over and trample us to death.”
“Come on. We’re going to miss the feeding.”
“Mum was screaming again last night.”
“It’s the animals you hear.”
We had never even so much as said hello to Mr. Noah before. Some of the kids at school said he was real mean and had bad breath. He looked fierce all right, like the animals. Luke stood back a ways and watched the calves in the field, while I knocked on the door.
When Mr. Noah opened the door, he had a white apron tied around his middle and a butcher knife in his hand. He was even scarier up close, and you could smell the sweat. His beard shot out in all directions, and the hair around his mouth was lighter, as though he had sucked all the colour out of it. He was smiling, standing there with that knife. But it was his eyes you saw first. Clear, blue eyes, so bright and blue you could imagine that there were tiny fires burning behind them. He looked at me and then at Luke and then at me again, smiling all the while. Some of his teeth were missing.
“Well, children,” he said. “Come in. I think you’re just in time for some cookies. You children like cookies?”
Luke was behind me. “We like cookies,” he said. And before I could stop him, he just walked into Mr. Noah’s house. The house was light, and there were plants everywhere. The room smelled of apples and oranges andfresh-cut vegetables. “Come in, come in. What kind of cookies do you children like?” Mr. Noah sat us down at the kitchen table and brought us each four chocolate cookies and a glass of milk.
“I see you, you know,” said Mr. Noah. “Hanging in the fence like little monkeys. You like to watch me feed the animals, do you?”
“I like the bears,” I said.
“I’m glad you came around to say hello.”
“The cookies were good, and the milk was cold. “My brother doesn’t believe that animals howl at the moon.”
Mr. Noah wiped his mouth with the red handkerchief. “Oh, they howl all right. They howl about everything. Just like people. They howl when they’re hungry or when they’re hurt or when they’re scared. They even howl when they’re in love. You children ever hear a bear in heat?
I shook my head.
“You children are old enough to know about this, ain’t you? Your father ever tell you about these things?”
“Our papa was a preacher,” said Luke.
“A preacher, huh? Well, then, you children must know the story of Noah’s Ark.”
“Sure. Our Papa was a Methodist.”
“How the animals came on the Ark two by two?”
“Sure. Everybody knows that.”
“How Noah looked after those animals like they were his own children? How he protected them from harm and fed them and cleaned up after them?”
“Just like you do, Mr. Noah?”
“That’s right, children,” said Mr. Noah. “Noah was the first zookeeper. The very first zookeeper in the world. Your father ever tell you that?”
“Our Papa’s dead,” said Luke. “William and Mary too. He was drunk.”
“Luke!”
Mr. Noah shook his head. “Sorry to hear that,” he said. “Animals die too, you know. Just like people. I lost a turkey last year. Old age. Lost a gibbon, too. Somebody shot her with an air pistol. I was real fond of her. Five of those young ones in the cage are hers. Every so often, at night, you can hear one of them crying.”
“See,” I said.
“Is it because they miss her?”
“Could be, child. Who knows why monkeys howl?”
“But animals howl at the moon, don’t they?”
“Some do.”
“Our Mum screams at night,” said Luke.
“Always hard losing loved ones,” said Mr. Noah, “always hard to go on without them.”
“At night, I’ll bet they howl loud enough so that we can hear them all the way to our house,” I said.
“Most of them sleep at night,” said Mr. Noah. “Just like us.”
“We can hear them from our house.”
Mr. Noah went to the cupboard and came back with a handful of raisins. He made two little piles on the table. “You kids know who
“Come on. We’re going to miss the feeding.”
“Mum was screaming again last night.”
“It’s the animals you hear.”
We had never even so much as said hello to Mr. Noah before. Some of the kids at school said he was real mean and had bad breath. He looked fierce all right, like the animals. Luke stood back a ways and watched the calves in the field, while I knocked on the door.
When Mr. Noah opened the door, he had a white apron tied around his middle and a butcher knife in his hand. He was even scarier up close, and you could smell the sweat. His beard shot out in all directions, and the hair around his mouth was lighter, as though he had sucked all the colour out of it. He was smiling, standing there with that knife. But it was his eyes you saw first. Clear, blue eyes, so bright and blue you could imagine that there were tiny fires burning behind them. He looked at me and then at Luke and then at me again, smiling all the while. Some of his teeth were missing.
“Well, children,” he said. “Come in. I think you’re just in time for some cookies. You children like cookies?”
Luke was behind me. “We like cookies,” he said. And before I could stop him, he just walked into Mr. Noah’s house. The house was light, and there were plants everywhere. The room smelled of apples and oranges andfresh-cut vegetables. “Come in, come in. What kind of cookies do you children like?” Mr. Noah sat us down at the kitchen table and brought us each four chocolate cookies and a glass of milk.
“I see you, you know,” said Mr. Noah. “Hanging in the fence like little monkeys. You like to watch me feed the animals, do you?”
“I like the bears,” I said.
“I’m glad you came around to say hello.”
“The cookies were good, and the milk was cold. “My brother doesn’t believe that animals howl at the moon.”
Mr. Noah wiped his mouth with the red handkerchief. “Oh, they howl all right. They howl about everything. Just like people. They howl when they’re hungry or when they’re hurt or when they’re scared. They even howl when they’re in love. You children ever hear a bear in heat?
I shook my head.
“You children are old enough to know about this, ain’t you? Your father ever tell you about these things?”
“Our papa was a preacher,” said Luke.
“A preacher, huh? Well, then, you children must know the story of Noah’s Ark.”
“Sure. Our Papa was a Methodist.”
“How the animals came on the Ark two by two?”
“Sure. Everybody knows that.”
“How Noah looked after those animals like they were his own children? How he protected them from harm and fed them and cleaned up after them?”
“Just like you do, Mr. Noah?”
“That’s right, children,” said Mr. Noah. “Noah was the first zookeeper. The very first zookeeper in the world. Your father ever tell you that?”
“Our Papa’s dead,” said Luke. “William and Mary too. He was drunk.”
“Luke!”
Mr. Noah shook his head. “Sorry to hear that,” he said. “Animals die too, you know. Just like people. I lost a turkey last year. Old age. Lost a gibbon, too. Somebody shot her with an air pistol. I was real fond of her. Five of those young ones in the cage are hers. Every so often, at night, you can hear one of them crying.”
“See,” I said.
“Is it because they miss her?”
“Could be, child. Who knows why monkeys howl?”
“But animals howl at the moon, don’t they?”
“Some do.”
“Our Mum screams at night,” said Luke.
“Always hard losing loved ones,” said Mr. Noah, “always hard to go on without them.”
“At night, I’ll bet they howl loud enough so that we can hear them all the way to our house,” I said.
“Most of them sleep at night,” said Mr. Noah. “Just like us.”
“We can hear them from our house.”
Mr. Noah went to the cupboard and came back with a handful of raisins. He made two little piles on the table. “You kids know who
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