Ralph Helfer (14 page)

T
HE LIGHT OF THE FULL MOON
moved through the trees as they approached the lake. The forest was silent and smelled of ginger as Mo walked the earthen trail. In the back of Bram’s mind he was trying to decipher Jagrat’s note when he spotted him standing under the mimosa tree, waving a silent greeting.

“Salaams, Bram.”

“Salaams, Jagrat.”

“Before you leave there is something that needs to be done for Modoc. But first we must remove the howdah from her back.”

Within minutes the deed was accomplished. Bram said nothing, knowing that whatever was being done would be of great significance.

“Take Modoc to the lake.”

“But she’s afraid of—”

“Just have her stand at the edge,” Jagrat said patiently.

Bram walked her to the shoreline. Patting her leg, he asked her to stay and walked back to Jagrat.

“Come with me,” he said, and Bram followed him up the slope where they had first met.

They sat quietly, joining the forest and lake in solitude. Nothing stirred on the Agra’s mirrored surface. Modoc stood calmly, dabbling the tip of her trunk in the mud. Bram kept mulling over in his mind the words of Jagrat, “On your journey there will be many waters to cross.” What did it mean?

Something moved in the middle of the lake. A circle of ripples formed as though surrounding a large object. Modoc stopped playing and stood still. The ripples formed a large “V” and slowly headed in her direction. Her ears shot forward, trunk raised as she stared across the lake. There was something there, but nothing to see. Bram looked at Jagrat. He, too, was staring at the water.

The arrow of ripples continued toward Modoc. As it approached the shore, it stopped. Mo made a rumbling sound in her body and carefully stretched out her trunk. She was seeing something others were not allowed to see. Something was holding the tip of her trunk, and leading her out into the water! Mo didn’t resist. Slowly, she carefully eased her way out, stopping occasionally to rumble a bit, then moving on deeper and deeper. By the time she reached the center of the lake, she was floating with another…elephant!

“Atoul?” guessed Bram.

Jagrat looked at him; his dark eyes seemed to see far beyond Bram. He smiled. “Yes.”

Now Bram understood. Jagrat knew of Modoc’s problem with the water, and in his mystical way had enlisted Atoul to help her.

“She will be all right now,” said Jagrat, walking off into the forest. “I wish you both a safe and enlightening journey,” he said into the darkness.

“We will always remember you, Jagrat,” called Bram. “Thank you.”

It was daybreak, as expected, when Bram entered the forest that lay south of the city. He had traveled all night, sticking to the back roads as much as possible. Most of the dirt and brick streets were deserted because of the early hour, and just the occasional cripple or homeless person could be seen sleeping in the doorways. The only tarmac roadway ran through the center of town, and Bram felt it would be best to stay clear of areas where people might later recall having seen him. Nobody paid much attention to an elephant walking on the old streets at night, or, for that matter, to any of the cattle, goats, donkeys, or Brahmas eating grass along the embankments.

Once in the forest, Bram found a well-traveled trail and directed Modoc onto it. It was headed away from the city and toward the sea, exactly where he wanted to go. The clear skies and early morning humidity told of a very hot day in the offing. He checked the rigging, seeing that the eight-inch-wide woven hemp cinch was not too binding on Mo. The howdah sat comfortably on a foot-thick mat filled with camel hair and lined with sisal cord. It was made of strong giant bamboo laced with bindings of reed, sisal, and jungle root. No bolts or screws of any kind were used as the howdah had to move with the animal, not be too rigid, lest it caused pinching and cutting. There were six holes in the top of the frame into which poles were inserted to support a small canopy. This would ward off the sun or rain. Bram had tied the assorted bundles to the outer edge of the howdah to form a circle, putting everything within close reach for his needs. The flooring of the howdah was similar to the one he had used back home. Made of thick woven rattan, and with the help of an overlying blanket, it made a comfortable area in which to function.

Lying on his back, Bram watched as the sun filtered through the trees, a sparkle here, a glitter there. He heard the music Jagrat had spoken of, gentle, whispering, tinkling cymbals of the living forest. Modoc lumbered on; she knew her responsibility and never strayed off the trail or stopped to bother a bush or flower, which allowed Bram to take naps. She, too, enjoyed the music.

Bram awoke with a start. Modoc had stopped! Above him was
a trunk giving little warning signals of squeaks and chirps. He jumped up to have a look. Crossing the trail was a huge python. Bram guessed its length to be twenty feet or more. The head had already passed into the grass on one side of the road, while the tail was still to come out of the weeds on the other! Mo stood quietly, ears alert, trunk balled up, waiting patiently.

“It’s okay, girl. Nothing to worry about. Just let him go his way, and we’ll go ours.”

Once the snake had disappeared, Mo kept a wary eye as she passed the place it was last seen. The trail ended after about an hour or so, coming out on another narrow dirt road.

Bram saw another elephant coming down the road. The mahouts waved at each other, then continued on their way.

The days turned into weeks as they headed in a southeasterly direction. It was Bram’s plan to follow the coastline until he passed the headwaters of the Ganges River, then continue south into Burma and onward to the teak forests. This was the one place he felt he could support himself and still hide from Mr. North.

They were heading up a narrow winding street in the city of Cushda. As the morning lights appeared, hordes of people began their day’s work, buzzing from one place to another, selling their wares, trading, buying, bargaining. In a matter of moments, thousands overflowed the sidewalks, filling the streets, jamming the crossroads, pushing and shoving. The din was one of tempered chaos. Each acted as though only he were on the street. The odd vehicle, with all its power, stood idle, motor racing, horn tooting, but all in vain. It, too, had to flow with the tide of humanity.

Mo’s smooth, flat, round feet cushioned Bram’s ride as they ambled from the town up the dirt road, and on into the quiet of the nearby forest. Bram knew they had a long way to go.

A
S THE WEEKS WENT BY
Bram and Mo lived wherever the trail took them, finding odd jobs along the way. A man offered them work to look after his goats. Mo pulled cars stuck in the mud. Another time she stood for four hours while three men stood on her back erecting a sign high up on the top of a roof. For three weeks she carried water from a well located high on a ridge down to the village below. She was asked to work as a plow horse, and another time helped to push a car to get it started.

Cool breezes signaled their approach to the higher ridge areas, where great stretches of bamboo forest appeared. The bamboo, sometimes as high as fifteen and twenty feet, dwarfed even Mo. This was a great delicacy for her, as she loved the tender roots that lay so close to the surface of the ground.

The twosome was invisible to the outside world as they made their way through the forest thickness of lush groves. Even from
above, all that could be seen was the parting and waving of the tops of the bamboo as though a giant snake were weaving itself through the jungle below.

Locals cautioned Bram about Bengal tigers that frequented the bamboo, waiting for a victim to come their way.

“Stay up on your elephant, don’t come down for anything. Tigers respect elephants and generally do not bother them, but you…well, they would not hesitate to attack one who would make such a good meal, that is for sure!”

For the days they were in the forest, Bram rarely slept, afraid he and Mo would fall victim at any minute. Night was the scariest time. Twice they heard the snarl of a tiger. Though Bram built a fire that would have rivaled any, he still remained atop the howdah at night as Modoc slept standing up.

After three weeks in the bamboo they emerged onto a vast plain. It stretched as far as the great mountains to the south. To the east and west the country merely sloped away and disappeared into nothingness.

Its vastness seemed ominous, giving Bram a crawling feeling down his back caused by fear of the unknown. He knew the teak forest lay far away on the other side of the mountains, so after filling his camel-skin water bags and checking to see he had enough food supplies, he took a deep breath and said, “Move up, Mo!”

And off they went, into an arid region known as the Klippzanii. Few trees grew in the vastness, most of them barren and wind-torn. The grass was sparse but enough for Mo if they stopped occasionally.

Two hours out found them traversing a small stream of water that flowed off the mountains. Modoc took long sucking gulps of the cool mountain water.

The second day was the same as the first. Thank God for the stream, thought Bram. Though it was small, it was constant.

The days grew hotter, and Mo walked in the streambed, whisking the water against her sides, under her legs, showering her back along with Bram, who appreciated every drop. He soon rigged
a linen sheet over the top of the howdah, forming a small enclosure, letting the sides of the sheet hang down over Mo’s sides, the top of her head, and her back, to protect her as well. He couldn’t see out but no matter, Mo would never leave the water and it was heading in the right direction. The constant showers wet the sheets and kept them both fairly cool. The heat rose from the barren floor, causing mirages to form against the horizon. It was like Dante’s Inferno with the images dancing in the sweltering void. The huge pachyderm silhouette against the evening sky appeared as a tribute to ancient times.

Bram lay out on his mat. A slight breeze blew through the wet linen, cooling the space within. Mo’s monotonous swaying cast a drowsiness over him and he lapsed into a tranquil sleep. She seemed to know when he slept, as her motion never faltered but kept even, steady and free of disturbances.

Bram’s dreams were of all rhythmic things, the tossing of the ship in the ocean, his mother rocking him as a child, the circus trucks lumbering across the countryside, sitting with his father in the big elephant truck, rolling with Gertie in the summer grass.

One afternoon as Bram dozed on his mat atop Modoc’s back she stopped…abruptly! He woke to the sound of voices.

“Oh! mighty sahib,” said a thick, deep, uncultured voice, trying to act theatrical. A variety of rough voices began to address the covered howdah.

“Do you travel alone in this aberration?”

“Are there two?”

“Three?”

“Maybe a woman?”

“Pretty?”

“Huh?” A titter of laughter could be heard from around Mo.

“You must be very wise to travel and not see where you are going.” More laughter.

“You must now come out of your apartment, m’lady…or ma’am.”

Uproarious laughter.

“Now, if you are alone and have no master, then we, with your permission, of course, will oblige you.”

Bram heard a rustle of bodies running around. He heard four, maybe five, voices talking in a language he did not understand. Some whispered, others chuckled. Bram felt Modoc’s body tense. Reaching into one of the bags he pulled out his small knife and slipped it into his waistband. Cautiously he lifted an edge of the sheet. The tip of a long snake-curved steel blade pointed inches from his face. Three dirty, unshaven, jagged-toothed, grinning faces looked up the blade at Bram.

They were dressed in bits and pieces of ragged cloth, each a different color, with long black dreadlocks that were in total disarray. A sloppy stained rag resembling a turban bedecked the tobacco-chewing leader called Hamid. He stood on a piece of broken tree log so he could reach the howdah with his sword. There were two other men, one leaning against a skeleton tree, the other standing at Modoc’s head, resting the tip of his saber on her toe. Five in all.

“What have we here?” smirked Hamid, running the tip of the blade against Bram’s cheek. “Why, you are just a young cock. Where did you get this beast, huh? Did you steal it? Ha! Yes, of course you did, no boy would have such a fine beast as this.” He spat, some of it landing on one of his men.

“Hey, what you do, that’s not nice, I—”

Hamid whipped the blade from Bram to the man’s side, knocking him flat. The man grabbed his side but found no blood.

“Next time I’ll use the edge, you idiot.” The sword sliced the distance back to Bram’s cheek.

Bram decided that he was the boss not because of his brains, but because the men feared him.

“What do you want?” asked Bram in as adult a voice as he could muster.

The quiet of the void was rocked by their outburst of laughter.

“We want him…or,” looking under Mo, “is it a her?”

“She is mine and not for sale, so get out of the way. We’re in a hurry.”

“Ah, but a little cub like you wouldn’t leave us poor starving men out here without any food or transportation.” The whinny of a horse was heard nearby. Gently pushing the sword aside, Bram leaned out and saw three horses tied to some shrubbery.

“You come down now, boy.”

“No, you let us be.” He started to give the signal to Mo to move on.

“No! No! That would not be wise. ’Cause then my good friend Ranji would have to do a bad thing.”

Bram saw one of the men had worked his way around to Mo’s hind foot and laid his small dagger against her back tendon. “You have heard of the Achilles’ heel, haven’t you, boy? One slice in the right place and the foot becomes useless…for life. Even the biggest animal can fall from one quick cut, never to rise again.”

“If you want her, why would you hurt her so badly that she can’t walk? What good would she be to you then?”

The bandit, embarrassed by the boy’s logic, waved his saber in frustration. “Look, boy, I have no patience, especially with one so young as you. Now are you coming down?”

“No!”

Hamid raised his sword as though to strike Mo but instead slid the blade under the howdah cinch strap and with one slice, cut it in two. Then with the help of the other men he pulled on it until it, along with Bram, came crashing down. Modoc whipped around, not knowing what had happened. Bram’s supplies were strewn everywhere.

The bandits rushed in, pushing, searching, pocketing, fighting among themselves over the items. Bram tried to stop them but was thrown aside. Hamid grabbed him by the arm and put his dagger to Bram’s throat.

“Look here, sahib!” The big man’s voice was now firm and resonant. “You go to that tree, sit down, and leave us be.”

Bram, weighing the situation, realized there was nothing he could do. He wrenched his arm free and headed for the tree. Modoc, seeing him go, emitted a low rumble and started to follow him.

“It’s okay, Mo.” She stood where she was, not quite certain what was happening.

“You are a very smart boy to do that. I am impressed, veeerrry impressed,” said the man who had been hit by the sword.

The ransacking was over quickly. Everything lay askew on the ground.

“There is nothing of value here,” yelled one of the men, “but the elephant.”

Bram looked up. “What do you mean? What…what are you saying?”

Two of the men mounted their horses. The others pulled ropes from their belongings.

Hamid walked over to Bram. “I do not like whites. Especially young males—and especially you in particular. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“We are going to leave and we are going to take your elephant with us. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Now if you or your elephant do anything to provoke us, I will shoot your elephant first so you can see her die, and then I will shoot you. Do you understand that?”

Bram stood in shock. Hamid picked him up by his shirt, holding him close. Bram smelled the stench of his body.

“Do you?” he yelled.

Before Bram could speak, a mighty rumble was heard. Modoc, head low, her trunk balled up, came full tilt at Hamid. Dropping Bram, he screamed.

“Stop her! Stop her—or I will shoot!”

From out of the rags on his body he hastily pulled a gun, aiming it at Modoc.

“No! No! Stop!” Bram screamed at her. Just as she was about to lift Hamid, Mo stopped and stood shuddering, a low deep guttural sound coming from deep inside her.

Hamid, badly shaken, brushed himself off and spoke with a quiver in his throat he could not hide.

“You stupid imbecile, you made her do that! We are taking your elephant! Now either you help us or I’ll kill her where she stands.”

“If you kill her, what have you gained?”

“It is our code, jackass! That which we cannot have, neither will our enemies, and you, sahib, are now our enemy. Now do with your beast what you will and let’s get on with it.”

Bram went to Modoc, smoothing her anger. “Easy Mo, it’s, okay, easy girl.” She answered him in squeaky baby talk, her trunk wrapped around him.

Bram knew he had no choice. He figured they wouldn’t hurt Modoc unless she did something to put their lives in danger. It was obvious they knew nothing about elephants, and for that reason alone, the situation could become very dangerous. He figured he would follow them, maybe get some help or even steal her back. But first he had to get her to go with them.

“Mo, I want you to go with these men. They won’t hurt you.” He knew she didn’t understand him literally but could feel his intention. It was also important that the men
thought
she understood him. Mo listened not to the words but instead to Bram’s intentions, which to her spoke louder.

Hamid and his men circled Modoc. Two horsemen threw ropes over her head. The others stood ready to leave.

“Let’s hope you have taught her well,” Hamid said as he mounted his horse.

He took his position in front. Two on horseback rode on either side of Mo, each with ropes stretched out around her neck. The other two brought up the rear. Hamid looked back, saying to Bram, “You are one smart fellow, and for that I give you your life and your belongings. Do not be stupid and try to follow, sahib.”

Then he gave a signal to his men. They moved out. As Mo felt the ropes pull on her neck, she stood her ground until Bram told her, “Move up, Mo, it’s okay, girl. Move up!”

She moved ahead slowly, looking back, not understanding why Bram was not coming. “Bye, Mosie…bye.”

She answered back with a squeak. They rode off over the vast flat land.

Bram stood and watched, hoping Modoc didn’t try to escape. His only hope was to think of something quickly.

A warm wind had blown in from the north, whipping the dust into the air. The simmering heat from the desert floor rose and appeared to create grotesque images on the horizon. Lakes without water, trees without roots, forms of fantasy concocted by one’s imagination. Bram watched as the men, Mo, and the horses became one long thin silhouette, dissolving, separating, connecting in a string of occurrences. All unreal surrealistic changes, things that were once living forms were now but thoughts of a heat wave.

From the waning images there appeared a hovering dot. It grew as its form changed and separated. Pieces came together, then parted, until finally a steady picture of something coming was formed. Bram wiped his eyes, the dust having blurred his vision.

Something was coming! Mo? Did she escape? Or was it a rider coming back? For what? Were they coming back to kill him? Of course, that’s it! They couldn’t do it with Mo there, and he had seen their faces and could identify them to the authorities!

The rider was coming fast now, his rags of clothing blowing in the wind.

Bram’s heart raced, gulping his breath. He could see the man now. Sword drawn, he leaned forward in the saddle, intent on his mission.

Cupping his hands to his lips and with all the vocal power he could possibly summon, Bram screamed, “MMMOOODDDOOOCCC!!!”

His voice broke the stillness like a crystal falling, shattering into a thousand pieces. The scream carried on the hot wind, blowing against the dark rider, past the mirages to the giant ears of Modoc. Ears that could hear what no mortal can. She stopped, stood stock-still. Her head was held up high, the tip of her trunk stretched into the wind, then it dropped. The tip started a rhythmic thumping in the dirt.

Thump…thump…thump. And from the innermost recess of her being came an ancient primitive sound, a whine of anguish seldom heard by any living thing…uttered only at the time before a kill. The two horses, one on each side of Modoc, sensed death. They were privy to the voice that only animals hear. They carried their riders who still held the ropes looped around Mo’s head. In front, Hamid forced his steed to strut a proud and indignant step. The other was behind Modoc. In one great terrifying explosion of energy, she spun her huge body, the ropes pulling the horses off their feet, spilling the men. One man was picked up and whipped to the ground. Stepping on his head, she encircled her trunk around his body, and with a quick snap dismembered him. She stepped on the other’s head, squashing it instantly.