“I’m bored.” She whinges, paper and coloured pencils a chaotic mess across the floor. She is sprawled out, eyes to ceiling. I cannot help but chuckle. An idea comes to mind.
“What if I made for you… a Paper Zoo?” I asked.
“Huh?”
“A Paper Zoo.”
With big, wide eyes she looks up; confused and brow furrowed, “What is a Paper Zoo?”
“Let me show you.”
I take a piece of paper. I fold it once. Twice. Thrice. Then repeat two more times. She sits up, watching intently; childhood curiosity written across her face.
I fold the tail, the legs, the head. A creature of paper. I pass it over, “A Javan Tiger.”
Ever so gently she handles the Javan Tiger. She holds it close to her face, eyes squinting as they peer at the Javan Tiger’s face, “What is it?”
“A Javan Tiger,” I repeat, smiling, “from Java, in Indonesia. They wandered through thick jungle, with orange fur and black stripes. They could disappear into the shadows and the sunlight.”
She looks up at that, scowling, unconvinced, “Really?”
“Yes, really.” I reach for another piece of paper. She puts the Javan Tiger down in front of her; it is posed as if readying to pounce. I begin to fold again.
I fold it once. Twice. Thrice. Then repeat two more times.
“A Pyrenean Ibex. They could be found high up among the mountains and clouds; with nothing but the sky above them.” I hand the mighty beast over, with its chest puffed out and head held high.
She does the same and holds the Pyrenean Ibex close; in awe at the horns that curl above their head. Carefully, the Pyrenean Ibex is placed beside the Javan Tiger.
I had not been around when they had gone; the guilt does not gnaw at my bones as deeply.
With a soft smile, I take another piece of paper. I fold it once. Twice. Thrice. Then repeat two more times. The legs are long and the body is slender.
She looks up from admiring the Ibex and the Tiger, eyes drawn to the paper, “Is that another Tiger?”
“No, it is a big cat though.” One last fold, “This is a Cheetah; they lived across Africa. They had spotted fur and long legs. They were among the fastest of animals; they were the wanderers of the savannah.Nomads.”
The Cheetah is frozen mid-run, stilled. Not how a creature made for moving at one with the long grass should be. I hand the Cheetah over; she turns it over in her hands, her face showing her uncertainty, disbelieving. Nothing is said, the Cheetah is placed next to the Ibex.
I take a piece of paper. I fold it once. Twice. Thrice. This one is tricky; the body is streamlined, shaped for blue seas and rolling waves.
“This is a Vaquita, from the Gulf of California. It was the smallest of Cetaceans and swam freely in the ocean.” I pause. I cannot say anymore; there is a lump in my throat.
She smiles at the Vaquita in her hands, “I like this one. I like their name.” Gently, she touches her nose to the Vaquita’s and giggles. I liked them too. She places the Vaquita besides the Javan Tiger; two animals that would only meet in the imagination of a child.
“Who’s next?” Grinning ear to ear now, eager to meet the next animal.
I force a smile and take another piece of paper. I fold it once. Twice. Thrice. Then repeat two more times. Once more, an expression of bewilderment spreads across her face.
“This is a Stag Beetle; and it was the same size as this,” I pass over the Stag Beetle, “The males used its jaws to fight off other males. They shone like gems in the sun.”
Puzzled, she runs a finger along the wing casing before setting the Stag Beetle besides the Cheetah, dwarfing the cat. I wonder absently how funny it would had been if Cheetahs had been so tiny as to fit in a child’s hand. Chuckling, I reach for last piece of paper. I fold it once. Twice. Thrice. Then repeat it two more times.
As I fold the body, the arms and legs, I glance a look at her. She is watching me, mesmerised, the Vaquita in hand. As the creature begins to take shape, she sets the Vaquita down once more and shuffles forward.
“That looks like us.”
“Yes,” I nod, “This is an Orangutan. They lived inIndonesia, like the Tiger. They feasted upon the juiciest of fruits and played amongst the tallest of trees.” They were like us; but not enough like us that we did anything.
Silently, she takes the Orangutan. The two regard each other – searching eyes met by a blank face. I can hear the thoughts whirring in her head, speculative. She touches a fingertip to the Orangutans hand.
After a while, she sits the Orangutan besides the Stag Beetle. Her eyes look over each one, lingering on the Orangutan.
“These…they were never real, were they?” She asks the question; not knowing what she wished to hear. I knew the question would come, but it still stung.
How could I answer, with no regard, that yes, these creatures were real and roamed the wilds and swung from the trees. That we watched as they fell from their thrones as their kingdoms crumbled and their crowns burnt. That although they were real; we sat back and did nothing. Naively, we clung to the hope that someone else would do something, not realising we were the someone else. These creatures – as fragile as the paper imitations. How is she to know the use of ‘were’ instead of ‘are’?
So yes, they were so real and so alive. But not to us. How could I answer that honestly without painting a grim picture of our savagery?
So, I did what we humans do best; I played pretend.
“Oh no, they were never real. Not really – maybe a long, long time ago, but not now.” I do not want her to know, not yet. She does not need to know when the last cry of an Orangutan was heard; or when the last Puffin was seen, or when the last Grey Wolf howled. Not yet.
She nods, smiling, satisfied with my answer and goes about finding more paper for me to make more paper animals, trying to say ‘Orangutan’ and ‘Vaquita’ as she does.
In a line they all stand; solemn. It is unsettling; their blank gazes all upon me, accusative. All that exists of them now are records on paper. Photographs. Taxidermy. Paper zoos. They stand before me; these paper imitations, skeleton- like, and I avert my gaze.
“I bought more paper!” She bellows, dumping a stack of paper upon my lap. Once more, she sits behind the row of animals. Once more I begin to fold.
“Good, as there are hundreds more to show you.”
Once. Twice. Thrice. Then repeat two more times.
