The Young of Other Animals: A Novel by Chris Cander

Author:Chris Cander [Cander, Chris]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Little A
Published: 2024-02-01T00:00:00+00:00

On the side of the house next to the driveway, where the row of boxwoods stopped, Mayree stood with her hands on her hips looking down at something in the dirt.

“Mom, what is it?” Paula yelled as she and Kelly turned the corner.

Mayree pointed. “Possum.”

It was a young opossum, or at least a small one, lying prone with its eyes closed inside one of those huge, old, steel-jaw traps. Its back leg was caught between the teeth and bleeding. One of its ears—fragile and nearly translucent—seemed to twitch. Paula bent down to see if it was breathing but she couldn’t tell.

“I wouldn’t even have known it was there if I hadn’t been standing by the sink.” Mayree flicked her cigarette toward the kitchen window. “I heard that thing snap shut and it damn near scared the shit out of me.”

“We have to get it out,” Paula said, frantically looking for something nearby that could help her unclench the jaws. There was a hose coiled on the ground. A rusty shovel leaning against the side of the house. “It might still be alive.” She couldn’t bear the sight of that innocent creature trapped and injured.

“Oh hell no,” Mayree said. “Possums are rodents. They can carry rabies. Besides, that one’s dead.”

“Dad told me possums play dead even when they’re not. It might just be hurt.”

“What I don’t understand is where that nasty trap came from,” Mayree said. “I sure as hell didn’t set it.”

“Maybe Uncle Frank put it out before he died,” Kelly said.

“I doubt it,” Mayree said. “This looks homemade, or at least old as hell. Even back home we didn’t use contraptions like that.”

Distraught, Paula took the shovel and tried to use the flat edge to wedge the trap open. The animal’s front paws were splayed out on either side of its head. Its fur looked incredibly soft. “What if its mother is looking for it?”

In her mind, she was being chased, running through the woods, the moon barely lighting a path between the trees, her abrupt stop accidentally tripping the guy, him lying face down in the dirt, hands splayed out, not moving. Maybe not breathing. She didn’t know; she hadn’t checked. Find the road.

Mayree grabbed the shovel from Paula’s hands. “Stop it,” she said. “Mama possums never come back for their babies.” With both hands, Mayree hoisted the shovel and brought it down on the opossum’s neck like a guillotine. “There. If it wasn’t dead before, it is now. Kelly, honey, do me a favor. Call your daddy and ask him to come give us a hand. I just don’t feel like dealing with this mess right now.” She leaned the shovel against the house and went inside.

Paula dropped to her knees and stared at the blood seeping slowly into the dirt.

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