The Zoo - Chapter 7

The light hurt. Mortimer blinked a few times and tried again. His head was pounding and his mouth was dry. His stomach felt empty yet the thought of eating nearly made him retch. As soon as the pounding in his head dulled to a mild roar, he remembered what had happened. He remembered Grug. He had killed him. At least he hoped he did. Was it bad to think that?

Mortimer tried to recall everything. He had no idea when it was or how long he had been drugged. Yesterday? A week ago? Time did not even have meaning to him. His only concept of time passing was the light and dark cycles of the lights above.

He remembered it all vividly, the crowds most of all. Some made sounds like screaming. Some made cheering sounds. Others just stood and watched, pointing some object in their hands at the cage. Mortimer remembered devices like that. He could not remember what they were called. It was too hard to think. They captured images.

He put his hand on his head. The pain was worse than the last time. They must have given him a larger dose. He could still feel the rage, the anger. Mortimer shook his head trying to shake away this foreign emotion. He decided to walk around. Standing up was a chore. As soon as he got to his feet, he immediately regretted the decision. Dizziness struck and he would have fallen if the wall wasn’t nearby to grab onto. “There shouldn’t be a wall here,” he thought as he stabilized himself. It took a moment to sink in past the throbbing pain in his temples but he realized he was not in his pen. He was in a small room with only artificial light. No windows save a small slit in the doorway.

The room was just big enough to allow him to take a few steps from the bed to the walls on either side. Mortimer paced the small area, gradually regaining his senses. He banged on the door, not to break free but in the hopes that someone would open it up. He did not like being alone in such a small space.

In the corner was a small rectangular container filled with water. Mortimer splashed some on his face. Then he cupped his hands and drank some. It tasted warm, dirty but he did not care. It helped him regain his strength. He paced some more.

Mortimer looked for a place to sit but there was only the bed, if it could be called that. It was a metal frame supporting a canvas between the poles. Mortimer had seen similar things before. After about an hour he remembered they were called cots.

Mortimer did not know how much time passed while he was there. He tried to count his sleep cycles. So he didn’t get confused, he used the only thing available to him, food. Some of it dissolved in water pretty well, and he would smear it on his wall to denote time. Somehow, when he woke, there was always food on a tray by the door waiting for him, so it made it easy.

Eventually, he started wondering where the trays came from. He tried avoiding sleep to confront the deliverer but inevitably he drifted off only to find the food when he opened his eyes again.

More and more time passed, and his wall became filled with symbols until he even became confused by them. He no longer knew how many days. He had stopped counting around thirty, but he suspected it was at least twice that. Still, he remained in this room. He started pacing around, feeling anxious. There was nothing to do. He was growing bored. He took the plate and threw it against a wall. Still, he woke up the next day to it all being clean and a fresh plate to eat.

He stopped eating. A day passed, and then another. On the third day, he woke to no food. There were no longer any walls. Was this a dream? Mortimer shook his head and walked around. For the first time in as long as he remembered, he could not see any walls. Had he been moved? He didn’t remember it. There were rocks. There was what he would describe as a waterfall pouring into a pool.  He found a cave-like structure near the lake. There were hay piles in which he could make a bed. It was far larger than his place before, and it was filled with greenery. For the first time in a long time, Mortimer felt just a tiny tinge of happiness.

Mortimer looked at the sky. The light was bright and for a moment, he thought he was free. When his eyes adjusted, he was able to see that was not so. Though there was no longer any glass, his pen was fully enclosed by landscape. There were unscalable rocks all around him, and when he allowed himself to look up, he could make out what appeared to be a metal railing. As he stared up, he saw a head poke their head out from the railing and look down at him.

He was still being observed. He shrugged. Let them watch. He was no longer being tortured by Grug. He had all this room. He couldn’t even hear them very well up there. Whatever the people holding him here wanted, he was resigned to accept.

As he explored, he noticed some other additions to his pen. There was a three-wheeled vehicle with pedals. There were tires but some were hanging from a rope. There were balls of different sizes scattered about.

Mortimer was pleased. Maybe his display of anger with Grug impressed his captors. Now they knew he wasn’t someone to be screwed with. He walked with a higher step that day. When the food came, he ate all but one piece he took and placed over by his bed. He saved one each time he was fed; partly because he wanted to have some food if they put another bully in with him, but mostly it was his way of counting time.

Over the next ten food cycles, Mortimer learned to ride the three-wheeler. It was not hard actually, he seemed to have some muscle memory for the pedaling. His riding seemed to encourage the creatures who came to watch. They would make sounds he interpreted as cheering. Without a wall, their voices no longer sounded dull and irritating. He had come to rather like their cheers.

Some days he would throw a ball at the tire. When it went through the hoop, the creatures cheered. He felt a bit of pride. He also felt his body growing stronger. At the end of the ten food cycles, he could get the ball through the hoop most of the time. He felt like he was starting to get back in shape after his previous sedentary lifestyle.

The days passed by, and in general, Mortimer was content. However, he started to notice something. It began gradually but the more time that passed, the more he noticed it. The crowds of spectators were starting to diminish. It started with just a few people, but as the days became weeks and weeks became months, the number of heads that poked out over the railing decreased substantially. It eventually reached the point where there were long periods where no one would appear at all.

Mortimer paced by the river. Maybe they weren’t allowing guests for a bit. He threw a ball which went right through the tire. No one was there to cheer. He hand’t realized how accustomed he’d become to their cheering. Mortimer shrugged and walked further down the river. Maybe tomorrow there would be more creatures watching him. Throwing the ball just did not seem very exciting to him without someone watching.

No one came the next day. Mortimer went back to his bed and counted the food. That couldn’t be right. Was their food missing? Where was everyone? Mortimer climbed up on one of the larger rocks and sat down. He closed his eyes, trying to find calm. His heart beat faster with a rising panic. What if no one came anymore? What if the beings who put him here forgot about him?

Mortimer’s heart raced. He paced back and forth. At first, he would walk the whole length of the river. As it neared the time he thought the food should arrive, his pacing shortened until he was walking two steps each way. “Where is the food” he thought. “They forgot about me, I knew it.” Inevitably, the food appeared on a table in the shed and Mortimer relaxed. At least until the food was gone and he paced again.

Despondence set in. Mortimer no longer road the bike. He no longer played with the tires. His time was spent pacing and sitting on the tall rock. He seemed to have a twitch in his left hand as it was difficult to hold the food without dropping it. He had begun talking to himself. Muttering about being forgotten.

One day, he finally snapped. He tried futilely to break the rock, or the rock walls. In the end, he succeeded only in making a bloody mess of his knuckles. Even that didn’t seem to bring more guests. He curled up on his bed, brought his knees to his chest, and cried himself to sleep.