Pearl was the only child who had her own code at the zoo building where I worked. Whoever saw her first was required to push the alert button on their walkie-talkie and send the message “Code Pearl” crackling over the radio system. Hearing those two words meant we were in for another crazy day.
Pearl always wore a short-sleeved purple dress with (what else?) fake pearls on her chest. Always. The beauty of her perfect complexion—the color of a riverbed—was forever overshadowed by the frown on her face.
Pearl’s grandmother perpetually wore an oversized, threadbare white T-shirt with a large picture of Tweety Bird on the front and brightly colored stretch pants. Grandmother, as we all came to call her, gingerly lurched through the halls of our building, her age evident in her face and hunchbacked posture. I never saw her when she was not in pursuit of Pearl, who had undoubtedly run away again.
Grandmother’s shrill cawing drowned out even crowds of children, while Pearl maintained a stone-cold silence. The staff constantly kept one eye on the animals and one eye on Pearl in the vain hope that she wouldn’t take off again before Grandmother got to her.
Pearl was either in motion or a complete statue; Grandmother just painfully ambled in circles, yelling at Pearl to either stop there or come here. This tradition changed only if someone got out an animal for Pearl to pet.
Whenever this happened, instantly mesmerized, Pearl shoved all others aside to take complete control of the situation. She stared lovingly at a twitchy-nosed hamster or a calm white rat. Then she reached out a hand before pulling back. We always assured her to go ahead, but gently. The “gently” was never spoken soon enough. Pearl had already tried to snatch the animal and take it with her on her next escapade around the building. We hauled the rodent just out of reach, chiding her again to be gentle. Pearl shot laser looks out of those previously serene eyes and took off again, Grandmother relentlessly limping after her.
We called special meetings to discuss what to do about Pearl. Completely annoyed, most of us wanted to get some sort of zoo restraining order on her and Grandmother and try to get them out of our hair. Out of a staff of twenty or so, only one of us had ever actually heard Pearl communicate with anything but soft grunts. I doubted she could speak at all. But Margaret spoke up, saying she’d had a great conversation with Pearl just the other day.
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