Gator on the Loose! (10 page)

The alligator squiggled in her little space, swishing her tail back and forth. Keisha stroked the side of the crate. Pumpkin-Petunia snapped her jaws.

“Shhhh,” Keisha said. “It’s going to be all right. I’m your friend.”

“Keisha, my lovely girl,” Mama called from the window. “You have to wash your hands for dinner. I am making
egusi.”

Egusi
was a spicy yellow soup made with meat, red chilies, ground dried shrimp, pumpkin and vegetables.

Mmmmmm. It was Keisha’s favorite.

“And
chin-chin.”

Mmmm again. Keisha loved to dip the sweet fried
chin-chin
bread into her soup.

“Will Petunia be okay out here by herself?”

“I thought she was Pumpkin…. You know what your daddy thinks about naming the animals….”

“She’s Pumpkin-Petunia Carter,” Keisha said quietly.

“We’ll be right up here. I’ll keep the window open so you can check. I need you to set the table. I invited Mr. Sanders and the twins.”

“PetuniaPetuniaPetunia.” Razi came running down the steps with a fistful of flowers. So much for his rest.

“She’s Pumpkin-Petunia now,” Keisha said. “You’re holding those too tight. You’re crushing the stems.”

Razi took Keisha’s mister and started to spray the flowers. They were already drooping. If only he could learn not to hold so tight.

“These need to be put in water, Razi. Come on. I’ll be right back, Pumpkin-Petunia.”

Inside, the kitchen was filled with the smell of fried
chin-chin
. Mama made the dough in the afternoon and fried up squares while grinding the pumpkin seeds and making the paste of onion, tomato and pepper for her
egusi
soup.

Baby Paulo had taken a long nap. His big brown eyes took in all the activity around him. Daddy was sitting next to the baby, and when Paulo was ready for another spoonful of mashed yams, he pounded the high chair a few times and then opened his mouth like a bird. Razi darted under the table with a set of keys and Daddy’s toolbox.

Keisha washed her hands.

“I’ve got it!” Grandma said. She was waving a bunch of papers and almost walked right past her chair. Grandma had the oldest bones, so she got the chair with the biggest cushion.

“Got what?” Zeke asked, pushing open the back door.

“A place in Alabama that takes in lost alligators. I found it on the Internet.”

Daddy rinsed the baby’s dishes as Mr. Sanders and Zack filed in behind Zeke. Keisha found the guest chair from the living room so there were places for everyone. It was Mrs. Sanders’s Bunco night, so she would be out late throwing dice with her friends.

“Are you sure it’s not an alligator farm, Mom? There are places that raise gators for their meat and skins, you know.”

Daddy spooned out the soup. Zeke and Zack didn’t like
egusi
as much as their dad did, but they usually ate a lot of
chin-chin
. They each took three pieces when the plate was passed around.

“I’m not stupid, mister. This isn’t a farm, it’s an alley. Don’t forget my cocktail, Keisha.”

“How can you keep alligators in an alley?” Zeke asked, spreading a napkin on his lap.

Grandma sighed and sipped her milk. “Where’s the parasol? Just because it’s milk, I don’t get a parasol?” Keisha found the breakfast parasol on the counter and hoped Grandma wouldn’t notice the pomegranate stains on the stem. She slipped it in the milk while Grandma scanned the papers she’d printed.

“It’s all right here in black and white,” Grandma said, tossing the papers to the center of the table and taking off her glasses.

Mama looked around, checking for missing diners. “Razi, stop that clicking and come out from under the table.”

Every once in a while, when Razi got busy with his locks and keys, the rest of the family forgot about him. Daddy lifted Razi up, carried him to the sink and put his hands under the faucet.

Zeke and Zack studied the pages Grandma had printed off the computer.

“Right here …” Grandma leaned over, squinting. “Where are my bifocals?”

“Are they under your napkin? On the shelf in the pantry?” Keisha was the best finder of Grandma’s glasses.

“No, no.” Grandma got very cross when she couldn’t find her glasses. She refused to put them on a chain around her neck because that was one of the top ten indicators of looking old, according to her TV show.

Mama ignored the interruptions and said grace. When she was finished, she looked at Keisha. “Pass the greens before they get cold.”

“In your pocket? Check your sweater pocket.”

“I just put mine right in the
egusi
and they stay warm,” Mr. Sanders said.

Grandma looked at Mr. Sanders. “You’re crazy, mister.”

Keisha leaned over and pulled Grandma’s glasses out of her cardigan. “Please read to me about the alligator alley,” she said, handing the glasses to her.

Grandma took another swig of milk and put the glasses on her nose. “I’ll cut to the chase. It says here that alligators who are found in unnatural areas in Florida and who are more than four feet long and too
used to humans have to be killed. But these crazy people go across state lines and take them in. I think we should mail our little bugger to Alabama.”

“You can’t mail an alligator!” Razi said. “The stamps won’t stick.”

Daddy blew on his soup. “They do have a big problem down there. It’s true that when alligators and people get used to each other, it can be dangerous for both sides. Especially if humans feed alligators.”

“But we feed Petunia,” Razi said. “We feed her frogsicles.”

“We’re caring for her, Razi,” Daddy said. “That’s different.”

“It’s not nature’s way for alligators and people to live close together, Razi,” Mama said. “This also happened in Nigeria. When alligators try to get close for food, they can bite or kill people and then people kill them. Everyone needs to find their own food. Yours is right in front of you. Now eat.”

“Which brings me to my point.” Grandma had taken off her glasses again and put them on her lap. Keisha would remember that. “It’s too cold here in Michigan. We can’t release the reptile, so let’s ship her down south.”

“I’m not sure you can mail live things,” Mama said. “Is that so, Mr. Sanders?”

“Well, yes and no. No to the alligators, surely. No lizards, snakes or other reptiles, either.”

“Can you mail a cat?” Razi asked, tearing up his
chin-chin
and rolling it into little balls that he popped in his mouth.

“Nope. No cats, no dogs.”

“Well, what can you mail, Dad?” Zack was like Grandma. He liked to get straight to the point.

“Chicks.” Mr. Sanders wiped his mouth with his napkin and sat back, thinking. “Some other birds, too, I believe. I’d have to put a call in to Special Handling Services.”

“What about crickets?” Razi asked.

“Jiminy Choo! How’d we get to crickets?” Grandma asked. “Let’s stick with reptiles.”

But Mr. Sanders was on his favorite topic, the rules and regulations of the United States Postal Service. “Crickets, yes, but not ladybugs. Bees, yes, but if I recall … hmmmm … only the queen bees. No worker bees.”

“The worker bees have to take the bus!” Razi declared, as if it made perfect sense. Then, after maybe two seconds of silent bouncy-brain thinking, he added, “They have very small bus passes.”

“Razi, my little one.” Mama
tsk-tsked
. “You don’t
grow big like an iroko tree by dreaming about bees and bus passes. You grow up by eating the good food that is in front of you.”

It was a well-known fact that Mama did not like the size of Razi’s appetite.

“You could always give it to me, Razi,” Mr. Sanders said. He started to pull Razi’s plate toward him. Mr. Sanders was trying that old trick of making the food seem better if Razi thought it would disappear. But Razi was thinking of bees and bus passes.

“Maybe they’ll come and get her,” Zeke said. “If they don’t mind driving across state lines.”

“Mmmmm.” Mama pulled the papers over to her side of the table and looked them over. “I think Michigan may be a little far, even for alligator lovers.” Mama dipped a small piece of
chin-chin
into her soup and gave it to the baby.
Chin-chin
was one of Paulo’s favorites. It was very good for teething.

“With gas prices spiking all over the place, they’re not coming here.” Grandma put her napkin next to her bowl of
egusi
, perched her glasses on her nose, and heaved herself into a standing position. “I’m done. I need to do more research. I’ll be back for dessert.”

“Chin-chin
is dessert tonight, Grandma.”

“Well, then, I’ll be back tomorrow for dessert.”

After dinner, Keisha helped with the dishes and took the dishpan of water to the backyard to empty it on the vegetable garden. Daddy said Pumpkin-Petunia needed time alone, and even though Keisha offered, he said he should be the one to check on the alligator before bed. So Keisha went up the back stairs to the screened-in porch that jutted out from the second floor. It contained two rockers and a glider.

She knew the whole family would end up here before the end of the evening, but Keisha wanted a little time alone to watch the fireflies begin to twinkle in the dusky light.

Keisha lay on her back on the glider and put her toes on the metal armrest, rocking back and forth, back and forth, her head turned toward the darkening sky.

There were some hard things about being a wildlife rehabilitator. Not getting attached to your patients was one of them. Keisha wanted to find Pumpkin-Petunia a home, and in her secret thoughts, she even hoped to find a way for the alligator to stay with her. Alligators couldn’t live in temperatures that were less than fifty degrees, so even if Carters’ Urban Rescue had the right license, they would have to make room for Pumpkin-Petunia in the house. And if Mama wasn’t going to make room for a puppy in the house, surely she would
not make room for an alligator. And even if Mama
did
make room for an alligator, where would it live? And what kind of life could it have?

No, the only place you could imagine an alligator in Michigan was in a zoo. And Keisha understood why the zoo didn’t want to take their lost alligator. They had rules at Carters’ Urban Rescue, too. They only took in animals that could be rehabilitated and released back into the wild. That meant no dogs or cats or caged bunnies or hamsters or a lot of other things people brought to their door.

Back and forth, back and forth, on the glider. Keisha yawned. The door slammed downstairs and Keisha heard Razi squealing. It was time to run around in the backyard and catch fireflies in a jar. He could watch them glow for five minutes by the kitchen timer, and then he had to let them all go. Soon Daddy and Mama would be coming upstairs with their evening tea. Keisha listened. Grandma was coming, too. She scooted over to one of the rockers. Grandma pushed the glider so fast it made Keisha seasick.

“We thought we might find you up here,” Daddy said, pushing the door open with his elbow. He had three cups of tea on a tray.

Grandma settled into the glider and pushed so hard she made the screens rattle.

“Did you find any more research?” Keisha asked Grandma.

Grandma pushed the glider, thinking. “How many frequent-flier miles do I have?” she asked. A few years ago, she had traveled with a group of seniors to Las Vegas. “Can I transfer those to the alligator?”

“Hmmmm …,” Daddy said.

“No, Grandma, my lovely,” Mama said. “No alligators on the plane.”

“In the cargo hold. I’m not senile,” Grandma said. “I was just wondering if they’d be willing to deal.”

“Scooch over, Mom.” Daddy settled in next to Grandma. “I asked Dan that the other day,” he said, handing Grandma her tea. “There are very strict rules regarding transporting live cargo. Few airlines will do it anymore, and unless you are a recognized dealer, all the packages have to be taken apart and searched. That would be very expensive and very stressful for our alligator friend.”

“How expensive?” Grandma asked.

“Well, it costs more than three hundred dollars to transport a frog.”

“Goodness gracious, what is the world coming to?” Mama asked. “When people are going hungry. We have frogs with airline tickets now.”

“Well, I’m still waiting on the alligator sanctuary that just opened up in Michigan,” Grandma said. “He’s got a waiting list for the full-sized ones, so I took a picture of ours on my cell phone and sent it to him. I’m hoping she’s small enough to get in.”

“I’m sorry, Mom.” Daddy lowered his teacup and turned to face his mother. “Did I miss something?”

“David Critchlow. The herpetologist. He’s been rescuing them and keeping them in his basement for ten years. He finally decided to take the plunge and create a sanctuary. It opened last month.”

Mama put her cup down, too. “Grandma, are you saying that there is a place for alligators here in Michigan? What about the wintertime?”

“He’s working on the shelter now. It will be done by August. He’s just south of Battle Creek. At last count, he had forty-two. Pumpkin-Petunia would make forty-three.”

All the Carters stared at Grandma.