“Voilà,” she said, standing back from the dining room table with pride. “And here comes the best part.” She plopped a six-pack of Heineken on the table. “International cuisine.”
Reese started dinner with his usual opening. “How do you make an elephant float?” He looked around expectantly. When there was no reply, he answered himself. “Two hundred bottles of cream soda, two hundred scoops of ice cream, and an elephant!”
Diamond hooted with laughter, while Marielle gave him an indulgent smile. We started eating.
“Great chili,” Reese pronounced. “Marielle hasn’t made her special chili in a long time.”
“It’s because I’m busy—I’m doing a lot of tutoring,” Marielle said, then looked at me. “How about you? Have either of you found work?”
“Sort of,” Diamond announced. “At the sanctuary, but it’s still not enough to buy the elephant.”
“Do you really think you’re going to raise enough money?” Marielle laughed as she passed the platter of food to Diamond, who stabbed the bread with her knife, dripping chili across the tablecloth to eat it en pointe.
“Two elephants,” I corrected Marielle. “For the bargain price of a trillion eleventy zillion dollars. We’re planning to have a fund-raiser, so if you have any ideas, let us know.”
“Sorry.” Marielle shook her head. “We had a bake sale when I was in pony club, and we made nine dollars. Everyone had ice cream. I don’t think fund-raisers really do much.”
We ate dinner and endured several more elephant jokes until it was time for dessert. I stood up to clear the table.
“I’ll clear the table,” Diamond offered. “You can put the candles on the cake.” I looked with apprehension at the dishes. Her gaze followed mine. “Or we can switch, if you want,” she added. “And I’ll light the cake.”
I pondered this for a moment. Which did I want to chance—broken dishes or a fire in the kitchen? The fire seemed more remote.
“You light the cake and bring it in,” I said, carrying the dishes to the sink.
Reese followed me into the kitchen. “Who was the most famous female animal jazz singer in the world?”
“Don’t you ever run out?” I asked, stacking dishes in the dishwasher. “All right, who?”
“Elephants Gerald!”
Diamond guffawed and dropped the cake she was carrying.
Reese opened his earbuds, we sang two rounds of “Happy Birthday,” ate the remains of the cake, and in general had a pleasant evening.
“I’ve got to be up early,” Diamond excused herself as I was saying good night to Reese and Marielle at the front door. “We’ve got horses to train and sell.”
“I don’t know that you’re going to sell any horses,” Marielle said sympathetically. “The economy is scary. Horses are a luxury—there are an awful lot of people in my position who do what I had to do.”
“What position?” I asked guiltily, since I had monopolized the evening talking about Tusker and hadn’t even bothered to ask Marielle how her tutoring was going.
“Oh, you know,” said Marielle. “I’m teaching only two courses now. The tutoring doesn’t bring in all that much—half my salary is gone.”
“Oh, right,” I said. “That must be so hard.”
“We’ve been budgeting like mad.” Marielle sighed. “Thank heavens I met that really nice man who took that old horse of yours.”
My blood froze. The hairs on my arms stood up, and a cold, sick feeling grabbed my stomach. “What really nice man?” I asked breathlessly. “What are you talking about?”
“Remember? I asked you about it during dinner at your mother’s, and you said it was okay. So I put an ad in the paper.” Marielle smiled and patted my arm. “And this really nice man with two kids answered the ad. Pulled up with a horse trailer and took Mousi right away.” She gave a little giggle. “It’s not like I sold him into slavery or anything. The man promised him a good home—going to make him a 4-H project—and he was really nice, so there’s nothing to worry about.”
Chapter 24
“IT’S A SCAM,” RICHIE SAID. I HAD CALLED HIM IN a panic before Reese and Marielle had even gotten into their car to leave. “The really nice man with the two kids, the 4-H project. Sometimes it’s a really nice woman. They pick up the horse and sell him the same day to a slaughterhouse dealer. Fast money, no investment.”
I knew that he was going to tell me that. I knew it even before I called him, that Mousi had been given away to an unscrupulous slaughterhouse dealer. I was sick. “I have to find him,” I cried into the phone. “The phone number he gave Marielle isn’t working.”
Richie gave a hollow laugh. “Never is,” he said.” How long has it been since he’s gone?”
“Marielle said it was less than a week ago.” I could barely speak the words. “I’m calling all the barns that I know, all my friends that have horses, all the horse vets, all the farriers. I don’t know what else to do.”
“Let me ask the people that I know,” Richie tried to reassure me. “If your horse is still alive, we’ll find him.”
“How will you find him?” I wailed. “How do you even know where to start?”
“Well,” Richie said, “I’ll start by getting the name of every really nice man in the county.”
Aside from a hundred frantic phone calls, there was nothing more I could do until I heard back from Richie. How ironic that I was so preoccupied with rescuing one animal that I lost the one I truly loved. How stupid I had been. How could I have not heard Marielle asking if I wanted my horse back. I wanted to reverse time, turn the week to that day, to that moment when Marielle first asked me, and shout, Yes, I want him back. Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes!
I sat up all night in the rocking chair on the back porch, fighting to keep pictures of Mousi out of my mind. He would be frightened, terrified, maybe injured, maybe being slaughtered this very minute. I pushed my fists against my eyes. I couldn’t allow myself to see him like that.
I had to find him. I would search everywhere. Every barn, every farm, call every…
I opened my eyes and it was morning. My body felt stiff, and I was chilled through. I had fallen asleep in the rocking chair. It was very early, the beginning of another day. Another day less for Tusker, and another day less for Mousi.
I stood up to stretch. Fall was beginning to conquer the trees, golden leaf by golden leaf. The Catskill Mountains in the distance were a baroque tapestry of russets and maroons and blazing orange, but they held no beauty for me. The skies were a cool gray-blue. New York skies. They held nothing for me either, not a trace of hope. I had gone to Kenya and lost Tom, and gone to Zimbabwe and lost Mousi. Diamond was right. In the end, the jungle takes everything.
I needed someone who would listen to me, someone with a sympathetic ear. In fact, a big, flapping, sympathetic ear. And a long, gentle nose to wipe away my tears.
I needed an elephant.
The sun was strong by the time I got to the barn, melting the dew that had been frozen like so many crystal flowers in the fields below. The chill was melting away, warming into a bright day, but I felt nothing. The chill inside of me remained.
I went into the elephant barn and gave Margo a scoop of elephant chow through the bars.
“It’s not that I don’t trust you anymore,” I told her, “it’s just that I don’t really trust you anymore.”
Margo nodded her head up and down as though she agreed with me, then carefully curled the tip of her trunk around the pellets and scooped them into her mouth.
“It’s all my fault,” I continued, tears rolling down my face. “I shouldn’t have trusted anyone with Mousi. If you love something, you don’t just give it up. I was so stupid.” I began to weep.
Margo swept hay from the floor and dropped it across Abbie’s back like a good mother. It was an ancient elephant ritual to protect their children from the elements. Then she returned her attention to me.
“See?” I said. “No one can take care of something you
love like your own self.” She lifted her trunk to sniff my face. “Why didn’t I take care of Mousi?” I cried, pressing my face to the bars. “Why did I even give him away? I could have paid board on him in some barn.” The rough edge of Margo’s trunk traced a sympathetic path down my face, and I knew I couldn’t let her leave, either.
“Richie will be so busy. Who will watch over you?” I sobbed to her.
I couldn’t bear it. Who watches over any of them? I left her and walked outside.
Farms are so eerily quiet in the early morning, as though the noises of the day haven’t quite found them yet. This was especially true at the sanctuary. The property was so big, it filtered out every sound except that of the animals. But this time I heard voices. Men’s voices. Curious, I followed the sound, walking down part of the road that led to the horse pasture.
In the distance, just on the other side of the pasture, was a large blue truck parked next to several men. Hunting is a local pastime, and after a year in Kenya, caring for baby ellies whose mothers had been killed by poachers, my first thought was that the men were trespassing to hunt. Fury swept through me as I thought of the bears, the lions, the wolves, all easy targets, trapped in their enclosures.
It was too far to walk. I ran back for my car and drove madly to the bottom of the road. I knew my car would be able to fit through the gate into the pasture. Diamond and I had driven the old truck through, loaded with hay, all the time, and I knew I could probably drive over the first few acres of the flat pasture, but beyond that was stony terrain that dipped sharply into muddy wetlands, making it impossible to proceed any farther.
I had to protect the animals. I had seen too many sport hunters grow bored tracking the animals they had wounded, leaving them to crawl through the jungle maimed until they died a slow, wretched death. I’d had my fill of death. I was not going to allow even one more animal to suffer.
I stopped the car at the gate and got out. There was only one mode of transportation that could safely navigate the rest of the pasture, and it had four legs. Actually, there were fifty-seven makes and models, with several variations of color—I just needed to find the most suitable one. The black horse that Diamond had ridden was too far away, but there was an overweight, phlegmatic-looking chestnut mare practically standing next to me, her eyes closed in a peaceful doze. She looked like a quarter horse, and I liked quarter horses. They are generally gentle and user friendly and easy to ride. Reassuring the mare in a soft voice, I walked to her side. Her eyes popped open and she looked me over, then dropped her head to graze, a good sign that she was relaxed. I stepped up to her and rubbed her neck for a minute, and she sighed blissfully. Then I pressed both hands against her back and got ready to mount her. She snorted loudly and struck out at me with a front leg.
“So much for introductions,” I said, and quickly jumped onto her back, out of striking range. The mare shook her head and pranced around in indignation. I grabbed a shank of her long mane and wrapped it around my hand, then sat back to balance myself. She pawed the ground and spun in a small angry circle. Not quite the way it had gone for Diamond.
“Knock it off,” I said in my best Voice of God imitation, but the mare was apparently an atheist and took off at a full gallop across the field. Her plump conformation made her easy to sit, but she was running with an energy born of resentment and overfeeding.
Her canter became a series of springs and leaps, and she was racing toward the fence with more speed than even she knew she possessed. I wrapped my legs tightly around her middle and prayed I would stay on while she incorporated 360-degree pivots on one hoof, along with other amazingly engineered equine movements. She swung her head wildly up and down while I took a stronger grip on her mane and tried to kick her forward. We were turning into a spectacle and out of the corner of my eye, I could see the men in the distance getting interested in our impromptu performance. One man was holding onto something long and linear—a rifle, I thought—and for a moment I entertained the notion that a quick bullet to either me or the horse would almost be welcome.
A few more minutes and the mare was beginning to tire. Her pace slowed, and she was panting from her exertions. I took advantage of her fatigue to kick her on and keep her cantering toward the fence.
As we drew closer I could see two men in jeans holding surveying instruments along with a packet of red flags. Not poachers, I realized with some relief, surveyors. Several other men in a circle of suits were joining them in what was apparently an open-air business meeting.
“Thank you,” I heard someone say. “We’ll get the proposal to you as soon as we can. We should have the papers signed before the month is out. I guess this fence will be coming down.”
They shook hands, apparently making some kind of business deal over the very land I was riding on. So that’s why Tom was going to send the elephants away and tear down their barn. It hadn’t been for Margo’s benefit, after all. It was to snatch all the land in the area!
And to do what? Build another housing development? Another mall? Tom had betrayed me, betrayed Mrs. Wycliff, betrayed the elephants.
Anger tightened the muscles in my throat, and I gave the mare another strong kick toward the men. I wanted to let them know that I knew. That they could go back and tell Tom—tell him what? I had to laugh. Tell him that some woman with a black eye came galloping up on them out of the morning mist like a half-crazed Valkyrie and she was very indignant?
The mare was blowing hard by now, and my legs were weakening from the strain of staying on. But at my urging, the horse lowered her head and caught a second wind and plowed on, the only good thing was that we were now both agreeing on the direction of travel. The fence was straight ahead. I pulled back on her mane to stop her, but the mare only bore down and picked up speed. The fence was twenty or so feet in front of us, and I started worrying less about the mare’s braking skills and more about how adept she was at jumping. Luckily, she demonstrated a certain dim notion of self-preservation by screeching to a dead halt just before she would have crashed us both through the fence. A scream escaped my lips as I flipped off her back and slid several feet across the slick mud, ending with a perfect forward roll. There were loud gasps followed by uproarious laughter from my audience. Three men, dressed in dark, pristine business suits were staring at me in frank delight. A man pushed through from the back and leaned over the fence to extend a hand and help me to my feet. I couldn’t see him for the mud in my eyes, but his voice startled me.
“Why, Neelie,” Tom said. “What a surprise! I wasn’t expecting you to drop by today.”
Chapter 25
I HAVE BEEN IN MANY SITUATIONS IN WHICH I fervently wished that the earth would swallow me whole.
On this particular occasion, the earth had made a good attempt by enveloping me almost completely in mud. Unfortunately, I had to reemerge in front of a group of highly entertained and chortling spectators.
As Tom lifted me to my feet, there was a flutter of hooves behind me, and we turned around just in time to see that the mare, finished with the task at hand, was departing for her previous location at warp speed.
“If you wait a moment, I’ll give you a ride,” Tom said, an amused smile playing across his lips. He wiped his muddy hand on one of the red flags. “It looks like your taxi just left without you.”
There was another round of guffaws, followed by a round of farewell handshakes, and the men got into their cars and departed, leaving me and Tom alone.
“I know what you’re doing,” I snapped at him.
“Certainly nothing as dramatic as what you’ve managed,” he replied. “A rodeo and a mud slide, all in one morning!” He swung open the door to his Bentley. “Would you care for a lift?”
“Thank you,” I said with all the dignity my grubby state would allow. He waited for me to spread his morning copy of the Wall Street Journal across the front seat in an effort to keep from soiling the pristine caramel leather upholstery. “I can’t promise a ride as exciting as your l
ast one,” he said, “but it will certainly be cleaner.”
“I know what you’re up to,” I said, after carefully settling in.
“And what would that be?” he asked in a patient voice.
“You’re selling the sanctuary, and it isn’t right,” I said angrily. “Or you’re developing it into something. You forgot to mention that was the reason you wanted all the land!”
“What on earth are you talking about?” he demanded, turning around to stare at me. “Who said I was selling the sanctuary?” His voice rose in anger. “Those men were selling me the land next to it.”
“It’s probably even a conflict of interest or something,” I continued, growing even angrier, my words ending in a near shout. “You lied about keeping the sanctuary open! How could you?”
“Don’t raise your voice to me. I didn’t lie. You’re totally misunderstanding what’s going on here,” he said. “As usual. There are other plans for this place that I’m not at liberty to discuss at the moment because it could sabotage the deal.”
“I don’t care what plans you have,” I snapped. “I’m going to warn Mrs. Wycliff that you’re either buying or selling her property for nefarious reasons.” We were at the elephant barn by now, but my fury hadn’t spent itself. “And I’m going to tell her that you’re buying all the other land, too, and planning to build all sorts of…commercial…things, and that—that—” I was at a loss for words. “And that’s why you wanted to get rid of Margo, because she won’t fit inside your shopping center or something. Anyway, I’m telling her.”
“Yep, you tell her everything,” he said cheerily. “Give her all the details.”
“That’s right,” I said. “I’m going to tell her that you’re the one who wants to take away all her animals because you’re the one who stands to profit from it.” I glared at him defiantly as he got out of the car and opened my door, still the gentleman, although I thought it was more because he didn’t want me touching the door handle. “It’s all about profit, isn’t it? I’m going to tell her right now.”
An Inconvenient Elephant Page 16
