An Inconvenient Elephant

by Judy Reene Singer

  His eyes widened. “But Grisha can drive only one truck at a time! I was disclosed you have help here.”

  “But it’s just Diamond and me,” I protested. “How are we going to be able to move the elephant with only the three of us?”

  “This is a tribulation,” he agreed, sitting back down. “Now Grisha must make new strategy.” He pressed his fingers to his chin. “Since we cannot make heavy spectacle here and we must bring ellie to Chizarira, da? And Grisha has only one Grisha and two woman peoples…” He closed his eyes to think. “We can make use of same plan. Is good plan. Da. I have plan to move elephant. Don’t make heavy worry too much.”

  “We have to use the park roads, not the main roads, or we’ll be stopped,” Diamond interjected. “We have to transport him somehow—or drive him along the more remote park roads until we get to Charlotte’s camp. But then what?”

  “Oh, when we make arrivement, Mr. Thomas determines to bring plane in and—shoosh!” Grisha made a swooping motion with his hand, implying that we would just lift the elephant and take him away. “But Mr. Thomas having heavy problems too much getting plane in.” He gave me a dark look. “We must keep fingers twisted.”

  “Mr. Thomas?” I repeated breathlessly. “Thomas—Tom Pennington? Tom—is he with you?”

  “So.” Diamond was piecing it together as fast as I was. “This Tom Pennington, the man with the plane is”—she turned to me—“Thomas Princeton Pennington? I know the name!” Her voice dropped reverentially. “Used to get the newspapers flown in from Nairobi. He was always in the business section. Kind of an entrepreneur. He’s your Tom?”

  I looked at Grisha, but he didn’t have to confirm it. He just made a helpless gesture with his hands. “Mr. Thomas is only disclosed last night that he has peoples here to bring ellie to Chizarira. He is not disclosed that it is you.”

  “No,” I said. “He didn’t know I was coming here.” I gave Grisha a rueful smile. “In fact, I didn’t know I was coming here.”

  He nodded gravely. “Mr. Thomas will not be joyed-over for this, Plain-Neelie,” he replied, wagging his finger at me. “Grisha is seeing heavy agitation ahead.” He rolled his blue eyes at me and took a very long drag on his cigarette before expelling a cloud of thick gray smoke. “Heavy agitation.”

  Chapter 7

  GRISHA’S PLAN WAS SO LUDICROUSLY SIMPLE, SO laughably naive that for a few minutes I didn’t believe it. He had driven a ten-seater safari Rover to us, and the next morning, he said, it would be filled with his secret weapon. He had determined, and correctly so, that we couldn’t just lead a wild animal through a jungle and expect him to follow along complacently like someone’s pet poodle. Nor could we drive him ahead of us like cattle in a scene out of an old cowboy movie, whoopee ti-yi-ellie. The elephant would have to be lured. Grisha’s plan was for us to drive ahead of him and lay a sporadic path of oranges.

  Oranges.

  Elephants cannot resist citrus. They love citrus. They adore it to the point that it had to be banned in all the wilderness parks for fear of attracting them to the campsites. Grisha’s plan would take advantage of this peculiarity of the elephantine palate by having us throw the oranges in a zigzag fashion to keep Tusker from directly following the truck. Hopefully, he would find the oranges, eat them, and keep moving on for more. We would be working a fine line between luring him and preventing him from figuring out we were the source.

  In the meantime, Grisha said, Charlotte Pope would be waiting for us just outside of Chizarira, on a savannah that lay between the two parks. Once we met up, she would help drive Tusker deeper into Chizarira, where the appropriate tranquilizer dart guns and Tom leading several helpers would be waiting to load him into a large cargo plane.

  Comical as the plan sounded, it was very dangerous. And our part was the most dangerous of all.

  “I have citrus,” Grisha declared. “Grisha buys many kilos citrus. Enough for several cows of driving.”

  “Cows?” Diamond repeated.

  “Hours,” I translated.

  “How did you manage to sneak oranges into the park?” Diamond asked.

  “Not yet. It comes early in the morning cows.” Grisha stood up and stretched. “So we sleep now. Tomorrow citrus comes and we commence.”

  “Wow,” I said. “Like the Pied Piper!”

  “No, Plain-Neelie,” Grisha replied sternly. “No French champagne for celebration. We will drink only good Russian Sovetskoye Shampanskoye.”

  We were up before dawn to help unload an outside truck whose driver first bribed the guards and then drove in with the oranges under cover, in boxes marked as sanitation supplies for the compound. He also delivered several machetes and a few of the elephant guns that I had come to hate. Now we had to work fast before the magical smell of citrus attracted every elephant in the park. We stuffed oranges into every available space the Rover had, and since all the seats except the front ones had been removed, there was plenty of room.

  “I feel like the Tropicana Queen,” I remarked to Diamond, who only gave me a puzzled look and handed me another carton. Humor is definitely not cross-cultural, I decided.

  We packed ourselves in, along with our luggage, some thermoses of water, and a few flashlights. Grisha covered everything with an old tarp and declared us ready. Diamond had road maps of the area, primitive though they were, her GPS, and a compass. Dawn still had not broken, but the air made us feel as though we were walking across the face of the sun.

  Grisha crossed himself twice, checked to make sure he had his three cartons of Stolichnye Lights, started the truck, and began driving us out of the camp.

  We took the road that passed the lily pond. Diamond tossed several oranges around its rim. A few rolled into the pond itself, as well as under the trees and brush surrounding it. Grisha cut the motor and we waited.

  Tusker could be anywhere, but we were hoping that the fruit would cast its spell and bring him safely and quickly to us.

  We waited for two hours, and Grisha was getting nervous. I knew he had planned for us to accomplish the drive in daylight, and we were wasting it, just waiting. Getting caught in darkness with a truckload of elephant lure was a recipe for—well, I didn’t want to think about it. Human à l’orange might make a great elephant delicacy, but not when you’re one of the ingredients.

  We waited still.

  There wasn’t even a rustle of brush when suddenly he was next to the pond, no more than fifty feet from us, sniffing at our bait. I thrilled again at his massive body, the huge ears flapping with curiosity, the perfection, the majesty, the incredible hulking mass, noble and exquisite to every cell. He picked up an orange with his trunk and tossed it into his mouth, then waved his head up and down with approval.

  But this time he had brought a friend.

  It was a young bull. Not as tall as Tusker, but enormous, still. He flapped his ears rapidly, and I noticed that his left ear had an odd notch. He peeked out at us from behind Tusker, impatiently waving his trunk up and down, then shaking his head sideways and grunting. Tusker pushed back against him as if to discipline him, and the bull stopped for a moment and stood respectfully. Then he caught the scent of oranges and swung his trunk back and forth across the ground like a minesweeper, sniffing, until he, too, discovered a prize and ate it.

  “Bollocks,” Diamond whispered in my ear. “He looks to be a young bachelor. They team up with older bulls and get very attached. We may have two on our hands.”

  Grisha watched them quietly and agreed with her. “Grisha thinks elephant brings too good friend.” He shook his head with a grave expression. “Some of times you cannot make separatement of good elephant friends. It makes us even heavier problem now.”

  “If he follows Tusker, we might have to take him as well,” Diamond agreed. “Or one of them can rampage. Maybe both.”

  “Let’s hope that’s all he brings,” I whispered back. “Or we’re going to have to hire a fleet of planes.”

  Grisha turned on the motor, and the e
lephants looked up with only a mild interest, not spooking at all, a tribute to how used they had gotten to trucks in the bush. Diamond rolled a few more oranges at the animals, and Grisha inched forward. The elephants stood for a moment, watching us. Tusker raised his trunk and trumpeted loudly, then held his ears out wide. The situation was tricky, and my heart was pounding. We were taking a terrible chance. We were hoping to strike a balance in his mind, that he would somehow know the oranges came from us and eat what was being cast before him without charging us and overturning the truck.

  Diamond threw several more pieces of fruit and we watched. Tusker and the young bull scooped them up greedily, then trotted a few feet forward, reconnoitering the ground for more. They looked at the truck and then at the ground. Then at the truck. Tusker trumpeted and shook his head and wiped his trunk along the ground trying to pick up the scent. They moved toward us again, and Grisha gunned the truck. They followed, trunks extended straight out and pointing to us. Somehow they suddenly understood, and we were on our way. Toss, drive forward, toss, drive forward. Slow enough to get out of their way, fast enough to keep them walking behind us.

  It was working.

  After two torturously slow hours, we had covered about fifteen miles. Fifteen miles of potholes that could pass for ravines, of washed-out roads that had us scrambling sideways to keep from toppling over, of stopping to let a black rhino and her baby trot by, of watching Tusker casually uproot an acacia tree and eat the bark, of watching him argue with the bull over one particular orange while standing on several others.

  The road washed out again, and we had to detour between acacia trees, barely squeaking through overgrown and tangled thornbushes that had stickers like claws. We tried to hurry a small herd of buffalo that strolled casually in front of us and ground us to a halt while the elephants were closing in behind. It was all tricky business, and my nerves were strung tight. I looked over at Diamond, who was checking the maps against her GPS and puffing furiously on her cheroot.

  Suddenly she glanced up. “Bollocks!”

  “What?” I asked breathlessly. “Is something wrong?”

  “I’m hungry,” she declared. “Did we pack anything to eat?”

  “Citrus,” Grisha replied, giving an expansive wave at the contents of the truck.

  “Great,” I said. “So we eat oranges and baste ourselves from the inside out.”

  We hit a deep rut and bounced hard, dislodging a box of fruit that tumbled across the road, spilling the contents.

  “We can’t leave all that fruit behind,” Diamond announced as Grisha slowed to a stop, “or we’ll be waiting here forever to make sure they finish it. Otherwise, we’ll have half a dozen elephants running after us.”

  “Da,” Grisha agreed. He jumped from the Rover and ripped the box open, kicking some of the fruit across the road into the brush, and picking up the rest that were remaining, before the elephants caught up to us. “Maybe they won’t notarize all of it,” he said hopefully.

  They did notice them and stopped for a feast. It was afternoon now, and we had another twenty or so miles to go. Grisha was growing impatient. Diamond and I were more worried. We were entering the rim of the park, far from any encampments. If we had problems, we would be totally on our own.

  There was a drone from one of the side roads. Diamond and I looked at each other in alarm. It was a motor, to be sure, and I held my breath, hoping our good luck would stay with us. We pushed the remaining fruit under our seats and covered the rest with the tarp.

  “I hope they’re tourists,” Diamond muttered, “and not Mugabe’s men.”

  Grisha pointed under his seat. “Grisha has rifles,” he said. “Do you have nerves?”

  “I have nerves,” Diamond declared grimly. “I have big nerves.”

  It was the assistant game warden from Charara. He drove toward us in his jeep, then pulled up next to our truck.

  “I suggest you turn around,” he said. “You’re pretty far from camp.”

  Diamond smiled at him. “I’m a licensed safari leader. I’ll bring them back before sundown.”

  “Do I know you?” He squinted at her.

  “You probably know my good friends, the Popes? They run ThulaThula Safaris out of Chizarira.” She flashed him a dazzling smile and gave just the slightest toss of her glowing red hair. “They can vouch for me.”

  He gave her a lingering look, glanced over at me, then at the jeep, then at Grisha.

  “I only drive truck,” said Grisha, shrugging. “I know nothing.”

  “Well, be careful,” the warden said. “I found oranges along the road. Looks like some tourists sneaked them. Crazy bastards.”

  “Oranges!” Diamond feigned surprise. “I can’t imagine anyone being so stupid,” she said. “Your guides need to do a better job. I personally search my clients’ luggage.” She gestured at my suitcase with a stern face. The warden looked over at my luggage, and I pushed the cartons of oranges even farther back under my seat with my legs.

  “We’ll be very careful,” Diamond added. “I know the rules.”

  The warden eyed the Rover, then eyed the oranges that had been kicked off the road by Grisha, then looked back at us. “We may have to close the roads down for a few days until it’s safe again. We can’t take a chance.”

  “Absolutely,” Diamond agreed, while I smiled at him, hoping he couldn’t smell our cargo, since we were reeking like a mobile orange grove.

  “Well, don’t touch them,” he said. “If the tembos smell orange on you, they’ll tear your truck apart. You can follow me back if you want.”

  “We want to get just a few more photos,” Diamond said. “Then we’ll be along straightaway.” She motioned to the camera hanging by the front seat.

  The warden looked us over one last time. “Right, then.” He returned to his jeep and drove away. My arms and legs were shaking. Grisha gunned the Rover forward.

  Just in time. The elephants were trotting directly at us, hoping for another snack.

  Chapter 8

  MY BRAIN WAS COOKING. I COULD SWEAR I COULD hear it sizzle cell by cell, even though I was wearing a hat with vents. We all were. They were supposed to protect us from the outright sun, but the heat that collected underneath was cooking my brain. Or what was left of it.

  We ate hot oranges. Juicier than normal because the heat released cascades of liquid down our faces, arms, and clothing. We tried to be careful, but there is no way to neatly eat an orange that is practically bubbling inside.

  “Why couldn’t we bring real food?” I lamented for the tenth time. “I’m actually wishing for a bowl of sadza.”

  “Food is for woman peoples to pack up,” Grisha said sternly. “Grisha only plans for elephants.”

  “I didn’t know we would be doing this today,” I retorted. “And it’s not like we could have ordered room service.”

  “No more complaints,” said Diamond. “We will cope with what we have.”

  “Don’t have,” I mumbled under my breath.

  We made a few hygiene stops behind the baobab trees, which was much easier for Grisha, as he pointed out several times, than for me and Diamond, who had to balance precariously in a half squat, watch for snakes and predatory bugs, and pee as fast as we could push our bladders to empty.

  It took us another two hours, still rolling slowly along, still waiting for the elephants to catch up, then gunning the motor when Tusker loomed too close to the Rover.

  By now, Diamond and I had perfected a certain overhand throw, and managed to cast oranges just enough off the road that the elephants had to pause to find them, eat them, and look for more. The road was growing narrower, the brush denser. Large baobab trees blocked our path. At one point a large pond appeared just ahead.

  Diamond made a face. “Up for a swim?” she asked, but laughed when she saw the stricken look on my face. “Don’t worry—the maps have this as a shallow.” She held up the GPS. “Let’s hope they’re right because we’re going to drive right through it.�
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  “Here we go, we are making water,” Grisha announced, rolling the truck forward and down the slight bank. He held his cigarette over his head as though to keep it dry, and we sloshed slowly through the pond and up the other side. I let out a sigh of relief, then worried if Tusker and his friend would know enough to follow us. He did, but not before stopping to douse his back with a good spray.

  We passed a solitary leopard feeding on a just-killed springbok, the soft brown fur and white fantail of its prey brilliantly stained in red. The leopard lifted its head to stare at us. Its mouth was also outlined in carmine, like ghoulish lip paint, and I shuddered.

  The heat was unendurable. My shirt soaked in sweat, then dried from the lack of humidity, then soaked again, getting stiffer and stiffer with each cycle. We were all streaming perspiration, and several times I thought I saw a pond of water glimmering in the far-reaching, flat, sandy expanses that now lay ahead of us.

  The water may have been a mirage, but we drove past a disturbing sight that wasn’t. Piles of thick bones like bleaching tree stumps were heavily strewn about, and Grisha called to me as we passed very close to a blanched, dried carcass that was opened like a large cave.

  “Do not look, Plain-Neelie.”

  Of course I looked. I could mentally reconstruct the body that had once held these bones. The massive flat fan of the scapula, the elegantly curved jaw like a huge French horn, the long, thick femurs all reduced to white artifacts.

  There are no creatures except one that have skeletons that enormous.

  Elephants.

  It wasn’t a normal kill. There were too many. Yawning, empty ruins. Some half decayed. Some of youngsters. Macabre xylophones of death, the music of their hearts terminated a long time ago.

  “Poachers,” said Diamond with disgust. “Look at the tusks hacked off.”

  I covered my eyes—the sight was unbearable. Tusker and the bull stopped their journey to examine the area. Tusker walked over to one pile and touched it gently with his trunk. He stood over it for a long time, sniffing, turning the bones, stroking them, then lifting a large bone and tenderly, tenderly holding it, paying tribute to death with a low rumbling sound, then laying the bone reverentially back into its nest, until finally, reluctantly, he moved on.