Chrysoberyl - Mary A. Turzillo(1), ebook, pobierz pdf

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MARY A. TURZILLO
CHRYSOBERYL
"If I discovered a real dragon," says Mary Turzillo. "I'd convince myself that
it was a gecko or a salamander. I mean, who wants to be labeled a nut?"
This editor does, that's who. But then again, I grew up in a household that
encouraged a little nuttiness. In fact, for my seventh birthday I received a
plaster cast of one of the dinosaur eggs discovered in the Gobi Desert. And I
also received a certain novel by Mr. O. Butterworth to which "Chrysoberyl" pays
homage delightfully. (You can look up the book--I'm pleased to report that it is
still in print.)
Ginnie labeled the patient file, "CHRYS -- winged iguana? Owners: Jessica and
Tod Fithian." She leaned back in the creaky old office chair -- her down payment
on this farmhouse where she set up her new veterinary practice had left her
little money for fancy furniture -- and gave the Fithians what she hoped was a
sage and professional look. The three, father and two kids, were new people,
part of the invasion of yuppies into this old farm community.
"We have to get rid of it," said Mr. Fithian. His nine-year-old daughter
Jessica, who smelled of grape bubble-gum and baby shampoo, was clutching Chrys
tearfully. "I'd turn it over to the Animal Protective League, but --"
Ginnie held her arms out for the lizard. "Does it eat anything besides kittens?"
Chrys, warm and surprisingly light despite its distended abdomen, came to her
and fastened its claws in her sweater. It smelled like soap and charcoal. In the
spring sunshine streaming through the panes of wavy glass, its abdomen was gold,
its top parts green as new grass.
"He only ate the kittens by accident," Jessica said, all belligerent defense.
"We feed him mice and hamburger now."
"He toasts them himself," said Tod. Tod was six, and imaginative.
"Ha ha," said Ginnie, sorry for Tod, who was losing his pet.
The truth was, she had no idea what Chrys was. When her receptionist had ushered
the Fithians into the high-ceilinged farm dining room which she had converted
into a treatment room, she had thought it was an iguana. But it was the biggest
iguana she had ever seen.
Not to speak of the wings.
"In your own words, kids, tell me where you found it," Ginnie said. The lizard
(she refused, just yet, to call it a dragon) flicked its tongue out and licked
her jaw. Its gaze fastened on her, like a puppy in love.
"We were out at Nelson Ledges," said Jessica. "Just climbing around, and we went
in this big dark cave." Nelson Ledges was a local park featuring sandstone
caves, once a lovers' hangout for the teen children of farmers, now an
attraction for family picnics.
"It was way deep!" Tod added.
"Shut up, Tod, let me tell it," said Jessica. "Okay, we were back in the cave
and we heard something moving, so I took out my flashlight that I got for Girl
Scout camp -- "
"My flashlight, not your old stupid Girl Scout light."
"He's stupid," said Jessica. "Anyway, we shined the light in the corner, and it
was moving like the dirt was heaving up."
"She was scared," said Tod. "I wasn't scared, but she was."
"Shut up! Anyway, Doctor Ginnie, I started digging to see what it was --"
"Just like kids, no caution," said Mr. Fithian.
Jessica rolled her eyes. "And we dug out this pretty egg."
"It was way big!" said Tod. "And it was green with brown speckles, and it was
shaking!"
"So anyway," said Jessica, ignoring Tod, "I wrapped it in my Girl Scout jacket
and we took it to the car."
"They didn't let on they had it," said Mr. Fithian.
"Describe the egg," said Ginnie, avoiding Mr. Fithian's gaze.
Mr. Fithian looked sternly at his children. "When we got home, they hid it, but
I knew something was up. It wasn't a bird's egg. Seven inches long. Rubbery. And
something was trying to get out. I let them use a knife -- "
"And we cut it a little and this little dragon flops out! He was all slimy and
his tongue hung out and his eyes were closed and he was panting like anything
and -- "
"They didn't know what to do," said Jessica, "but in my Girl Scout meetings they
told us to keep little animals warm, so I put some baby blankets in the carton
my in-line skates came in -- "
"And when he got too big you brought him to me," said Ginnie. The lizard -- or
whatever -- was now a plump yellow and green creature, with membranous wings
that folded almost like a geisha's silk fan on either side of its spine. And it
had eaten the neighbor's kittens.
"They named him Chrysoberyl," said Mr. Fithian.
"That's a green gemstone," said Jessica.
Fithian looked tired. "He eats five pounds of raw beef, once every nine days. He
sleeps a lot after that, but when he's active he can be a real pain."
Reluctantly, he reached over and scratched Chrys's crest.
Ginnie carried the lizard across the room, the uneven floorboards creaking
underfoot, and hoisted it onto the stainless steel examination table. It
immediately tried to scramble back into her arms. "Sorry, baby," she said. "I'm
still trying to figure out what you are." Ginnie was used to a variety of
patients. She did treat the occasional barnyard animal, though most farmers were
loyal to old Dr. Newton in the Falls. But the suburbanites, who supplied most of
her patient load, sometimes chose exotic pet-store beasts: pythons, chinchillas,
pygmy hedgehogs. "Can you tell what he is from the X-rays?" Fithian asked.
Ginnie sighed. "Not really. I need to do some research."
Chrys's temperature was a steady 102.5 degrees. Hot for a lizard. Its heart -or
hearts, because she suspected it had another one at the base of its spine --
beat at about 120 a minute. Thank God it wasn't sick. Doctoring lizards was
always chancy, and who knew how this one would respond to standard iguana
treatment?
"Has he flown yet?"
Fithian glanced nervously at his children. "Well, that's a problem. He does, and
he's fond of birds."
"He ate a robin," said Tod.
"But we told him he was only allowed to eat pigeons and crows, and he's been
good since then," said Jessica.
Fithian rolled his eyes.
"I could keep him," said Ginnie.
"You realize, Chrys," she said, when they were alone, "you aren't allowed to eat
people's kittens."
Chrys stared at her adoringly. He had topaz-yellow eyes with slit pupils, like a
cat, but somehow he managed to convey doglike devotion with them.
"Your former master Mr. Fithian is a widower. Wish I had the nerve to flirt with
him," she said. She was accustomed to discussing her problems with the
livestock, and she figured Chrys wouldn't betray any confidences. "You'd think
in a profession where men outnumber women five to one I'd be Ms. Popularity. I
bet I'm the only veterinarian in my graduating class that doesn't have a spouse
and kids by now."
Chrys flap-clawed his way into her lap and licked her chin.
"You stop that! Want some hamburger? God, how am I going to feed you? I wonder
if Alpo makes dragon kibble?"
Chrys looked small and lonely in the big farmhouse dining room. He leaned his
head against her bosom.
"You're kinda cute," she said. "I guess somebody loves me."
Ginnie closed her rural veterinary clinic on Wednesdays, so that seemed like a
good day to take Chrys up to the Natural History Museum in the city for an
opinion as to his species and proper care.
With a touch of apprehension, she arranged a nest for Chrys in her station
wagon. It was a good hour's drive to the museum. She hoped she could get him in
a safe cage, but if he would just ride beside her, that was okay.
And he disappeared.
"Come out of there or I'll make a pair of boots out of you!" she yelled down the
basement stairs. The basement smelled wet and very old, which it was. She poked
every spiderwebbed cubbyhole with a broom, shone the light into every musty
crack.
"Oh my God! I bet he ate Mrs. Begezda's cockapoo!" Ginnie flew back upstairs and
did a quick count of the patients. None were missing.
At four thirty, Chrys sauntered into Ginnie's apartment, above the clinic. He
placed his front paws on her lap, folded his wings back, and stared soulfully
into her eyes.
"Where were you?"
Chrys jumped up in her lap, a chubby bundle of love, then jumped down and began
clawing at the chipped enamel of the refrigerator door.
"Now it's too late to take you to the museum! No! No more hamburger! I don't
even know if it's good for you."
She worked up her nerve to call and make another appointment. In preparation,
she took pictures of Chrys in case he pulled another disappearing act.
Which he did.
Ginnie wore her best jeans, a pretty blue blouse, and jade pendant. She felt a
nice appearance would lend credence to her tale, undergirded by the photos. She
drove through farm country mixed with new housing developments, then through
city streets, into University Circle with its venerable stone edifices, and,
screwing her nerve up, penetrated the hidden labs of the museum.
"Hey, these are great!" said Dr. Beasley, the head of the reptile division. They
were in a large, cluttered preparation room gloomy with late afternoon sunlight
streaming from windows high in the wall through dust particles suspended in the
air. His assistant peered over his shoulder. "How did you do that? Is it
supposed to be a pterodactyl? Cause if it is, you got the wings wrong, and it
has too many -- "
"He's alive," Ginnie said. "Some kids brought him in. He hatched out of an egg
they found at Nelson Ledges Park."
"Ha, ha, that's great," said Dr. Beasley. By this time a small crowd had
gathered around the black table where Ginnie had spread the photos.
"Could you do some displays like this for our fall dinosaur display? We could
talk about budget later," said the Special Projects director, Dr. Zinsmeister.
"He's not a model, he's real," Ginnie said. Her voice didn't carry very well.
"Give me a number where we can reach you. Anybody that can put something like
this together, we can use. You ever volunteer here before?"
"I don't think it looks real," said a snotty-looking blond man.
"Come on, Phil," said Zinsmeister. "The anatomy is off a little, but I'm sure
she can fix that up."
"You want to see the X-rays?" Ginnie asked softly. She pulled them out of an
envelope and shyly passed them to Beasley.
"Hm," said Beasley. "That's a cute idea, too. Hoke it up so the kids can imagine
the fossil skeleton is an X-ray."
"They're real," said Ginnie. But her mouth was so dry nobody heard her.
Almost in tears, she gathered her photos and fled into the dark hallway flanked
by faded window displays of stuffed birds.
One of the volunteers, an Asian man of about thirty, came up beside her. "I'll
walk you to your car," he said. "There've been some muggings in the parking
lot."
Ginnie was too miserable and embarrassed to say anything, but she let him follow
her through a maze of offices and labs, into the display rooms, and out the
public entrance of the building to the lot where her rusty Ford station wagon
was parked.
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