An Inconvenient Elephant (26 page)

Tom came up behind Shamwari and slapped him hard again and again. The elephant lifted his trunk and screamed. A long, heart-rending trumpeting, filled with rage and pain and torment and protest.

“Let's go,” Diamond said. “He's come back to life.”

She kicked at Tusker. I squeezed oranges until my fingers burned. Tom ran behind the animals, pushing and slapping at them. It was a slow procession, but we moved.

One step to the next.

Across the dust, through the date palms, stumbling over the twisted, dried bromegrass, Shamwari followed his old friend, slowly, painfully, trusting that the old elephant
would lead him somewhere safe, and Tusker moved forward, almost as if he understood that every step was a step to life. We got them to the gates. It was nearly dusk, and Grisha would be returning soon. We had to move them faster.

The blue trucks were ready. The back panels were open, the ramps were down. Diamond slid down the side of Tusker and onto the ground, and we pushed and prodded him up the ramp and into the truck. Immediately, the doors were slammed behind him.

Shamwari was next. He balked and screamed as soon as Tusker disappeared from view. JJ was on the ground now, and he and Tom pushed Shamwari up the ramp, sweating and grunting from the effort.

Shamwari fought. He swung his head back and forth, as if to comfort himself. He moved backward, stepping off the ramp, and he trumpeted. His calls were answered by Tusker.

“Hey!” someone screamed from inside the compound. “Hey! What the hell are you doing there? Hey!” It was the security guard. He was running toward us, waving his arms.

We had run out of time.

SHAMWARI WAS IN NO HURRY. HE RAISED HIS TRUNK
and pulled the orange from my hand while Tom and JJ frantically pushed against him. He ate the orange, chewing it slowly. The men pushed some more.

There was a loud rustling sound, and a man screaming in the woods. The date palms swayed like ladies with big hats, disturbed by the grunting efforts of the security guard, who was running between them, tripping over the dried grass and knots of thornbushes. He was overweight, his belly flopped with every lumbering stride, and he ran clutching at his chest and screaming for us to stop.

Shamwari savored the orange, his mouth open, his tongue rolling it around, chewing, chewing, then swallowing it. He took another step, then reached his trunk out to me to ask for more. Tom's two men and JJ pulled on chains
that raised the ramp while Tom called Grisha on the cell phone.

“Just get the hell out of the restaurant,” he was saying. “Leave the limo and get a cab back to the hotel. The second hotel.”

Shamwari wanted more orange. He swept his trunk against me, but I had nothing. He swept the bag, and I threw it up the ramp, inside the truck, hoping he would follow it in, but he stood resolutely waiting for more. One of Tom's men revved up the motor that lifted the ramp. The angle of the ramp was getting higher, forcing Shamwari to slide part way down the ramp. Tom's two drivers each jumped behind the wheel of a truck and started the engines. Finally, Shamwari moved off the ramp and into the back of the truck. We were almost free, but now the security guard was climbing through the cut chain link. Tom and JJ were trapped inside the blue truck with Shamwari. Tom's men gunned the engines, and both trucks rolled safely away.

I ran to the green rented car and turned on the engine. Diamond was just climbing into the passenger seat when the security guard lunged at her and caught her by the leg. They struggled as he tried to pull her out. She fought him, elbowing him, kicking at him, but he hung fast onto her leg, trying to pull her out into the road. I was sitting behind the wheel with the motor running and couldn't reach Diamond to help her. She stretched across the seat and grabbed at the urn, pulling it open with one hand and throwing the contents into the guard's face. He clawed at his mouth and nose, now covered in two inches of thick gray ashes, courtesy of Mrs. Wycliff. Blinded and coughing, he fell back into the road,
Diamond slammed the door shut, and I gunned the motor. The guard sat in the road, wiping at his eyes and nose with the sleeve of his shirt and retching.

 

Tom paced the hotel room nervously. He and JJ had been dropped off on the side of the road by the blue trucks and had called a taxi to the new hotel, where Diamond and I were waiting. It wasn't nearly as fine as the Holiday Inn, but the plan had been to disappear from view, more or less. We were registered under another false name, Vasya Pupkin, that Grisha had insisted was the simple and forgettable Russian version of John Doe.

It had been nearly three hours since we had taken the elephants, and they were already on their way to a sanctuary in Tennessee, to be checked by a vet, put on IVs, and in general, gotten ready for their long trip to New York. That part had worked, but Grisha hadn't yet returned. He hadn't called any of us and didn't answer his cell phone. The limo driver called Tom to tell him he had dropped off four men at the Circle D ranch, that Grisha had not been with them, and was he finished for the day?

“How hard can it be to get a cab in Texas?” Tom kept asking us. But we knew what he was worried about. Anything could have happened to Grisha—the ranch was big enough to hide anything.

Diamond and JJ were playing cards. I sat by the window to watch anxiously for Grisha's return, when suddenly I remembered something.

“Diamond,” I asked, “why did we spray the elephants' heads?”

“Oh, right! I learned my lesson with those horses at the farm,” she replied. “When I accidentally used the red marker that washed off.”

“But why do it at all?”

She looked over at me. “Trophy hunters? What do they want? Heads! I thought, if we couldn't get the elephants out of there, we could at least paint their heads. Who'd want a trophy with a big red blotch on it that won't come off for years?” She gave a triumphant laugh. “Just wish I'd had the time to spray paint all the other animals.”

“The authorities will seize them,” Tom said. “Neelie took enough photos—”

The door flew open.

“Is Grisha returned!” Grisha burst into the room, carrying several shopping bags. I jumped up from my chair and ran over to give him a big hug.

“Why didn't you answer your cell phone?” Tom asked.

“Grisha forgets to electrocute it,” he replied, then looked around the room, hands on hips. “Where are elephants?”

“On their way to Tennessee,” said Tom. “We actually pulled it off.”

Grisha nodded and sat down in a chair. “Was sheiks with me at dinner. Was making more bids! Two more men, trying to make heavy bid! I tell them I am Russian mafia. No one makes heavy bid more than Grisha. Then you call. I make excuse myself for toilette and leave through kitchen.” He pointed to the bags. “But I stop in kitchen to bring treat. I am told this is famous Texas specialness. Fried prairie oysters!”

“But even with that, what took you so long?” Tom asked. “You should have been back hours ago.”

Grisha smiled and shrugged. “Grisha does not remember Athens, Texas. Grisha only remembers Greece city. Grisha tells driver to go to Cypress.”

 

The owner of the sanctuary called late that night to tell us that the elephants had arrived safely. They were weak and injured and were being cared for, and she reassured Tom that they would be ready to undertake their last journey in about a week. It wouldn't be long before they would be in New York, but she wondered why they were both marked in red paint.

“Some kind of ritualistic killing?” she asked.

“Sort of,” said Tom. “American ritualistic killing.”

 

The next afternoon, we were having our last meal together before we would fly our separate ways. Grisha had requested real Texas barbecuement for our farewell dinner, since the prairie oysters did not engender much enthusiasm. Diamond looked up a few restaurants in the motel directory and actually found about 162 places, but we let proximity be the determining factor, and we wound up at Bob's BBQ Shack around the corner from the motel.

We toasted one another with beer and ate fiery beef brisket and coleslaw sandwiches, and wished one another happiness and good luck. Grisha announced he was planning for a much-needed vacation before buying a small second home for himself in Rwanda.

“Grisha is thinking, he needs vacationment. Grisha cannot romp the world forever,” he declared.

“Rwanda is quite a beautiful country now,” Tom agreed. “It has found peace.” He saluted Grisha with a glass of beer. “And I wish you peace as well.”

“Rwanda,” I mused. “I guess a wild heart needs a wild home.” Grisha bowed his head to me.

Diamond and I were planning to fly back to New York together, sans the corporeal Mrs. W., though Diamond reverentially wrapped up the urn and packed it into her suitcase.

“I'm glad she came with us,” she declared. “Though I'm sorry I have to leave her in Texas. It was her very last rescue, you know.”

“But not yours,” said JJ, “I'm hoping.”

Diamond laughed. “Probably not,” she said. “I will always be ready. Just give me enough time to buy the oranges.”

Tom stood up and took my hand. I looked up at him, puzzled. I was still holding part of my sandwich in it.

“I would like to make an announcement!” he proclaimed.

“No, you don't,” I said, pulling my hand away. “We have to talk first.”

“Excuse us,” he said, giving a little bow to the group around the table, then helping me from my chair. He led me behind the restaurant, where there were huge pits smoldering with charcoal and half steers spinning on skewers the size of ski poles. I had brought my sandwich with me and took a bite.

“This isn't the most romantic of places,” Tom started, “but I'm asking you to marry me.”

I looked at him and took a bite of sandwich. His green eyes were dark and earnest, his silver hair curled just a bit over his ears, his shirt was rumpled, his jeans were tight.

“I have to divorce my Russian husband,” I joked.

“I'm serious, Neelie,” he said. “I love you and I want to marry you.”

The men tending the barbecue pit suddenly stood at attention to earnestly eavesdrop.

I took a deep breath. “I don't think I'm what you want,” I started. “I mean, I'm not…normal.”

He gave me a bemused look. “I sort of figured that out.”

But I was thinking of how I felt as I stood at the thundering falls watching the water trying to reach heaven, how uncontained it was. How free from encumbrances and expectations. And then I thought of Grisha's words about having a wild heart.

“I can't be home,” I said. “I don't want to…live…in a house…all the time.”

He nodded. “I know.”

“And I may need to leave from time to time,” I added.

He nodded. “I know.”

“Even if I don't quite know where I'm going,” I added. “And I might have to sleep with an elephant once in a while.” I took another bite of my sandwich.

He took the sandwich from me and threw it away, then took my hand in his. “I know all that.”

“I suffer from…a wild heart,” I said.

“I have a place just for it,” he said, and kissed me to the sound of barbecue forks clacking approvingly in the background. “Next to mine.”

 

We drank the local brew the whole day, toasting and saluting one another, and celebrating a successful rescue and our engagement.

“To the happy couple,” said Jungle Johnny.

“To your happiness, always,” said Diamond-Rose.

Grisha stood up and gestured with his beer. “Grisha is never so happy to make divorcement,” he announced. “Grisha is
filled
with joyness to give wife away to best friend.”

OF COURSE, MY MOTHER MADE THE WEDDING CAKE.

It was in the shape of a huge peanut because she couldn't find a pan that resembled an elephant. It was five layers and covered in chocolate frosting because she thought gray frosting would give it the appearance of being a big boulder. Too impatient to wait for our reception, she proudly showed it off to the family as soon as she and my father arrived. We crowded around the center table for the big reveal.

“That's the oddest-looking cake you ever made!” my father exclaimed when he saw it. “It looks like a big pile of elephant poo.”

“Dung,” I corrected him.

“Speaking of elephants,” Reese interrupted, “why don't elephants like to play cards in the jungle?”

I turned to him. “You know, a nice wedding gift would be a day without stupid jokes.”

“Because of all the cheetahs,” he finished triumphantly, and kissed me on the cheek. “And that'll be it for the day.” I gave him a grateful hug in return.

“You never did appreciate my baking,” my mother said.

“Mom, I love your baking!” I protested. “I don't think anyone in the world has a wedding cake that looks like this!”

“I must admit,” my mother modestly replied, “I was inspired.”

“We can cover it in ice cream,” said Marielle. “Ice cream fixes everything.”

 

Tom and I got married at the sanctuary under a big white tent with heaters blasting and a million flowers hanging from everywhere. A flutist, a guitarist, and someone playing the thumb piano performed softly in the background.

I didn't want a big wedding or a fancy wedding or a domesticated wedding of any kind. I wore a simple yellow dress, for spite; Tom wore jeans because I love the way he looks in jeans; and we invited only family, if you follow Diamond-Rose's reasoning that everyone you love is family. My parents attended, along with Jerome and Kate; the twins, Reese and Marielle; Tom's mother, who dressed in enough black lace to look like a Goya painting, but I got the point; Tom's son and his two sisters; Grisha and Richie and Ignacio and Alana, who flew up from Florida; and Jackie and Diamond-Rose and Jungle Johnny and Mrs. W.'s urn, to which Diamond festively attached a sprig of lilies of the valley. I rode down the aisle on Mousi, sitting sideways on his bare
back. He was scrubbed white and braided up with yellow roses, and seemed to understand the importance of the occasion, because he did a dignified march right up to Tom and the minister, and held his bowels the whole time.

We had a barbecue, which made my father very happy. And we made sure there were plenty of barbecued porta-bello mushrooms, which made Richie and Jackie very happy.

“JJ and I are going to travel a bit together,” Diamond confided to me while we ate. She had apparently showered for the occasion, the second time in my recent memory, and looked beautiful in a deep green pants suit and a large yellow flower tucked into her flaming hair. She glanced adoringly over at Jungle Johnny. “We leave tomorrow morning for Johannesburg.”

“I thought you'd had it with men like that,” I teased her. “You know—the jungle takes them?”

“Well, I think this time, the jungle will take both of us,” she said, then pulled a cheroot from her pocket. I tried not to choke as the familiar putrefied scent filled the air.

“I just hate to leave you with all the work,” she added.

“No problem,” I reassured her. “Tom is hiring professional animal caretakers to help run things. And we'll be fixing up the main house so that you'll always have a place to come back to.”

She gave me a hug along with another whiff of her cheroot.

There was a sudden barrage of spoons tapping glasses, and Tom leaned over to kiss me.

“I am the happiest man in the world,” he whispered.

“Me, too,” I whispered back. “I mean, I would be if I were a man, but since I'm a woman, I'm definitely the—”

“Oh, Neelie.” He sighed. “Shut up.”

My parents strolled over to chat.

“So, where are you going for a honeymoon?” my father asked.

“That's up to Neelie,” Tom replied, putting his arm around my waist and pulling me close.

“Well, I hope it's not anyplace exotic,” my mother interjected. “I'm certainly glad that her last trip with you was only to Texas. You can't get much safer than the good old U.S.A.”

Jerome came over to give me a hug and kiss and advice on prenups, though it was about two hours after the fact, while Kate helpfully whispered, “Don't eat too much wedding cake if you want to wear this dress again.”

“I have a question for the new bride and groom,” Reese announced. “Why were the elephants thrown out of the hotel swimming pool?”

“Oh, Reese,” I said. “You promised!”

“Okay, this is really the last one. Because they couldn't keep their trunks up.”

 

We ate the elephant peanut dung cake with chocolate ice cream, which only made it look worse, and I drank more champagne than I thought I could hold.

The sun was melting away, leaving traces of rose and gold in the sky. Our guests were murmuring with contentment, and I took Tom's hand and led him down to the elephant barn, where our special guests, two elephants from Zimbabwe, were recuperating nicely in their big new stalls.

Brass nameplates on the front of their stalls read, “Tusker” and “Shamwari.”

Still brightly marked with huge red spray paint stains in the middle of their foreheads, the elephants were very timid around people. Shamwari comforted himself every night by rocking, and Tusker still hadn't regained his outgoing good nature. His eyes looked haunted, saddened with a new knowledge of humans he'd never had before, but I knew we would fix that.

We stood in front of them, and I pulled Tom close to me. “This is the best wedding gift you could have given me,” I said.

“I'm glad you sort of forced me into saving them,” he replied.

And it was, as Diamond liked to say, perfect.

We had all done good. We had saved a world.

Actually, two worlds, because it has been said that those who save a life, save a world, and I guess my karma knew a thing or two about what I needed to complete, because I hadn't been allowed to come home from Africa until I put it all together. I'd had things taken from me and given back to me, and I had been given a wild heart so that my unrest would drive me to do what my destiny required.

Tom and I and Grisha and Diamond and JJ, and even Mrs. W. in her own peculiar, deceased way, had all helped restore some balance to what was maybe not such a good world, maybe a sad and broken world, but as I watched the two noble elephants in front of me, I thought, to do anything less was unimaginable.

And I learned something about being civilized. When someone aspires to make the world better for another creature—any creature—then that is truly being civilized.

And that's what it's really all about.

Tom pulled me close. “We'd better get back to our guests, Ms. Neelie Davison-who-won't-take-a-married-name-ever-again,” he whispered into my ear. “Or they'll be wondering where we got off to.”

I looked up at him. “No, they won't,” I said, laughing. “No, they'll know exactly where we are.”