Shallow Breath

7

Pete




The zoo is the last place Pete had planned on going today, and yet here he is, parking in the visitors’ car park and walking towards the gate. Since his conversation with Desi, he hasn’t stopped thinking about Indah. He could get in touch with any number of friends to ask about her, but today he needs to see how she is for himself.

He is thankful the person in the ticket booth doesn’t recognise him as he hands over his money. It’s early yet, and a weekday, so the place is fairly quiet – only a few holidaymakers and weary mothers with preschool children. It is an odd feeling, walking the familiar routes without uniform or purpose. As he hurries past the ornamental lake, he sees a flash of grey on the small island in the middle. It is followed by a series of whooping calls: the Javan gibbons are singing, each note a long, looping crescendo across the water. They are answered by a hush of people, as those nearby stop, entranced, eyes searching the trees for a glimpse of them. For a moment, as he listens, Pete is back in Sumatra. How he wishes he could cool his mind off and renew his senses in the damp, fresh morning of the rainforest. But nowadays such recollections are dogged by searing guilt.

He heads on through the African savannah exhibit. A new litter of painted dog pups are chasing each other under and over a fallen tree trunk, tails wagging like white-dipped brushes. Hidden from sight, a lion calls to the morning, a deep-bellied grunt, half threat, half sigh. A meerkat stands sentinel as he walks by, and the Galapagos tortoises are already moving sluggishly towards their wallow. It is going to be a hot day.

He is nearly there. In his hurry to cross the road, he steps out in front of a small zebra-striped car, driven by a docent, one of an army of volunteers who help to keep the zoo running. He holds up his hand in apology and the docent smiles at him, obviously recognising him. Before she can say anything, he hurries on, towards the series of enclosures that make up the orang-utan exhibit. He strolls towards the perimeter, to one of the quieter, out-of-the-way sections often missed by visitors, hoping that Indah hasn’t been moved. There is no sign of her on the tangle of ropes or the gleaming silver platforms, so he searches the long grass. He spots her on the far side, a hunched figure sitting facing the corrugated metal wall. The burnished orange of her thick, oily hair shines like fire in the sunlight. She isn’t moving, but occasionally a small figure bounds into view, a little Charlie Chaplin with a punk hairstyle. The baby leaps away on a series of ungainly adventures, regularly returning to her mum’s side. Occasionally the little one grabs a fistful of her mother’s hair, and Indah’s long fingers gently loosen her daughter’s grip.

Pete sees they have put a new plaque on the wall. The baby’s name is Langka.

Of course.



In the wild, a mother orang-utan would never come to the rainforest floor. They are safer in the treetops, swinging between branches on their travels for food, or building nests. A mother can teach her child everything it needs to know while they shelter ten metres above the ground. Pete often thinks of it when he sees Indah like this, because he has spent too long in Indonesia, where a glimpse of that vivid red fur on the rainforest floor usually indicates a problem, or something more devastating. But Indah was born at the zoo, and has never known anything else. He hasn’t missed the irony that these walls around her keep her far safer than her wild Sumatran cousins.

Almost as though she has heard his thoughts, Indah swivels to stare towards the glass.

‘Hello, Indah,’ he says softly.

He hopes she will come over, but, after an extended moment, she turns towards the wall again. He studies the immobile set of her back as she picks a long stem of grass and begins to chew it.

The orang-utans at the zoo are an eclectic mix of personalities, and Indah has always been one of Pete’s favourites. When he worked here, one of his most enjoyable tasks was devising enrichment activities for her – she was so adept at puzzles that it was a challenge to keep her interested. A few of the other orang-utans love to cuddle, but Indah has always been shy. However, when Pete was around she would sometimes come to rest against him and close her eyes.

He sees Langka’s face appear for a moment again, peeping out from behind Indah. She is a lucky baby, since Indah’s gentle, attentive nature makes her an ideal mother. How Pete wishes he could have been there for Langka’s birth. When Indah’s last infant, Berani, had been hours old, she had come over to Pete and gently placed her newborn’s tiny hand over Pete’s finger. She had never repeated the gesture, but Pete had been profoundly touched. What else could it be except an acknowledgement of trust and understanding, of Indah forging a connection between them?

It is yet another reason he feels so heartsick now.

He sits on the low wall observing them for a while longer, then checks his watch. He has promised his sister he will get the car to her by lunchtime, so he should leave now. He is hurrying away from the exhibits when he hears footsteps jogging behind him, and a voice shouts out, ‘Pete!’

He had known it would be risky coming here, that he might bump into someone who would ask questions he’d rather not answer. Pete turns reluctantly and breathes a sigh of relief to see it is Declan, a reptile keeper and one of the numerous friends he has neglected of late.

Declan stops beside him and leans over for a moment, hands on his knees, out of breath. ‘I heard a rumour you were here – thought I’d better come and find out for myself.’

Pete tries to smile. ‘Just thought I’d see how Indah’s going. Langka looks well.’

Declan nods. ‘I’ve only heard good things. So, what have you been doing with yourself?’

‘Ah, you know …’ Pete stalls at that. ‘Have you heard anything about Berani?’

Declan thinks for a moment, shakes his head. ‘Not lately, but no news is good news, isn’t it?’

Pete tries to smile. ‘Yes.’

By the time Berani had been chosen for the Sumatran release program, Indah had separated from him, encouraging his independence, as happened to all male orang-utans sometime after the age of six. Pete had been with Berani from the initial stages of his release training. He had flown with him to Sumatra, keeping close watch on him as he sat quietly in the confines of his container, talking to him and soothing him. When they reached the jungle, Pete had been ready for a three-month stint. But then came the phone call, and he was back within two weeks.

His choice had been impossible. But he still felt he’d abandoned Berani at the time he was needed most.

Declan is watching him steadily. ‘I’ll ask around if you like, mate. Let you know, hey? You still on the same number?’

It saddens Pete that Declan has to ask this. It shows how much distance there is between him and his former workplace now. This had been his first and only proper job; the zoo is as much home to him as it is to the animals. If anyone had told him a few years ago that he would resign to do nothing, he would have laughed and never believed it. Yet he’d seen enough of the natural rhythms of life in the zoo to know that they were subject to abrupt, devastating change. It was just that, somewhere along the line, he had forgotten that capricious fate could find him too.




After Pete leaves the zoo, he drives quickly west towards the coast. Now that Desi is home he is going to need transport if he wants to make the hour’s journey north to the shack regularly – he hasn’t told her that for the past year he has been borrowing his sister’s car to make the weekly trek to the prison. What would Desi say if she knew the truth about Pete, about how often their lives had run parallel lately? Would she think it was her fault? In a way, it was. Her actions had made Pete’s efforts feel meaningless too. Years of painstaking work, and then one mistake and it all crumbles away as though it doesn’t mean anything. What was the point?

Desi has had so much to contend with recently that all he wishes for her is some quiet time to put herself back together again. He had felt he was partly to blame when Desi went to prison. If he hadn’t been thousands of kilometres away, perhaps he would have seen her tipping towards the edge, and could have stopped it. He was the only person she might have turned to, and he hadn’t been there. ‘There’s going to be times when I’m not around,’ Connor had said once, uncharacteristically, on a beautiful day years ago, one of the last when they were all on the boat together. ‘Please take care of her.’ At the time, Pete thought he had been referring to his trip to America, to shore up his research money. But now he remembered it like a warning. Something is going to happen to me. And she’s going to fall down. Be there.

And he had failed.

What would you think of us now, mate? Pete thinks, trying to conjure up Connor in his mind – the 24-year-old who was timeless in death, not the 44-year-old he would be today. Pete struggles to imagine what Connor would look like in middle age, but suspects he’d be one of those handsome bastards with flattering streaks of grey in his hair.

Pete had tried his utmost to take care of Desi in the beginning. That’s when the lies had started. First he had given Desi a lump sum of his own money and told her that it was from Connor’s family. It had seemed the right thing to do at the time, when Desi was overwrought with grief, unable to see her way forward. The money had allowed her to buy the shack. It had got her on her feet again. And then, when he discovered Connor’s secrets, he had protected her from the truth.

How could he have anticipated that Kate would turn up so many years later? And what would she know? He hadn’t met her yet, only received reports from Maya, and what he heard troubled him. First, Kate wanted to talk to Desi. And now, Kate and Jackson were in love. Kate had gone to explore the coastline while Jackson was away, but she would return soon.

What did this girl want from Desi? Perhaps it was completely innocuous, but his gut didn’t think so. Maybe that was the problem with holding onto other people’s secrets for too long – you became suspicious of everyone.

In his daydreaming, he has passed the turning for his own small, neglected apartment and reached his sister’s house. He pulls up in the driveway, and Maggie is greeting him seconds later. ‘How is she?’

Maggie is the kindest person he knows, and has followed Desi’s progress as much as Pete has allowed her to.

He shrugs. ‘A worry.’

‘Just give her time.’

He doesn’t want to talk about it. ‘Look,’ he says, handing her the car keys, hoping he doesn’t sound rude, ‘I can’t stop. Thanks for the loan. Can I take it again tonight?’

‘Of course, any time. Sure you won’t stay for a coffee or something?’

He shakes his head and makes for the door.

‘What are you doing with yourself nowadays?’ Maggie asks, following him.

Maggie has slotted so well into the gap their mother left, Pete thinks.

Answering one question will only lead to another. He turns and kisses her on the cheek. ‘I’m fine, Mags. I’ll see you soon.’ Then he walks briskly around the side of the house, collects his bicycle and rides away.