“But what does that have to do with Margo? Why can’t she stay on?”
“She can’t, and I won’t discuss it any further.” His face was impenetrable. There was nothing in his eyes that I was familiar with. “I won’t change my mind.”
Suddenly it was a year ago and I was back in Nairobi, at Jomo Kenyatta Airport, feeling the biting August winds swirling those very same words into a bitter mix. Nairobi, where I had loved him. Where I had lost him. But we were in New York now. The cold winds might be gone, but the chilling resentment apparently remained inside of him.
“If you won’t discuss Margo, then just tell me why we can’t bring Tusker here?” I took a deep breath. “We’re still planning to get him out of Zimbabwe and—”
“I told you to let it go, didn’t I?” he interrupted angrily, his voice cutting my words in half like a knife.
“You don’t understand.” I shook my head. “After we left the Popes, Diamond and I spoke to someone in the ministry in Harare and”—Tom’s face grew more incredulous with each word—“we made arrangements to…buy…Tusker.”
Tom looked at me for one long moment. “You what?” His voice rose with anger. “You did what?”
“We made a deal.”
He ran his hand through his hair and began to pace back and forth, covering the kitchen in great loping strides. “You’re a fool! And an idiot!” He spat his words out like bullets. “You did something dangerous and foolish and amazingly stupid! You don’t even know what you’re getting involved with.” He stopped to stare at me in disbelief, his face clouded with fury.
“Please!” I reached out and meant to grab his hand, but caught his sleeve instead. He didn’t even look down, just pulled it from my fingers like you would from a street beggar in Nairobi. My cheeks flamed with embarrassment. “Please—just help me bring him here.”
A muscle bulged, tightening his cheek, but he didn’t reply. Taking his silence as an invitation to continue, I let my words rush out. “It would take nothing from you to fly him back here,” I said. “Joshua Mukomana. The minister of mashed potatoes or whatever has promised to release him to us as soon as we pay for him. Please just fly him here. I’m not asking you to buy him, just fly him here. You did it for Margo. I’ll pay for the flight if I have to. It’ll be on my shoulders alone. I’ll find a way to raise the money. You have the equipment—the planes and everything—and Joshua will let you fly safely into Harare and out again. He promised.”
He stepped back from me. “Joshua Mukomana?”
“Please,” I begged. I had never begged anyone before. Not when my ex-husband found a lover and had a child with her and left. Not when he spent every cent we had earned together on his new love. I never begged him to come back. Or to return my share of the money. Even when I was left with nothing, I did not beg. My dignity had meant more to me than repayment or apologies or revenge. It had been the only thing that kept me standing upright. Until now.
“Please,” I whispered. “I can’t lose these elephants. Any of them. You know how much they mean to me.”
Tom’s face fell into a weary, hurt look. “I do,” he said. And then he said nothing. He was somewhere, I wasn’t sure where, but he was staring past me, mulling through something.
“Look, I have plans for this place,” he said cautiously. “I know what we all just went through and how hard it’ll be to say good-bye to Margo. It’s nothing personal, but it’s not up for discussion. As for Tusker, you’ve bumbled into something that you had no right to. I’m warning you, don’t go ahead with this crazy idea.” I barely heard him through the static of words echoing from our past, could barely see him through a fog of old feelings and newly minted rejection.
He took his jacket from a chair and turned to the back door. “Do not get in touch with Mukomana again. Do you hear me? Do not interfere in things you know nothing about.”
He was so brusque, so indifferent to me, so detached. As if our entire relationship was contained in this present conversation. As though all we ever had between us was this polite formality. As though all I had become was just someone seeking alms. I fought back tears. His face was expressionless, and I suddenly understood he didn’t love me. His voice was proof of that. He was the perfect businessman, the captain of industry, and he had cut his losses. I kept thinking that as he gave me a brief, courteous nod and walked out the door ahead of me. He had already cut his losses.
That’s what good businessmen do.
Chapter 21
“MAHUMBA NI TOMBO,” DIAMOND SAID AS I DROVE us home. “Mahumba ni tombo. ‘Love is blind.’”
“Don’t be silly,” I said. “If you mean me and Tom? There is absolutely no love left between us.”
Diamond lit a cheroot and blew the smoke out the car window. Still, the aroma of sewage filled the car. “I saw the color go from your face.” She pointed the cheroot at me. “I saw the way he spoke to you, with his jaw all tight. All he wanted was to yank you out of your shoes and throw you in a sleeping bag and climb in with you.”
“It’s just not true,” I said, blinking back tears.
“You are both being foolish,” she continued, scolding. “Don’t you understand? Only the present matters. Forget the past, take care of the present, and the future will slide in on its coattails. Your future together. But you are both blind to it. Mahumba ni tombo.”
I wondered if she was right, that we saw only the past, the transgressions, the demands, the squabbles. “He thinks I’m an idiot,” I said.
“He is meant for you.” Diamond looked sad. “I see it. You know, it is not so easy to find someone to love. Hearts do not just meet one another like crossroads.”
“Well, I guess my heart is stuck in a traffic circle,” I said. “And it’s not all my fault. He brought me to the jungle, and I fell in love with it. I only wanted to go back for a little while. For the baby elephants. Why couldn’t he see that? It was for the babies.”
“You lost your heart to the babies.” Diamond nodded knowingly. “You needed them not just to love, you needed them to help you find your bearings. Same thing with Tusker. He has become more than a rescue to you. As I said, the jungle takes everyone. In different ways. And I see that it’s reaching for you.”
It was just past dawn the next morning when I drove back to the sanctuary. Pink feathers of light started breaking through the gray canopy above, and pale, thin clouds struggled to cling together. I parked the car and sat for a moment. The farm lay in a white mist of solitude and seclusion, and I thought about Tom and how much things had changed between us in a year. He was a total stranger to me now. I got out of the car and heard a thunderous bang. The clouds were too tenuous for a storm, the sky was brightening, but there it was again, a loud rolling thump, and I tilted my head to listen, then realized it had a rhythm to it, and it was coming from the elephant barn straight ahead.
I knew Margo occasionally grew impatient for her breakfast. A quick glance told me that Richie’s truck was still in front of his house and that he probably wasn’t awake yet to feed the animals. I was glad—I had purposefully gotten up very early just to spend some private time with Margo.
I needed time alone with my elephants. Without Richie, without Diamond—just me and Margo and Abbie. The way it used to be.
I rolled the doors open only a crack and slipped between them. The half-light of early morning made Margo an eerie figure, looming black-gray against the dim, grainy shadows. Another loud thump, and I saw that Margo was holding her feed tub in her trunk and banging it hard against the bars of her cage. She stopped when she saw me and dropped the tub, rumbling at me as though she were scolding me.
“Margo.” I called softly. She stuck her trunk through the bars and swept it back and forth along the floor to check for treats. I had always thought she was so big, but after Tusker, she seemed daintier, more feminine, if that was possible.
“You’re such a girly-girl,” I said with a little laugh. “Here’s your treat.” I held out one of the boxes I
had brought with me.
Margo sniffed the offering and gently lifted the lid to remove a donut, then popped it into her mouth. Trying to imitate her mother, Abbie stuck her trunk through the bars, too, and waved it around. I kissed the tip of it before holding a donut out to her. She squashed it against the bars and held her trunk out for a second one. Two dozen jelly donuts were gone in a few minutes.
“Well, you’ve had your dessert first,” I told them, “so I guess I’ll give you breakfast now.” Their feed was in a large bin in the corner of the barn, and I measured out their oats, wheat, and corn, watching the grains overflow the scoop and listening to the elephants expectantly sniffing the air.
Margo ate with good manners, curling the tip of her trunk to lift a small pile of food to her mouth, while Abbie played with hers, spilling it across the floor. I watched them, thinking how much I loved them. Could anyone love them more? Well, Richie, of course, and Tom, I was certain, but he kept his passion behind a veil of business.
As soon as Margo finished her breakfast, she slipped her trunk through the bars and swept it along the floor, looking for hay. Richie always gave her three or four squares before she was put outside, so I opened a bale and carried the hay into the enclosure. I had done it so many times before. Haying Margo was the simplest part of our routine.
Not this morning.
Margo spun to face me as soon as I walked through the gate. She gave a low, rumbling growl, and before I could react, raised her trunk and slammed it against me, flipping me hard against the bars of the cage. I tried to call out, but the air was knocked from my lungs. Another blow sent me skidding along the cement floor.
“Margo,” I finally managed to gasp. “Margo, stand. Stand!” She flapped her ears at my voice and raised her trunk over her head and trumpeted loudly.
My leg throbbed. “Stand, Margo,” I yelled again, and hoping her tantrum was over, crawled along the wall, careful not to look up at her. She was rocking back and forth, from one foot to the other and rumbling, a sign of agitation. And an agitated elephant could be a killer elephant in one move. I grabbed the bars to pull myself upright, hand over hand, careful not to look at Abbie, careful not to move too quickly, though I wasn’t sure I could move more than a few painful inches at a time. I was hoping to slide toward the gate. It was within a few feet of me now, and Margo was still rocking behind me. I was dizzy and blinked hard, everything was getting a white haze over it. I stupidly thought I wasn’t getting enough air up into my eyes. I was still in the cage. One more pull at the bars and I would be out. Abbie moved between us. She touched my head with her trunk, almost conciliatory, as though she knew what had happened, then stood there, between me and her mother. I pulled myself forward. The gate was right there, a few more inches. I touched the coiled springs and pushed against it. It opened and I rolled outside, kicking it shut behind me.
I sat up a few feet from the cage and gasped air in baby puffs until I was able to breathe normally. It was over. I watched Margo casually eat her hay and wondered what I had done wrong. What movement, what word or gesture had set off the tantrum? I had been careful, I was always careful, and there had been no change in the routine. I rubbed my fingers across my leg, and though it was already sporting a large, painful bump, it was not broken. Shaking, I sat there. Margo shook her head up and down and gave me an affectionate rumble.
It was a conceit, I knew, to think that Margo loved me. I hadn’t forgotten that a little more than a year ago she had been totally wild. And Richie had warned me that she was sometimes moody. He even frequently joked how she could pick someone up and throw the person over the wall if she was so inclined. I got to my feet and stood next to the enclosure. I was not going to tell Richie what had happened. He would only tell Tom, and they would be convinced that Margo needed to be moved immediately.
But I knew what I had to do. It was from the same school of philosophy that had me climb back on a horse after a bad fall. That had me beg for Tom’s help after a year of not speaking. You have to face your devils.
“Margo, come,” I commanded. Margo popped a thatch of hay into her mouth and walked to the bars and put her trunk through. Still trembling, I took the trunk in my arms and held it. Margo purred softly. In a little while, she would expect to go out for the day, but she would have to wait for Richie to take her. I was all out of courage.
Oh, of course I was going to tell Richie about the incident. To do anything less could endanger his life, and I would never do that. In a half hour or so, he rolled apart the great doors to the barn and appeared surprised.
“You’re early,” he said as he walked in, accompanied by the black Labs. “But thanks for feeding the girls.” He looked me up and down, then tilted his head. “Something you want to tell me?”
“She was a little cranky today,” I replied. He reached over to touch the sleeve on my sweater.
“I gathered as much,” he said, “because you’re covered in hay, your leg is bleeding, your sleeve is ripped out, and”—he gingerly touched my eye with a finger—“you’re beginning to get a shiner.”
I looked at him guiltily and stepped aside as he pulled the gate open, then picked up the pole he used to guide the elephants on their walks. Margo strolled out calmly, and Abbie followed as though nothing had ever happened. I hung back and watched from the hill while Richie led them down to the pond, the dogs trotting ahead of him and barking. I would be fine, I thought. My feelings were more bruised than my leg. Richie returned to the top of the hill and stood next to me.
“So why did she do that?” I asked.
“Hormones, maybe?” he replied. “Elephants have really big hormones.”
Margo and Abbie were now spraying each other with water and squealing with mock indignation, their private version of elephant jokes.
Margo and Abbie. I watched Abbie point her trunk filled with water straight at her mother, who curled her trunk around her daughter’s and pushed it away, averting a squirt bath.
Margo. Abbie. Tusker.
That these creatures even had been assigned human names seemed a sacrilege, for who knew what names they had taken for themselves before their capture. What subsonic, unrevealed, intimate rumble they reserved for one another, what gesture, what touch, what private glance that deserved to remain secret. Tusker was not really Tusker. The name demeaned him. And to be called Dustbin was even more disrespectful.
“Watch her new trick,” Richie said as Abbie trundled deep into the pond until the water covered her head and only her trunk was visible, sticking straight up from the surface, like a periscope. I had seen baby ellies do that in Kenya after the monsoons, and it always amused me how they loved turning themselves into pachyderm submarines.
“You know, there are huge ponds in the other sanctuary,” Richie added nonchalantly. “Big enough even for Margo to do that. And there are two baby elephants rescued from a Mexican zoo that was starving them. Abbie could have friends.”
I knew that all Richie wanted me to do was to acknowledge this, but I couldn’t answer him. I dropped my head and just stared down at my shoes.
“Neelie?” Richie said. “They’re going to be happier.”
We stood in silence, letting the breeze fill in for conversation while we watched Margo and Abbie spray each other. Abbie finally grew tired of the water and climbed from the pond to explore a large plastic bucket filled with apples and melons that Richie had left nearby. Margo lifted a cantaloupe with her trunk and carefully placed it under her foot, stepping down and breaking it apart. She scooped up a piece and tenderly handed it to Abbie, who took it from her with a happy chirp.
“I know it’s not up to me, but I can’t let them go,” I finally whispered. “Please don’t ask me to give them up.”
He sighed loudly and put a comforting arm around my shoulder. “But you will,” he said. “I know you will. Because in the end, I know you want what’s best for them.”
I studied the clouds that were closing in on the horizon. They were gray and big a
nd round like elephants, and ambled slowly across the sky, and I couldn’t answer him.
Chapter 22
I WASN’T SURE IF THE FULL MOON WAS ALIGNING with the devil and the entire universe was conspiring to break my spirit, but the next three days were a study in domestic and social torture.
Diamond had accidentally started a fire in the toaster oven, trying to dry out the cheroots she had accidentally laundered while she was washing her summer safari outfits before packing them away. Then she accidentally vacuumed up a thick wool sock that had been lost under her bed, thereby clogging up the vacuum hose and causing the motor to whine at a high-pitched strain until it burned out. As an act of contrition, she whipped up a hearty pancake breakfast, which would have actually been successful had she not accidentally dropped the hand mixer and spattered the kitchen ceiling with thick, doughy, blueberry-filled stalactites.
“Forget breakfast. I’m going to the barn,” I finally told her. “I’ll pick up something on the way.”
“I’m coming with you,” Diamond volunteered. “I need a break from housework.”
Richie was waiting for us in Mrs. Wycliff’s kitchen, an array of papers across the kitchen table. Mrs. Wycliff waved cheerfully, then returned to concentrate on her bowl of oatmeal.
“I’ll make us coffee,” Diamond said, pulling out a saucepan and a bag of ground coffee. She dumped the coffee into the pot, filled it with water, sloshed it onto the stove and set the flame high. Richie watched her with his usual trepidation, then sat down at the table. I passed him the box of donuts after taking one for myself.
“You know, Neelie,” he began, “I think you bit off more than you can chew.”
I looked down at my donut to protest. “But it was only a small bite.”
“I mean Tusker,” he said. “I want you to know I’m totally on board with you saving him, but you’re talking a lot of money.”
An Inconvenient Elephant Page 14
