Elephant Bangs Train

by William Kotzwinkle

  The King stroked the nose of the wounded bull. 'Can the future be read in an elephant's eye?' he asked, brushing a large black fly away from the bull's heavy brow.

  'I have led an unholy life, gracious Lord, and know nothing of oracles,' said the mahout. He opened the bandage on the bull's trunk and applied a healing paste made by an old woman of the village.

  In the second watch of the night, the old bull was struck in the belly by a pain the size of a thousand spears. Mad with anguish, he broke his stable chain and staggered past the other bulls, into the courtyard. His body quivered from trunk to tail. Where was the enemy? He raised his head and fixed his eyes on the stars, for if he did not he would fall and he did not want to fall in the courtyard. The cows were watching from the doorway of the stable. They had all been his wives. He moved himself slowly to the high wooden fence of the pen and rested against it in silence.

  The mahout rose from a restless sleep, his chest and stomach cramped with indigestion. No doubt it was the eloquent curry of the King's cook speaking. He turned on his bed of straw, trying to dispel the pain. A dream rose in his mind haunting him again. Some holy men had been chasing him with prayers and rattling beads; he'd managed to elude them in the garden of courtesan. He shook his head, glad to find himself in his own room; he was getting too old for courtesans. He swung his feet on to the floor and leaning on a smoothly polished ebony cane, rose and walked through the bamboo door into the courtyard. There was a great shadow against the fence. He picked up a lantern and ran towards it.

  The elephant smelled the mahout clearly but could see only a dim shape below. He struggled to hold himself against the creaking pillars of the fence, scraping his tusks along the wood. He wanted to go beyond the fence. He wanted to lie down where he could not be seen by the calve and gossiping cows.

  'I must see King Sudarma,' said the mahout to the white-robed eunuch who attended the lotus leaf entrance to the royal bedchambers.

  From the outer wall of the palace, a midnight raga droned in the still North Indian air, and in the labyrinth of corridors bells jingled on the feet of the serving girls. The mahout was shown down a lamplit hall, and through a jewel-beaded door to the evening presence of King Sudarma.

  The King sat in dark blue evening cloak before a low table, on which the book of sacred knowledge, the Holy Vedas, lay open, marked by a golden thread. The mahout knelt before it, not quite touching his head to the polished floor, for he was not a religious man.

  'What is it?' asked the King.

  'The eldest bull,' said the mahout, raising his head, 'will die tonight.'

  King Sudarma did not look up. The illuminated script danced beneath a flickering brass lamp.

  'It is his wish to go outside, my lord,' said the mahout.

  'Lead him away, then,' said the King.

  The stable boys had awakened and were holding a water bucket up to the bull. He dipped his trunk into the water, but did not drink, and the bandage grew wet at the edges. The mahout came across the courtyard and gave the order for mounting. A ladder was placed against the elephant's side and the mahout climbed up on to the bull, settling himself on the neck.

  The boys swung the high palace gates open. The elephant did not move. The mahout whispered into his ear and struck him lightly with his cane. The elephant lurched forward, and seeing the open gate, marched slowly out of the courtyard into the moonlit plain.

  'Come for me at dawn!' called the mahout to the boys running in the dust beside the elephant. Gradually the boys were left behind and the mahout heard the gates of the palace closing. The song of the sitar faded and soon he and the elephant were alone beneath the stars and the full pale moon.

  The mahout charted his way in the sky. The elephant walked stiffly in the sand. His feet were heavy. Dark men had loaded him with a stone. He pulled it over the sand and the dark men danced around him. The stone was heavier than a great tree and he strained against its weight.

  A white figure appeared to him out of the shadows of the plain. Ahead, winking flirtatiously, was the fattest of the King's royal cows. She shook her haunches. The old bull trumpeted and hurried towards her, waving his bandaged trunk. He tried to mount her, but she vanished.

  'What is it?' asked the mahout, scratching the elephant's battle-scarred ears.

  The elephant looked into the shadows, but the plain was empty. He moved slowly forward, sniffing the air, but there was no scent of the cow, only the dry sand, and the great stone he dragged along.

  'We came this way before, old fellow, do you recall?' said the mahout, remembering with a sigh the reckless ride he'd taken with his ruination, the dancing girl of the palace. Indeed, thought the mahout, it seems last night we passed this way, though it was full twenty years ago the wench coaxed a ride in the King's gold canopy.

  The courtyard was dark and quiet. He roused the stable boys. 'Here, worthless ones, black hashish for your dreams. Prepare the King's elephant and say nothing.'

  The royal canopy was fastened to the back of the eldest bull. A veiled figure climbed the ladder and slipped through the embroidered curtain of the canopy.

  'Open the gates,' said the mahout, climbing up behind her.

  The gates were opened and they rode all night, the elephant searching for stray grass, his ears twitching to the sighs upon his back from within the pale curtains.

  'Lovers must make certain noises,' said the mahout, scratching the favourite spot behind the elephant's ears. Indeed, he thought, the palace trembled when you climbed upon a cow in the garden.

  The night was hot. The mahout led the young cow out of her quarters and chaining her between two trees, brought out the bull elder and let him loose. Now the lamps were rattling in the stable for the ground was shaking and it was rumoured the ears of the palace maidens were wrapped with silk bands to prevent them hearing the moaning in the garden. The mahout crept across the courtyard, certain they were listening anyway. He stopped by the evening incense bowl, beneath a lotus-shaped window. The bull and his bride would ride all night. He watched discreetly from nearby to see they did not knock the palace walls down in their passion.

  'Such sounds are tempting,' whispered a voice from above him.

  He turned and looked up. There was a face behind the curtains. 'We are prisoners of love,' he said, handing a stick of smoking incense through the window. She put it in her teeth.

  He could see her clearly now. The mark of Shiva, Lord of the Dance, was on her forehead and her transparent gown was whirling in the stars. 'Ah well,' he said, patting the elephant on the side of the head, 'we've both grown older.'

  The elephant walked slowly. Long ago he and the other bulls had run like thunder here, the colours of the King streaming from their trunks. Now he plodded along, for dark men had tied stones to his feet. He lifted his trunk. In the dryness, he smelled fruit.

  'No,' said the mahout, peering in the dark grove of trees ahead, 'don't stop.' Holy men lived in such hideouts and holy men made him itch. During the spring festival of saints, holy men flocked to the village and he had to ride off quickly on the King's elephant to escape a scratching fit. Undoubtedly, he was a terrific sinner. Indeed, he loved the dice, a disgrace for a man of his age, but he was unusually clever at throwing them with the palace soldiers.

  The elephant's trunk dragged in the sand. He tried to shake the load of stone off, but it stayed with him. He moved his feet forward, but went nowhere.

  'Up,' said the mahout, urging with his knees, 'up the hill.'

  The elephant moved forward. The mahout watched the moon suddenly grow bigger on the edge of the hill and he felt himself go up and touch it.

  'I've found you again,' he whispered.

  'If you dare.' She opened her veil. They climbed towards the moon and touched it.

  The elephant raised his head. He saw the round ivory face and dark smiling eyes of a cow on the crest of the hill, and he struggled up the slope.

  The mahout rocked on the elephant's neck. T
he moon leapt away beyond them, and below, shining, was the jungle. The mahout did not fancy the jungle, and signalled the elephant with his cane.

  The elephant lifted his trunk, tasting the many smells that filled the air. The flowers called him with their deep perfume. He marched forward, towards the jungle.

  The mahout beat his cane on the elephant's head, but they were already moving down the hillside and he realized it was too late. The ragged shadow of the jungle came closer, and the fallen moon grew larger.

  The elephant trotted towards the dark garden, pulling the great stone along. The ivory cow was waiting for him in the trees. Dark men could not hold him. The trees came closer, the leaves touched him. He was inside. She was ahead through the leaves and he suddenly remembered. Untamed. All else . . . men . . . Kings . . . the enemy . . . had been a trick! He plunged into the steaming mist, stamping his feet, crushing the flowers, kicking off the dark men's load. A trick! he raged, calling to her, pushing down the trees.

  The mahout clung to the elephant's back, trying to see ahead in the pitch darkness, and saw only the white bandaged trunk waving in the air. He hugged tightly, pressing himself to the coarse, bumping hide. This, he realized, his heart shuddering, is a wild elephant. The tangled leaves and branches ripped his legs; a cool body slithered across his ankle. O mahout, he cried in himself, this is what comes of spending holy days in opium dens with the rope climbers.

  The elephant crashed through the bush, tearing at the leaves. King, King, cried the parrots from their perches.

  I was the King, thundered the elephant. The trees parted. Below flowed a river and he stumbled towards it, plunging into the swirling water with a groan.

  'No!' shouted the mahout, yanking on the elephant's ears. The jungle water rushed up over the mahout's legs, chest, chin, and he went under. The moonlight shattered in the water. He was in the basin. Mother washed him. How pleasant it was. 'No!' He lifted his head above the water with a gasp. The swift current tore him loose from the elephant's head. He grabbed the trunk and clung to it, and putting the snout to his lips, kissed it desperately.

  The elephant recognized the old man's smell, but the deep stream was cool. He could stay down, without the dark load, in the river, below the mud. The old man had given him a nut. Then the battle drums rolled. He could hear them rolling in the roar of the river. He trembled on the edge of death.

  'To the shore !' cried the mahout.

  The elephant struggled to lift his feet out of the mud. Chains of weeds dragged behind him and he moved slowly through the water. His eyes rose above the tide and he shuffled through the mud. The heavy darkness was on his shoulders again and the load was hurting. He moved his front feet up on to the shore, but could not raise his back legs out of the mud.

  I am alive, thought the mahout as the river fell away. I have escaped. 'Up,' he said, begging the elephant forward.

  The elephant pulled his back feet, but the load would not move. It was too heavy. He looked up and down the river bank. The cows were not watching. The stable door was closed. He sank down.

  The mahout fell forward, clinging to the elephant's trunk. The elephant lowered his haunches with a thunderous splash and mud rained down on the mahout from all sides. The river bank made sucking noises and the elephant rolled over on his side, his back legs still in the water.

  It was the third watch of the night. The mahout sat on the river bank, keeping the flies away from the elephant's eyes. In the distance the arrogant tiger called. The elephant raised his bandage trunk in the air, answering with a weak bleat.

  'Hush,' said the mahout, gently stroking the swaying trunk, 'he's far away.'

  The elephant lay on his side, staring into the mud, waiting for the dark men to unload him. The heavy cargo made him sore, and the dark men swarmed around him, talking their intricate tongue. He was strapped all over. They'd loaded him down in the mud and stabbed him in the belly.

  The mahout stared across the river, waiting for the dawn. His head hurt and his chest was aching and he swore no more hot food, for his indigestion was deep and terrible now, cutting up and down in dark waves of pain. He clutched his stomach and rocked back and forth, trying to remember a prayer he'd learned as a child, recalling instead a dice game he'd played with the soldiers.

  The elephant tried to keep away the stinging flies with his trunk. Tail and trunk were all he could move. The mud was cool and they were unloading his back legs. He closed his eyes. Soon they'd be done and he could sleep.

  The mahout rocked in the mud. I have thoroughly degraded myself. He pressed his elbows into his stomach, trying to piece together the prayer, but her face kept returning, and the sound of the dice.

  'My darling,' she whispered, turning in the firelight.

  'You,' he said and collapsed in the mud, clinging to himself. Bringing his feet up under his chin, he stiffened in the river bed.

  The elephant raised his trunk. A sweet belch of hay broke the air. He saw a bright light and in it white cows dancing with trunk to tail. He put his bandaged trunk in the ring. His load fell away, and he rose above the dawn.

  'I'll bet a hundred!' cried the mahout, as the white cube turned slowly in the air. His indigestion was gone and he'd had good luck. There would be pearls for the dancing girl and wine for the stable boys. The black-dotted eyes flashed, stopped on Kali, the toss of death. Bidding goodnight to the soldiers he walked with a sack of money in his pocket to the village to see the old woman about a potion.

  'Come in,' she said, smiling in the doorway of her hut. She was crippled and he helped her take the canister down from the cupboard. 'Make this tea,' she said. 'Whoever drinks it will be, filled with profound longing for you.'

  'Indeed,' said the mahout, 'that is what I need.'

  He walked through the village towards the palace. This time she would be his completely. Quickly he mounted the steps towards her chamber, pulled open the door. Her mirrors and beads were on the bed, but the room was empty. He went to the window. Below in the courtyard`s the palace gates were opening and a procession of soldiers and stable boys came through, carrying a litter covered with white linen. That is she, thought the mahout running down the stairs into the courtyard. She loves to ride behind curtains.

  The stable boys were weeping. The litter was lowered to the sand in the middle of the courtyard. A breeze lifted the linen, revealing a brown face and the head of an ebony cane.

  'Ah no,' cried the mahout. 'I have died!'

  From the four quarters of space, holy men appeared. 'We will take you to the royal chamber,' they said, holding out their arms.

  'Never!' shouted the mahout, lifted into the air by a terrible wind.

  'I will take you,' said the elephant, kneeling in space.

  THE END