Zucchini Read online

  Zucchini

  Barbara Dana

  To my beloved Guru,

  Hari,

  and my beloved Paramguru,

  Ralph Harris Houston

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Some Kind of Weasel

  Chapter Two

  Shrew’s Tale

  Chapter Three

  Letter

  Chapter Four

  Escape

  Chapter Five

  Squirrel on the IRT

  Chapter Six

  Rescue

  Chapter Seven

  Trapped

  Chapter Eight

  Miss Pickett

  Chapter Nine

  Resting Place

  Chapter Ten

  Billy

  Chapter Eleven

  Mr. Devlin and the Frogs

  Chapter Twelve

  Decision

  Chapter Thirteen

  New Name

  Chapter Fourteen

  New Creatures

  Chapter Fifteen

  Caring

  Chapter Sixteen

  Friends

  Chapter Seventeen

  Hot Dogs and Sauerkraut

  Chapter Eighteen

  Arnold

  Chapter Nineteen

  One-Day Service

  Chapter Twenty

  Memo From the Frog Man

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Trust

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Marsha’s Bag

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Peanut Butter Cookies

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Central Park Zoo

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Shopping Mall

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Nine-Banded Armadillo

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Moving

  About the Author

  Other Books by Barbara Dana

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  Chapter One

  Some Kind of Weasel

  Zucchini was born in the rodent house at the Bronx Zoo. When he was six weeks old, the rodent man put him in a cage of his own, separating him from his mother. It was time for him to become independent.

  For days, the tiny ferret huddled in the corner of his glass-enclosed cage, refusing to eat. He wanted nothing but his mother. He would wait for her return. The zoo people had placed her at the far end of the rodent house, but noting Zucchini’s condition after three days, had moved her to a cage directly across from her offspring. Zucchini picked up his mother’s scent instantly and moved to the front of his cage. He peered questioningly through the thickness of the glass that separated them.

  “You’ll do well,” his mother told him with her eyes. “You’re growing up. It’s time to become independent.”

  “I don’t want to be independent,” said Zucchini. “I want to be with you.”

  “Be patient,” said his mother. “That will change.”

  As the days passed, Zucchini began to feel more comfortable. After all, there wasn’t much that could happen to him in his tiny cage with its orange light and fake ground. No need to panic. He could survive. Then on the seventh day, his mother was again moved to the far end of the rodent house.

  I’ll be all right, thought Zucchini, but still he was lonely. He had no one. No brothers or sisters, no friends of any kind. The cage on his left was empty, and the one on his right had bats. Zucchini didn’t like bats. He could hear them endlessly flapping around, banging into the walls, and he couldn’t figure out what they were after.

  Across the way lived a Mexican pocket gopher and a restless groundhog. The pocket gopher spent her time tunneling through an elaborate network of passageways while the groundhog paced. Zucchini could sense that they both would rather not be interrupted, so he left them alone.

  Sometimes Zucchini would catch a glimpse of the rodent man. His name was Rex, and he wore a faded green uniform. Mostly, Rex would stand around, leaning on his shovel, staring into space. Zucchini often wondered why Rex had a shovel. (There wasn’t anything to dig.)

  Zucchini passed his days in boredom. The big event of the day was when Rex dropped a carrot into his cage and gave him fresh water. Sometimes Zucchini would try to think up new activities, but the possibilities were few. He could walk in circles, back up, take a nap, eat, clean his fur, make up stories, drink his water or hide inside his log from the people who looked into his cage.

  Every day people would come and peer at Zucchini through the glass and point their fingers.

  “What’s that?” someone would usually ask.

  “Beats me,” another would answer. “Must be some kind of weasel.”

  “What kind of weasel?”

  “Beats me.”

  Each day the people would mutter in confusion because the rodent house was dark, and Zucchini’s sign was poorly lit. Also, some of the letters had come off. The people who took the trouble to bend, squint, put on their glasses or get out their flashlights only came up with F RR T ZUCC NI, which wasn’t a lot of help. Rex noted the confusion with a wry smile and silently cursed the maintenance department. Those guys never get things done, was his feeling.

  Zucchini adjusted to his surroundings, but deep down he felt there must be more to life. At night he would sometimes dream of open places, places with light and air and different smells and beautiful colors, but when he woke up he could barely remember.

  Where was I? he would think. Was it real? It was nice. Not like here. What is this place? So dark and cramped and pointless. Is this where I belong? I’m so lonely. I’m not having a good time, and I’m not doing anybody else any good. Something’s wrong.

  These feelings built up in Zucchini until he had no choice but to share them.

  I’ll try the groundhog, he thought. I’ll interrupt him for once. This is important.

  Zucchini waited until nighttime, when the rodent house was quiet and free of people.

  “Excuse me,” he said in a somewhat timid voice to the pacing groundhog. “Could I speak to you for a minute?”

  “Suit yourself,” said the groundhog.

  “I’m sorry to bother you. I know you’re busy, but I’m young and tiny and you’re older and you seem to have things organized.”

  “Get to the point,” said the groundhog.

  “Yes,” said Zucchini. “Well, I’ve been wondering about something.”

  “That’s your first mistake,” said the groundhog.

  “What’s that?”

  “Wondering. It’ll get you nowhere.”

  “I don’t do it on purpose,” said Zucchini.

  “Well, stop,” said the groundhog. “One, two, three. Where’s your willpower?”

  “I don’t have any,” said Zucchini.

  “Rubbish,” said the groundhog.

  Zucchini waited a moment, then gathered his courage.

  “Do you ever get the feeling there’s more?”

  “More what?” said the groundhog. He was circling his rock, heading back in the direction of his water bowl.

  “More things,” said Zucchini, “more than we see. This rodent house, the cages, the orange lights, the water bowls, the rocks, the bats, the people staring in at us, Rex—is that all there is?”

  “What you see is what you get,” said the groundhog.

  “At night I see other places, places with light and air and different smells and beautiful colors.”

  “You’re dreaming,” said the groundhog. “It’s all in the mind.”

  Zucchini thought about what the groundhog had told him, but could make no sense of it.

  It’s all in the mind, he thought, but is that the only place it is? Maybe it’s in the mind and also in other places. It’s all in the mind means that everything is in the mind,
but isn’t everything also everywhere else? I should have asked him. He didn’t make it clear.

  Chapter Two

  Shrew’s Tale

  The next day, a new arrival was brought in. It was a tiny masked shrew, and Rex placed her in the empty cage on Zucchini’s left. The shrew slept for several hours, then woke up, blinked her eyes and began backing up. Zucchini’s cage was at a slight right angle to the shrew’s cage, so he had a good view of the goings-on. He watched as the shrew circled her cage several times backward, bashed into the wall, fell over, got up, reversed direction and ran, full speed ahead, toward a metal drain on the floor of her cage. When she reached the drain she began digging furiously.

  Zucchini moved up to his window and stared in disbelief. “What are you doing?” he asked.

  “Digging,” said the shrew.

  “I see that,” said Zucchini, “but why?”

  “I have to get back,” said the shrew. She didn’t stop digging. Scratch, scratch, scratch, went her tiny nails on the hard cement surface.

  “Back where?” said Zucchini.

  “Back home,” said the shrew.

  “Where’s home?” asked Zucchini.

  “Dutchess County,” said the shrew. “My nest is all set up. Dried leaves and grass. It’s perfect.”

  “Well, where is that?” asked Zucchini. “Where is Dutchess County?”

  “Can’t talk,” said the shrew. “No time.”

  “Oh, please,” said Zucchini. “Don’t tell me that! This is important! The groundhog says there is no other place. He says this rodent house is all there is, but I don’t believe him.”

  “No time,” said the shrew. “Sorry for the inconvenience.”

  “It’s no inconvenience,” said Zucchini. “It’s my life! Stop digging! Please! Listen! Just answer one question! Answer this question, and I promise I won’t ask any more!”

  The shrew stopped digging and stared at Zucchini with piercing eyes. “Just one,” said the shrew.

  “Just one,” said Zucchini.

  “What is it?” said the shrew.

  Zucchini took a deep breath. “Is Dutchess County in this rodent house?”

  “No,” said the shrew.

  “No!” said Zucchini.

  “That’ll be all,” said the shrew. She turned back to the drain and resumed digging with purpose.

  “I knew it,” said Zucchini. “There is somewhere else!”

  That night Zucchini returned to the groundhog. “It’s me again,” he said, peering through the darkness of the rodent house.

  “What now?” said the groundhog. He was standing in his water bowl, presumably soaking his paws.

  “That shrew over there,” said Zucchini, “she’s been digging for hours. Have you noticed?”

  “I’ve noticed,” said the groundhog.

  “I asked her about it, and she said she wants to get back. She belongs in Dutchess County. She has a nest set up and everything.”

  “So what?” said the groundhog.

  “Well, where is that?” said Zucchini. “I never heard of it.”

  “Are you king of the world?”

  “No.”

  “Well, there you are.”

  Zucchini thought about that for a minute while the groundhog stepped slowly out of his water bowl and shook the water from his paws.

  “Excuse me for continuing,” said Zucchini, “but what does that have to do with anything?”

  “Nothing,” said the groundhog.

  “Well, why did you mention it?”

  “Two can play that game.”

  “What game?” said Zucchini.

  “What you’ve heard of doesn’t have anything to do with anything either,” said the groundhog. “It’s got no bearing.”

  “What I mean,” said Zucchini, “is that if Dutchess County is a place I never heard of, then it might be a place you never heard of; and if it’s real and it’s not here, then it must be somewhere else. Do you see what I’m driving at?”

  “Not really,” said the groundhog. He began pacing again, back and forth along the edge of his glass window.

  “Stop pacing!” said Zucchini. “Listen! The shrew says there’s more!”

  The groundhog stopped and stared at Zucchini as if he’d gone mad. “Are you going to listen to a shrew?” he asked. “Look at the size of her. Consider her brain. Like a pea, or smaller. You decide.”

  “I guess I’ll have to,” said Zucchini. He watched as the groundhog resumed his pacing. “Can I ask one more question?”

  “Make it brief,” said the groundhog.

  “Where do the people go?”

  “What people?”

  “The people who come in here,” said Zucchini. “They go up those stairs and disappear. Where do they go?”

  “They’re people,” said the groundhog. “They’ve got their ways.”

  “But if they go somewhere, that means there’s somewhere to go.”

  “If you want to follow a bunch of lunatic people, that’s your business.”

  Zucchini couldn’t help feeling that the groundhog was hiding something. He watched him pace and sensed his restlessness.

  “Do you like it here?” Zucchini asked.

  “I hate it,” said the groundhog, “but the food is regular.”

  Chapter Three

  Letter

  The next morning a noisy group of third graders woke Zucchini up, shouting and jumping around.

  What’s this? thought Zucchini as he peered out from inside his hollow log.

  “Quiet!” the teacher was saying. “Turn your attention here.” She looked exhausted and was sipping coffee from a plastic no-spill thermos.

  “What’s that?” said a large boy in a torn T-shirt. He was pointing at Zucchini.

  “That’s a ferret,” said the teacher. “We spoke of them in class, you may recall.”

  “I don’t recall nothin’,” said the boy. “Not me.” He went over to the bats and pounded on the glass window. “HOO, HOO,” he shrieked.

  I wish he wouldn’t do that, thought Zucchini. He crawled back into his log and put his paws over his ears.

  “HOO, HOO,” shrieked the boy.

  “Stop that, Bruce,” said the teacher. “Stop that this minute, or you will sit on the bus.”

  The boy sat down on the floor and stared at his knees.

  “This way,” said the teacher. “We’re due at the birds at eleven.” She took a last long sip of coffee and led the children up the stairs.

  The boy remained motionless.

  “Off the floor,” shouted Rex. He was down by the kangaroo rats, leaning on his shovel. “Off the floor. Follow your group.”

  The boy remained on the floor, still staring at his knees. Rex set his shovel up against the wall and moved up to the boy. Next to him stood a small dark-haired girl who looked quietly at Zucchini.

  “Move it, now. Both of ya,” said Rex. “You’ll get lost in this place.”

  “I won’t get lost,” said the girl. “I know where the birds are, and I have a watch.” She pulled a neatly folded piece of paper from her pocket. “Will you give this to the ferret?” she asked.

  “What is it?” said Rex.

  “It’s a letter,” said the girl. “I’d do it myself, but I can’t get into his cage. You have a key.”

  “There’s no key,” said Rex. “Now beat it.” He turned to the boy. “You too. Off the floor.”

  “Why won’t you give it to him?” said the girl. She was almost in tears.

  “Ferrets can’t read,” said Rex.

  “How do you know?” asked the girl.

  “Anybody knows,” said Rex.

  “They understand more than you think,” said the girl.

  “Sure they do. Right. They understand more than you think, but they can’t read.”

  “You don’t know that,” the girl insisted. “You just think it in your big mind, but maybe you’re wrong.”

  “Beat it,” said Rex.

  “Please,” said th
e girl. She began to cry. “I worked so hard. It took me three whole hours.”

  “All right. Don’t cry,” said Rex. “Give it to me.” He reached out for the letter. “Give it to me and get out of here.”

  “Thank you,” said the girl. She gave Rex the letter and turned to the boy. “It’s almost eleven,” she said.

  The boy got up slowly and followed her up the stairs to find the others.

  Rex stuffed the letter in his pocket and forgot about it until late that afternoon. It had been a quiet day, and Rex was bored. He reached into his pocket for a pack of Velamints he remembered having left there, pulled out the mints and also the letter.

  “Oh, yeah,” he muttered to himself. He popped a Velamint into his mouth and approached Zucchini’s cage. “You got a letter,” he said.

  Zucchini crawled out from inside his log.

  What’s a letter? he thought.

  If Rex hadn’t been so bored he never would have read the letter, but standing around the darkened rodent house on a quiet day was a kind of torture for Rex. By three o’clock he was ready for anything. He moved up near Zucchini’s window. “Get this now,” he said.

  After years in the rodent house Rex’s eyes had become accustomed to the darkness. He had little trouble making out the letters as he read:

  Dear Ferret,

  How are you? I am calling you Ferret because I don’t know what your name is because your sign is all messed up. I am interested in animals that are disappearing and one of them is you the black-footed ferret. My teacher says that you are indangered. I am sorry for that. I wish I knew more about you. I know you come from the open prairys where the land is flat, I know thats near oklahoma because my ant lives there but I don’t know anything else. I am 8. I wish I was older So I could stop you from being indangered. But that job is for grown ups. Do you like it in this zoo? I wouldn’t.