Christian Kiefer - The Animals

No, I’m not OK. I’m not OK at all. This is fucked up. They’re acting like I’m a damn criminal.

Maybe we should call the newspaper or something. Get them involved as a public interest story.

I don’t know, he said. He exhaled long and hard. Then he said, I guess let’s get you started.

You sure? We can do this some other day.

Let’s just do it, he said. Otherwise, I’ll just sit in here and stew.

All right, so I’m planning on taking a look at Majer and Zeke today. If we have time left we can try Cinder.

I have you all day?

Only until noon, she said. I have patients at the office starting at one. Unless you really need me. I could cancel those appointments.

Don’t do that, he said.

I would.

I know you would.

She sipped at her coffee and then turned to open a file cabinet, flipping through until she found what she sought. You need to get that kerosene heater fixed, she said.

I already have a heater. He gestured to the gently glowing silver dish in the corner of the room.

That’s not a heater, she said. That’s a toaster.

That’s why I come over to your house so often.

Oh, is that why?

Yep.

A car horn honked from below and he opened the door and stepped out into the path so he could see the parking lot. He expected, or half expected, to see the forest-green Fish and Game vehicle, Steven Colman coming in person to bring more bad news, but instead it was the sheriff’s SUV parked below, the man himself stepping out onto the frozen gravel. When he looked up and saw Bill there he waved and Bill returned the gesture. His thoughts went immediately to Rick and a feeling of sharp and immediate unease twisted inside him like a curl of wire. Shit, he said under his breath.

He looked to the closed door of the office for a moment and then turned back toward the parking lot once more. Shit, he said again. Then he cracked open the office door. Be right back, he said.

What’s up?

He hesitated. Earl’s here.

How come?

No idea. It’s shaping up to be quite a morning.

She was seated at the desk, the contents of the file spread out before her — the charts of Majer’s health during her tenure as the facility’s veterinarian — but she rose now.

You get to work, he said. I’ll see what he wants.

OK, she said, but don’t call me if you get arrested.

That would actually solve a lot of my problems, he answered, half smiling. He closed the door and descended the path to the parking lot where the sheriff stood, watching him approach with hands on his belt like a character from a movie. Bill could think only of that black iron safe with its silver dial. The forest trees lay down in rows and sank one after another into the sand of a burning desert covered over with sage and thistle and stone.

He unlocked the gate and came through it, trying to unclench his hands.

Morning, the sheriff said.

Morning, Earl, Bill said.

How goes the wildlife?

He shifted his weight against the gravel. Good, he said. The sheriff did not speak further and so he added, Grace’s up here getting ready for some vet stuff.

Doctor time, the sheriff said.

Every six months or so.

It was quiet between them once more. His gut knotted into a fist. You wanna come up for some coffee?

Yeah, I might do that, the sheriff said, but I think I need to show you something first.

Behind the sheriff, Bess’s station wagon came up the road and turned into the parking lot. No dust rising in the cold. The air’s sharpness all around them.

The sheriff waved him toward the back of the SUV. Uh, I don’t know how you’re gonna feel about this or if you want it or whatever, but look, that moose a couple weeks back …

The sheriff had his hand on the swinging rear door of the SUV but had not yet opened it. Bill stood in silence, waiting for the sheriff to reveal what he already knew would be inside. Black iron and the silver dial. He thought of serial numbers. Of what he had done.

You all right? the sheriff said.

What? He coughed. Bess had climbed out of the station wagon and was walking toward them now, her body a near-formless mass of down jacket, round face peering out from under the black hood. Yeah, I’m all right, he said. What were you saying?

The moose that got run into down near Ponderay?

What about it?

Well, first of all, I guess Steve Colman came to talk to you about it.

Yeah, that and some other stuff.

Well, heck, Bill, I’m real sorry about that.

I didn’t exactly ask for permission.

Still more my fault than yours, the sheriff said. I got an earful from Fish and Game about it. I can tell you that.

They’re really flexing their muscles, I guess.

That’s not the way I’d put it but yeah, the sheriff said. He looked over at Cinder. The lion had come up to the front of the enclosure and stood looking at them, one eye permanently closed, the other a yellow disc.

Well, so look, the real reason I’m here is that the Connor boys were the ones who butchered that moose and they thought maybe you might want the bones and stuff. For the animals, I mean.

He pulled the door open at last to reveal a series of plastic bags packed with ice and the red of moose meat, long bent legs and bits of bone and ribs. The frozen carcass after the steaks had been cut away.

Jack Connor? Bill said.

Yeah, Jack and his brother. Frank or whatever his name is.

They’ve been here a couple of times with their kids, Bess said. She stood next to Bill now, looking down into the open trunk. The red meat. Some wet and partially frozen tufts of brown fur.

That’s what they said. They knew it was you who dispatched her.

Him, Bill said.

OK then, the sheriff said. Him. Anyway, they wanted you to have it.

We can use it, Bess said.

Yeah, he said. He stood there in a kind of exhausted silence, breathing out a long slow hiss of steam. Dang right we can, he said.

I wasn’t really sure you’d want it, the sheriff said. I mean, you didn’t look too happy about what happened with that. How it turned out, I mean.

Who would be? he said.

True. Anyway, I told them I might better bring it up myself, in case there were any hard feelings or anything.

I’m always glad to get meat, Bill said. A smile spread across his face despite himself because he realized at last what was in the trunk and what was not. From one tragedy to another.

I’ll go get the cart, Bess said, turning to walk back up the path.

Thank them for me, would you? he said.

The sheriff nodded.

How’s the guy that ran into him? Bill asked.

He’ll be fine. Broke some ribs and banged up his face some against the steering wheel.

Well, that’s good I guess. That he’ll heal up, I mean.

You said Grace’s up there?

In the office, Bill said. She’ll get mad if I let you leave without saying hello.

Let’s not let that happen, then.

The hum of the golf cart now, coming down the path through the enclosures, all of which he could see from the parking lot: boxes of wire fronted by wooden platforms for viewing, wooden buildings, the portable rectangle of his office trailer and the equipment shed where he stored food and medical supplies and fuel. Midway up the hill, he could see Majer’s dark shape moving slowly across his own loop of wire. From where he stood he could not help but feel that it looked more like a concentration camp than a rescue.

THEY TRANSFERRED the remains of the carcass from the sheriff’s SUV to a box on the cart and then to the freezers at the top of the trail loop. The sheriff had disappeared inside the office to visit with Grace, an event Majer watched with apparent anticipation, nose pressed to the fencing and milky eyes staring out at the closed office door. When at last the two of them emerged from the office, Grace spoke to the bear and he waggled his head in apparent joy and followed the sound of her voice down the fence line.