Chapter 2
Mingo stood before the exhibit. The metal sign proclaimed "American Black Bear". Behind the bars, across the deep moat, two sleepy bears rolled playfully, exposing their flabby stomachs to the appreciative people draped over the waist-high bars. Several of the people raised devices to their eyes and snapped levers. A clicking sound followed. Mingo watched perplexed. He approached a young man with a small child and asked about the device.
"It's a camera. Haven't you ever seen one like this?"
Mingo shook his head. His black braids flipped against his shoulders. The little girl beside him grinned and shook her own head, flipping her own braids against her thin shoulders. Her father spent several minutes showing Mingo his new expensive Canon.
"Where are you from, anyway? Somewhere in India?"
"No," Mingo chuckled. "I'm from Kentucky."
"Kentucky? The United States' Kentucky?"
"Yes, near Boonesborough."
The young father's face relaxed. "Oh, you're a re-enactor. Are you here with a group from the fort?"
"No. Everyone I know is still there in Boonesborough where I left them."
"Not in Boonesborough! Osage. Are they having some demonstration out there this week?"
"Not that I am aware of. I've never been to Osage. What is it?
"It's a fort. Built just after the Lewis and Clark Expedition. You really aren't from around here, are you?"
Mingo smiled and shook his head. The little girl mimicked him perfectly. Her father gave one more glance at Mingo's strange appearance, grasped his daughter's hand and pulled her quickly away. Before Mingo could think more about the exchange another child pushed around him to lean over and look at the bears. In his hand he carried a large wad of bright pink wrapped around a paper stick.
The boy waved the pink confection as he gestured at the bears. The sticky sugar came in contact with Mingo's cheek, depositing a palm-sized glaze of sweetness. With aggravation the tall man tried to brush away the stickiness. He hated to be sticky! His hand smeared the sugar into his long black braid. Sighing, he brushed his hand against his leather vest.
Two more boys ran to his other side and began to spit over the iron bars. Mingo watched disapprovingly as all three boys bent and grasped pieces of gravel from the edge of the pavement. They flung the rocks at the two lounging bears.
"Stop that!" Mingo's voice was rough and brooked no disobedience. The three boys stared at his tall frame, his unusual clothing, his rifle. Then they turned as one and ran to the side of a frazzled woman seated on a bench under a shade tree. They pointed at Mingo, obviously agitated. Frowning, her eyes narrowed and her jaw set, the frowsy woman shuffled rapidly to face Mingo.
"You can't talk to my boys like that! They weren't hurtin' anything. Who do you think you are? You'd better watch yourself or I'll report you to a zookeeper. Keepin' kids from enjoyin' their own zoo!" The words poured from her bright orange lips. Mingo endured the barrage in silence. When she finished he added the postscript.
"Your 'boys' are poorly behaved brutes, Madam. I simply corrected their behavior, something that you seem unwilling or incapable of doing."
With those words Mingo spun on his heel and followed the pavement past the drowsy bears toward the cat exhibit. Behind him the slovenly woman and her three bratty sons went in search of a zookeeper.
Mingo sauntered past the Bengal tigers and African lions. All the animals lay panting in the Missouri heat. The sign before the mountain lion explained that it was all but extinct in every state east of the Mississippi River. Mingo was taken aback by the simple declaration. The sign gave him a glimpse into the future of his friends and relatives. The wanton greed and thoughtless destruction he himself had witnessed during his lifetime apparently ran rampant over the land.
Sadly he walked to sit on the bench before the drooping panther. The animal's yellow eyes bored into his own, its boredom evident in every line of its well-fed body. A depression began to settle over Mingo's heart. He closed his eyes and drifted in the dappled shade.
His mind began to make sense of his situation. Though totally fantastic and impossible, he realized that somehow he had come forward in time. The problem as he saw it was how to return to his own time and place. His mind attacked the problem as the summer heat intensified. Beads of sweat formed in his heavy black hair, across his upper lip and on his forehead. Trickles of perspiration ran down through the stickiness on the side of his face.
Rapid footsteps roused him. He brushed the sweat from his forehead and opened his eyes. Quickly approaching was a thin man dressed entirely in brown. Behind him trailed the frowsy woman and her three misbehaving children. Both she and the boys wore expressions of gleeful malice. The security officer stopped before Mingo, breathing heavily.
"This woman says that you manhandled her children. We don't tolerate that here at the zoo."
Mingo rose to his full height. He towered over the security officer, the woman and the children. "I don't think that you tolerate actions that harm your animals either. Do you?
I simply told the three boys to stop throwing rocks at the bears."
Mingo's dignified answer took all the indignation from the man's face. He searched Mingo's eyes for several seconds, then turned to the boys. "We don't tolerate tormenting the animals, boys. Do you understand me?"
The woman pushed forward. "You believin' him over me? Look how he's dressed! He's a nut case if I ever saw one. Let loose to molest honest citizens. If this is the way this zoo is run then me and the boys won't ever come here again!"
She spun around, slid on the loose gravel and fell heavily. The three boys laughed and ran. She struggled to rise, slipping on the gravel and gouging several wounds in her bare legs and hands. The park officer and Mingo bent to help her up but she spit a rapid stream of foul words at them both. The two men stepped back and allowed her to rise on her own. She hobbled after her three disappearing sons.
The officer turned to Mingo. "I'm sorry. We seem to be getting more and more people like them every year. I don't know what this society is coming to."
Shaking his head the park employee strode off toward the sea lions. With a final sad glance at the drooping cat Mingo followed. A large crowd of people were standing all around the sea lion pool. The portholes in the tank allowed people to view the lithe animals underwater. Many children stood fascinated before the portholes. Mingo climbed the incline and stood watching the animals split the water with their sleek bodies. Several were sunning themselves on large rocks. They barked and splashed playfully.
After watching the sea lions for several minutes, remembering the seals he'd seen in the British Isles, Mingo followed the curving sidewalk toward a smaller pool. Several more children stood watching the river otters slide down their smooth slanted rocks into the water. The little animals squeaked and chattered as they played together,
Mingo thought of the many times he'd done as he was doing now, watching river otters on the banks of the Kentucky. Their muddy slides could be found all along the watercourse. Lost in memory, he didn't notice the small girl as she slipped beside him.
"I like to watch the otters best. They're my favorite." Her soft light voice, filled with trust, drifted up to the tall man's ears. Mingo looked down and met the bright beams from her honey brown eyes. He smiled tenderly. With complete ease the little girl continued to talk to the Cherokee at her side.
"I think they are the most fun of all the animals. The cats make me sad. They look so unhappy." Mingo nodded his agreement. The child held out the bright blue confection in her hand. "Would you like some cotton candy? Mommy always gets me some. Blue is my favorite."
She giggled and Mingo saw the blue stain on her lips and tongue. But his courteous nature as well as his curiosity took hold and he tore a small bit of blue from the stick, nodding his thanks. The spun sugar stuck to his wide lips and melted instantly on his tongue. The slight blue- berry taste was pleasant. He smiled and licked his fingers, causing them to become more sticky.
Quickly he looked around for a source of water. Some distance away he spied what appeared to be a small spring coming out of a wall. He strode rapidly to the metal spigot. For seconds he stood puzzled, then turned the knob projecting from the unit. A stream of tepid water arced from the spigot. Wetting first one hand, then the other, he was finally able to rid his fingers and face of the sticky sugar.
Always fastidious, Mingo hated sticky fingers. Unconsciously he brushed his hands against his blue trousers to dry them. It was then that he saw the little boy curiously touch his long rifle. He reached for the weapon and snatched it from the child's hand. The boy jumped back just as his father shouted his name. "Ricky! Don't touch that!"
A man with a plaid shirt and short trousers rushed toward the child. Two little girls ran after their father. Mingo stood holding the rifle above the child's head. Several nearby parents and children looked in their direction. Within seconds whispers and murmurs surrounded the tall Cherokee like the whir of locusts. Through the crowd strode the same park official Mingo had met a short time before.
"Look here, mister, you'd better come with me. You seem to be causing quite a stir today. Let's go."
The officer gestured with his hand. Mingo recognized the man's authority and quietly did as he was ordered. The two men walked some distance to a small brick building. When the officer opened the door Mingo felt a blast of cool air. Surprised, he stood in the open doorway.
"Get in there. You're letting the air conditioning out." The officer pushed Mingo from the back and he stumbled forward. The floor was slick with some kind of shiny floor covering. Mingo's leather soles couldn't gain purchase and he slipped. Fortunately a heavy wooden chair was nearby. He quickly grabbed onto the back and righted himself.
He sat before the whirring air conditioner. The cool breeze lifted the heavy black hair that hung down his back. Mingo gratefully leaned into the full flow of coolness.
The officer walked behind a metal desk and sat down facing Mingo. "Mister, we need to have a chat. Within the last hour you've had two run-ins with kids. I realize this is a public zoo, you paid to get in here and you have a right to be here same as everyone else. But I want you to stay away from the kids. Hear me?"
"One more complaint and I will escort you from this park. Do you understand?"
"May I defend myself?" Mingo asked politely.
The other man looked annoyed but nodded silently. Mingo explained once again about the rock-throwing boys. Then he explained about the little boy touching his rifle.
The officer glanced at the Kentucky rifle balanced across Mingo's knees. Suddenly his light eyes widened.
"You mean that thing is real?"
Mingo nodded, then quickly reassured the man before him. "It is loaded but not primed. It can't be fired."
"I thought it was part of your costume. Aren't you part of some publicity stunt for the Village People? I figured the cop or sailor would show up next."
At mention of the Village People Mingo eagerly raised his eyes. "Who are these Village People? You are the second person I've heard mention them today. "
" 'Who are the Village People?' Where are you from---Mars?"
"I'm from Kentucky. But I don't see what that has to do with my question. Who are the Village People?"
"They're a singing group! They put on quite a performance I hear. I can't believe you've never heard of them. They're coming here to Kansas City next week. At the Kemper Auditorium."
"A group of singers? That's all?"
The zoo employee looked at Mingo for several seconds, measuring. "Excuse me a minute, will you?" The man rose and disappeared through another closed door. A moment later Mingo could hear a muffled conversation. He stood and looked through the window at the passing population. Pursing his lips, he puzzled over their immodest clothing and loud vulgar conversations. Women seemed to be as vulgar as the men. He shook his head.
He had been thirsty before eating the berry-flavored cotton candy. Now he was uncomfortably dry. Running his tongue around his mouth, he decided to go back to the spring and get a drink. Seconds later he was bent over the little stream of water, sipping. Then he dabbed the drops from his lips, stretched, and followed the arrows toward the aviary.