by Peter Corris
'Okay. You want to see the elephant walk and you want to go to England?'
'Yes.'
'Here's what you have to do . . .'
Within the hour, I was driving on the Colombo road with Grace Drewe in the Citroën, talking flat-out, exuding confidence. I showed her the Smith & Wesson and told her how I'd used it to get Vivien and myself through the riot at the railway tracks.
'She didn't tell me anything about that.'
'She passed out as the first skull was cracked.'
Grace went pale and said nothing for a while. Then she launched into a diatribe against Larry, denouncing him as a heartless beast who didn't care if he was cuckolded and could never have loved Vivien to start with. A lot she knew. At my age, I knew that love could last ten minutes or twenty years, could collapse at a misplaced word or survive a hundred infidelities. It's the great human mystery, as someone must have said (I can't believe I came up with the phrase unassisted), and that is why it's at the centre of all the great stories. Tell me one that doesn't have it in there somewhere. I had other things to think about and didn't respond much after putting the .38 away. Grace was in a bad way, smoking the local gaspers one after another and muttering under her breath. I watched the odometer and slowed down as we rounded a bend where a track ran off into the jungle.
'Why are you stopping?'
'Sorry, Gracie. This is as far as you go.'
'Don't be absurd. What do you mean?'
Ranu emerged from the jungle at the side of the road pointing his pistol at Grace. He was resolute-looking, with a fair imitation of a scowl on his face, but nervous and a bit shaky. I hoped to hell he'd unloaded it the way I'd told him to.
'Andrew! How dare you!'
As I'd expected, her shock at seeing Ranu with a gun made her forget all about me, and I had time to shake some ether from a bottle I'd pinched from the infirmary onto a pad. Maybe she caught a whiff of it because she half turned, but not quickly enough. I got an arm around her chest, pinning her, and held the pad against her nose and mouth. She struggled, but she had to breathe and after she'd done that a few times she went limp.
'I hope you have not killed her, Dick.'
'No chance. She'll sleep for an hour or two, feel a bit sick for a while and then be ready to make trouble again. Let's get going.'
We left the main road and drove down some small tracks and out to the plantation where the elephant rampage was to be filmed. I'd noticed a couple of outhouses scattered around the plantation and it was my plan to hold Grace in one of these, keeping her quiet but fed and watered until the elephant sequence was over and Ranu could hop on a plane. I hadn't thought it out much beyond that. She'd kick up a stink for sure, but by then the whole operation would be packing up and who'd care? I was even prepared to buy her silence if the price wasn't too high.
Ranu was strung very tight on the drive and I chattered away, trying to relax him and, probably, myself. I was feeling the pressure, too.
'What did you think of Sir Laurence?'
Ranu sniffed. 'Impossible to say. The man was acting all the time. I felt sorry for him.'
'Don't. He'll make out all right.'
'Anyway, he left this morning.'
That was good news. We reached the plantation and I took the back tracks out to the building, little more than a shed, where the hellish bitch, Miss Drewe, was going to spend the next twenty-four hours, whether she liked it or not.
23
I'd been too cautious, and by the time we reached the shed Grace was coming out of the ether and I had to talk very seriously to her after handcuffing her to a workbench.
'You're mad. You can't do this. Kidnapping is a hanging offence.'
'That's in America,' I said. 'It doesn't happen in the British Empire. Shut up, Grace, and listen.'
What I told her was the truth, or part of it. I didn't mention the size of my fee.
I could see her fighting off the ether nausea, getting herself back into fighting trim. 'Oh, that poor boy,' she said. 'I understand, Richard. Of course I won't do anything to stand in his way. I'm sorry I was so hasty.'
'I'm glad you grasped it.'
Ranu was standing outside, watching preparations for the shoot.
'There was really no need to go to these lengths.' She rattled the chain of the handcuffs against the solid leg of the bench. The bench was a plus for her. For all I'd known, the shed was empty or might have run to a few fertiliser bags for comfort. As it was, I could get her coat from the car and she could make herself moderately uncomfortable. 'Take these silly things off.'
'Grace,' I said, 'this is where you find out what movie making is all about. If they get through the shoot this afternoon, you'll be free by around six o'clock. But it's a bugger of a thing and they might decide to do it in the morning. You're here until it's done and Ranu's on his way to the airport. Got it?'
She screamed.
'Waste of breath,' I said. 'Especially with the elephants making all that racket.'
It was only fitting that the elephant charge, or elephant walk as it was called in the script, was the most dramatic part of the movie. The idea was that the elephants, about a dozen or so, but filmed to look like a lot more, should come down a rugged defile, mill around the wall and, after a bit of trumpeting, break through the barrier and stomp on down to enter the house. They were to knock down a chandelier—setting fire to the place, which they would well and truly trash in the process. The grand piano Andrews had played Mozart on was smashed to matchwood, along with 'the governor's' tomb. Vivien was to get trapped upstairs while the fire took hold. Finch, the hero of the cholera epidemic, along with Vivien, who'd cut bandages and sponged bodies until she was exhausted, swarmed up the ivy and rescued her from the inferno. Andrews was to arrive too late to be of any use, pretty much his role in the picture as a whole.
It was a bit like the burning of Atlanta, Quo Vadis, and The Nun's Story33 all rolled into one. It was tricky stuff because the elephants had to be filmed near the plantation house but of course they weren't to smash it down, and the beaters and handlers had to be kept well out of sight. The wall was a set but had to look real and the sequence had to be shot right because there couldn't be any retakes, not with all that destruction. Some of it was absurd, of course. Finch had to keep a rifle slung over his shoulder. He'd used the rifle to wound a cholera-infected native who'd threatened to break through the quarantine. Great stuff, but it was nonsense to have him hang on to it. I suppose the idea was that he could shoot a few elephants if they got in the way.
Ranu and I took ourselves up to the 'bungalow'. I had it in mind to take up a position by a window, have a few drinks, and enjoy the action. I was about to enter the house when Ranu handed me the Sam Browne and his pistol and rolled up his shirt sleeves.
'What're you doing?'
'I've volunteered to be one of the beaters. It will be great fun.'
I was appalled. I couldn't see Pelham-Smith shelling out for a son delivered to him squashed flat. 'Forget it. You're crazy. It's too dangerous.'
He tossed his hat to me and I caught it. 'I'm not a child, Dick. Don't try to stop me. I want to do this to have something exciting to remember when I'm studying law in England.'
He turned and walked away to where the beaters were being marshalled. People were milling about. I spotted Andrews and Irving Asher going into the house through another door. There was no way physically to restrain him and all I could do was stand and watch while my four thousand pounds joined a crowd of poor devils who were working for a few rupees a day.
'Dick! Come on up.' Andrews was calling from a balcony and he had a bottle in his hand. I watched Ranu for a second, hoping he'd trip on a step and sprain his ankle. When that didn't happen I went upstairs to have a drink. Andrews was well ahead of me, which was no problem because he'd finished all his scenes. He was a real pro and I was told that they got the last scene, where he sees John and Ruth Wiley kissing after the bungalow has burned down and John is free of his dad at last, i
n one take. All Andrews had to do was say something like, 'Guess I'll catch the next boat,' and look resigned. He was good at that.
The bottle was champagne. I'd have preferred something stronger, but there were just the three of us and Andrews said he had another couple of bottles in a cooler.
'Should be a great show,' Andrews said. 'William's good at this stuff. Holy Christ, look at the size of that one!'
They were herding the elephants into position. One, the rogue bull that most upset John Wiley, looked like it could step over the wall. I have to admit that it was all done with great expertise and precision. There were a lot of cameras set up to shoot the sequence and, as I've said, the beaters and handlers had to get out of the way when their particular beasts were in shot. God knows how they choreographed it and there was no denying that it was dangerous work. Some of the cameramen would have to be quite close and as for the chaps like Ranu—it didn't bear thinking of. It's possible that the animals were partly tranquillised, but I'm not sure.
There were the usual delays and confusions and worries about the light, but eventually the signal was given and the elephants started moving and the cameras started rolling. Asher was quiet. He knew that it was the crucial moment in a shoot that hadn't gone well. Andrews chattered on about his next movie, something to do with tracking a man to Africa.34 He was asking me about working in the dark continent and I was trying to answer while getting as much champagne inside me as possible and trying to keep an eye on Ranu. I quickly lost him in the swirl of huge bodies, collapsing masonry, falling trees and the dust thrown up by all this activity.
'Going well,' Asher said, and he took a small sip of champagne.
'Sure is.' Andrews set his empty glass down on the balcony ledge and reached into the cooler for another bottle.
It was an impressive site. The wall had been built to collapse, of course, and the set the elephants marched into would look much more real on film than it did now. The handlers ducked here and there, prodding and shouting and keeping the great beasts not only moving but showing signs of aggression. How they did that I don't know, but I have my suspicions. Ordinarily, this much action would have been shot in several sequences, but not this time. They had to get the lot—the elephant walk, the wall, the advance on the bungalow and Ruth and John Wiley's moments of truth—all in the one go. It was noisy and might have looked chaotic, but if you understood camera placement and realised how they could dub in music and sound you'd have got some idea of how well it was all going. So far, no one had been trampled to death and I thought I caught a glimpse of Ranu before a cloud of dust obscured him.
The flames started to flare inside the mock-up of the bungalow and I saw a stunt man (or maybe it was Finch himself, he was mad enough to do it) swarming up an ivy-covered pillar with that silly rifle over his shoulder. Asher allowed Andrews to top up his glass.
'Congratulations, Irving,' Andrews said. 'This is one of the great action shots of all time. Makes up for all the other shit we've been through. With a bit of luck you just might have a movie here, just might.'
'What do you mean?' Asher said. 'All we have to do is the set work back in LA.'
Andrews lit a cigarette, took a drink and looked just like one of the cynical, disenchanted characters he played. 'Doubt she'll get through it, buddy. Seriously doubt it. Lady's not a happy person.'
I leaned on the ledge and watched the set burn and the elephants walking about. The script called for them to walk slowly away with great calm and dignity and that's what they were doing.
All except one. Somehow, the big bull hadn't been rounded up and herded into line with the others. I saw him lumbering away and waited for the beaters to go after him, but none did. Asher and Andrews were chatting, addressing a question to me, but I didn't pay them any attention. The big elephant was bellowing and waving its trunk in the air. It was also heading straight for the outhouse where Grace Drewe was handcuffed.
It was a long drop from the balcony to the garden-bed below but I went over it without a thought, landing in the soft earth unhurt. Then I ran, shouting, screaming for someone to help me. I realised that I had Ranu's pistol in my hand. Great weapon against a twenty-ton elephant. I sprinted flat out down a path, jumped over flowers and rockeries, trying to gain on the elephant. The beast lumbered on, seeming to have only one thought in mind—to reduce the shed to kindling. Suddenly I was aware of someone passing me, moving more quickly, handling the ground better and not worried about the elephant.
'Ranu,' I shouted. 'Stop!'
If he heard me he took no notice. He was almost abreast of the elephant now, with fifty yards still to go. If he ran into the shed the likelihood was that the bull would trample them both. Then I realised that I didn't have the key to the handcuffs. I'd given it to Ranu. I ran faster, hard work in that heavy, hot, wet air, with the breath rasping in my nicotine-coated lungs. I wasn't really thinking, of course, but dreadful images rolled through my head as I ran—Ranu and Grace squashed flat, Pelham-Smith accusing me of murdering his son, a trial for manslaughter at best . . .
I caught up with the elephant and passed it. Ranu dashed into the shed. My momentum carried me on. I hadn't the faintest idea of what to do but I ran in front of the beast, shouting and waving. I must have pulled the trigger on the pistol. I must have pulled it several times. The shots that rang out frightened me almost as much as the huge creature coming towards me and made me scream like a banshee. I was almost outside the little building and the elephant was only a few yards away. Then time seemed to slow down and distances became distorted. The elephant trumpeted deafeningly, almost in my ear. I squeezed off another shot and its pace came back to slow motion, no comfort if you're expecting to be squashed. Then it lifted its head, roared, swerved and went past me, crashing through a brushwood fence and a bed of roses and tearing up a lawn as it headed for the jungle.
I staggered back a few paces and only the door of the shed prevented me falling in a heap. My knees were like jelly and my teeth were chattering so hard I had an aching jaw for days afterwards. The first thought that hit me, after I realised I'd survived, was that the .38 had been fully loaded when Ranu had pointed it at Grace. With a shaking hand, too. I managed to get my legs to support me and I opened the door of the shed. The two of them were twined together like something in one of those old Indian murals. The dirty ones. Her blouse was open and her bra was pushed up and Ranu had hold of one of her breasts. He was trembling almost as much as I had been. Grace's hand was inside his trousers and her tongue was inside his mouth. She was still handcuffed and the key was lying on the ground. I bent and picked it up.
I cleared my throat, not out of politeness but because my tongue felt like a lump of leather. 'I scared it off, so this's not the last chance you'll get. Undo the cuffs, son, and we'd better start thinking up a story, fast.'
They disentangled. Grace straightened herself and Ranu fumblingly undid the cuffs. They interlaced hands almost straight off and would probably have got down to it again if I hadn't stopped them. 'Any ideas, Grace?'
She was eating him up with her eyes. 'I . . . I was waiting here for Andrew and then suddenly I heard all this noise and he burst in and there were shots and then you . . .'
'Okay, okay,' I said. 'Got it, Ranu? That should do it. You look pretty bloody convincing to me.'
24
I was the hero of the hour; an unusual experience for me and I must say I enjoyed it. Of course, I knew how to play the scene—very manly and quiet, looking surprised that anyone could make a fuss over something so perfectly natural. Thank Christ I hadn't ruined the effect by pissing in my pants as I've been known to do in moments of danger. It had all happened too quickly. It was one of those rare times when everything goes right. The business with the runaway elephant hadn't disturbed the filming. Everything had gone according to plan and everyone was happy. Asher took me aside to give me his personal congratulations.
'Dick, that there was the bravest thing I've ever seen.'
I manag
ed a laugh. 'I reckon the couple of glasses of bubbly I had inside me helped, Irving. Didn't even think about it.'
'You've got guts, that's what it comes down to. But I want you to understand something. We can't let anything about this get out.'
That brought me down a touch. I'd already started to construct a fantasy around this incident. Whole careers in the movies have been built around slighter things. I could see myself getting the lead in an adventure picture or two—Gordon of Khartoum, starring Richard Browning, Burke and Wills, why not?35 Asher explained that he'd have insurance problems and difficulties with the government if the story of the elephant getting loose and being shot at got around. One element in the story of the movie was true—the Ceylon government was very protective of its elephants.
'I didn't shoot at it,' I said. 'I fired over its bloody head, I think.'
'I know, but who'd believe it? There'll be a bonus for you, Dick, come pay day. You can be sure of that.'
So I agreed; everyone else was sworn to secrecy and the story of my amazing courage has never been told, until now. It's astonishing how the bad news spreads like wildfire and the few good things you do can remain a closely-guarded secret. Life is very unfair. But for the moment, it wasn't so bad. Andrews produced another cold bottle and we had a few belts before I remembered Grace's threat to blow the whistle on Ranu. I looked around for her but she was nowhere to be seen. I didn't trust her one inch, so I went looking. I managed to find little Ethel, Vivien's maid, who was packing up costumes in a room of the plantation house and asked her if she knew where Grace was.
She rolled her eyes and pointed down a corridor. Most of the house had never been used, of course, because the bulk of the interior shots were going to be done back in Hollywood where they could control the lighting and the sound and everything else much better. In fact I'd never looked thoroughly through the place, after establishing that it had the right exterior and ground level spaces for the shoot. I walked down the passage, not taking any particular trouble to be quiet, but I became more discreet when I saw a shaft of light slanting across from an open door and heard intimate murmuring up ahead. In fact, I was on tiptoe by this point. A gentleman would have retreated altogether, but I was never that, and with adrenalin still trickling through me along with other fuels like alcohol and curiosity, nothing could have kept me from sneaking up and listening.
