't need any help,” I said. “Zoo's been practically empty for five years. There’s nothing to do but tidy up.”

  The kid eyed the name sewn onto my shirt. “Franklin? Look, I’m not afraid of a little hard work. Maybe you can take it a little easy for awhile. Rest your dogs.”

  I wanted to tell him to shove off. I didn't need to take it easy, and I resented the implication that I could be replaced by some unpaid college intern. But I held my tongue. Truth was, I knew I couldn’t ignore the multi-colored, sextuplicate carbon-copy government form he had. I held it by the corner to keep the ink from smudging. After too many hacking incidents, the city bureaucrats stopped using email. Apparently now something was wrong with copy machines too. The top pink sheet of the form said that Max was working on a thesis called: “The Extinction of Exotic Macrofauna Showcases.”

  I jabbed a finger at the title. “What does that mean?”

  “It means I’m studying zoos, or the lack of them,” the kid said. “For hundreds of years, human beings have had a fascination with zoos. They proliferated in the 1400s along with global exploration, but their popularity peaked in the twentieth century. But we’ve witnessed a dramatic drop in this century. Zoos worldwide are closed or virtually empty. No one knows whether it's because of terrorism fears, budget cut backs, animal activism, perhaps it's just the general malaise due to—”

  I held up a hand to cut him off, a gesture I had a feeling I would need to repeat often. If there was one thing the boy could do, it was talk.

  “Got it. Let me see, here.” I patted my pockets, but my reading glasses were missing. I squinted at the form. “Hmm. . . oh there's a problem. Says right here, it has to be signed by the interim zoo director.”

  “OK. Then, where can I find the director?”

  “There isn't one.” I couldn't help but smile a bit. “I'm the only employee at this zoo. And last I checked my pay stub, it said 'janitor.'”

  “Well, the woman at the city office said, if there isn't an 'interim director' the the next highly ranked employee would do, which would be?”

  “Me, I suppose,” I said.” I'm the only one here, but if the janitor signs this paper, they'll come asking questions.”

  “And that would be bad?” Max asked.

  “Damn straight that will be bad. Truth is, I think they've plum forgot that I'm still here, and I don't intend to remind them. Somebody down at the budget office still signs my check, so I work. If they remember they missed me in the last round of layoffs, then I'll be next. And at my age, I'm not bound to find another job.” The kid looked unmoved, so I tried another angle “And then there'd be no one to take care of Ike.”

  “Who's Ike? Your son?”

  For a moment, I thought the kid was crazy. “No, he's the polar bear! Him and me, we're the only living things. We both survived by keeping our heads down, and I don't intend to do anything to stir up any trouble now.”

  “That's an interesting survival strategy,” Max said. “But if you don't sign that paper and take me on as an intern, I'm going right back to the city and tell them all I could find here was a janitor just doing his job and a lonely old polar bear who'd be better off in a preserve.”

  I chewed on that for about a half a minute. “OK, then, let me show you around. We'll just see how you much you like it here.”

  So I took the fool kid to the empty monkey cages that I mopped on Mondays, the bird pavilions that I swept on Tuesdays, the Elephant Yard that I raked over with the old tractor on Wednesdays and the lawn on Lion Hill that I mowed every Thursday and sometimes again the following Monday.

  Then, I took Max to Ike's enclosure where I had him mash up some stinking cod for the old half-blind bear. Ike didn't even bother to come out of his cave to say 'how do you do.' He's a smart one that bear. When the clipboard people came counting, he'd hidden far back in that fake rock cave, and then he was no where to be seen when they back came with the tranquilizer guns. Hank, the zoologist in charge of the polar bears, was long gone at that point, quit in protest, and no one bothered to ask me, so they missed one big old half-blind bear. The government folks were supposed to come back after the removal and check up on everything. They never did.

  After we left the food bucket out for Ike, I took Max to the drained hippo pool which was growing a nice coat of mold and needed a good scrubbing. I handed him a brush and some gloves. The kid went to it like he had something to prove. But as he worked, he kept glancing at the video screen that snapped on every time someone approached the exhibit. After all the animals went to preserves, the activists set up live connections to show what a jolly time all the animals were having in their new homes.

  “I don't think that’s really 'live' footage,” Max said.

  “Course it is,” I said.

  “Well, we've been here 20 minutes, and I've seen the same hippo do that same slide through the mud three times.”

  “Hippos like to roll in mud,” I said.

  “Come on, Frankie,”

  “Names Franklin,” I said. “And so what? The connection went out a couple years ago. Now I just play the old tapes. I've got them on a loop.”

  That's when the kid got overly excited. “So instead of live animals you have these tapes are what two, three-years-old? Some of the animals might even be dead! Do people still come to watch these? They risk potential terrorist attacks to come see pictures of dead animals in an empty zoo. How wonderfully existential!”

  I held up my hand. “Sad is what it is. Nobody comes here. They can see videos like that at home on the TV. I doubt they even care about the real animals any more,” I said. “Now, why don’t I show you where I keep the mops.”

  But it was too late. After that, Max was tagging after me asking question after question. “When had people stopped coming to the zoo? Are there any plans to bring in new animals? Why don't you ask for a budget?” I stopped him out near the entrance

  “Where've you been?” I said. “Don't you realize that there's a war going on, the economy's shot to hell, and there's so many terrorist attacks most folks are afraid to go outside, much less care about this old zoo—even the activists don't bother to protest it any more. If your fancy college education can't help you figure out what the hell is going on, well, a custodial engineer sure ain't going to be able to explain it to you!”

  The boy's mouth hung open, and I thought maybe I'd gotten some sense into that thick cerebellum of his, when Mr. Sato arrived. It seemed as if the old man planned his daily walk that morning to prove me wrong. Max silently pointed in his direction.

  “OK,” I said. “Some joggers and seniors come through the zoo from time to time. Just passing through on their way through the park.”

  Mr. Sato stopped by the gate and dropped some change into the tray at the closed cashier booth as he always did. Then the old man walked over to us. “Morning!” he called.

  “Zoo's free Mr. Sato, like I've told you,” I said. “Please don't put any more change in the cashier's booth.”
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br />   “The only constant is change!” Mr. Sato smiled at his joke. He was always making annoying puns like that. “Use it to buy something for the zoo. Some animals perhaps? Who's this?”

  The kid extended his hand. “Max Mejora, the new zoo intern.”

  “Not if I don't sign his form,” I said.

  “Frank here, is worried because the interim zoo director is supposed to sign it.”

  “Name's Franklin,” I told the boy. “And I'm no director.”

  “Ah take a promotion!” Mr. Sato said. “You want me and the folks at the senior center to start a petition for you?”

  “No,” I said. “Please don't.”

  But I could tell the way the wind was blowing. Best, I figured not to go against it. And I signed the blooming form.