Dangerous Lives of Altar Boys

Where the Wild Things Are

WUeve H\e WlU TUiv\gs A^e he highway had marsh on each side now. Egrets snaked their necks down and plucked minnows and fiddler crabs out of a creek. The bus crossed the bridge toward Marshland Island, half wrapped in a fence that wound among oaks and pines. Our bus passed through the gate and rumbled down a dirt road. Mr. Thomas parked in a field between a rusty water tower and an old plantation house with brick wings added on. The effect was of a mansion with school buildings attached. Everywhere was green or striving toward green, and you smelled river mud and pine and salt water. The teachers led us off the bus and packed us together on the field. Sister Ascension, the principal, plodded towards the building to find our guide. She climbed each step by raising one foot onto it, then bringing the other up alongside, like a toddler. The traffic was a distant swish. I saw an osprey drifting in slow circles over the deeper part of the island, near the river. "I wish I had my .22," said Pete Hancock. Pete was one of those kids whose lips move when they're reading. "If it weren't for their claws," said Sister Rosaria, hand at her brow above the vulture nose, "I'd say they were God's best creatures." 50 T Ascension came down the steps, her upper arms shuddering at each new level. Behind her was a tall guy in a flannel shirt. The nun, flushed from the effort of descending, said something and spread her rubbery lips in a smile, and the man faked a good-natured laugh, tilting his head back and squinting into the sun. He had a shaggy beard and mustache, brownish, and his hair was tied back in a ponytail. He wore little round glasses, hiking boots. Mrs. Barnes clapped twice and said, "Listen up, people," and fixed an expectant smile. She turned to Ascension, and we turned too. "Class," Ascension's voice was round and hollow, "this is Paul Steatham. He's a naturalist. He'll be showing us around and teaching us about the plants and animals on the island." Paul Steatham petted his beard and smiled, eyes glittering. Rusty mumbled, "That guy's smoked a fewjoints in his life." His mother, right behind us, said, "Russell Scalisi, if you embarrass me in front of these teachers, I'll sell the television." Paul, with the beard, explained that the animals on the island were originally native to Georgia. He spoke of extinction as if it was a clattering machine that might someday crush our own fingers. Because his voice was deep and rich, an axe thunking a tree stump, everyone listened. He asked us to stay on the trails and be quiet and not to tease the animals. "These creatures aren't completely wild," he said, "because we feed them and they're used to seeing people. But they aren't pets. Some may eventually be released into the wild. They can be dangerous, okay? Now who's got a question?" He set his hands on his hips. Eric Johnson, who was going to be a doctor like his father, raised his hand up stiff. "Yessir," Paul said. "What are the animals here used for?" Paul pinched his beard and stroked it. "Nothing. They're not much use to us in our technological world. On the other hand, 51 we're not much use to them either." His eyes crinkled at Eric, and his voice mellowed. "That was a good question, man. This island is just sort of an ark, I guess." Ascension beamed. "It's our duty to preserve and protect God's creatures." Paul nodded. Tim grabbed Rusty's shoulder and stood on tiptoe. "Do these animals of yours have souls? We're taught that they don't. Do you believe that?" Sister Rosaria turned. She had on her harlequin glasses now. Her beakish nose pointed at Tim. The man rolled his head and showed his bristly throat and chuckled in polite embarrassment. "I can't answer that one. Depends on your point of view. A Native Americanwould say they have souls. I do know they're incapable of sin. Even when an animal kills, it's in innocence. Maybe they don't need souls." His eyes slid towards the teachers. He grinned. They smiled back, relaxed and charmed...