Mandy Chen

“I never thought…”

“Pardon?”

“A floating zoo.”

A tinge. The sun was starting to show. Somewhere along that sketchy line lay an oculate horizon. Nova contemplated lending a hand.

“What?”

“No.”

“Ah…”

“Say, won’t you lend me a hand?”

He reached a hand down the rail. The man pulled, swinging his paunchy body around to a swift landing. Down the levels of his suit, the sea accumulated in competitive pools. Nova staggered back, startled.

“I used to be a shepherd,” said the man. “And now I’m a businessman.”

The businessman wore a black suit. A suitcase hung from his left hand. Presently he held out his right hand and Nova staggered, aghast this time.

“You have water on your…”

“Suit?” the businessman suggested. “Do I? I suppose I fell into the sea.”

The businessman flopped into a little sea that had gathered while he was standing and started pulling at his shoe. From where he sat he could see clusters of bent bars aligned into rectangular cages of wild shapes.

“A floating zoo. You live alone?”

“Alone.”

“With whom?”

“Grace and Ernest and Faithe.”

“No animals?”

Nova scowled .

“There’s little Elephant.”

“You have an elephant?”

“We have a serpent.”

The businessman was impressed and gave up pulling on his shoe. Nova cringed as he scrambled to his feet. The businessman, who generated more water at each squeezing, was like a sponge that attracted water to its best ability. He strode boldly inward, leaving Nova to tentatively trail.

The tittering mouse was the first living creature the businessman laid eyes on since his exile from the luxury cruise, besides the heaving cages.

“A mouse!” He gasped with no small astonishment. “What is this?”

The two glared inquisitively at the tittering gray orb.

“A mouse,” observed Nova at last. “Hmm.”

The mouse strode boldly inward, leaving the two to tentatively trail.

“A mouse. Does it have a name?”

“Ah…”

“Pardon?”

“Grace.”

Presently they came to an opening amidst the cages, where a long-armed baboon pranced. The businessman yelped as a rattlesnake leapt out of nowhere to pounce on the baboon, turning the prance into a noiseless wrestle. The businessman was impressed.

“Is that a …?”

“They are Ernest and Faithe.”

“Which is which?”

Nova knitted his brows together in solemn agitation.

“That you have to ask little Elephant.”

But little Elephant was nowhere to be seen. Grace had disappeared into a mass of iron bars and Ernest and Faithe vanished behind each other. The only token of life left was the dead impervious respiration of cages. The businessman had steered Nova through half the zoo before discovering the little girl with a cropped undergrowth of bangs that hung like sickles before her invisible eyes.

“What is that?” He felt the necessity to demand, bitter at such manifest proof of fraud and hurt that he had been unforgiving enough to feel bitter. Decidedly tucking his feelings into a bowler of generosity, the businessman declared: “What is that?”

Nova knitted his brows together.

“What are you?” He demanded.

The little girl looked up with eyes like sickles. “What?”

“Pardon?”

“Little Elephant.”

“What?”

“I’m little Elephant.”

Little Elephant sat crossed-legged behind the bars. The businessman knelt effusively, intrigued by the stagnation of her fingers.

“What are you doing?”

“Is that important?”

“Pardon?”

“Drawing a circle.”

“Is that important?”