Still Life with Elephant (16 page)

W
HEN YOU'VE
seen one dawn, you've seen them all.

Actually, that's not really true.

Dawn breaking over the plains of Zimbabwe was breathtaking. A rose-colored sky, streaked with orange and gold that finally gave up to a burning cerulean blue, set off by high, brilliant white tufts of clouds. The daylight in Africa looks different. Like it streamed straight from the sun, each particle of light burning, keen, without any interference from earth at all.

Dawn breaking over my barn was gray-blue, with tentative slivers of pink that tried to insinuate their way across the horizon before the foggy air muted them into submission. Maybe it was just because of the way I felt. I quickly fed the horses, gave them fresh water and hay and a promise that I would be back in a few hours to turn them out.

My two coffees and a bag of jelly donuts were already waiting for me. I was in such a routine by now, the owner of the shop had things ready by the time I walked in. I supposed he had been up since dawn himself.

I drove with my usual hurricane speed to the sanctuary, where Richie and Margo were waiting. Well, at least Richie was waiting. I had gotten him hooked on jellies by now, and after we finished our coffee and several donuts, we were ready to start the day.

The baby was being playful. She trotted around the enclosure, sampling the fruit, grabbing at my stick with her little trunk, and squealing like a badly played saxophone.

I gave her things to touch, and she grabbed them with her trunk like a toddler picking up a toy, comically clumsy. Sometimes she
sniffed at my clothing. Elephants have a scent organ in their mouths, like horses do, and I loved watching her explore by sniffing things and then sticking the tip of her trunk into her mouth to capture the scent. I even let her sniff the last of the jelly donuts that I was holding.

“So what should I tell Tom?” Richie asked while I played with the baby.

“Tom's in Switzerland,” I replied, now rubbing the baby's trunk with a soft towel.

“Actually, he called me late last night,” Richie said. “He's back, and he's coming up here in a day or two.”

I tried not to react, but I felt a wrench. Why hadn't Tom called me? And right away realized that it was absurd to believe I was important enough to him that he would.

Then I made a mistake. I wrapped my arms around the baby and hugged her. Margo spun around and rushed me, bellowing at the top of her lungs. When you are four feet from a very angry elephant, it's not only impressive, it's imperative that you remove yourself from the immediate vicinity. I jumped away and darted for the gate, dropping the jelly donut that I was holding.

“This isn't working,” Richie said to me once I was safely outside. “I'm going to be frank with you—”

“Not now,” I said, walking toward the barn doors to leave. “Not now.” I couldn't bear another delivery from the doo-doo gods.

 

The phone was ringing as I was letting myself into my house. I ignored it and bent over to pet Grace. I had African music playing loudly on the stereo, but I could still hear the ringing.

“Did you have a nice day?” I asked Grace in a forced happy-voice, an octave too high. She wriggled her square, formal-looking, little black-and-white body to indicate that her day had gone quite well, thank you. Especially pertaining to the garbage that I had left safely in the pail under the sink and that was now artistically strewn across the kitchen floor.

“I'd better clean this up,” I said to her, studiously ignoring the phone. After all, it was only going to be more bad news. I went for the broom. Another ring.

“Gracie,” I said as I began to sweep up the remains of my last night's dinner, “you need another hobby.”

She wagged her tail in agreement. The phone clicked off, and the answering machine picked up.

“I'm going to give you supper,” I said to her, hoping to drown out the bad news that was sure to be recording any moment.

“Neelie, it's Tom. I've been trying to get you, but your line's been busy or there's no answer. I plan—”

I leapt across the room, grabbed for the phone and stereo at the same time, and lowered the volume on a CD of Thomas Mapfumo. “Hello?”

“I'm so glad I caught you,” he said. “I've been trying to get you for days. As soon as I knew when I was returning.”

“You have?” I said.

“Absolutely,” he said. “And I left half a dozen messages on your mobile phone.” I took my cell phone out of my pocket and turned it on. There were seven messages.

“Wow,” I said. “You're right.”

“Why do you carry a mobile phone if you never turn it on?” he asked.

“I like the way it feels,” I said. “Like I could reach out and touch someone if I wanted to.”

“And the point of keeping it turned off is—?” he asked.

“I don't usually want to,” I replied.

“How's it working for you?”

I had to admit, it wasn't. Somehow the bad news always leaked in, like rain through a broken roof. It was the good stuff that I was missing.

“You're right,” I said. “It doesn't work at all.”

“Well, I would like to reach out and touch
you.
” He laughed. “Is there a possibility of my seeing you?”

“I would like that,” I said.

“I'm putting together my schedule, but the morning after tomorrow?”

“Terrific,” I said. When we hung up, I gave Grace a big hug. “Have a party,” I said, pointing to the trash pail. “Help yourself anytime.”

 

I barely slept that night, then raced through another dawn, another round of chores, another round of garbled answering-machine messages from my lawyer that sounded like “eagles kidnap the lettuce,” and “statutory Eskimo pies.” I pushed it out of my mind and raced off to the sanctuary. Richie was waiting for me.

“Thank you,” he said, as I handed him his morning jelly and coffee. “I suppose you know that Tom is coming up here tomorrow?”

“I know,” I said, careful to keep my voice normal.

Richie studied me for a moment. “Are you worried?”

We let ourselves into the enclosure, where Margo was finishing the last of her breakfast. Her baby trotted up to us and tugged at my arm with her trunk. “A little,” I answered him. “I don't know what Faye told him.”

“Well, she might have told him the baby is more socialized and Margo is definitely more responsive,” Richie said, then added, “just not to you.”

 

I worked with Margo some more that day, while Richie watched. She needed to learn to open her mouth on command now, so that she could be given medicine or have her teeth checked, and I was tickling her lips with the target stick. She pushed it away with her trunk and turned her back on me, lifting her tail and dropping a pungent commentary on my training techniques. I walked to the other side to get to her lips again. She shifted her weight and turned around once again to show me her tail.

“Well, I got her trained if she needs a rectal exam,” I said to Richie.

“Speaking of assholes,” Richie said, “Matt mentioned that Holly had the baby. Did you know? It was a month premature.”

I didn't know. How could I know? My heart thudded to a stop. I did a quick calculation. Holly had called me in April—this was August. She must have gotten pregnant during Christmas.

I dropped my arms to my sides and shook my head. “I have to sell the house because of them.” I said.

“I'm sorry.” Richie put his arm around my shoulder. “Matt's been a friend of mine for a long time,” he said, “and I don't know what's come over him.”

“Greed?” I said.

“He doesn't love her,” he said. “You have to know that.”

“It doesn't matter to me anymore,” I said. “You have to know that, too.”

 

I worked my horses later that day, and when I got back into the house, there were two more messages. A dinner invitation from my mother, who I knew was going to give her all to cheer me up, and another one from my lawyer.

“Bubbee, call me,” he said. “I must talk to you this week.”

He wanted to talk to me about lining up my ducks, I knew. I couldn't avoid it anymore. These were very tough ducks to line up. I couldn't bring myself to start prosecuting Matt, yet I was going to lose my house.
Carnival of the Animals
, which could have been a great title for my life, was playing on the stereo. Light was fading from the sky outside my windows, and I stepped out the back door and watched as dusk transformed the barn into something shapeless and indistinguishable from the smoky sky behind it.

Dusk, dawn, dusk. I took a deep breath and realized that I had better take my lawyer's advice and get my ducks marching along, because, before I knew it, I wouldn't have either dawn or dusk breaking over my barn to watch anymore.

P
ATIENCE IS
one of my better qualities. I will hang in there long after everyone else has packed up their toys and gone home.

I waited a long time for Tom to come to the sanctuary the next morning and made a thousand excuses for why he didn't. Maybe he was hung up on some world-shaking business decision, I thought. Maybe he forgot to write me into his calendar. I worked with an indifferent Margo, and chatted with Richie, and tried not to keep looking over my shoulder every ten minutes for the sight of Tom walking through the barn doors. The morning passed into afternoon, and I knew Matt was going to be pulling up the driveway any minute, and still I waited. I wanted to see Tom very much.

He didn't come. He didn't call.

I know patience is a virtue, but this time it was a drawback. I finally flung the rest of my jelly donuts into Margo's treat pail, gave Richie a quick good-bye peck on the cheek, and left, hoping I had enough time left to avoid Matt. I didn't. He pulled into the parking lot just as I was walking toward my car. I kept walking, looking straight ahead, and tried to ignore him, even as he followed me a few steps.

“Neelie,” he called out softly. I opened my car door.

“Neelie.” I turned around and stared at him. He looked drawn and a bit disheveled. Maybe a bit haunted. I got into my car and slammed the door, turned the car on and pulled away, leaving him standing there, his shoulders sagging, his arms hanging at his sides.

He didn't look like a happy new father.

 

“Tom is a very busy man, you know,” I told Delaney, as I checked my cell phone for the third time before mounting him. No messages. I took him into the riding ring, and we struck off into a nice rolling canter. I congratulated myself on having been so patient with him. Delaney was respecting me now, riding very well, and I was basking in a little self-congratulatory pride when he gave a loud snort and bolted, throwing me hard into the sand. I sat there, my head between my knees, to catch my breath. A sharp pain was slicing across my chest, and my lungs felt like they were filled with sandy ring-footing.

“Good God, Neelie, are you all right? That was quite a fall.”

I looked up to see Tom's face, filled with concern. He extended a hand and helped me to my feet.

“I'm fine,” I managed to gasp out. And I was, as long as I remained folded in half. “How long have you been here?”

“I got here just in time to see you come flying off that thing,” he said. “That thing” was now bucking and leaping around the ring like an escapee from an equine mental institution.

“Not one of our better moments,” I mumbled, and tried to straighten up again. This time, a searing pain tightened my ribs into a knot, and I had to let Tom help me hobble to a nearby fence.

“Why don't you rest for a minute?” Tom said. “I'll go catch him.”

I leaned against the fence, bent like a paper clip, and concentrated on trying to breathe without whistling.

Tom grabbed Delaney by his bridle and marched him into the barn. I followed slowly and then eased myself down, to sit on a bale of hay.

“I'm sorry about this morning,” Tom said, efficiently unbuckling the girth and removing the saddle from Delaney's back. “I had a last-minute meeting in the city. I raced up here as soon as I was able. I got to the sanctuary just after you left.” He hung the saddle over a stall door and knelt down in front of me. “Hey.” He looked very worried. “Are you sure you're okay? I can drive you to the hospital.”

“I'm—okay.” I had to break up my answer into short, painful
wheezes. “And I should—really be—getting back—on him—so that he doesn't—think—he can end—a training session—like that.”

“No, you're not,” Tom said. He took off the bridle, slipped a halter over Delaney's head and led him into a stall.

“You—know how—to handle—a horse?” I had to hold my sides to support me enough to form words.

“I ride,” he said, and then planted himself in front of me with his arms folded. I know that when people fold their arms, and stand in front of you, rocking back and forth on their heels, it means they are going to give you a piece of advice.

“May I give you a piece of advice?” he asked.

I coughed and nodded my head yes.

“It's something I learned early in business,” he said. “When you smell defeat, cut your losses and get out.”

“I don't smell—defeat,” I gasped. “I smell—a training problem.”

“I think you're wrong, and my advice is to send this horse packing,” he said. “You're going to call that horse's owner and say that you can't ride it anymore.” He lifted me to my feet.

“He's my—income,” I protested.

“How about if I pay you not to ride him?”

I flushed with embarrassment. “I can't—do that. It could start a—whole economic trend. You'll wind up—having to pay stores—to not deliver pizza, or car dealerships—to not drop off—a new car every week.”

He wasn't amused. Instead, his face took on a sternness that disconcerted me. “That horse is going to kill you.”

“I'll call a vet,” I hedged. “Maybe there's—something we overlooked.”

“I don't care if he gets PMS, he's too dangerous,” Tom said, taking both my hands in his. His eyes were a serious gray-green, like the middle of the ocean, with the same unfathomable depth to them. “Now, promise me you won't ride him.”

I looked down at my shoes. I didn't like to think that Delaney might be just another entry in my quickly accumulating inventory of defeats.

“Hey,” he said. “Do it for me. I don't want anything to happen to you.”

But, then again, my ribs were throbbing with extreme pain. I had to make a choice, and Tom was waiting for my answer. Death or Tom. Death or Tom. “Okay,” I said reluctantly. “I promise I'll call a vet and see what he says.”

 

We had dinner at a local rib house, in honor of the flamboyant colors that were beginning to emerge across my chest. Tom had no more advice, but he did have a few apologies.

“I'm really sorry about not showing up this morning,” he said, “I hope you don't think I was blowing you off.”

“I couldn't wait—”

“I figured,” he said, and smiled. “Matt.”

“I hate him,” I said.

“Unproductive emotion,” he said. “Don't waste time on it.”

 

We were halfway through a good bottle of wine when he leaned back and cleared his throat.

“You know, I spoke to Faye last night.”

My heart leapt at his words. “I hope she gave me a good report card.”

“She did, but she's worried that you might not be ready.” He swirled the wine around in his glass and watched it for a minute. “Especially to take on the baby.”

“Oh no!” I jumped, then clutched my side. “Please don't send Margo and the baby away.”

His lips made a straight line. “I'm an impatient man, I admit,” he started. “And I want things done. The baby is the one who needs to be socialized early, so that she'll be safe to work around. We'll never be able to completely trust Margo, no matter how much you work with her, so the baby is the main focus here.”

I knew that. It would be good just to bring the danger level in
Margo's interactions down a notch or two, so that the baby was more accessible, because the baby's future was at stake.

“That's why I thought Tennessee would be the best place,” he ventured.

“No,” I said. “Please give me some time. I'm a good trainer.” Then I remembered what he had just witnessed. “Don't go by what you saw today.” My fingers unconsciously sought out my ribs, and I winced at my own touch. “Besides,” I added truthfully, “I love them.”

He laughed, then asked, “Are you really all that emotionally involved with them? I mean, you haven't even named the baby yet.”

“But I have,” I said. “I have. I named her Abbie. After my mother.”

 

I didn't have to ask Tom to stay. We got back to my house, and as soon as we stepped inside, mindful of my bruised ribs, he gently pulled me to him and kissed me. Gracie snapped at our heels while Ladysmith Black Mambazo blasted loudly in the background, their sweet harmonies blending into a deafening rendition of “Homeless.” I had been playing “Homeless” relentlessly, every day, since that call from my lawyer.

“Do you want me to stay?” Tom said into my ear.

“Please,” I said.

“Then would you mind if I turned this off?” He moved away from me and turned the volume down.

“I need the music,” I said, walking over and reaching for the volume knob.

“No, you don't,” he said, taking my hand and holding it. “You need to turn off the music so you can listen to what's going on in your life. It's time.”

He flipped the switch and took me again into his arms.

 

We made love carefully. Tom tempered his passion with concern for my injuries.

“I feel like I'm tiptoeing around a mine field,” he said, stroking my bruised body cautiously. “I've never made love to a rainbow before.”

But he kissed me a million times, before taking my hand and showing me how to caress him. We fell together naturally, legs over legs, arms entangled, the fresh, thrilling feel of bare skin. When we fell apart, he ran his fingers lightly across my face and neck.

“I can't make promises right now, Neelie,” he began.

I put my fingers across his lips. “I know,” I said. “I can't, either.”

“And I tend to want everything my way.”

“That wouldn't bother me, unless I wanted something
my
way,” I countered.

“And I have very little patience.”

I rolled over and looked at him. Gray-green eyes like the brush of African grasses. I was growing to care about him so very much. “Patience is the one thing I have,” I said. “I have enough for both of us.”