Chained (17 page)

As I listen to him, I carve behind one of the elephant’s legs to make it look like it is bending a knee to step forward.

“You will become accustomed to the sound of her bell and be able to find her.”

He stands up and ties the bell around Nandita’s neck. I want to show him my elephant figure and ask if he thinks it is coming to life yet. But he walks away without saying good night.

*   *   *

Three days after Nandita’s heatstroke, I return from the spring and laugh when I see her. She is standing next to what is left of the shelter, chewing on the bamboo poles. I wonder if when she woke up she thought a tree had grown right around her, like I used to think my home grew out of the ground.

Nandita’s coarse red hair scratches my face when I hug her, but I don’t care. “You had me so worried!” I tell her. For the first time since her collapse, I allow myself to cry.

She is wobbly on her feet, but I decide to take her to the spring. I lead her slowly out of the arena. The bell swings on Nandita’s neck and makes its
clip-clop
sound as we walk.

Nandita almost runs the last few steps to the spring, then flops into the water. She rolls in the mud of the spring bed and sighs.

On the way back from the spring, I let her walk ahead of me to see where she will go. I follow her, and she finds a tree I’ve never seen before. The thick branches hang heavy with fruit the size of footballs. But it smells awful—like rotting onions—so I cannot believe Nandita would want to eat from this tree.

She wraps her trunk around a fruit and pulls it from a branch. It is so large, I’m not sure how she will eat it, but she places it whole into her mouth and bites down. As she chews I see the orange fruit inside her mouth, and its smell is sweeter. From a low branch I grab a fruit with both hands and pull. I place it on a flat stone and slice into it with my knife. The juice runs onto the green bumpy skin. The smell reminds me of bananas and something else—pineapple, maybe. I bite into it and realize that, again, Ne Min was right. Nandita knows where the good food is.

On the way back to the stable, Nandita follows me and taps my shoulder with her trunk like she did the night we tried to run away. I look around and pretend not to know who touched me. Nandita looks like she is laughing.

At lunch, I am so excited about Nandita’s progress that I blurt out the good news to Ne Min without thinking. I should have waited until we were alone so Timir would not overhear me.

“All right then, she’s better,” says Timir. “We can start the show again soon.”

“Not yet,” warns Ne Min. “She is getting better, and she will live, but next time she may not be so lucky. It is too soon.”

“Another week should be enough,” Timir says, “She will be fine.”

“You don’t know that,” says Ne Min. “She needs more rest, or she will be injured again, and what use will she be to you then?”

Sharad clears his throat. “Maybe he’s right. Until we know it’s safe for her to work—”

“That’s enough!” Timir says. “I’m telling you, the elephant will be fine. We have wasted too much time watching her sleep.”

I clutch the stone in my pocket and finally speak up. “But you know Ne Min knows what he is talking about. He was right about—”

“I do not care to listen to the advice of an elephant killer,” says Timir. “And neither should you.”

No one says a word, no one moves, no one seems to breathe as we wait for what Ne Min will say. He must be furious. For Timir to suggest—

But Ne Min’s face does not show anger, or denial, or even surprise. I am not sure what I’m seeing. He says nothing. Why won’t he defend himself? His hands shake and he looks at the ground as he walks to the door. He glances up for just a moment as he passes me. Right before he looks away I see it.

Ne Min looks like Chanda did when she lied about taking two pieces of bread at dinner. He looks like Amma when she had to leave me at home alone to go work. So I recognize it, but still it does not make sense to me.

What I see in Ne Min’s eyes is guilt.

24

Elephants communicate in ways we cannot hear.

—From
Care of Jungle Elephants
by Tin San Bo

The next night Nandita rolls in the dirt near the stable while I carve a new elephant out of mango wood.

I keep glancing toward the cook shed, waiting for Ne Min to walk out. There must be some explanation for Timir calling him an elephant killer, but I cannot imagine what it is. Ne Min would never harm an elephant.

After breakfast I started to bring it up, but he interrupted. “How is Nandita? Should I check on her?”

“No,” I answered too quickly. He looked as if I’d slapped him. “I mean—she is doing much better, but of course you can check on her anytime.”

He picked up a broom and started sweeping the floor. “We need more firewood, Hastin.” I left the cook shed to collect more wood, even though a small pile was already stacked next to the stove.

I want to show him my new carvings. I’m sure he will like them. They look more like real animals now. I might be good enough to sell my wood carvings one day, like my father did. Perhaps I could even set up a table in the marketplace. I think of the wood-carver I met there and the elephant box he made with all the tiny elephants inside. A good gift for Chanda, I thought at the time.

Suddenly Nandita stops rolling in the dirt and stands up. She stares into the distance, perfectly still, her ears flat against her head, her trunk in the air. I stand next to her to see what caught her attention, but I don’t notice anything.

Then the hairs on my arms and the back of my neck stand straight up. It takes my brain a moment to catch up to what my body already senses. Timir is behind us. At the last
click
of his cane I turn to face him. I still hold the carving in my hand. There is no time to hide it. He’ll know now that I have a knife. Certainly he won’t allow me to keep it. What will I do without Baba’s knife?

He looks down at me and holds out his hand. I place the mango wood elephant in his palm. He seems to stare right through me, as if he can see exactly what I have been thinking.

He looks at the elephant from all sides. “You hardly have time for a hobby,” he says. “But maybe we could sell something like this at the show. People may like a souvenir to take home.” He tosses the figure back to me. “Make some more of these before the next show. Perhaps you can earn a little extra money for your family.”

He turns to walk away. “But first”—he stops and looks back at me—“go to the cook shed and see that everything is put away. That cook had to go home early.”

*   *   *

In the days before the next show, I spend as much time carving as I can. I make elephants of all sizes, and a few Ganesh figures. I work late into the night, wondering how much the carvings will sell for and what my family will buy with the money. Some food, of course, and maybe enough cloth for Amma to make new saris for herself and Chanda. I also start making an elephant box for Chanda that I will fill with small wooden elephants. This I hide in a corner of the stable, under the straw, to take with me when I leave.

I keep interrupting my work to check on Nandita. She looks healthy—her eyes are bright and clear, and she eats more than ever. When she forages in the woods, I can hardly keep up with her despite her shackles. Luckily the
clip-clop
of the wooden bell leads me to her when she wanders too far ahead of me. Sometimes when she approaches me from behind, I pretend not to hear the bell or the rustling grass under her footsteps. Nandita likes to sneak up on me and tap my shoulder with her trunk. Then when I turn around she looks like she’s laughing.

*   *   *

We have a full crowd for Nandita’s first show after her illness. I grip the edge of the fence during the entire performance and have to keep reminding myself to breathe. Nandita kicks the last goal in the game and runs circles around Sharad, who throws down his hat and pretends to be angry. The performance is perfect.

Timir set up a table near the audience to display my wood carvings. He works behind the table, where he places the money from customers in a metal box. From the arena, where I clean up after the show, I overhear some of the buyers.

“What beautiful carvings!”

“Such detail!”

“You are a skilled wood-carver,” one man says to Timir. He buys a whole family of wooden elephants.

I imagine selling my carvings in the marketplace, just like Baba did, and bringing home presents for my family with the money I earn.

“Thank you, I do my best,” Timir answers.

I stop working and hold my pitchfork still to listen closer.

“Really, you are too modest,” says the customer. “An artisan like yourself could make a good living selling these carvings in town. You could open your own shop. Of course we love the elephant show, so we hope you’ll do no such thing.”

Timir glances at me, then looks back to the buyer. “Yes, thank you. Hope to see you again.”

When the last customer leaves, the table is bare. Every one of my carvings has sold. Timir picks up the money box. He does not look at me as he heads to his office.

I throw the pitchfork aside and storm to Timir’s office. He is so busy counting money he doesn’t notice me standing in the doorway. My hand in my pocket clutches the stone.

My throat tightens up like it will not let me speak. Timir jumps when I clear it and ask, “How much money did I earn for my family?”

“What? Oh yes, your family. Well, of course you do have to pay me back for providing your room here all this time…”

“My room? But that was part of our agreement! And I live in a stable!”

Timir’s face hardens. “And the wood for those carvings. Since I own this land, I own the trees on it, too. I will take what is mine, and if there’s anything left, I’ll send it to your family. Who knows? They might be able to move into a bigger shack, one without a dirt floor.”

*   *   *

That night I pace back and forth in the stable, too angry to sleep. I pound the wall so hard that pieces of bark fall onto the ground below. I don’t notice until I slump onto the floor, arm muscles burning, how badly the rough logs scraped my hands.

Nandita stands and moves closer to lie down next to me. She seems to know when I’m feeling bad. It’s like Ne Min said: she doesn’t understand the words, but she understands me.

I lean against her and stare through the spaces between the stable logs. Tonight’s moon, bright and mango orange, hangs low in the sky, just above the treetops. If I followed it, it would guide me home. But I am trapped here, like one of Timir’s animals who once lived in the now-rusty cages.

Instead of climbing into my hammock, I decide to sleep here with Nandita like I used to. I don’t mind the small space I have to sleep in. Next to Nandita I almost feel at home.

*   *   *

In the morning I wake early and take the elephant box for Chanda from underneath the straw. I will not carve for Timir anymore, since he will take everything I earn for himself. From now on every wood carving I make will be for my family.

I carve two more elephants on one side of the box, so now a full line of elephants marches trunk to tail around all four sides. The box is filled with the small elephants I have carved. Some are the size of my smallest fingernail like the wooden elephants in the box from the marketplace in the city, but others are as big as my thumb. Their colors are different, too—most are the gray of mango wood or the light brown of the sal tree. The heart of the tamarind tree is strong, its wood hard to carve, but I used it for a few elephants because Chanda will like its color of deep purplish brown. The thought jumps into my mind that she may not be at home to take my gift, but I push it away and keep carving.

I’m at the woodpile, almost finished with my morning chores, when I realize something is wrong. Mid-chop, I drop the ax. No smoke pours from the cook shed’s chimney. Usually Ne Min is here by now. I run to the cook shed and call his name.

The cook shed is empty. I run a circle around the outside of the building.

“Ne Min?” I call again.

Only the morning birds answer me.

25

The tamest elephant is still a wild animal.

—From
Care of Jungle Elephants
by Tin San Bo

I stand on the path that leads to Ne Min’s home. I’ve never seen where he lives, only the path he takes. But he might walk far, or turn down other trails along the way, so I do not know where to look for him.

He’s probably just running late. If Timir shows up and breakfast is not ready, he will be furious with Ne Min. But I don’t dare leave to go look for him. Timir might think I ran away, and he won’t wait for an explanation before hitting me with his cane.

Back in the cook shed I take a metal bowl from a shelf and set it on the counter. A cool pot of water waits on the stove where I placed it earlier, and I light the fire beneath it now.

I’ve never made breakfast by myself before, but I think I’ve helped Ne Min enough to figure it out. I step outside but still don’t see him.

Nandita trumpets at me from the stable as I run to the trees to collect mangoes. I pick more than we need for the meal, since Nandita will complain if I do not offer some to her.

On my way back she is reaching her trunk through the logs of the stable. I open the door and hand a fruit to her. While she places it in her mouth, I set another mango on the ground next to her before I return to the cook shed. I leave the door open so she can walk around on her own to look for more food if she wants to.

As I peel the mangoes I peek outside now and then, hoping to see Ne Min shuffling up the path. Finally I spot him, after I chop the last of the fruit. My relief mixes with worry when I see that he is moving slower than usual. I set the knife down and run to meet him.

“I am fine, Hastin,” he says before I can ask. “Hard to sleep last night.” Again he assures me that he is all right, but I take his arm anyway and walk to the cook shed with him.

We work together to make breakfast. Ne Min mixes the dough, and I break it into small pieces to roll between my palms. With his rolling pin he flattens each piece into a paper-thin circle. We deep-fry the dough, and it swells in the hot oil. I stir the mangoes in a pot on the stove while Ne Min seasons them.