Part 6
Margaret was waiting at the staff entrance the next morning before the sun had fully burned the dew off the concrete. She carried a faded canvas tote bag containing a thick, worn photo album with a cracked leather binding.
I walked her down the empty promenade to the big cat habitat. I had kept my promise. Right against the thick acrylic viewing wall, in a quiet spot usually reserved for keeper observations, I had set up a heavy-duty folding chair for her.
Before she sat, she opened the album. The pages were filled with slightly faded photographs, their edges curling from years spent in the African heat. She didn’t say much, just pointed to the images with a quiet pride. I saw a tiny, tawny lump asleep on a plaid wool blanket. I saw a clumsy cub swiping an uncoordinated paw at a rope toy, and another shot of him standing awkwardly on three legs, his right front limb wrapped tightly in a thick white cast.
The last photo was of Margaret, twelve years younger, holding the cub against her chest. He was looking directly into the camera lens with wide, vulnerable eyes, completely dependent on the woman holding him.
I looked from the fragile animal in the photograph to the massive apex predator currently resting inside the habitat. It was hard to reconcile the two.
Margaret closed the album and took a seat. The moment the metal chair scraped against the pavement, Atlas stood up. He walked across the enclosure, completely ignoring his morning feed, and approached the acrylic wall. He didn’t pace or vocalize. He simply lowered his heavy frame into the dirt directly opposite her chair.
She placed her hand on the acrylic, and they just sat together, watching each other in the quiet morning light.