Journey from Darkness

by Gareth Crocker

  So far, his luck had held.

  He had often heard people talk about their remarkable spiritual awakenings, epiphanies even, but had always been sceptical of their accounts. For the most part he doubted their authenticity and their sincerity. But the more time he spent with this miracle elephant, the more he was forced to revisit his scepticism. Something fundamental and profound was happening to him, changing him. He did not yet fully comprehend it, but a part of him already knew that it was aligned to his father and that, in some way, the elephant now tethered them together once again. Bound, across the years, as they had once been as father and child.

  And so he spent hours obsessing over his new companion, straining to see if there were any notable changes in her condition. But the truth was he had no idea of whether or not she was making meaningful progress. Short of her collapsing in a heap, he had no means to assess her health accurately. The wound in her head still looked particularly severe and her body was clearly still battling infection, yet she continued to eat and drink which, he kept telling himself, had surely to count in her favour. There was, however, one notable marker – an important clue – that Maquaasi had taught him to look out for: her eyes.

  An animal’s eyes revealed much of its true condition, both physically and emotionally. What Derek saw in hers concerned him gravely. Having now spent a reasonable amount of time in the company of healthy elephants, he had something to measure her against. And the comparison was alarming. It was exacerbated by the natural expression of her face, but it was real. Her stare seemed devoid of hope, as if her experience with the poachers had stripped her of her spirit. It was clear that she remained in the shadow of her encounter with them, diminished by what they had done to her. Taken from her.

  And then, shortly after dawn on the fourth day, something unexpected happened that would shed some light on that experience. Instead of heading for the Shingwedzi River as she normally did, she headed south, away from the water. Although slow, she moved with a clear and deliberate purpose, as if following a route that was intimately familiar to her. Derek followed at a respectful distance as she travelled up hills and through thickets, across tracts of open bush and between trees that looked so dry they appeared to be sculpted from sand. After an hour, he became concerned not only by the distance she was covering, but by the pace at which she was doing it.

  To his amazement, she continued without so much as a pause, over a tall koppie and through a steep valley of lush green and brown, until finally drawing to a halt. There did not appear to be anything particularly significant about where she had chosen to stop, but she raised her trunk and waited for the better part of a minute before slowly continuing forward.

  Something untoward had given her pause.

  A few minutes later, Derek understood what it was. He could now smell it in the wind. It was a fragrance that, once encountered, was never forgotten. The memory of it made his hands itch and his heart fire in trepidation. It was a smell brought back from his past, from the war, unmistakable in every note.

  It was the scent of death.

  15

  Derek drew to a halt, his fists swinging like pendulums at his side.

  He was standing at the top of a valley, at the foot of a killing field. A herd of mammoth elephants lay sprawled out in the tall grass ahead of him, their engorged bodies rotting in the sun. A gang of lappet-faced and white-backed vultures – the bush’s death collectors – trod among them, clawing and picking at their flesh.

  Everything suddenly made terrible sense to him.

  ‘Your family,’ he whispered.

  Derek knew this had to be the nightmare she had endured and somehow survived, the place where the rest of her family had made their last stand. He grabbed hold of a nearby branch for support and slowly sank to his knees. It was as sickening a sight as anything he had seen in the war. The behemoth head of a male was resting tenderly on the back of one of the females, his trunk curled around her neck as if locked in a final embrace. Thick scabs, covered in ants, circled the areas where their tusks had once been.

  Retching at both the stench of their bodies and at the massive loss of life, Derek watched as his wounded companion gently lowered her tusks to the ground and tried to pry up the young male closest to them. At first his body resisted, but then pieces of his flesh began to break away from the ground, tearing off like strips of bark. Disturbed from their feeding, flies rose up into the sky like black smoke.

  ‘What are you doing, girl?’ Derek asked, and then remembered something that Maquaasi had told him. He said that many of his elders believe that elephants carry the remains of their families to ancient burial grounds where their spirits can be at rest. Was this what she was trying to do? Derek wondered. Or was it rather a desperate attempt at resurrection? Her inability to accept what had happened to them?

  While she continued to try to lift his body, battling both his enormous weight and her own injuries, Derek could see the grief etched into her eyes. It was as vivid and unambiguous as anything he had ever seen. Swallowing hard, no longer able to watch, he decided to try to help. Without pausing to think it through, he hurried over to the opposite side of the elephant’s body, slipped his arms under the animal’s neck, and then joined in the effort to hoist him up. He may as well have been attempting to separate a building from its foundations, but the futility of his efforts was irrelevant. It was merely a gesture to her. He wanted her to understand that he was here to help – that he was on her side – and that he shared in the tragedy that had befallen her and her family. Taken by the moment, and before he knew what he was doing, he let out an anguished scream. It lasted for as long as his breath would carry it. He had not planned it in any way; it had simply arrived, an emotional response to the situation.

  Unsure of what to make of Derek, she stood perfectly still and stared at him. Oblivious, he continued to try to lift the dead elephant. The muscles in his thighs and shoulders trembled as thick cords rose up in his hands and forearms. He was already tired from their walk and his limbs were aching from the exertion, but he persisted. Eventually though, as the strength ebbed from his body, he could do no more and sank down onto his haunches. He looked up at her and slowly shook his head. ‘I’m sorry,’ he whispered.

  Wiping the sweat from his eyes and trying to keep his emotions at bay, he looked down at the ground and noticed something at his feet. He leaned over and, combing his fingers through the sand, unearthed a brass nugget. A nugget that quickly revealed itself to be a rifle shell. Rolling the spent casing between his fingers, his eyes settled on something noteworthy.

  A signature.

  A small X was carved into the side of the shell: A poacher’s marking.

  What was it supposed to signify? he wondered. The crosshairs of a rifle? The mark of death? An initial, perhaps? He slipped the casing into his pocket and felt a pulse of fresh anger surge through him. How could these bastards murder with such impunity? How could they live with themselves? Did they care if the elephants suffered? Did it even cross their minds?

  Not for the first time, he imagined what he would do if he came across one of them alone in the bush. Isolated, and miles from prying eyes, would he have any compunction about killing?

  Would he care if they suffered?

  Nightfall.

  ‘I still don’t understand it,’ Derek said, his eyes lost in the fire. ‘How did she survive? How the hell did she make it out of there alive?’

  ‘Who knows? Maybe the poachers ran out of ammunition,’ Edward suggested. ‘We’ll probably never know. But the more important question is, what are we going to do about her?’

  After spending more than an hour at her family’s side, the elephant had led Derek on a slow march back to the Shingwedzi River. But instead of returning to the valley that had been her home for several days, she had continued north, along the banks of the river. As nightfall threatened, Derek had been forced to leave her and return to camp.

  The professor picked up a small stick and fed i
t into the crackling orange and blue embers. ‘I think I might know where she’s going.’

  Edward raised his head. ‘Where?’

  ‘I believe you know where.’

  Edward held his gaze briefly and then looked away. ‘That’s an old bedtime story.’

  ‘Is it? Your father believed in it.’

  Derek straightened up. ‘The trails. You’re talking about the trails.’

  ‘Precisely,’ the professor nodded. ‘There are many who believe that when the great swamps and pans of Bechuanaland dried up, the Desert Elephant tribes – as they were called – used to travel on ancient trails that stretched all the way through South Africa, right up into Portuguese East Africa. Which, as it happens, correlates with your father’s encounter. The Limpopo River was an important part of their journey for a number of reasons. Firstly, by sticking to the river the elephants could avoid crossing through farmlands and would hence avoid contact with people. Secondly, though the Limpopo would not necessarily provide them with a free-flowing river, it offered them a reliable supply of subterranean water, which they could use their tusks to dig for. And, thirdly, there is an abundance of trees along the route.’

  ‘Come on, Andrew. This is all hard to believe, don’t you think?’ Edward said, but his voice lacked conviction.

  ‘Look, Edward, you of all people should know that I’m not someone easily swayed by superstition or folklore. But this has been written about for decades. Your father’s writings support the theory as does the route she’s currently following. I think there’s a very good chance that she’s headed for the Limpopo and, from there, west to Bechuanaland. She’s going home. I’m sure of it.’

  ‘If that’s the case,’ Edward began, ‘then why is she so far south of the Limpopo?’

  ‘The poachers forced her off course, but if you look at the larger area,’ he said, hurriedly fishing out an old map from his pocket, ‘you can see that she’s going to use the Shingwedzi River to take her up to the Mphongola River. From there she’ll move on to the Luvuvhu, which is a perennial river, and then on to Crook’s Corner and the Limpopo.’

  Edward ran it through his mind. ‘There are more than a few assumptions there, but I’ll grant you that it’s plausible. However, she can surely only be heading back to Bechuanaland if she knows there’s water in the pans. If there isn’t, it’s a suicide march. How does she know it isn’t dry right now?’

  Andrew stood up from the fire, dusted off his trousers, and stared out into the darkness. ‘The same way a swallow knows how to navigate thousands of miles to a place it has only ever been once before. How some animals know it’s going to storm hours before there is even a single cloud in the sky.’ He looked up into the stars and breathed in the warm night air. ‘Elephants just know things.’

  There was a pause before Derek added his voice to the conversation. ‘So, if she really is heading for Bechuanaland, will she be any safer there?’

  ‘Certainly more so than here. Poaching is far less widespread over there. It’s a different world.’

  ‘That’s true,’ Edward agreed. ‘Fortunately, they don’t have the same problems we do. At least not on our level.’

  ‘But she’ll never make it there on her own.’

  When neither man challenged him, Derek continued. ‘So it’s obvious.’

  ‘What is?’ Edward asked.

  ‘What needs to be done.’

  ‘And that is?’

  ‘We’ll follow her,’ Derek explained, and then amended his response. ‘I’ll follow her.’

  ‘What? You want to follow her all the way to Bechuanaland?’

  ‘Without protection, she’ll be dead in a week.’

  ‘Hold on,’ Edward insisted, shaking his head. ‘Even if you’re both right about what she is and where she’s going – and that’s very much still in doubt – we’re talking about a journey of several hundred miles.’

  ‘I understand that.’

  ‘No, you don’t. As always, you haven’t thought this through at all. It’s complete bloody madness! For a start, you wouldn’t be able to keep up with her.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Simple. It’s not how fast elephants walk, it’s that they can walk for days without any real sleep.’

  ‘Your brother’s right about that, Derek. They rest for an hour here and there and then they’re gone again. There’s no way you’ll be able to sustain that beyond a few days.’

  ‘With respect, Andrew, I survived months in the war stealing handfuls of sleep whenever I could get it. I can do this. Besides, if she stays in the river I’ll always be able to track her.’

  Edward frowned at his brother. ‘And how would you survive out there?’

  ‘Maquaasi’s taught me a lot. You all have. Besides, I can use my rifle to hunt.’

  ‘It’s too risky. You won’t have a steady enough supply of food and clean water. Also, if she–’

  The professor held up his hand. ‘Wait. Hold on. If our girl is indeed going to follow the Limpopo, then I may have a workable idea. Ed, you and I could drive up in the truck and stow provisions along the river bank. We could bury weekly consignments and flag them with rope tied around a tree maybe or by painting a few rocks.’

  ‘And I could leave word for you at the same place, letting you know of our progress,’ Derek added, his voice lifting.

  Edward searched for obvious holes in the idea, but to his dismay could find none. ‘We need to think about this–’

  ‘There’s no time,’ Derek insisted. ‘She’s already on her way. I either go after her tomorrow … or we leave her to the poachers.’

  Edward tugged hard on his beard. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘There’s nothing to know. Besides, I’m not asking for your permission here. I’m doing this. My mind’s made up.’

  ‘You can’t just make this kind of decision on your own–’

  ‘Ed,’ Derek whispered, pressing his hands together. ‘What would our father do? If he had a chance to save one of those elephants he saw that night, what would he have done? What would he want us to do?’

  Edward opened his mouth to speak, but then closed it again. He felt his resistance wane. ‘I understand why she’s so important to you. She’s important to me as well. But this is serious. You could die out there.’

  ‘I could die anywhere and it wouldn’t matter.’

  Edward stared at his brother, temporarily at a loss for words.

  ‘Look, Ed, we’re talking about a couple of weeks here.’

  ‘Try months, and it’ll be more difficult than you think. Especially at night.’

  ‘I’ll manage.’

  Again, Edward did not reply.

  As the silence grew, a thought occurred to the professor. ‘I’ve been wondering why our girl travelled back to her family today and I think I’ve just worked it out.’

  ‘I know … it’s the whole elephant graveyard thing,’ Derek said. ‘Maquaasi told me about it.’

  ‘No, I think there was another reason,’ he replied, a smile drifting through his eyes. ‘I believe the trip was for your benefit, Derek. I know how this is going to sound, but I think she wanted to show you what happened to her. To make you understand.’

  16

  As the darkness began to lift, giving shape and contours to the bush, Derek fastened his old army bag and slung it over his shoulder. It contained almost two gallons of water, some basic food, clothes, towels, writing paper, an ink fountain, a hat, a flint, a thin hammock, his hunting knife and a spare pair of boots. As the weight settled into the hollow of his back, and without any conscious effort that he was aware of, his face fell into a smile. He was on the verge of the kind of journey that – inspired by their father’s diary – he and Edward had spent years dreaming about during their time at King’s Cross. It was a childhood reverie whose lofty walls and brightly lit sky had been lifted into the glare of the real world. As he stepped out the hut, he felt alive and rejuvenated, more awake than he had been in years despite an almost s
leepless night.

  ‘I gather this means you haven’t changed your mind,’ Edward said, standing in the shadows.

  ‘Ed, Jesus!’

  ‘The first one.’

  Regaining his composure, Derek let out a breath. ‘Sorry, it’s still dark … and you both have beards. How long have you been waiting there?’

  Edward ignored the question. ‘You still sure you want to go through with this?’

  ‘Only thoroughly and completely.’

  ‘And there’s nothing I can do to change your mind?’

  ‘Well, you could shoot me in the back. Or the leg, maybe.’

  ‘C’mon, Derek,’ he said, his tone serious.

  Derek dropped his bag and slipped his hands into his pockets. ‘You know me, Ed. For better or worse, when last can you remember me changing my mind about anything? Besides, why are you being such a hypocrite about this?’

  ‘I didn’t know I was.’

  ‘Listen, I know you haven’t forgotten what we used to speak about. I also know we’re not ten years old anymore, but be honest here … if it wasn’t for your condition, you’d take this trip in a heartbeat.’

  Edward stood up. ‘Maybe. But if the tables were turned I’d expect you to try to talk me out of it.’

  ‘I’ll be fine. You don’t have to worry. I can make it out there.’

  ‘It’s my job to be concerned. That’s what older brothers do.’

  ‘You’re five seconds older than me.’

  ‘You’re young. I don’t expect you to understand.’

  Derek smiled. ‘It’s all going to work out fine.’