Fear No Evil

by John Gordon Davis

  He knew nothing about trees and nothing about honey; but he knew that he could climb a tree to get it. Smoky lumbered around Winnie and Pooh, giving them a wide berth, looking up into the tree, sizing it up; then he bounded.

  His claws sank into the bark, and up he went, effortlessly. He was halfway up before Winnie and Pooh realized it, and was into the beehive snout-first, long tongue licking, claws clinging tight. The bees went berserk, swarming about his furry head in a cloud. The smell of honey flooded down to Pooh and Winnie, and they were beside themselves. Smoky was getting stuck into what they couldn’t reach, and Pooh hurled himself at the tree trunk with anguish and came crashing down again, grunting and thumping. Pooh tried to paw Smoky down out of the tree by jumping and swiping. Winnie joined in, and they bumped into each other in their agitation, but their paws whistled harmlessly beneath Smoky’s rump. The bees were zapping furiously into his nose, his ears and his deep shaggy fur, but it would have taken strong machinery to pry Smoky out of that tree.

  He clung tight, his heart thumping joyfully, his eyes screwed up and his snout stretched out, his pink tongue slurping in and out of the beehive. There was honey all over his chops and face and drooling down his neck, and it was absolutely delicious. His nose was a big black sticky swollen mass of stings, he had swallowed scores of bees, but Smoky did not care. Now honey was running down the tree in thick long drools, and Winnie and Pooh were pawing at the trunk, their long pink tongues gratefully licking the bark.

  None of them had ever been happier.

  sixteen

  Elizabeth jerked, eyes wide, hand to her throat.

  ‘Oh! Hello …’

  ‘Hi.’ Big Charlie squatted self-consciously five paces away. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘How do you move so quietly?’

  ‘Sorry. Where’s Davey?’

  She pointed down the glen, her heart still palpitating. ‘He went down there about an hour ago. I think I offended him.’

  Big Charlie shook his head slightly. She did not know whether it was in denial, in regret, or even perhaps in sympathy. But right now, the less said the better. She had shot her mouth off with that impetuous remark about God’s instrument—she’d had him talking, and she had blown it. She found herself nursing the hope that if she shut up and stuck with them long enough they would simply not have the heart to reject her. Then she could do some good, when she had won their confidence. O God, she wished it would get dark quickly.

  ‘Did you find anything up there?

  Big Charlie shook his head. ‘No, Dr. Johnson.’

  ‘Please call me Elizabeth.’ Big Charlie looked embarrassed. She added, ‘We’re all in this together.’

  Charlie looked uneasy. He picked up a twig and fiddled with it; then said, ‘We’re going soon, Dr. Johnson. You won’t be able to keep up with us.’

  She took a big breath and closed her eyes.

  ‘Let me worry about that. I’m a big strong girl, haven’t you noticed?’ She tried to make a brittle joke: ‘Maybe too big, you think, hmm?’

  Big Charlie smiled, and blushed. ‘I didn’t mean you’re too big.’

  She had him talking.

  ‘Yes, you did—too fat.’

  ‘You’re not too fat, Dr. Johnson.’

  ‘Just fat, huh?’

  Big Charlie squirmed in smiling embarrassment. ‘You’re just right for me.’ Then he looked horrified, as if he wanted to slap his hand over his mouth. ‘I mean—for my liking.’ He floundered. ‘I mean … I think you’re great like you are,’ he ended, covered in confusion.

  She smiled and felt tears burn for a moment.

  ‘Thank you, Charlie.’

  Big Charlie looked desperately down the glen for Davey. But there was no rescue in sight; he pulled himself together and crumbled the twig.

  ‘But we will worry about you, Dr. Johnson. And … we’ve got enough to worry about right now.’

  ‘Charlie—don’t let’s talk about it. Let’s wait for David. Let’s just talk …’

  A glint came into his hooded eyes.

  ‘It’s not just for Davey to decide, Dr. Johnson.’

  She could have bitten off her tongue for the tactless way she had put that.

  ‘I know … I’m sorry … but please—can we just talk?’ She shook her head. ‘Tell me about yourself. Or I’ll talk about myself. Are you married, Charlie? Have you got a girl friend? Where is she? Or let’s … tell me about the animals.’

  Big Charlie looked at her with disappointment. That she thought she was fooling him. But he was too polite to say so.

  ‘I’m not married,’ he mumbled reluctantly.

  ‘Is Davey?’ she said brightly.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Have you got a girl?’

  Big Charlie looked at the ground, and then a rueful smile twinkled across his face. ‘Sometimes …’ Then a smothered laugh rose from his chest: ‘When I get lucky.’

  She was smiling again. Oh, poor Charlie! ‘And Davey?’

  Charlie shifted and looked at her apologetically. ‘Can we talk about the animals?’

  She clutched at this change of subject. She cast about for something not provocative.

  ‘The elephants …’

  Big Charlie waited. ‘What about them?’

  She marshalled her thoughts urgently. ‘I watched that lion play today. And then the chimps. And … it was truly wonderful.’ She shook her head sincerely. ‘It’s been a wonderful day, really. I’ve learned a great deal. But about the elephants … I mean the zoo ones. Your circus elephants. They’re accustomed to traveling, to new places and all that. And to teamwork. So maybe all this isn’t such a shock for them. But you saw how nervous the zoo tiger is, for example—she doesn’t want to mix. So what I’m saying is, I’m sure that the zoo elephants are feeling the same way. I know those elephants—as individuals. I know they must be very frightened. Of —she waved at the forest—‘the vastness … the lack of security.’

  Big Charlie stared at the ground, self-conscious at being asked advice by a fully fledged veterinary surgeon. He found it difficult to say, you’re mostly all wrong.

  So he said, ‘You’re partly right, Doctor.’

  In his cage in the zoo, Little had learned almost nothing about being an elephant. He had learned what time of day he was going to be fed, when he was going to be chained up again by his foot, that in daylight people came to stare at him. He was not allowed to play with Clever: sometimes their chains were just long enough to be able to reach each other with their trunks, but mostly they were chained too far apart, facing opposite directions. For the rest of the time they just rocked on their great feet. When the people came to look at them, they reached out their trunks through the bars, groping for some friendly contact. There was nothing else to do.

  He could not see Jamba behind the next gray wall. But he could smell her, and hear her. Sometimes, he could stretch his trunk out through the bars, reach around the dividing walls, and maybe touch trunks with her. Then they sniffed and groped at each other. He yearned to be with her, for her company, her comfort, and her natural authority. Jamba yearned with all her elephantine instinct to mother him and yearned for his fellow elephantness. But they could not see each other. The only way to express themselves was to trumpet, a frustrated, old sound of the jungles that fell back on the Victorian hall.

  Now Little had been released from his cage, and he was with old Jamba, in her important elephant company. Although he felt the urgency in the air, he was not really very afraid. He was only very anxious to do the right thing, to keep up with the running, close to Jamba and Clever, so as not to be left behind. After the first long, confused burst of running on the first day, what he mostly felt was a nervous exhilaration—for the sun, the sky and all the green, for all the space and the glorious sense of using his body.

  But Jamba was afraid. Not so much of the wilderness itself, but because she knew they were running away from a wrong that had been committed, and that they would be pursued and punished if caugh
t. For an old elephant understands very well what it is and is not allowed to do; she had learned very well from twenty-five years in a cage that she was not allowed outside; she knew that they were being chased. Only for this reason was she afraid of the wilderness, for the perils it had of her terrible pursuers.

  Jamba was just naturally responsible for the young elephants now, for Little and Clever. All her life she had yearned for a calf to mother; for years she had bothered and fretted, and had called out to them in the next cage. Now she had them with her, and along the Appalachian Trail she kept them in front of her where she could discipline them, making sure that they kept running from the dangers behind: for that is an old elephant’s natural duty with inexperienced and foolish young elephants. And when they had arrived at this place and all the animals had thrown themselves down, Jamba had not gone to sleep. Not until the first birds began to twitter and she could see again had she fallen asleep, exhausted, but still on her feet, her big ears listening.

  Nor had she relaxed her vigilance when they all woke. She had started feeding, urgently, stuffing her belly while she had the chance, before she had to run for her life again. She made sure Clever and Little were in front of her all the time. If one of them went too far ahead she called him back with an imperative squeak: if one dropped back, she curled her trunk around his rump and shoved him forward. She wouldn’t let them get too close to the circus elephants. She did not want to have too much to do with them yet, especially Queenie. Queenie was big, she had tusks, which gave her authority, for might is right in the kingdom of elephants. Queenie watched Jamba balefully.

  But not Rajah.

  Oh, no, Rajah wanted Jamba to come closer. Old Rajah had never been allowed to have a mate. In the circus, when Queenie was in heat, they were kept well apart, which drove Rajah mad. He had trumpeted and wrenched on his chain and endlessly curled his trunk, his great penis dangling as he tossed his fodder about disconsolately. If ever Queenie had gone into heat unexpectedly, and Rajah had tried to mount her, he got the whip cracked across his face, or the electric prodder. That’s how it had been for over fifteen years. Now Rajah was very aware of a new female, and although he knew she was not in heat, he was interested. Huffing and sighing, and blinking mournfully, he had tried to edge closer to her. But Jamba was having none of that nonsense, and she made sure that Clever and Little stayed near.

  But now a new throaty noise came from Jamba’s belly: it was contentment. For slowly, as her huge belly began to fill and nothing happened but the warming of her back by the dappled sunshine, the urgency gave way to the pleasure of feeding. Of the marvelous abundance of food growing all about her, food she could wrap her trunk around and pluck in a real elephant way. She loved the satisfaction of the crisp feel and the living smell of it, and of all the different tastes. With each step it became more pleasurable to choose, to smell and taste. Slowly, she discovered the joys of movement and of space—space to swing her head and her trunk, the feeling of being huge in a limitless place, of boughs bending before her body, of earth beneath her feet, and the many, many smells.

  Jamba’s stomach began to rumble; then, one by one, the other elephants’ stomachs joined in. It was an infectious community of feeling, an agreement passing between them that all this was good, that all this was lovely to an elephant’s way of thinking.

  Jamba did not feel so shy any more of the circus elephants. She edged closer toward them as she fed, and what she was feeling now was an elephant’s desire to be acknowledged. She raised her trunk in greeting, to show her respect for Queenie’s tusks; she curled her trunk up over her head in a salaam and lowered it with a sigh. First Rajah and then Queenie greeted her in return, with smaller salaams. Finally, they stood in a group, slowly blinking and sniffing at each other with their trunk tips.

  In the late afternoon Davey came back and sat down with Charlie and Elizabeth. She heaved a sigh of relief. She wanted to know if he had seen anything suspicious, what he was going to do about the hunters—didn’t he believe that she had seen them gleefully getting ready in Erwin? … And what about the helicopter? … But she controlled herself.

  The elephants came out of the forest, stood in a solemn line at the water’s edge and drank. It was the first time in years that any of them had had so much water, and each knew just naturally what they were going to do with it. When they had drunk enough, they sucked their trunks full, then curled them up over their heads, and jetted the water over their backs—and again, between their legs, over their bellies, and again and again till their whole bodies glinted in the afternoon sunshine. The abundance of water on their bodies was like the very space of the forest, and the sunshine was filled with their sighings and the rainbows of their spraying.

  As the sun lowered, the other animals began to gather around the pool near Davey. Like cows gathering around a gate at milking time, Elizabeth thought. Despite her fears, she sat enthralled.

  She was in awe … for, rationalize about security blankets as she would, the impressive fact was that these were not domestic cattle but a group of widely different animals, and it was overwhelmingly evident that they were gathering around this man because they loved him.

  They loved him. She could feel it, as one can feel it between people. She could see it, in the way they looked at him, in their whole demeanor, shuffling close, hopefully waiting, pulled toward him. First came the bears, their power bulging in their furry shoulders and shaggy legs, their clawed paws padding ominously, silently, their big dish faces expressionless; and Elizabeth felt a cringe of fear again. But Davey was smiling at them with such a gentle look in his eyes she was ashamed.

  ‘Hello, Pooh … Hello, Winnie …’

  They came snuffling up to him, nudging him with their noses, their furry bulks blocking out the sunset, grunting as he fondled their heads, and his smile was radiant. As if on command, they both sat on their haunches like dogs, towering shaggily over him, looking expectantly at him, huge, lovable thousand-pound beasts that had filled man with dread since time began. Her nerves still cringing, Elizabeth smiled and wanted to stretch out and touch them, and fondle them too.

  Next the lions came pussyfooting across the glen; then the chimps and the gorillas. Finally came the elephants, gathering around in a ragged phalanx, great gray animals with slowly flapping ears, their trunks curling, their brown eyes gentle and wise, slowly blinking at Davey, waiting for him to tell them what to do. Davey gave a whistle, and a minute later Sam came bounding into the glen, tail wagging and tongue slopping.

  Big Charlie said softly, ‘Call the birds, Davey …’ Then another wonderful thing happened.

  Davey extended his arms, uttered a long, trilling whistle, and the birds stopped singing. It seemed as if the whole forest held its breath; the animals became still.

  Then came the birds. First one, swooping down from the trees and fluttering in front of Davey; then two more; then from all directions. Wings swooping and beating, they flew around his head, fluttering and twittering excitedly, bumping into each other, their wings whirring; and they began to land on his outstretched arms. In a minute his arms were laden with birds, twitting and jostling; they were on his shoulders and perched on his head. Still more birds fluttered about him. They were sitting on the ground about his feet and perching in the boughs above his head.

  Elizabeth could hardly contain her feeling of awe; her heart turned over; she wanted to clap and laugh and cry. She had read about such rare, lucky people as David Jordan, but she had never believed she’d see one. The animals stood so still, listening to his charm; the elephants, bears, gorillas, lions and tigers, all pent, with the birds twittering, the sun turning the sky golden red, the forest mauve.

  At sunset they set off upward in a long caravan, plodding through the undergrowth, heading for the Appalachian Trail on the crest.

  Elizabeth still did not know whether she was going to be allowed to stay; Davey had said nothing, and she had kept quiet. She was intensely relieved that the dark was almost upon th
em, with a mist wisping through the trees.

  Within half a mile, her legs could climb no more. Her gut had knotted even though Big Charlie was carrying her kit. Davey called a halt, ordered Dumbo to kneel, and told her to climb astride his neck. She did not argue.

  Now, gratefully riding, she felt Dumbo’s warm body beneath her, his bristles prickling through her jeans. She felt a thrill like a child’s, almost glee, an overwhelming affection for the animal who was so willingly saving her from the agony of climbing and the terror of being left behind. She wanted to put her arms around his neck, thank him and praise him. And she was still under the spell of the birds.

  And, oh, despite her fears, she wanted to go with these animals wherever David Jordan was leading them. Just to be with them—to help them! The sunset grew more beautiful the higher Dumbo climbed; she had had a most wonderful, extraordinary day. She felt a rush of affection for big Queenie laboring up the mountain in front of her, for old Rajah, whose tail Queenie was holding with her trunk tip; she looked over her shoulder and smiled at Little and Clever toiling earnestly on either side of Jamba, and she loved them all.

  She knew that Dumbo was enjoying carrying her. He let go of Queenie’s tail, curled his trunk over his head and groped for contact. His snuffling trunk tip found her plump ribs so that she giggled and jerked; then he found her hand and curled his trunk around her wrist. Elizabeth was delighted, and tried to squeeze him back. Dumbo could feel her happiness and affection in her voice, and he was eager to please. He was also very pleased with himself, because in the circus only Rajah and Queenie carried people. All he ever had on his back were the chimpanzees and the big cats.

  Then Little groped for her also. For Little had had a wonderful day too. Seeing Elizabeth ride on Dumbo made him want to carry her too, so he lifted his trunk and tried to wrap it around her waist, to catch her attention. Then Clever also wanted to play; he tickled her. Elizabeth laughed and wriggled, and Clever pulled his trunk back. She grabbed it to tell him it was all right, and Clever plodded along beside her, holding her hand.