Zucchini Out West Page 8

  “Only sometimes,” said Emma.

  Billy ignored his sister. “I didn’t ask one question,” he said.

  “Don’t worry about it,” said Mr. Reynolds.

  “I have to,” said Billy. “I have to learn. No one cares about the animals. I have to help.”

  “You will,” said his father.

  “How?” said Billy. “I have to talk to people. I have to ask questions and tell them my ideas.”

  “There’s a wonderful thing called a naked mole rat,” said Emma, “and it’s really what I want.”

  “Let Billy talk,” said Mr. Reynolds.

  “It’s completely hairless.”

  “Tell me later,” said Mr. Reynolds.

  “I want to tell you now.”

  “I’m talking to Billy.”

  “A naked mole rat would make him smile. They’re amusing and wrinkled.”

  “Shut up for once,” said Billy.

  The waitress arrived with their lunch. Mr. Reynolds was hungry and began eating right away. “You’ll get over it,” he told Billy through a large bite of sandwich. “You need practice.”

  “Practice makes perfect,” said Emma. “That’s what Mrs. Shump told me when I cut out the bunny for the Easter picture. I was cutting so carefully and then I made the wrong mistake.”

  “You don’t make the wrong mistake,” said Billy. “You just make a mistake.”

  “I know,” said Emma. “Like when you were stupid and didn’t ask one question.”

  “I’ve got a great idea!” said Mr. Reynolds.

  “What?” said Billy.

  “It’s a surprise.”

  “A naked mole rat?” said Emma.

  “Something better,” said Mr. Reynolds.

  “I doubt it,” said Emma.

  Mr. Reynolds put down his sandwich and went to find a phone.

  Rodeo

  That night Billy had a talk with Zucchini.

  They went for a walk behind the Holiday Inn, Billy holding Zucchini’s leash, Zucchini sniffing about the close-cropped grass and occasional bushes.

  “I’m sorry I couldn’t take you to the prairie today,” said Billy.

  What’s wrong? Zucchini wondered. Why couldn’t you take me?

  Billy sat down on the grass and held Zucchini close. “I wanted to take you,” he said, “but there was a reason I couldn’t. I can’t explain it now, but I will. I’ll take you. I promise. You have to be patient.”

  Everyone’s telling me to be patient, thought Zucchini. First One-Day Service, and now Billy. It’s not easy to do. I hope I get some patience soon.

  After dinner they went to the rodeo. Zucchini had a great time. He sat on Billy’s shoulders and watched as clowns in brightly colored costumes distracted giant bulls who went charging around the ring, heads down and snorting.

  This is exciting! thought Zucchini.

  He watched the cowboys rope calves, wrestle steer, and ride the bucking broncos. Then came the barrel racing. The first rider was a five-year-old girl. Her enormous black horse charged out of the starting gate, its tiny rider kicking with short legs. The girl’s boots were bright flashes of red in the spotlight shining down from the judges’ tower.

  “That’s for me,” said Emma. She stood up on the narrow plank of the bleachers.

  Mr. Reynolds grabbed her by the seat of her kangaroo suit. “Nothing doing,” he said.

  “But why?”

  “Sit down.”

  Emma sat. Her lower lip began to tremble. Eyes wide, she watched the girl kick furiously and flap her elbows as her horse sped around the barrel in a tight circle, then took off across the arena.

  The sun was setting behind the mountains as Zucchini watched from his perch, the cool evening breeze blowing in his face.

  This is great, he thought. I’ll worry about getting patience tomorrow.

  In the morning they left for the Teton Mountains. Their next stop was Jackson Hole, where Tom Campbell had his research company. Billy had a lot to ask Mr. Campbell about the survival of the black-footed ferrets. He hoped he had the courage.

  Maybe I’ll hear from Miss Pickett when I get to Jackson Hole, he thought as they headed west on Route 14. Maybe she’ll say she made a mistake, that Zucchini is a domestic ferret after all. Then I can keep him! I have to!

  Zucchini took his position on Billy’s shoulders. He pressed his nose against the glass and peered through the window as they passed through Shoshone National Forest. The rust-red clay buttes rose like towers to the sky, the gentle river wound below, and all around Zucchini saw the pine trees, the sagebrush, and the aspens, feather soft, with the snow-capped mountains high in the distance.

  Soon they entered Yellowstone Park, the home of wolves. Billy had followed the debate on returning the wolves to their land. He felt they belonged there. He thought of Margaret, the girl from next door who loved them so. Billy didn’t see any wolves that day, but he saw nineteen buffalo, two elk, seven moose, a herd of antelope, five deer, and a golden eagle.

  Heading south, they entered Grand Teton National Park. The giant Teton Mountains went straight up from the gentle valley. Billy loved the soft forest beds, the glaciers, the lakes, the meadows high up, the tall pine trees, and the aspens with their white trunks. The mountains were mostly covered with snow, but near the bottom their slopes were clear, a good place for mountain sheep to graze.

  When they reached Jackson Hole, they drove up a long winding road to the top of a butte. Here they stopped at Spring Brook Ranch, a resort with small wooden cabins along the rim of the butte. From their room they had a view of the whole valley. Billy stood at the window, holding Zucchini as they looked across the valley, past the cows, to the Teton Mountains rising without warning straight up from the valley floor. The peaks of the mountains were jagged and white like the teeth of a shark. Zucchini could hear the sound of his heart beating. He felt very small.

  Tom Campbell

  The next morning the surprise came. Zucchini watched from inside his sweatshirt sleeve as Billy opened the package. It was a tape recorder. Mr. Reynolds had called Billy’s stepfather and had asked him to send it from his audio-equipment store by overnight mail.

  “Thank you,” said Billy when he saw the shiny black machine. It was not much bigger than a deck of cards.

  “Now here’s the thing,” said Mr. Reynolds. He had woken up hungry and was eating cashew nuts and drinking V-8 juice from a can as he spoke. “You can use it for your interviews. You write out your questions before you go. Then when you meet the guys, you read the questions and tape their answers.”

  “They might be girls,” said Emma. She was watching TV and spoke without turning around.

  “They’re not,” said Billy.

  “Girls can answer questions.”

  “I know,” said Billy.

  “And lots of girls know about ferrets.”

  “Women study ferrets,” said Billy, “but the people I’m trying to interview right now are men.”

  “Maybe not.”

  “Their names are Tom.”

  “My friend’s name is Sam and she’s a girl.”

  “These are guys,” said Mr. Reynolds.

  “Maybe not,” said Emma. “Everybody thinks it’s boys and the girls get shuffled back.”

  “You’re not going to get shuffled back,” said Mr. Reynolds. “I wouldn’t worry about it.”

  “Some girls do,” said Emma. “They think it’s only boys who can be it and they don’t try.”

  Mr. Reynolds finished off his V-8 juice. He threw the can into the wastebasket on the far side of the room. “I’m glad you don’t think that way,” he said.

  “I don’t,” said Emma. “Girls can be anything. Like horse riders or truck-driving people or garbagemen too if they want.”

  “Of course they can,” said Mr. Reynolds.

  “Garbagewomen,” said Billy.

  Mr. Reynolds picked up the tape recorder. “So here’s what you do,” he continued to Billy. “You ask the people�
��”

  “That’s better,” said Emma.

  “You’re right,” said Mr. Reynolds. “You ask the people if it’s all right to tape the interview, and if they say yes, you’re in business.”

  “Can I try it?” Emma asked.

  “Maybe later,” said Billy.

  “Kangaroos like tape recorders. They keep them in their pouches.”

  “Not this one,” said Billy.

  Before they went to breakfast, Billy called his mother. She had heard nothing from Miss Pickett. Billy was disappointed. He tried not to worry, but it was hard. It was also hard to call Tom Campbell, but he had to. They had come too far to stop now.

  “Biota,” said the friendly voice on the other end of the phone.

  “Is Tom Campbell there?” asked Billy.

  “This is he.”

  Billy took a deep breath. He had written out what he wanted to say on a small piece of paper. “My name is Billy Reynolds,” he read. “I’m studying ferrets for school. I wanted to meet you because I need to ask you questions.”

  “That’d be fine,” said Mr. Campbell.

  “When can I ask you the questions?”

  “I have some time today,” said Mr. Campbell. “Want to come by at noon?”

  “O.K.” said Billy. He wrote down the directions very carefully, said good-bye to Mr. Campbell, and hung up the phone.

  I did it! he thought. That wasn’t so bad.

  Zucchini watched from his cage inside the Pathfinder as Billy, Mr. Reynolds, and Emma walked toward the wood-beam house. Billy knocked on the door. A nice-looking man in jeans and a long-sleeved polo shirt with small letters on the upper left side opened the door.

  Who’s that? thought Zucchini.

  It was Tom Campbell.

  Billy’s heart raced with excitement as they went inside the house.

  “You must be Billy,” said Mr. Campbell, closing the door behind them. “It’s good to meet you.”

  “My tooth is bent over from looseness,” said Emma. “Want to see?”

  “Well, sure,” said Mr. Campbell.

  “Not now,” said Mr. Reynolds. “Billy needs to talk with Mr. Campbell. We’ll leave them alone for a while.”

  Billy felt a wave of panic. The idea of being alone with a famous biologist was scary. He told himself to calm down.

  This is what I came for, he thought. I can’t stop now.

  They arranged for Billy to be picked up in an hour. Then Mr. Reynolds and Emma left.

  “Have a seat,” said Mr. Campbell. He motioned to the couch by the window.

  “Thank you,” said Billy. He looked about the room. It had a cozy feeling, with lots of light. There were plants, and pictures of wildlife, and lots of books. A map of a riverbed hung near the door to the kitchen. Below that, in a cabinet, was a collection of small animal bones.

  Mr. Campbell sat across from Billy. Billy liked him right away. He was tall, with a friendly face and light-brown hair. He wore the same kind of sneakers Billy did.

  We’re alike, thought Billy. We care about animals and helping nature and we have the same kind of sneakers.

  Billy felt in that moment that he not only admired Tom Campbell, but that he wanted to be exactly like him.

  “So you’re interested in ferrets,” said Mr. Campbell.

  “Yes,” said Billy. He looked down at his tape recorder, which he held tightly on his lap, along with his list of questions.

  “I see you have a tape recorder,” said Mr. Campbell.

  “Yes,” said Billy. He appreciated the way Mr. Campbell spoke to him, as one person to another, not like he was speaking to a child. Then Billy remembered his plan. He took a deep breath and opened his list of questions. “Is it O.K. if I turn on my tape recorder?” he read.

  “Sure thing,” said Mr. Campbell.

  Billy pushed the button that said RECORD.

  “What got you interested in ferrets?” Mr. Campbell asked.

  Billy thought of Zucchini. He wanted to tell Mr. Campbell all about him: how he had found Zucchini at the ASPCA; how he had built him a cage; how Zucchini liked the insides of lima beans; how he hid things under the refrigerator and walked on a leash and rode in Billy’s sweatshirt hood; how he looked like a black-footed ferret; how he might even be one!

  I can’t tell Mr. Campbell yet, Billy thought. He would ask to see Zucchini. He would know if Zucchini was a black-footed ferret. If he is, I won’t be able to keep him! I have to wait. Maybe I’ll hear from Miss Pickett. Maybe she’ll say he’s a domestic ferret. Maybe she changed her mind. Maybe I heard her wrong.

  He looked at Mr. Campbell. “I’ve been interested in ferrets for a long time,” he said. “I saw one in New York and I liked it.”

  The Interview

  “How do you look for ferrets?” asked Billy. It was Question Number One on his list.

  Mr. Campbell threw his leg over the side of his chair. “There’s two ways you look for ferrets,” he said. “It depends on the time of year. In winter you work in the daylight, counting prairie-dog burrows and tracking the ferrets in the snow. In summer you look for them at night with spotlights.”

  Billy looked down at his list. He was so excited. He could hardly believe he was really there, interviewing Tom Campbell! He breathed in deep, then read the next question.

  “Where do you sleep?”

  “You sleep in tents, or sheepherder’s wagons, or sometimes in a house or a motel.”

  “That sounds like fun,” said Billy. He surprised himself. He hadn’t expected to say anything that wasn’t on his list.

  “It is,” said Mr. Campbell, “but sometimes it’s hard to sleep, especially if you’re in a tent in bright daylight and you’re sweating because it’s eighty-five degrees out.”

  I wouldn’t care about sleeping, Billy thought. I would be too excited.

  He read the next question. “If some big company wants to drill for oil or put down a pipeline, can they do it even if it will hurt ferrets?”

  “Companies have to have surveys done anytime they want to do something like that,” said Mr. Campbell. “We have to be sure that what the companies want to do won’t be bad for ferrets. It’s the same with any endangered species.”

  The more Billy heard about Tom Campbell’s work, the more he wanted to do it.

  “Would you like some orange juice?” asked Mr. Campbell.

  “Sure,” said Billy.

  “Hold on a minute.” Mr. Campbell got up and went into the kitchen. Billy noticed how tall he was and how strong.

  I want to be just like him, Billy thought.

  And then he had another thought: I want to be him.

  “Here you go,” said Mr. Campbell. He handed Billy a tall glass of orange juice, then sat back down with a glass of his own.

  “Do you think there are any more ferrets?” asked Billy. It was a question farther down on his list, but it came to his mind so he asked it then.

  “I’ve become less optimistic over the years,” said Mr. Campbell. He took a long drink of orange juice.

  “What does optimistic mean?” asked Billy.

  “Expecting the best,” said Mr. Campbell.

  “The best would be more ferrets?”

  “Right,” said Mr. Campbell. “I’d love to be wrong on this one, but I don’t think they’re out there. There’s been a lot of people looking. The public is involved now. There’s a ten-thousand dollar reward for anyone finding a black-footed ferret.”

  Billy thought of Zucchini. If Zucchini was a black-footed ferret, he would be worth $10,000!

  That’s a lot of money, thought Billy, but I don’t care. I’d rather have Zucchini than all the money in the world.

  He checked his list. “What else do you do with ferrets?” he asked. He could feel his shyness slipping away.

  “Well, let’s see,” said Mr. Campbell. “We do surveys. We look for reintroduction sites.”

  “How do you do that?”

  “We generally sweep through an area on foot. There’s
several things we look for. First, we collect burrow density information and plug that into our H.S.I.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Habitat Suitability Index. It tells us how good the prairie-dog complex is for ferrets. If you’re free one summer, you should come out with us.”

  “Really?” said Billy. He could hardly believe what he had heard.

  “Sure,” said Mr. Campbell. “I like to encourage future biologists.”

  Billy’s heart was pounding. It sounded too good to be true. He put down his notes. New questions poured into his mind. He felt no fear. “What did it feel like after you found the ferrets in Meeteetse and then they started to disappear, but you didn’t know why?”

  “It was disturbing,” said Mr. Campbell. “We should have moved them, but there was a difference of opinion. By the following summer, distemper had nearly knocked them out.”

  “I know,” said Billy.

  Mr. Campbell drank some more of his juice. “When you’re dealing with an endangered species, you can’t be too careful,” he said. “Once a species is lost, it’s lost forever.”

  “I know,” said Billy. “They say ferrets don’t matter, or owls, or eagles, but who knows?” There was no stopping now. Billy had to say this. He had thought about it for a long time. He cared so much. “I think everything is connected to everything else,” he said. “One thing needs another thing and that thing needs something else. You can ruin something and then it’s gone, like a kind of an animal, or certain trees, or rivers, or a small part of the atmosphere, but it could be a very important part. I think everything is important, only sometimes we don’t know how. After it’s gone, we could find out why the world needed it, but then it would be too late. We could never get it back.”

  Mr. Campbell set down his empty juice glass. He looked at Billy, but he didn’t speak.

  I said too much, Billy thought. I sounded stupid.

  Mr. Campbell kept looking at Billy. He smiled. At last he spoke. “Anytime you want to come out with us,” he said, “you just let me know.”

  Patience

  They ate lunch at Nora’s Fish Creek Café, a restaurant in a log cabin specializing in thick pancakes. Billy told his father all about the interview, how he had asked a lot of questions, how he had stopped being shy. “It just happened,” he said. “Mr. Campbell was so nice and I was thinking about the ferrets. I forgot everything else.”