John van Dijk - THE ZOO

The year is still too infantile to even be counted. The setting is a quiet, desolate desert. Suddenly, breaking the absolute silence, comes the determined mechanized hum of an aircraft ... the planet’s blazing sun reflecting harshly off it’s black, metallic exterior as the massive craft finally breaks through the partial covering of clouds sprawled low along the horizon.

The mute drone of the ship steadily reverberates off the miles of torrid rocks and boulders that lie beneath it. At last, after some hesitation, the craft, denying it’s bulk, darts quickly off in a northerly direction.

Here, the clime is found to be not quite as thermal. The immense airship slowly glides over lush forests, gentle valleys. and sparkling waters. It is almost as if it were searching for something.

Decisively, it makes a rapid vertical drop, coming to rest on the solid green turf of a small, peaceful glen. On the ground for barely moments, it departs as quickly as it had come. Seemingly effortlessly, the hulking craft is gone, having ascended straight into the endless heavens.

It has successfully completed it’s intended purpose.

It has left something behind.

Long ago, Gluskabe lived with his grandmother, Woodchuck, near the big water.

Gluskabe is the one who defeated the monster which tried to keep all the water in the world for himself. He is the one who made the big animals grow small so they would be less dangerous to human beings.

When Gluskabe had done many things to make the world a better place for his children and his children’s children, he decided it was time to rest. He went down to the big water, climbed into his magic canoe made of stone, and sailed away to a far island.

Some say that island is in a great lake the people call Petonbowk.

Others say he went far to the east, beyond the coast of Maine.

Boston Mercilessly slamming the heavy oak door behind her, Samantha Coley automatically took a moment to rattle the brass knob, insuring that it was safely locked (damn door had never latched properly, anyway). Hurriedly skipping down the worn brick steps, she climbed into her Camry without so much as a backwards glance.

Slipping the car into drive, she cautiously eased her way out into the fast paced weekday Boston traffic.

"You will not cry!" she fiercely admonished herself, gripping the wheel tightly.

What was that stupid T-shirt saying? "This is the first day of the rest of your life."

Finally, safely over the Mystic River Bridge, merging into a thinner line of outbound travelers, Sam allowed herself the questionable luxury of lighting up a Marlboro. Opening the sun roof just a crack (it was still chilly for mid-May)

she watched as her first, satisfying exhale climbed up into the sky beyond.

Grimly, Sam thought, "Maybe I should give these up along with Jeff. Sort of like getting all my traumas over with at once." Then she wryly chuckled out loud, honestly admitting to herself that she liked her smokes far too much ....

certainly more than she liked her ex-husband at the moment. "Bastard." she thought.

Comfortably settling into a steady 70 mph on I-95 North, Sam flipped on the car radio. "Japanese were asking Saturday why someone would choose Children’s Day, a national holiday of family outings, to try to spread poison gas in one of Japan’s most crowded train stations..." droned the reporter in a well modulated voice. "One of the bags left burning Friday contained sodium cyanide, the other diluted sulfuric acid. Had the vapors combined correctly, they could have formed enough hydrogen cyanide to kill at least 10,000 people in seconds... ".

Shaking her head, Sam abruptly changed the station, eventually finding a soothing Mozart aria. With nothing to look at but miles of endless trees, Sam unwillingly found her thoughts retracing the past year’s events.

It had actually started out to be a very good year .... in fact, one of the best.

Satisfied and secure with her career in the special communications field at MIT

for the SETI program plus happily married (or so Sam had thought ...) to, as all of her friends constantly reminded her ... "A great guy", life felt like it could not have been much better. But to Sam, the ultimate icing had been put upon her cake that year. After thirteen years of marriage, she’d found herself pregnant. At 36 years of age, it was, without a doubt, a surprise. But not an unpleasant one. True, Jeff was at first somewhat overwhelmed at the prospect of such a huge upheaval in their, by then, well-planned-everything-in-it’s-place lives. But as time went on, Sam believed that he rather began to relish the foreign idea of fatherhood. At least to Sam, he had seemed to begin to act so.

Or, in retrospect, had she just so desperately wanted Jeff to be accepting of the new life that, in reality, she had projected his accidence?

"Not that it matters now." Sam thought bitterly, flicking her cigarette out the open roof. Nothing really seemed to matter anymore. At least not since last January, a good four months ago. During that stretch of time, Sam had remained carefully devoid of all feelings and emotions. In Sam’s neat analytical mind, the reason for this self-imposed emptiness was very simple. For she knew without uncertainty that if she were to allow any of her pent up sensibilities to seep through to the surface, she would surely become a raving lunatic.

Bass Harbor, Maine Five grueling hours later, Sam pulled her vehicle into the ferry terminal’s gravel parking lot in the picture postcard fishing village of Bass Harbor, Maine.

Slowly, unfolding her small frame, she stepped out into a fine, gray mist that smelled pungently of the Atlantic.

"Take a whiff of that, kid." She said to herself, breathing in deeply.

Immediately, Sam began to cough. "Got to give those damn smokes up ...".

Silently, she stoically promised herself a fresh start once on the Island.

Both mentally and physically.

She checked her watch, realizing that she had made good time on the drive up.

The ferry for Swans Island wasn’t due for another half hour. Coffee, she thought.

Glancing hopefully about, she spotted a weathered sign that read "Bub’s Bait & Tackle" hanging lopsidedly over a door. Gradually working all the tight kinks out of her body from the tiring journey as she walked, Sam headed for the door.

Inside, there really was the proverbial pot-bellied stove, warmly glowing against the chill in the early spring air. The small store, it’s ambiance caught somewhere between a Seven-Eleven and a 1950 Woolworth’s, was empty with the exception of a matronly looking woman perched behind a battered counter reading the latest issue of The Inquirer.

Unhurriedly pushing her thick reading glasses up on top of her head, she finally addressed Sam.

"Help ya?"

"I’d like a cup of coffee," replied Sam, "to go, please."

"Only kind we’ve got." Muttered the woman, heaving herself off the stool.

Shrewdly eyeing Sam’s Barry Bricken tweed jacket as she handed over the steaming Styrofoam cup, she decided to become gabby after all.

"A little early for summer folk, ain’t it?"

Gratefully, Sam took the offered cup, putting her change down on the worn counter.

"Actually," she tried smiling at the sullen woman. "I guess I’m not really "summer folk". I own a house out on the Island that I intend to live in all year round."

"Ever been out there in January?" Sniffed the gloomy woman.

Wisely deciding to ignore that barbed lure, Sam strolled about the tiny market, slowly savoring the hot, rich coffee. Unexpectedly, she felt the first genuine surge of emotion in months go through her. God! It felt good to be back!