Tiger Country by Stephen J Bodio

Author:Stephen J Bodio
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Small Town & Rural, Rewilding, New Mexico, Southwest United States, Ecology
ISBN: 1629620645
Publisher: Perkunas Press
Published: 2018-10-19T00:00:00+00:00

Hargrave: “I grew up in San Diego. My father was a contractor and my mother—well, you know the fifties, she was a mother. I kept finches and parrots and, most of all, herps—you know, snakes, lizards, turtles. San Diego is a great place for snakes and such. A fine zoo where you can learn about them, a climate where you can keep them, all kinds of exotic species in the hills… Anyway, I couldn’t get enough of them. I was a serious collector, even before I turned thirteen. Knew all the scientific names. Back then it was paradise for a collector. Not like today with all the rules and regulations. I remember when I was fifteen I got this catalog from a guy named Murkerjee in India. I can even remember his address, because of the way it sounded, like a comedian with an Indian accent in a British skit: ‘Bepin Bihari Ganguli Street.’ He offered Peregrine falcons for fifty dollars, legal! Not just falcons, either—eagles, kites, merlins, white-eyed buzzards, eagle owls…”

“And snakes—Jesus, things like carpet pythons that you pay six hundred dollars for nowadays used to go for twenty-five bucks! And nobody checking on you.” Hargrave stopped then, raised up a little, subsided.

Shelagh sipped coffee from her Thermos and tried to pierce the blackness.

It seemed like minutes since Manuel had called. “Didn’t it seem rather selfish?”

“It was another time. We were all innocent. You know, I actually paid my way to college by selling off my reptile collection? Of course, I was a breeder by then. For while I thought I’d just feed my animal habit by becoming one of the guys who the government pays to do it legally. I mean, a federal biologist. I wouldn’t need permits to collect. . . hell, I’d be giving them out.

“And then came the best idea of all. I’d take some law enforcement courses and join the Fish and Wildlife Service and become a special agent. I mean, at that point I could be the best. I knew more about animals than most of those guys—half of them only knew how to tell one species from another if it’s a game animal. And I knew more about the trade than anybody…” He stopped again.

“Listen.” Manuel still had not called—his rhythms were his own, not apparent to the others. They both breathed consciously, delicately, through their mouths, trying to deaden the small sounds of their bodies. After a moment he shook his head. “I thought… nada.”

“So, then…”

“So—I realized that maybe I had it wrong. That maybe the feds, my buddies, were fucking it up even worse. That maybe the private collectors had a point. You know, governments move too slowly. The Duke of Bedford saved the Père David deer, collectors saved the eared pheasants, private breeders are saving the Rothschild’s myna…”

“Shhh.”

This time they all heard it. From out of the darkness all around them it came, from the river and the trees, upstream and down, from inside their chests and between their ears, humming and ticking.

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