The Elephant's Tale

by Lauren St. John

  “And we’ve got four days to do it in.”

  “Four days,” Martine said despondently. Sometimes the sheer scale of the mission they’d taken on overwhelmed her.

  Ben finished his sandwich and went through the list one more time. “There’s a pattern here and we’re just not seeing it.” He checked his watch. “I’m surprised Gift’s not back yet, but there’s no point in us sitting around moping. Let’s do a tour of the rock engravings. Maybe they’ll inspire us.”

  Martine’s spirits rose as soon as they set off up the path that led to the work of the Stone Age artists. The rocks that weren’t engraved were, in a way, even more fascinating than those that were. They were riven with swirls, loops, and hollows, as if they’d been sculpted by ocean waves and wild gales.

  “That is exactly what has happened,” said Edison, their guide. He was a lean, angular man, neatly turned out in a khaki ranger’s uniform, who could as easily have been thirty as sixty. Years of guiding had not dulled his passion for his job. He looked at Martine, who was fanning herself with the postcard. “You are hot today, yes?”

  “Yes,” she responded fervently.

  Edison grinned. “Would you believe that hundreds of millions of years ago this entire area was covered in ice? It is incredible, is it not? Later, when the polar ice caps melted and the sea level rose . . .”

  “Isn’t that what’s happening now with global warming?” said Ben. “The polar ice caps are melting and the seas are rising?”

  “Exactly,” agreed Edison, pleased to be guiding such a bright boy. “Only at that time it was a good thing. The climate became warmer and many species of flora and fauna thrived in the new lakes, rivers, and swamps. We think that in the Jurassic period, about a hundred eighty to two hundred million years ago, when dinosaurs roamed the Twyfelfontein Valley, this area was a swampy lake.”

  Martine, who was eleven and three-quarters, found it impossible to get her head around the idea that the Etjo sandstone boulders she was standing among were hundreds of millions of years old, as old as the dinosaurs that had lumbered around them. It made her feel as insignificant as a grain of sand. Whether or not she and Ben managed to save Sawubona, the boulders would still be here—would, in all likelihood, be here for another millennium.

  Farther along the path were split boulders, which had provided the Stone Age artists with canvases of perfect sandstone. It was on these that they’d engraved striking images of elephants, rhinoceroses, lions, ostriches, and antelopes, though Martine was pleased to note that their favorite animal seemed to be the giraffe. Edison explained that, to the ancient artists, the giraffe was a symbol of rain. Often they were accompanied by a rainbow and clouds.

  The sight of so many giraffes brought on another bout of homesickness. Martine missed Jemmy so much it was like a constant, nagging ache in her heart. Every hour in Namibia had been dogged by the fear that she might never see him again; that by pursuing this quest, she might very well be squandering her last precious days with her beloved white giraffe.

  She wondered what Jemmy was doing now and if he was thinking of her. Was he missing her? She hoped that Angel would encourage him to hide in his old sanctuary, far from the prying eyes of the strangers working at Sawubona until she returned, and that Khan was deep inside the warren of tunnels himself. She and her grandmother had pledged to keep the leopard safe from harm on their game reserve. How could they protect him if they no longer lived there?

  These thoughts went around and around in Martine’s head.

  The engravings also made her nostalgic for the Memory Cave at Sawubona. There, however, the paintings were made from Bushman tinctures like oxgall and iron. The Damaraland images had been painstakingly chipped out of the rock and were up to 20,000 years old.

  It was while Martine and Ben were examining them that they noticed a series of circles carved into the sandstone. “Edison,” Martine called. “Are these fairy circles? Did the Stone Age artists have a theory about how the circles came to be there?”

  The guide came over. “Those are not fairy circles. They are engravings of Moon Valley—an extinct volcano crater that the locals believe is haunted.” He pointed. “Look, you can see it from here.”

  Across the valley, interrupting the crooked line of purple mountains, was a charred hill shaped like a funnel.

  “A local businessman, Reuben James, is building a nature oasis there, and there are many who believe he is most unwise. They think the spirits will be displeased.”

  Martine was startled. “Did you say Reuben James is building a nature oasis there?”

  Edison looked at her sharply. “You know him?”

  “We don’t like him,” Martine responded, unwilling to go into how or why she and Ben were acquainted with Mr. James.

  He nodded sympathetically. “I myself am not sure how I feel about this man. He has done many good things for people and animals in this area, but this new project, there is something wrong with it. It is causing much unhappiness with the locals.”

  “I thought Mr. James was very popular around here,” said Ben.

  “He was, and for many people he still is. But the building of this hotel has created much controversy. In order to create his oasis, he will require many gallons of water from the fresh-water spring the Damara people call Ui-Ais. It means ‘a water place where the stones stand clustered together.’ For thousands of years, the people and animals of this area have depended on this spring for survival. Now it is under threat.

  “And that is not the only thing. Unemployment is high in Damaraland and yet there are no local workers there. They are from faraway places like Windhoek or Etosha, or foreigners from Zambia or Botswana.”

  “I can see why that would cause resentment,” said Ben. “When is the oasis due to open?”

  “Soon, but if you want me to be honest, I don’t think it will happen. There are rumors that Mr. James has big, big debts that are getting worse by the day, but in my opinion this is not the only reason.”

  Martine squinted across the valley. A dust-caked truck was beetling across the dusty plain toward Moon Valley. It disappeared into the haze. “Then why?”

  Edison picked up a smooth stone and turned it over and over in his palm. He lowered his voice. “Maybe it’s a strong word, but I’m sure there is something evil about this project. There are stories that if you complain about the building work or how near it is to the stream or ask too many questions about Moon Valley, bad things will happen to you. We had this man living in Damaraland, an elephant whisperer. A year ago he went missing and not even one footprint of his has been found.”

  Martine saw Ben’s eyes widen at the mention of Gift’s father.

  “The last place he was seen was at the gates of Moon Valley.”

  22

  By sunset, Gift still had not returned. The Welcome Center closed, and Martine and Ben found a perch on a hillock a short distance away, from where they could see the road and parking lot but would not attract the attention of any well-meaning departing staff who might insist on calling their parents.

  “It’s very unfair of him to leave us here for hours on end,” moaned Martine, wriggling into her sweatshirt. As if a switch had been turned off, the chill of the desert night was moving in. “What on earth can he be up to? Do you think he’s eating a three-course dinner at the hotel? When he shows up, I’m really going to tell him off.”

  “If he shows up,” said Ben.

  Martine stared at him. It was a possibility that hadn’t occurred to her. “But he has to come back. He promised to help. Surely he wouldn’t abandon us here?”

  “Who knows? It’s not as if he owes us anything. We’re going after a man he obviously likes and respects. Why should he help us? We’re also trouble, in the sense that we’ve entered Namibia illegally and my parents and your grandmother don’t know where we are. Maybe he’s decided to get out while the going is good. It’s not like we could find him again.”

  “But we know where he lives.” />
  “Do we? Could you locate that place again? We should have asked for his phone number, but it didn’t occur to me we’d need it.”

  Another thought came into Martine’s head. “Ben, what if something’s happened to him? What if he went back to the hotel and that ghastly Lurk was lurking and pounced on him? He’ll be dying to get revenge for the gift shop incident. He’s sly, that man. I wouldn’t trust him as far as I could throw him. Why does Reuben James employ him?”

  “That’s what I mean,” said Ben. “All we ever get is more questions. It’s about time we found an answer.”

  It’s hard to say which of them first came up with the plan to search Moon Valley, but in the end it didn’t matter. As far as they were concerned, they’d gambled with their own fate and that of Sawubona by coming to Namibia, by throwing in their lot with Gift, by pursuing Reuben James. If they didn’t finish what they’d started, it would all have been for nothing.

  For hour upon hour they’d watched for the headlights of Gift’s vehicle to illuminate the Welcome Center parking lot, but nothing split the star-showered darkness. They wrapped themselves in the space blanket for warmth and took turns dozing, getting up when Ben’s watch alarm went off at three a.m., stiff, sore, cold, and worried. They’d nibbled a bit of hoodia cactus to stave off hunger pangs and thirst, but they couldn’t help but feel agitated about their friend.

  There were two likely explanations for Gift’s continuing absence, neither of them good. Either he’d betrayed them by deliberately dumping them at the Welcome Center in the belief that staff there would rescue them or call the police. Or something terrible had befallen him. Martine pictured him bleeding by the roadside after overturning his four-wheel drive on the slippery gravel road.

  “I’d feel a lot better if there was some way we could leave a message for Gift,” said Ben. “You know, in case he comes looking for us.”

  Martine looked at the flat, dark valley and ring of black mountains. The moon was on the rise, and the stars winked and shimmered. “I have an idea. We can leave him a message!” she told him, remembering something Gift had said about the way desert people communicated in the absence of phones and computers. “Help me gather up the lightest stones you can find.”

  Minutes later they’d left their first desert telegraph—a white giraffe made of stones, its long neck pointing in the direction they planned to travel. They planned to leave one every couple of hundred yards.

  They headed out across the plain, their flashlight lighting a yellow path across the scrub, shale, and rocks.

  As they walked, Ben said, “We don’t have to do this, you know. We could turn around now and go back to the Welcome Center. Yes, we’ll be in loads of trouble and the police will be called and Gwyn Thomas will hit the roof and my mum and dad will refuse to allow me out of their sight ever again, but it’ll be worth it because we’ll be safe. We’ll be alive.”

  Martine glanced sideways at him. “Do you want to turn back?”

  “Only if you do.”

  “Well, I don’t. If there’s a chance—even a microscopic one—that by going to Moon Valley and finding out what Reuben James is up to we could save Sawubona and Jemmy and Khan, then that’s what I have to do . . . Hey, did you see that?”

  The crater had lit up, as if the volcano had come to life. At the same time they heard a muffled rumble, like distant thunder. Then it went dark and quiet again.

  “Great,” said Martine. “Like we haven’t been through enough. Now we have the prospect of being incinerated by a smoldering volcano to look forward to.”

  Ben grinned. “Hardly. This is an extinct volcano. What we heard was a man-made explosion that was probably caused by the dynamite we saw on the plane. Wouldn’t you rather be blown sky high than boiled alive in bubbling orange lava?”

  “Those are my options?” said Martine. “Gee, let me think. Oh, there is another one. I could beat you up.”

  She made a fist and chased after him and the two of them ran through the desert laughing, and briefly forgot about their troubles.

  They’d reached a cluster of fairy circles when Ben said, “I’m sure this is the spot where the elephant disappeared in Gift’s photograph. I recognize that line of boulders, because they look like a face with a missing tooth.”

  Martine was doubtful. “Ben, there are millions of fairly circles. Even supposing you’re right, what does it mean?”

  “Well, nothing unless you think about how coincidental it is that Gift’s father and at least one elephant disappeared very close to Moon Valley.”

  “Ben, that’s crazy. I can’t stand Reuben James, but you’re accusing him of kidnapping Gift’s dad. Surely even he wouldn’t do something so wicked. Would he?”

  She turned to look at the volcanic crater. The burnt slopes loomed before them like the dark side of the moon. There was a phosphorescent glow emanating from it, as if it was lit from within in the manner of a football stadium. “What he doesn’t know isn’t going to hurt him,” Reuben James had said about Gift. Later, his crow-haired companion had virtually blackmailed him into doing whatever it took to ensure the Ark Project was a success. Men like that would surely stop at nothing.

  Martine switched off her flashlight. “I guess we’d better proceed with extreme caution.”

  23

  The sky was lightening as they scaled the gritty rim of the crater and wriggled on their bellies toward the edge. By that time they were so filthy they looked as if they’d spent a week in a coal mine. They had considered attempting to get in through the main gate, which they’d seen from a distance as they approached, but it was three times their height, made of iron and set into the crater wall. It was also patrolled by two security guards with dogs.

  As they inched forward, their eyes, which had grown accustomed to the dark, burned with the brightness of the glare below. Martine shielded hers and peered over the brink of the volcano. At first all she could see was fizzing white spotlights bent, like preying mantis, over a valley. When her eyes finally adjusted, she gasped. Of all the things she’d expected to find, this was not it. She had expected construction site chaos and men toiling away with cranes, concrete mixers, and scaffolding. In her wilder thoughts, she’d even envisioned a training facility for soldiers preparing for Callum’s “war.” And when Edison spoke of Reuben James’s plan to create an oasis, she’d pictured three tired palm trees leaning over a concrete pool enlivened with a few fake pink flamingos.

  She hadn’t imagined a tropical jungle festooned with flowering vines and crisscrossed with wooden walkways. Or a crystal blue fountain. Or clouds of brilliant color floating over beds of African wildflowers, which, when Ben got out his little binoculars, they saw were butterflies as bright as jewels. She definitely hadn’t foreseen a futuristic hotel made from wood and glass and suspended in the treetops, or a maze of the type one might find at a castle in England, with an okapi—a beautiful little creature with zebra-striped hind legs, which is a close cousin of the giraffe—tripping through it.

  She’d never imagined they’d stumble on paradise in the most unlikely place in Africa.

  “What do you reckon goes on in there?” asked Ben.

  Martine followed his gaze. At the far end of the valley, barely visible through the trees, was a dome of opaque white. It resembled a giant golf ball.

  “It looks a lot like the Eden Project, this place my mum and dad used to take me to in England. Sounds similar to the Ark Project, doesn’t it? The domes there are massive greenhouses that house rainforests and waterfalls and all kinds of things. That might be what they’re doing here.”

  A splash of red appeared in the fading night sky. As if on cue, a sublime chorus of birdsong floated up to them. A gardener in overalls appeared and began tending to the wildflowers.

  “Wow,” said Martine. “Wow, wow, wow!”

  “I’m confused,” she said to Ben as they scrambled back down the slope. “Every time I think Reuben James is Mr. Hyde, he turns into Dr. Jekyll.”

&
nbsp; Ben put out a hand to steady her as she slipped on a loose rock. “Meaning what exactly?”

  “Well, every time I decide that he’s a kidnapper, or a con man, or a burglar, or an elephant poacher, he does something unexpected. Like the time he lent us his new Land Rover so we could help the sick buffalo. And now this. Ben, isn’t Moon Valley one of the most idyllic places you’ve ever seen? But I didn’t see any elephants. I’m losing hope that, with days to go, we’ll find anything on Reuben James so bad it’ll stop him taking over Sawubona.”

  “What he’s done with Moon Valley is incredible,” said Ben, “but there are too many things that don’t add up. If he has this place as well as Hoodia Haven and others, why is he so obsessed with taking over Sawubona? Sawubona is special to us, but there are a thousand game reserves just like it. Yet he’s fixated on ours. Don’t worry, we’ll get something on Reuben James yet. But we’re going to need to find a way into Moon Valley.”

  “Why don’t we take a closer look at the delivery area?” suggested Martine. Earlier, they’d seen a red-lettered sign directing drivers to the drop zone. They were to contact the site office on arrival, using the telephone provided.

  “Yes, let’s look at the drop zone,” said Ben. “There might be cargo waiting to be transferred to Moon Valley and we could hide in a box and get in that way. That always works in movies.”

  They ran along the curve of the crater until they were at the opposite end of the valley to the main gate, level, Martine estimated, with the white dome. The “drop zone” was a circular area of cleared gravel, ground up by thick tire tracks, and a ramshackle warehouse.

  “If it’s a storage unit, why isn’t it guarded?” whispered Martine.

  “It could be that guards aren’t necessary,” Ben told her. “If the trucks are unloaded and their cargo moved to Moon Valley minutes later, the goods are under observation the whole time.”