Jennings Michael Burch - They Cage the Animals at Night: The True Story of an Abandoned Childs Struggle for Emotional Survival

A DEEPLY MOVING AND INSPIRING STORY.

Alan Arkin

EVERYONE WHO CARES ABOUT THE QUALITY OF LIFE and the future of the nation should read this book.

William R. Bricker, former national director,
Boys Clubs of America

THIS HEARTBREAKING, SHOCKING, ULTIMATELY TRIUMPHANT TALE IS AN EXTREMELY IMPORTANT BOOK.

Lucy Freeman,
author of Fight Against Fears

A MUST FOR EVERY LIBRARYshould be required reading for every couple expecting a child.

Sally Struthers

BERKLEY

An imprint of Penguin Random House LLC

375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014

Copyright 1984 by Jennings Michael Burch

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Ebook ISBN: 9781101659892

New American Library hardcover edition / October 1984

Signet mass-market edition / October 1985

Berkley mass-market edition / May 2017

Cover photo Anna Rakhvalova / Trevillion Images

Cover design by Sarah Oberrender

Some names and identifying characteristics have been changed to protect the privacy of the individuals involved.

Penguin is committed to publishing works of quality and integrity.

In that spirit, we are proud to offer this book to our readers;

however, the story, the experiences, and the words

are the authors alone.

Version_2

To
O BIE and M ARY C LIFFORD

They have my undying love
for their faith in me

This is a true story; only the names of the individuals and institutions have been changed.

Kelly!

She came away from the rail separating her from the snow leopard. She took my hand.

Where are your sisters? I asked as I scanned the area for them.

Lori took Carolyn to the bathroom.

Go and get them, will you? We have to leave now.

Oh, cant we see the seals first?

Sure. You fetch your sisters, and Ill meet you by the seal pool.

She scampered off toward the rear of the lion house and the bathrooms. I watched her until she disappeared around the corner of the building.

Kelly is my middle daughter. Shes frail and slight, and somewhat shy. She reminds me greatly of myself when I was eight and unprepared. And the moment reminds me of the days when this place, this zoo, was my source of refuge, my home. It may sound strange, but I sought comfort here. I hid from fear and loneliness here. I hid from pain and unkindness here.

I sat on a bench near the seal pool and pressed my hands deep into my pockets. I breathed in the crisp cold air of these last days of autumn, and I remembered.

Its unlucky to step on lines and cracks in the sidewalk, but Mom didnt seem to understand this. On the long walk from the subway station, she kept tugging at my arm and telling me to walk straight. It had rained for most of the morning, but now, in the early evening, only a light mist lay heavily in the air. The dark gray smoke from the chimneys along this Brooklyn street didnt have far to travel before blending neatly into the low night sky.

We were on our way to visit with one of Moms friends. Since it wasnt often I got a chance to be with her all by myself, I didnt mind the wet weather, or her quiet mood, or her tugging at my arm. We walked along at a quick pace. I asked a number of times if we were late, but she didnt answer me. Her usually smooth-skinned forehead was somewhat wrinkled, and her dark eyebrows were bent into a slight frown.

Whats wrong, Mom?

Her answer was another tug at my arm as I tried to avoid the next line. She released the tight grip she had on my small hand to refer to a piece of paper she had pulled from her pocket.

Are we there yet? I asked. I looked up for her answer, but there was none. She studied the paper and then the building numbers.

She regripped my hand and trugged again. The wet ground was beginning to make its way in through the hole in my left shoe. I felt my sock sticking to my toes as I tried wiggling and walking at the same time.

She stopped suddenly and leaned down. She brushed back some hairs sticking up from the top of my head.

Now, be a good boy.

I will, Mom. That was my standard answer whether I planned to be good or not.

We climbed a short flight of worn steps bounded by two wrought-iron handrails. We entered the old red brick building through a highly polished wooden door that squeaked as it opened. We were met in the entranceway by a small nun dressed all in white. She nodded to Mom and smiled at me as she greeted us. Her wire-rimmed eyelgasses sat on the very end of her nose. When she spoke, she looked over the top of them.

And whats your name, little fella? she asked.

Jennings, I replied.

Why, thats a very nice name, she said as she turned to lead us down a very dark and narrow hallway. It was so quiet and still, and the smell of burnt candle wax made me think we were in some sort of a church. Mom often took me or one of my brothers to some new church somewhere.

I held tightly to Moms warm hand. We reached the end of the hallway and two wooden benches with red felt cushions.

Be a good boy and wait here, the little nun said over her glasses. Your mother and I have a few things to discuss.

I nodded my head as Mom and the nun disappeared into an office and closed the door.

I was about to sit on the nice felt cushions when I remembered my pants were still damp from the rain. Instead, I stood on my tiptoes and looked out through the colors of a stained-glass window. I closed one eye and moved from one colored glass to the next.

Jennings! I was jolted away from my world of pink cars and green buildings by the little nun. I turned and regrasped Moms hand. She looked sad and red-eyed.

Whats wrong, Mom?

She shook her head and squeezed my hand as we walked back down the hall. We stopped at a door about halfway down, and the nun opened it.

The room was large and blue and filled with noisy children. As we entered, all the children stopped and stared at us. Their silence made me uncomfortable.