The One and Only Ivan Read Free Page B

smart and cunning, but his gaze was wistful.
    Under the picture were three bold, confident marks, circled in black. I was pretty certain it was a word, even though I couldn’t read it.
    Julia’s father peered over her shoulder. “That’s him exactly,” he said, nodding. He pointed to the circled marks. “I didn’t realize his name was Bob,” he said.
    â€œMe either,” said Julia. She smiled. “I had to draw him first.”

bob and julia
    Bob will not let humans touch him. He says their scent upsets his digestion.
    But every now and then I see him sitting at Julia’s feet. Her fingers move gently, just behind his right ear.

mack
    Usually Mack leaves after the last show, but tonight he is in his office working late. When he’s done, he stops by my domain and stares at me for a long time while he drinks from a brown bottle.
    George joins him, broom in hand, and Mack says the things he always says: “How about that game last night?” and “Business has been slow, but it’ll get better, you’ll see,” and “Don’t forget to empty the trash.”
    Mack glances over at the picture Julia is drawing. “What’re you making?” he asks.
    â€œIt’s for my mom,” Julia says. “It’s a flying dog.” She holds up her drawing, eyeing it critically. “She likes airplanes. And dogs.”
    â€œHmm,” Mack murmurs, sounding unconvinced. He looks at George. “How’s the wife doing, anyway?”
    â€œAbout the same,” George says. “She has good days and bad days.”
    â€œYeah, don’t we all,” Mack says.
    Mack starts to leave, then pauses. He reaches into his pocket, pulls out a crumpled green bill, and presses it into George’s hand.
    â€œHere,” Mack says with a shrug. “Buy the kid some more crayons.”
    Mack is already out the door before George can yell “Thanks!”

not sleepy
    â€œStella,” I say after Julia and her father go home, “I can’t sleep.”
    â€œOf course you can,” she says. “You are the king of sleepers.”
    â€œShh,” Bob says from his perch on my belly. “I’m dreaming about chili fries.”
    â€œI’m tired,” I say, “but I’m not sleepy.”
    â€œWhat are you tired of?” Stella asks.
    I think for a while. It’s hard to put into words. Gorillas are not complainers. We’re dreamers, poets, philosophers, nap takers.
    â€œI don’t know exactly.” I kick at my tire swing. “I think I may be a little tired of my domain.”
    â€œThat’s because it’s a cage,” Bob tells me.
    Bob is not always tactful.
    â€œI know,” Stella says. “It’s a very small domain.”
    â€œAnd you’re a very big gorilla,” Bob adds.
    â€œStella?” I ask.
    â€œYes?”
    â€œI noticed you were limping more than usual today. Is your leg bothering you?”
    â€œJust a little,” Stella answers.
    I sigh. Bob resettles. His ears flick. He drools a bit, but I don’t mind. I’m used to it.
    â€œTry eating something,” Stella says. “That always makes you happy.”
    I eat an old, brown carrot. It doesn’t help, but I don’t tell Stella. She needs to sleep.
    â€œYou could try remembering a good day,” Stella suggests. “That’s what I do when I can’t sleep.”
    Stella remembers every moment since she was born: every scent, every sunset, every slight, every victory.
    â€œYou know I can’t remember much,” I say.
    â€œThere’s a difference,” Stella says gently, “between ‘can’t remember’ and ‘won’t remember.’”
    â€œThat’s true,” I admit. Not remembering can be difficult, but I’ve had a lot of time to work on it.
    â€œMemories are precious,” Stella adds. “They help tell us who we are. Try