As she always does upon encountering a new smell — be it good, bad, or as-yet undetermined — UnderWoman files it away in the vast stores of her memory; compares and contrasts it to all that is catalogued there.
If she must, she will wait until she has the words to express what it is.
Meantime, the strange man is not even giving her his name.
Is that he can’t? Or that he won’t?
The smell emanating from him is vaguely urinous — further reinforcing her impressions that he could be homeless. But he also has a regal, intelligent, mysterious air that leads UnderWoman to believe that he might also be famous and/or infamous.
He uses a line that has worked on her before:
“Let us go then, you and I….”
It’s a wonderful day. And UnderWoman has very little to lose.
So she and entourage and odd fellow journey, slowly, south together.
They enter Central Park Zoo at 1 p.m., just as monkeys ring the brass bell of the Delacorte Clock and the festive dance of elephants, hippos and goats begins.
As they proceed through the zoo, there is something about the entourage that is causing not only people…but also animals…to turn their heads.
Risk-It faints. Brisk-It pees on UnderWoman’s pants leg. Pig-It is trying hard to telegraph something.
UnderWoman sees, and is mesmerized: The man whose name we do not yet know is in an intense eye-lock with a whitetail deer buck on the other side of the glass. The buck is going CRAZY. He is rearing up, pawing the sky, rubbing and banging his head against the wall.
For all intents and purposes, he appears to be in rut.