Elephant Bangs Train (7 page)

Adria went after him. 'No, my dear,' said Blue, restraining her, 'you can't keep him here.'

'I must,' said Adria, weeping. 'He is Amitaba,' but as she spoke a veil fell away from the day and she saw all around her the face of Amitaba, hideously beautiful, sublimely twisted, written in the leaves, the gates, the road, in Norton Blue's electric tie.

'All right, gentlemen,' said Blue, signalling to his camera crew, 'wrap it up. I should like to be in the gutter before sunset.'

Nippy

H
E WAS
a low cur, born of the streets, descended from so many lines of body, bone and blood that he was nearly not a dog at all, but seemed to represent a nether region of the species, some exiled post on the last receding ledge of the canine family, beneath which there was only the dark domain of the rodent, to whom he bore a remarkable resemblance.

His name was Nippy for he had teeth as sharp as needles and biting people was his first love, though he was also fond of chewing shoes and table legs.

We shared my room, but that was all we shared, for Nippy could not be trained or trusted. He would not sit up, roll over, or be a watch dog; he watched only for a chance to escape, and if he got out of the house without his leash, ran straight for the garbage dump.

On a leash, he would bite anyone he came near, with a preference for the tender white meat on the leg of our neighbourhood priest, though he would settle for the dark meat of the priest's housekeeper.

The rest of the walk he spent winding the leash around a tree, under a fence, or into some bushes, forcing me to release my grip or be blinded by pickers. Off he would go, chasing some dark fugitive scent, the leash trailing behind him.

Perhaps our closest moments were those spent in the chase, for they are the only ones I remember clearly—running down grey alleyways in the afternoon, between buildings, over fences, off of walls, Nippy plunging into space, with me behind him.

Finally, he went too far. Mother, Father, and I had gone away for the weekend, leaving Nippy locked in my room with a bowl of food and water. When we returned, I ran straight to my room to see my little friend.

The room was covered with feathers. Nippy had pulled the pillow off my bed and dragged it around the room, shaking it in his teeth no doubt, like a soft white goose he had by the throat, slamming it up and down on the floor until it lay limp and empty, its feathers spreading in a mist which had settled over everything in sight.

Lying on the floor was a tall wooden clothes tree he'd managed to topple after leaving some dark wet stains on its carved claw feet. My father's fishing hat, which had hung on the tree, was in the middle of the room, ripped to shreds, like a murdered bird.

'What did you do?' yelled my mother, waving her finger in Nippy's face, which I quickly covered with my own.

'What did you do here?' shouted my father, picking up his battered hat and chasing Nippy around the room with it, landing several loud slaps on the dog's bony brown behind, as the mist of dancing feathers was swept into the air.

'Who did
this
?' yelled my mother, blowing feathers from her nose and mouth, and pointing to a malodorous deposit Nippy had made, not on the newspapers which she and I had so carefully laid down for him, but on my game linoleum, right in Little Miss Muffet's lap.

My father opened the back door to sweep out the feathers, and Nippy darted out between his legs.

'Let him go,' said my father. 'If he wants to go, let him go.'

I went after him, but he'd got older and wiser, especially to the ways of the alley. He was far ahead, free and going farther, without a leash, without a collar, without a thing of ours but his name.

'Come back, Nippy!' I cried, but he didn't look back. The day was grey and the wind strong, with something irresistible in it, a wild smell blowing up from the underworld.

He turned a corner far away, and when I turned it after him, he was already into the garbage dump, racing down the dusty road, through the smouldering trash, into the world of the rats.

I ran along in the junk, to where the road bent down to a great shelf of trash, and sighted him bounding over the tin cans, headed for the woods beyond the dump.

In those woods, the hobos lived; sometimes you'd hear of a girl going in there with young men for dark pleasures, and into these woods Nippy plunged, through the large weed leaves, seeking his own sinister joys.

I had nothing to offer him, standing in my short pants and suspenders, peering across the smoking dump into the forbidden wood. He was older than me, a thousand years older, an old dog of ancient ruin, going, gone.

Elephant Bangs Train

Reuters News Service Nairobi, Kenya May 25, 1969

Y
ELLOW FLOWERS
on the hillside tempted him upwards. He climbed the green slope, pulling the flowers up with his trunk and swallowing them down. The herds were grazing and there were no screams. The cats had hunted and eaten in the coolness before dawn and were sleeping now on the sunlit cliffs. The elephant's custom was to eat from sunup to sundown, and he tossed his tail happily, for the yellow flowers were exceptional.

He nibbled his way on to a plateau, where a peculiar path appeared, wide and covered with stones, like a river-bed. The flowers grew between the stones and he ate his way along the strange path, wondering what animal made use of it. On either side of the path was a shining bone, hot, with unfamiliar scent, curving through the trees. Never had he seen anything like it in his own part of the jungle.

He had wandered far from the herd, on the trail of greener leaves, and dark-winged birds of death circled in the sky of the unknown land, but he was not anxious. He had dealt with the leopard and impaled the sleek cheetah. With the lion, there had never been dispute, for it was not good for kings to quarrel. He continued down the path, consuming flowers and grass.

Suddenly the monkeys began to chatter, as when a big cat reveals himself and races through the grass. The antelope scattered on the plain. The elephant stopped eating and heard, far off, the roar which had frightened the antelope. It was like many elephants running, but he could distinguish no familiar voice. He returned to his eating, with ears forward, and one eye to the trees. The ground began to tremble, and he continued to eat, with no further pleasure, the yellow flowers.

He saw a great shadow slip through the distant trees. It seemed like many, yet he saw only one body, moving fast. Black dust flew in the air above the treetops, and the monkeys cried
Run!
Were he not of noble breed, he might have done so. Indeed, were he a dog or jackal there would be no issue. Since he was a king there was no question. He remained on the path and watched the long shadow advancing.

Bright and glistening, with many teeth, a great swift serpent came out of the trees.
He faced it, ready to debate over territory. It was dark-headed, with cold, expressionless
eye, and lashed an enormous tail.

Slowly it came towards him, and he blew an introductory note of warning, but it was lost in the hiss of the great snake. Almost atop him, it swallowed up the bones and flowers on the path, and screamed for him to stand aside. His ears twitched with pain from the scream, but he did not move, for the thousand eyes of the jungle were upon him.

The serpent pushed him, and roaring with anger, he pushed back, but the stones slid beneath his feet. He slipped backwards, and the sharp cold teeth of the serpent came between his legs, knocking him off balance. He struggled to hold on to the serpent with his trunk, but his legs were pushed from underneath him. The ground slipped away, he fell, and bleating furiously, tumbled down the hill.

Dumbfounded at the outrage, he struggled to his feet. The serpent passed without further attack. Its tail clicked triumphantly, and its harsh scent filled the air, burning his nose.

The monkeys chattered and the parrots talked. He hurried away to the open plain, trying to escape their comment, but the laughter of the jackal pursued him through the high grass, and on a distant cliff, the lion roared disdainfully.

He walked to the river, to submerge and put the taunts of the jungle out of his ears. He stepped into the water, and a hippo surfaced in front of him, sleepy mockery in her eyes.

On the fierce lips of the monkeys, his humiliation passed through the trees. Their insane chattering was everywhere. He called for silence but they swung above his head, out of reach, gibbering viciously. His ears burned, and he longed for nightfall, when the dark cats would hunt, and none would be quick to speak.

He walked, head down, through the green land, towards the cliffs, a mistake, for the baboons were there, howling and nodding to each other. He did not reply to their insults, for whatever was said to a baboon was hurled back like rotten fruit.

He entered a dark grove of trees, and nibbling unhappily on the leaves, pondered his problem. With the entire jungle singing his shame, he could not return to his herd.

He might do better to walk off the edge of a cliff, and let the death dogs have his body. He sampled a small white flower. There was no need to be hasty. Certain delicacies were still for the taking.

The breeze turned and he caught a familiar, enriching smell through the leaves. He listened quietly, then called softly. The leaves rustled and the smell enveloped him. He moved the branches aside with his trunk.

There stood a beautiful cow. Her eyes spoke many encounters; a great swelling began between his haunches. He circled her, to get behind and mount, but she turned her tail away from him with express denial. He playfully offered her his trunk, but she refused it. He raised up on his back legs and blew a sweet note, but she did not move, and the look in her eyes cut through him like the claws of a cat. His disgrace was already a legend. She shuffled away from him, into the forest.

The great swelling between his haunches was not relieved. The baboons suggested he insert it in a mud bank. Bellowing with rage, he shook the trees with his trunk, tearing their roots, and the baboons leapt away, howling with laughter.

He stood defeated in the dismal grove. What cow would have him now? An old cow, perhaps, with bumps on her head, was the best he could hope for. Then, from faraway, he heard a familiar sound.

He listened as it grew louder, and his rage mounted slowly from tail to trunk. He moved quickly through the trees on to the plain. There, in the bed of grass, he saw the strange path once again, and the long shining bones, and in the distance, the great shadow slithering through the trees.

The light was fading and the day had grown cooler. The ground trembled and the rumbling grew louder. A dark cloud streamed in the sky, and circling above it were the birds of death. The serpent came out of the forest and on to the plain, its bright eye shining.

He trotted towards it, until the serpent's head was fully exposed, and then he charged. The plain blurred, and he closed in with head down.

The serpent saw him and screamed, but his rage was full and he rammed it directly. Darkness fell and cats' eyes glistened; the serpent shuddered and gave way. He hooked it in the belly with his tusks and drove it off the path. The serpent screeched, lashing its tail. He backed away dizzily, his head throbbing, and charged once more, burying his tusk in the serpent's eye.

The serpent did not move. He had killed it. He sounded his triumph and walked away with deliberate slowness. He heard angry voices, like those of the baboons, cursing him, but he did not recognize the tongue, and did not care. The dark-eyed cow was waiting in the trees, and as he came towards her, she turned slowly and showed him her haunches.

The Magician

T
HE MAGICIAN
stood in the alley outside the cabaret, breathing the night air. Under the light of the stage door sat his wife, sewing a silver button on his evening jacket. A sturdy, buxom woman, she cut the thread with her strong teeth, then stood and held the jacket out.

The magician turned and stepped towards her lightly, a magician's walk, pointed-toed across the stones, through the mist rolling in from the river, as a ship edging out to sea sounded its mournful horn.

'The horns of Tibet,' said the magician. 'You hear them down the mountain passes, invoking the Buddha.'

'Yes, darling,' said his wife, holding out his jacket, smiling patiently.

The night is hypnosis, he thought, not daring to look in her eyes, for he would go tumbling into them. From within the cabaret came the sound of a trumpet; in the stage doorway his wife's eyes were wickedly bright, and he could not resist.

'Please, darling,' she said, for he hadn't much time before his act, but she let him fall, until she could feel him inside her, rummaging around in her old loves, her flown and tattered past. What a strange one he was, always exploring around inside her with those eyes of his, peering into the dear dead days of a woman. It was bizarre play, but she let him, for some men demanded much more, and it was more painful in the giving. That was the way of the waterfront, where strange men came ashore. Into their arms she'd fallen, for she loved a sea story, and their dark songs. But then along he'd come, the top-hatted magic one, and she had said so here you are at last, which was all a magician needed, some portentous note to thrill him for an age or two. So they'd married, and he was still looking around inside her, and he has plenty more to see, she thought, before he grows tired.

She broke the spell, waving his jacket at him. He turned gracefully, plunging his arms into the sleeves, noticing at the same moment a wandering couple coming out of the mist on the avenue—an elderly man in evening dress, singing to himself, on his arm a young woman in high-collared cape, with her hair cut short, like a boy. As the lights of the cabaret appeared to them, the young girl began to plead, 'Oh, may we stop here? They have a magic show!'

'Yes, yes,' said the old fellow, continuing on, in deep tremolo, his song, '
O du Liebe meiner Liebe . . .
'