Ralph Helfer (10 page)

Hands glanced toward Bram, but he’d gone to “his room” out of sight under Mo’s chin.

“I am most sorry to have to tell you, sir, that we must load quickly, as a very unhappy storm is approaching and we must go back immediately.” The swells had become full-sized waves, their whitecaps riding the crests…reminders of the past.

“Okay,” signaled Hands, “one at a time. Get aboard.”

A sigh of relief swept through the men as Hands allowed them to board the vessel. Many collapsed on the deck, trying to find their sea legs, or too weak to stand. Hands was beside himself. What was he to do? Never in his career had there been a problem that he couldn’t resolve. He’d grown fond of the boy, and Modoc, too, and had promised that everything would be all right.

“Bram!” Bram reappeared into view at Hands’s shout. “Look, son, the only way to do this is to go back with the boat and bring out a vessel big enough to handle the job.”

Hands knew what he was saying was ridiculous, since Mo’s trunk was already hanging completely below the waterline except for the tip. With the storm approaching, there wouldn’t be enough time. From under Mo’s chin came Bram’s resigned voice.

“It’s okay, Hands, you go on. I’ll be fine.”

“What the hell are you talking about, huh? Now don’t be stupid, boy. A ship will find her and…Bram, you hear me?” Hands was starting to lose it. His voice broke from the strain. Bram had turned Mo away from the boat.

“Move up, girl, that’s it, move up.” He was moving her slowly away from the boat. Her energy was at a low ebb, and had it not been for Bram, she wouldn’t have budged.

“Bram! Get the hell back here! You’re crazy! You can’t do this!”

“Don’t worry. Mo and I will be okay.” As the fog swallowed him into the invisible, his voice trailed away saying, “Bye Hands, thanks for everything.”

“No, wait! Don’t go. I’ve got an idea.” Hands was berserk with what was happening. “We can tow her in! That’s it! We’ll put these ropes around her and tow her. Bring her back here now, Bram!” Hands immediately set to work. “You men grab those ropes!”

Nobody moved.

“Bram, bring her around!”

Hands was tripping and falling as he tried to handle the ropes by himself. The men weren’t moving. With the storm coming they’d have to get back to port at full speed, and tugging Mo would only
slow them down. More important, they saw she was failing fast and was too weak to endure the trip.

“You men hear me!” Hands raged, tears welling up in his eyes, his throat in a knot. “Now give me a hand!”

He reached down to gather another coil when one of the sailors picked up a huge chunk of wood off the deck and coming up behind him, cracked him hard over the head. Hands fell, blood oozing from his temple. Everyone sat still, looking at his body, except the man who had hit him. He rolled the lifeless body over, sopped up the blood with the bottom of his shirt.

The sailor turned to the captain of the tug. “We can go now.”

The storm had gathered strength and the tug was being tossed around like a cork. The big engine revved up, the boat leaned back and roared ahead, powering its way through the waves, back from where it had come. As it disappeared into the fog, voices could be heard crying out.

“Bye, Bram, thank you…”

“See ya, Mo.”

“Sorry…”

H
OURS HAD PASSED
. The fog thinned, and in places had torn open to reveal the white brightness of a three-quarter moon outlining the massive thunderheads that dominated the heavens. Whitecaps had transformed into large, smooth swells that rolled in wide sheets of bottomless liquid, while a light warm rain sprinkled the surface with silvery dimples. Mo’s huge, flaccid body floated low in the water, as though dead, her energy long gone. Mini-whirlpools slowly swirled around Mo in big circles, as if she were a leaf being washed downstream. Bram was nowhere in sight. A clot of floating debris got hung up briefly against Mo’s side. A hand slowly reached out from under Mo’s head and grabbed the largest piece of wood.”

“This’ll help some, Mosie.”

Bram’s voice was barely audible and he was shaking, weak from exposure and exhaustion. Struggling to lift her trunk off his
shoulder, he set it on the floating piece of wood, which sank a bit from the weight but kept the tip out of the water for the moment. Bram knew she was dying. Mo’s body was cold to the touch, and unmoving; her trunk lay listless, no sign of life anywhere in her entire being, except her eyes…living eyes in a dead body, as though someone inside was looking out. It was from these half-closed eyes that she watched his every move. Cuddling down under her chin, he supported her huge head as best he could on his shoulder.

“Now, girl, we have to think about all the good things that have happened to us. Papa told me that whenever things go bad, look to—” Bram felt a slight shudder in her body. “Mo, are you listening?” Tears spilled over the rims of his eyes as he set her head down and moved to her side so she could see him better. Her lids were closed. “
Mo!
…
Mo!
…”

She opened them slowly, searching languidly until one looked directly at him. This was the boy she loved, the one person in the world for whom she would do anything. The glazed eye saw his lips move, his mouth speak. Her whole existence of trust and love was in her gaze. Bram’s voice was choked with tears.

“It’s time, Mosie…now don’t you be afraid. We’ll be together, and as long as we are, nothing can hurt us.” He wiped his face of the flood of tears, they tasted so sweet; then put his cheek against hers. He smoothed the soft skin around her eye with his finger. “Goodbye, Mosie. I’ll see you on the other side.”

Modoc’s eye gradually closed, squeezing a bead of wet out of the corner.

“Now I’m going to slip this board out from under your trunk,” Bram said, kissing the wet spot, “and when I do, you just keep thinking of the circus, and Emma, and the clover fields, and all your friends who love you.”

Bram realized that these were his own final moments, and for the first time he felt scared. “Papa…sorry, Papa, I tried.” A warm sensation came over him as he thought of seeing Josef. He knew his father would be waiting. “Maybe we’ll even meet your namesake, huh, Mo?”

Bram didn’t want to be out there alone without her, and he knew once the board was pulled, she wouldn’t be able to keep her head above water. He gently pushed his arm up into Mo’s mouth, resting his hand on her tongue. He asked her to “hold,” knowing this way he’d be pulled down with her. Then, looking around to see if there was anything he might have forgotten, white with terror, he said, “Goodbye, Mama…Gertie…Curpo.” He pulled the board; it drifted away.

Modoc didn’t fight it; she instinctively knew they were at the end of their adventure. In a few minutes her huge head slowly sank into the water with Bram’s arm locked in her mouth. His head disappeared beneath the surface also.

For a moment all he felt were the bubbles; the agonizing wash of the sea was gone, and a peace and quiet descended upon him. By reflex, he held his breath. He was slowly letting it escape when he heard a noise. A curious noise. It was a distinct sound, the vibration of a
motor
and it was…yes! Getting louder!

He wrenched and twisted, trying to swim up, but his arm was firmly locked in a death grip. Fighting for his life, he pounded on Mo’s cheek. It was futile; they sank deeper. Bram was about to black out, everything was fading into one…the water, the bubbles, Modoc, the noise…Everything was melting together and spinning, spinning into oblivion.

Suddenly he felt the impact from a gigantic splash only a few feet above him. It was so enormous, so startling that Modoc, in her resigned death throes, reacted. Shocked, she moved up, breaking through the surface of the water, carrying Bram high into the air with her! They were blinded by the brilliance of floodlights. Men in special suits were all around them in the water, some holding up Mo’s head and trunk, others swimming under her, fastening a thick canvas sling beneath her. Bram felt a powerful arm scoop him up. Airborne for a moment, he was placed upon a hard surface. People were attending to him, but through the crowd his bleary eyes searched for Modoc. He could see her being hauled out of the water by an enormous crane. A large man wearing a turban was shouting
orders. They were on board a ship, the whole back of which lay in the water like a great hinged gate. In a state of shock, Bram wondered why the ship didn’t sink.

Mo was carefully swung over the deck and gently lowered. As her feet touched the deck, her legs buckled and she collapsed, so she was laid on her side. Bram, exhausted, passed into unconsciousness.

“Engines…full throttle…radio Calcutta for arrival at 0400!” and the local city ferryboat got under way.

“I’
M SORRY
, but the doctor left strict orders that the patient is not to be disturbed!”

“But I understand he’s starting to wake up, the doctor told me so himself!”

Bram was gradually coming around, first in his mind, trying to contemplate who he was and what was happening to him, then in his body, pushing away the excruciating pain. His eyes opened to a blur of pastels, white, light brown, pale yellow, a tinge of blue. Nothing was moving in the blur except a brown flat thing that kept cadence with a creaking sound.

“Please, I have to be there when he wakes up.” The man pushed his way past the nurse and headed into the room. Leaning over the bed, he tried to look through the mosquito netting that tented over it. “Bram, you in there, old man? It’s Kelly…from the ship.”

Bram fought with his senses to clear his mind as well as his vision, which was slowly coming into focus. He saw he was lying in a bed encapsulated in gauze. The man outside the netting was talking to him. Kelly…
Kelly!
It all came back fast and hit him hard. He bolted into a sitting position. Searing pain cut him to the quick; every muscle, joint, bone, and tendon was sore and painful. He howled in agony, clutching his body for comfort. Kelly pulled back the netting as the nurse, giving him a dirty look, settled Bram back down into the pillows and blankets.

“I…don’t understand…you were on the ship when it…”

“Yeah, me’n a couple other guys were the first to be picked up. We lucked out and floated on a large piece of the captain’s wheelhouse.” Kelly’s face changed quickly as he recollected. “It was real bad, son, but”—he cracked a smile—“some of us made it. I couldn’t believe it when they told me you were here. I mean, after all, you were down in the hold.”

Bram raised up on one elbow. “Kelly, Mo! Is she…?”

“She’s still down, but look, she’s still alive. That’s why I had to come here. I knew when you woke up you’d want to know.”

“Where is she, Kelly?”

“They’ve got her at a place, a special place for elephants, outside town a ways. Everyone’s talking about her. That’s how I heard. I ain’t been there, but I don’t think it’s too far.”

“I’ve got to go to her, Kelly.” Bram started to get out of bed.

“Hey, wait a minute…now look, you’ve been in here seven days—a whole week! Let the doctor do his stuff. You know, give you a few needles, some X-rays, then get a good night’s sleep and if things look good in the morning, well…maybe they’ll let you see her for a little while. I’ll personally take you to her.”

Bram lay under the covers thinking about what had happened and what he must do. He slept well into the night. When he awoke the room was dark. Switching on a small table lamp, he took a look around the room for the first time. At the far corner of the room, a very old man wearing a turban and sarong sat on a carpet on the
floor. In his hand was a thin rope that led to a large flat rattan fan attached to the ceiling. When pulled, the fan waved to and fro, cooling the air in the hot, humid room. Unfortunately, he’d fallen asleep, and the fan hung motionless.

Bram had to find Mo. Fighting off the excruciating pains in his body, he lifted himself to an upright position. He fumbled with the netting, tried to find the opening, but his patience wore thin and he ended up ripping a large hole in the transparent material. Sliding through the gap, he searched the room for his clothes, which were nowhere to be found. Bram took one of the large pillowcases, tore an opening in the closed end, and slipped it over his head down to his waist. By standing on the bed, he managed to untie the cord holding the netting together and used it as a belt, fastening it around his waist to hold up his skirtlike apparel. A second pillow was ripped into strips, from which he fashioned a simple but effective turban. Once done, he examined himself in the reflection of the medicine cabinet.

“Not bad,” he whispered to himself, “not bad at all.”

Moving to what appeared to be the nearest exit, he pulled back the red and white striped curtain and cautiously looked out. There was no one to be seen. Bram took a few steps to a nearby railing and peered over the edge.

The hospital, originally a Hindu palace, was structurally sound and sumptuously designed. Converted at the turn of the century, it had high arched ceilings and giant, intricately carved columns that seemed opulent for its current use. The building featured a second floor that opened to a view of the massive central lobby and its entrance hall. Its balconies circled the inside of the entire building, and numerous walkways that led to rooms had been converted into operating rooms, an X-ray department, and pathology laboratories. Each open area employed one or more “fan men.”

From the balcony Bram watched with fascination as fifty or more fans swayed rhythmically in their endless task to keep the hospital as cool as possible. However, the mesmerizing motion of
the fans often put some of the operators to sleep. To save the generator, candles lit most of the rooms.

Sticking close to the shadowed corridors, he found his way downstairs and through the front arches leading to the street.

Bram stood at the hospital entrance, looking out with confusion into the dimly lit street. Although it was quite dark, he could see the road was a badly damaged tarmac—mostly dirt with a patchwork of deep holes, boulders, ruts, algae-covered mud pockets, and potholes full of black water. The street was bordered by ancient clay buildings, some two stories high. Small windows had been cut into the walls at the discretion of the builder. Stupas crowned the rooftops of the few that could afford more stylish construction. Kiosks lined the street in front of most of the buildings; their colorful awnings lay still in the night without the faintest breeze. A few bone-thin stray dogs meandered across the road, followed by an assortment of multicolored goats.

Beggars filled every nook and cranny. Some huddled over a cooking fire, waiting for a small piece of sustenance to have the bacteria cooked out of it. Bram could hear their low mumbles, noting these people moved quietly, watching for the unknown with fearful eyes. This was a city in waiting.

In his weakened condition, Bram’s nausea and pain were almost overwhelming. Half a dozen Brahma cattle nibbled at the grass along the edge of the road. He looked at the various signs protruding from the buildings, trees and poles—all in a strange language he could not read. However, one in particular caught his eye.

KISMET ROYAL ELEPHANTARIUM
10
KM

An arrow pointed the way. Bram followed the arrow’s direction. An elderly Indian rode by slowly on a dilapidated old bicycle. He passed Bram in the road and noticed the young boy wince. He reduced his speed and said something to Bram. Bram didn’t understand what the old man was saying until he gestured for him to sit
on the handlebars. Bram smiled in appreciation and nodded. He climbed on board.

For miles he sat on the handlebars, his body tortured by every pothole and rut they hit. The man driving never said a word, but occasionally rang a small bell attached to one handle. He seemed obsessed with ringing it. He rang it at every rut he hit, every water hole, every bog. He rang it often, even when they stopped and had to walk the bike.

At a crossroads, the driver stopped. Bram thanked the man as best he could. The man looked at Bram and began ringing the bell as he rode off into the sweltering Indian night.

Bram walked on until he noticed ahead shafts of light coming across the road and disintegrating into the forest beyond. From where he stood, he couldn’t see where the light originated. Hastening, he rounded the corner and was met by one of the most beautiful sights he’d ever seen.

A gleaming white palace of unbelievable grandeur stood on a bluff. A multitude of brilliantly colored lights lit the alcazar and the surrounding fields of rich green grass. Made of the finest alabaster, its top was studded with stupas, domes, spirals—all rising in the sky. Pathways ambled in every direction on the palace grounds, lined with vivid blooms of chrysanthemums, bougainvillea, and roses. Waterfalls of all sizes cascaded cool, fresh water into streams and brooks brimming with exotic and colorful koi. Gracing the entrance, centered on the front lawn, and resting high upon a platform, was a full-sized teakwood replica of an Indian elephant, its head held high in all its majesty, its trunk raised in a sign of triumph.

Bram had never seen such beauty and elegance. He followed the stone walkway that led up to the marble staircase. He counted forty stairs as he climbed to the great doors of the palace, but saw two guards standing at either side, each holding a lance. Bram didn’t want to risk being discovered, especially when he felt he was so close to finding Modoc.

To the right he spotted a narrow path. Bram followed it but
soon was lost in a maze of roses, lilacs, and daffodils. The aroma was breathtaking, and mingled with it was an all too familiar odor:
elephants!
He followed the scent; the pain seemed to leave his body as he hurried through the garden, sniffing the air. He came out on an open lawn. Some twenty yards in front was a knoll. Running to the top of it, overlooking the valley below, Bram was greeted with a spectacular sight.

It was the elephant compound, better known as the Elephantarium. All the structures were of Hindu design, bleached white stone walls, tapered roofs, gold-leafed spirals, with Hindu statues and artifacts delicately placed throughout the facilities. Directly in front appeared to be the main office building. The building with the hospital flag flying from the roof spoke for itself. Circling around, he approached the hospital from the side, hoping no one would be there this early in the morning.

The door creaked as it opened; its echo let Bram know he was in a very big building. It was pitch dark inside except for a row of small candles set on the ground and running down the middle. Bram’s eyes hadn’t adjusted to the darkness yet, but he knew elephants were here. Their heavy breathing, blowing air through their trunks, and rattling of chains told him there were more than a few. As his eyes adjusted, he started to walk down the center, alongside the silently flickering candles. Bram gasped as he saw elephants lying or standing on either side of him. Big ones, a few medium-sized, a couple of punks. Some had bandages, a few wore splints. This was indeed the hospital…a hospital for elephants. Many wore heavy metal identification plates linked to their leg chains.

Bram carefully checked each one, hoping to find Modoc. There must have been twenty, but by the time he got to the end, there was no sign of her. Bram felt his body quiver. Was it a reminder of the ocean, or Mo? Had she died; had Kelly not wanted to tell him before he had recovered?

“Mo?” he whispered, “Mosie, are you here?”

All the elephants became quiet, listening to the stranger’s voice in the dark. Then, one by one, they answered Bram with
grunts, trumpets, and squeaks. The vocal assembly was deafening. As they settled down, Bram heard a low guttural sound.

“Mo…is it you?” His heart raced. Again he heard the sound come from another section of the building. It was barely audible, back in the dark away from the others. He heard it again, the same noise, a weak animal trying to speak. Reaching down, Bram picked up one of the candles and walked into the darkness.

“Mosie, where are you? Mo…?” Away from the other candles, the darkness was total. Time and time again he tripped over something or other, lying on the ground.

“Mosie, say something, baby, so I can find you.” He stopped for a moment.

Up from the floor rose a moan from the edge of death. Bram fell to his knees. There was Mo, right in front of him!

“Mo! Mo! You’re alive!”

He put the candle down nearby and ran his hands all over her. Pressing his face to her cheek, he cried tears of joy, of deep and utter gratitude. Mo’s trunk managed to maneuver itself to his face, the tip exploring all over, checking as best she could if he was all right. Bram laid up under her chin, their favorite place, even though he remembered his father’s comment about sleeping head to head. She laid her trunk over his shoulder as a mother would with her child, and listened as he began to tell her, in a hushed voice, all that had happened since he last saw her. Thus, Bram found Mo, and by the light of a single candle, the two talked in their way, of ships and oceans, love and death, pain and survival. Had an outsider listened in, he would surely have thought these stories must have been a child’s delusions—until the candle burned low, and sleep became the victor.