Rescuing Ladybugs. Jennifer Skiff

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СКАЧАТЬ respect, Mr. Tabah, there is no food or water in these cages, the monkeys are chained even inside the cage, and the porcupine doesn’t have a log to sit on or shade to protect him. He’s probably blind because of the sun exposure. And these geese — why are they even in here?”

      “The geese are here because hotel guests complained of the noise they made at night as they walked the grounds. The porcupine, Twinkle, was part of the original zoo. We had another porcupine, his friend, that died. The monkey cage started with a few, and then people gave us their pet monkeys. They fight if they’re unchained.” He paused. “Miss Skiff, I am interested in what you have to say. What is it that you suggest we do?”

      In that split second, as I looked into the eyes of the geese, who were watching intently and seemingly listening to our conversation, I decided to go for broke.

      “Let’s release these monkeys back into the jungle. I’d like to build a proper enclosure for Twinkle, and I suggest you either find a good home for the geese or release them during the day if they are only causing problems at night. You won’t have to worry about feeding them because they will forage. In fact — why don’t we give that a try now?” I asked.

      Mr. Tabah turned to a man who was gardening nearby and spoke to him in Indonesian. The man walked to the cage and unlatched the gate. The geese pushed open the door and sprinted across the lawn to the edge of the pond. Then, for what seemed like five minutes, they drank, scooping water with their bills and tossing it down their throats by lifting their heads into the air.

      “Thank you,” I said, touching my hand to my heart. “This makes me happy.”

      “I agree with you,” Mr. Tabah said, turning toward the monkeys. “I understand people don’t want to see this. But I don’t think we can release all the monkeys.”

      “Why?” I asked.

      “It is not something I am able to discuss with you,” he replied, looking serious.

      I understood that I needed to be careful and respectful. I didn’t know the politics of the hotel’s zoo, but I could see he was genuinely considering my request. “I understand. How many do you think you would consider releasing?” I asked.

      He wrung his hands, looking beyond the monkeys, lost in thought.

      “I will have to get permission from our office in Jakarta. I would like to work with you. We will have to wait and see. If we are able to release monkeys, are you available to do this on the day after tomorrow?” he asked.

      “I sure am,” I smiled.

      In the lobby, as we parted, he asked me to call him Agus, and I bowed with my eyes closed and hands clasped, symbolizing my gratitude. “Terima kasih,” I said in Indonesian: “Thank you.”

      I found Jon, Guy, and Nat on the terrace having cocktails.

      Guy winced when he heard about my exchange.

      “I’m sorry to disappoint, darling Jen, but they’ll never do it. I’ve lived here for thirty years. They want to please you, but there’s nothing in it for them.” He paused and took a long drag from his cigarette. “Are you terribly disappointed?”

      “I have hope, Guy,” I said. “I hope you’re wrong!”

      As I watched the sunset, my eyes canvassed the islands. The sea’s color was changing with the light, shifting from turquoise to an indigo blue. Despite the calm water and comforting colors, I remained anxious about what lay ahead.

      That night I called Dr. Barbara Royal.

      A good friend, Barb had a thriving veterinary practice in Chicago and was one of the few vets I knew who worked with exotic wildlife. I needed her advice. I explained the situation — I might soon be re-releasing monkeys into the jungle after years of captivity, monkeys destined to die otherwise — so how could I ensure their survival?

      Barb asked if they could be taken to a rehabilitation center to prepare them for a release. When I explained this wasn’t possible — this remote island had no wildlife centers — she instructed me to feed up the monkeys. Then, on the day of their release, I should leave them near a source of fresh water and fruit and nut trees, along with a three-day supply of fruit.

      The next day, after a massive monkey feeding, Jon convinced me to join a morning boat excursion to visit parts of the island not accessible by land. We left the quiet seaside village of Labuan Bajo on a twenty-eight-foot runabout and were immediately transported to another world. Emerald green hills jutted from turquoise water, and white beaches lit the way.

      We hugged the coast for two hours, never seeing other people. The coastline was pure, untouched by development, and yet, beneath us, I was surprised to see that much of the coral was bleached white. We learned that it had been destroyed by dynamite fishing, an illegal practice where dynamite is thrown into the center of a school of fish. The dead or stunned fish float to the surface of the water and are easily collected. Just like development destroys habitat, dynamite was killing life-sustaining ecosystems.

      On the way back, we detoured to a tiny, white island that appeared in the distance like a diamond on a bed of aquamarines. As we neared, it became clear that the oasis was created by a heap of shells. We anchored and jumped overboard. Underwater, the sea floor was like a jewelry counter of the most magnificent shells. I picked up an empty, chambered nautilus. I’d never seen one in the wild before, and holding it to my chest like a treasure, I rose to the surface, closed my eyes, floated on my back, and said a prayer for the monkeys.

      When I arrived at the hotel, there was a message from Agus. He wanted me to meet him in two days at 7 AM. There was going to be a monkey release.

      The next morning I fed the animals and set off on our planned adventure to see dragons on Komodo Island (a story I tell in chapter 3). Then, at dawn’s first light on the day of the promised release, I tentatively walked out of the hotel and saw a flurry of activity near the cages. My heart lifted. Six men were standing by the large enclosure wearing uniforms of collared shirts with khaki pants. The monkeys were inquisitive, eyes wide, peering between the cage wires. Nearby, the back of a small pickup truck was stacked with four wooden crates.

      Agus greeted me.

      “Nine of the monkeys will be released today. Three have to stay,” he said.

      “This is wonderful news,” I said. “How will you choose which monkeys stay?”

      “I was hoping you could help me with that decision.”

      “Are there any that were born here?”

      “Yes, there is a mother who gave birth to two while she has been with us,” he said, pointing to the mother, who hissed, showing her teeth. “She came from the forest, but not the babies.”

      “Then, if three are to be left behind, it makes sense that she stays with her babies. Their chances of survival are less than the monkeys who have come from the forest,” I said, regretfully. “May I ask a favor? When the others have been released, will you please take the collars off the remaining monkeys so they can move around and play in the cage, and may I work with your staff to repair this monkey cage and the porcupine’s, too?”

      “That would be nice of you,” he replied. “I’m very happy to accept your offer.”

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