crusted old teeth, the cracked and yellowing tongue. The wolf shook him once and let him go, then raised his own paw. Bob looked up. The animal's ears were back, his eyes gleaming like taxidermist's glass. Bob sensed within himself a great animal awakening and flexing.
He knew with a clear and sickening certainty that he was going to change. Right here, right now, he was going to become body with body, this wolf. His insides bubbled. He was melting, being reformed by powerful, hidden hands. His mind struggled with the matter—he was out in public now, people were bound to see. His clothes would be lost, he would be naked. And what about his wallet? There came a great spasm and his back went as straight as a rail. Frantically, he put his hand over his wallet pocket.
Then there were strong hands. "Hey, buddy, you okay?" He was lifted and he saw a flash of brass and blue. A cop was bending over him, lifting his head in a big palm. "You okay?"
"I—I—"
"Have you taken anything? Do you need a stomach pump?"
Would that get it out—he thought not. He lay with his head on the cop's knee, gazing up the powerful lines of the cage bars behind him, and high above he could see the nose of the wolf poking through, and one fang. Ever so carefully, the wolf was gnawing at his cage.
The rest of the zoo was growing quieter. "I'll be all right," Bob said through a thickness of tongue he had never felt before. A shudder racked him.
A policewoman bent over him, her face pinched. "Don't let him swallow his tongue."
"Mary, what the hell's the matter with him? I can feel his bones, he's shaped funny."
"Sim, it's a fit. The guy is a cripple and an epileptic." Her face softened. She was a mere child, probably not much past twenty. "Grand mal seizure," she said. "We've got to keep him from swallowing his tongue."
He could not speak, especially not when she stuffed a pocket comb redolent of her styling mousse in his mouth.
"It's not drunk or drugs?"
"Nah. Don't haul him in on a substances charge. We'll look like jerks."
"Thanks, Mary. I don't want an arrest. I don't want to lose lunch break."
Their hands holding him, the sweat of their presence, the faint scent of deodorant and cologne and gunmetal had brought Bob back to the world of fingers and eyes that see in color. It hurt a little: some sort of magic was leaving him, and that was sad.
The comb was bothering him, held firmly in his mouth by Officer Mary. He began to work it with his tongue, which only made her hold it more firmly at first. "Wiiff—pibb—" Finally she removed it. She smiled. "Welcome back. See, we're gonna be fine, aren't we?"
He tried to sit up, but the cops restrained him. "Just a minute. Catch your breath."
"I'm okay."
"You sure?"
He hoped that his expression wouldn't betray him. "Yeah," he said.
The male cop suddenly ran his hands along Bob's chest. He was frowning. "You're—you were—"
"I'm okay."
"You sure are!"
They didn't prevent Bob from getting up when he tried again. The male cop was staring hard at him as he stood.
"Thank you, Officers."
The cop stood with him, looked him up and down. "Jesus!"
Bob could only turn and hurry away. Behind him he could feel the raging presence in the cage, the very wild itself straining at the toils of rusted steel.
Behind him, he heard the cops talking. "He was all bent up, Mary." There was an edge of panic in the man's voice.
"It was the seizure."
"I felt twisted bones! I felt them straighten out!"
Bob kept moving. He hardly glanced to the left and right, ignoring the remains of the pandemonium, the gorilla curled into a giant ball of fur and clutching hands, the monkeys piled in the back of their cage, still and silent, the condor staring, its beak agape.
The cop's voice rose in the distance, high, full of scream. "That man was crippled, I felt his body. I felt his bones'"
An energy had definitely departed. Even the wind had ceased to blow. The light in the streets had lost all magic. Buses and taxis
He knew with a clear and sickening certainty that he was going to change. Right here, right now, he was going to become body with body, this wolf. His insides bubbled. He was melting, being reformed by powerful, hidden hands. His mind struggled with the matter—he was out in public now, people were bound to see. His clothes would be lost, he would be naked. And what about his wallet? There came a great spasm and his back went as straight as a rail. Frantically, he put his hand over his wallet pocket.
Then there were strong hands. "Hey, buddy, you okay?" He was lifted and he saw a flash of brass and blue. A cop was bending over him, lifting his head in a big palm. "You okay?"
"I—I—"
"Have you taken anything? Do you need a stomach pump?"
Would that get it out—he thought not. He lay with his head on the cop's knee, gazing up the powerful lines of the cage bars behind him, and high above he could see the nose of the wolf poking through, and one fang. Ever so carefully, the wolf was gnawing at his cage.
The rest of the zoo was growing quieter. "I'll be all right," Bob said through a thickness of tongue he had never felt before. A shudder racked him.
A policewoman bent over him, her face pinched. "Don't let him swallow his tongue."
"Mary, what the hell's the matter with him? I can feel his bones, he's shaped funny."
"Sim, it's a fit. The guy is a cripple and an epileptic." Her face softened. She was a mere child, probably not much past twenty. "Grand mal seizure," she said. "We've got to keep him from swallowing his tongue."
He could not speak, especially not when she stuffed a pocket comb redolent of her styling mousse in his mouth.
"It's not drunk or drugs?"
"Nah. Don't haul him in on a substances charge. We'll look like jerks."
"Thanks, Mary. I don't want an arrest. I don't want to lose lunch break."
Their hands holding him, the sweat of their presence, the faint scent of deodorant and cologne and gunmetal had brought Bob back to the world of fingers and eyes that see in color. It hurt a little: some sort of magic was leaving him, and that was sad.
The comb was bothering him, held firmly in his mouth by Officer Mary. He began to work it with his tongue, which only made her hold it more firmly at first. "Wiiff—pibb—" Finally she removed it. She smiled. "Welcome back. See, we're gonna be fine, aren't we?"
He tried to sit up, but the cops restrained him. "Just a minute. Catch your breath."
"I'm okay."
"You sure?"
He hoped that his expression wouldn't betray him. "Yeah," he said.
The male cop suddenly ran his hands along Bob's chest. He was frowning. "You're—you were—"
"I'm okay."
"You sure are!"
They didn't prevent Bob from getting up when he tried again. The male cop was staring hard at him as he stood.
"Thank you, Officers."
The cop stood with him, looked him up and down. "Jesus!"
Bob could only turn and hurry away. Behind him he could feel the raging presence in the cage, the very wild itself straining at the toils of rusted steel.
Behind him, he heard the cops talking. "He was all bent up, Mary." There was an edge of panic in the man's voice.
"It was the seizure."
"I felt twisted bones! I felt them straighten out!"
Bob kept moving. He hardly glanced to the left and right, ignoring the remains of the pandemonium, the gorilla curled into a giant ball of fur and clutching hands, the monkeys piled in the back of their cage, still and silent, the condor staring, its beak agape.
The cop's voice rose in the distance, high, full of scream. "That man was crippled, I felt his body. I felt his bones'"
An energy had definitely departed. Even the wind had ceased to blow. The light in the streets had lost all magic. Buses and taxis
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