Ralph Helfer (15 page)

Modoc had never killed before, but the voice the wind carried gave her the right.

Hamid, in sheer panic, threw his knife with abandonment. It struck Modoc with a thud, blood gushing down her chest. He reached for his gun but with one mighty thrust, Modoc picked him up, threw him under her knee, and knelt on him! His body popped open, its innards exploded. The last man ran away screaming for Allah. Modoc didn’t pursue him; it was not revenge she sought. She was on her way, racing for Bram, trumpeting as she ran.

The rider, unaware of the fate of his comrades, raced his steed to a skidding stop. He was off his horse before the dust settled. Bram recognized him as the “spat on” bandit. He slowly slid a long saber from its sheath and moved toward Bram.

“How can you kill when it’s against your religion?” asked Bram, trying to avoid the inevitable.

“What do you know about us? I kill for survival and with you alive, my survival cannot be assured.”

The man took a swipe at Bram, who, being quick and young, sidestepped the thrust. He thrust again. Bram ducked and ran for the tree. The bandit moved in and with a mighty swipe barely missed Bram, but took off a three-inch limb with one blow! Bram raced to the scattered items from the howdah and as the man
dashed in, he threw them at him: clothes, rope, foodstuffs, anything he could reach. The bandit, furious, came at Bram with a vengeance. Bram slipped and fell, trying his best to stay out of the reach of the saber.

Then he saw…Modoc! Dust flying, ears flapping, coming fast. He had to keep out of reach for just a while longer. He picked up a long piece of bamboo and with all his strength hurled it at the horse. It hit him on the rump and he took off, racing across the plains. The bandit was seething! He approached Bram with his saber, held with two hands. Bram screamed. Modoc’s trumpeting answer was heard by the bandit. Looking over his shoulder, the bandit saw the rage of an entity of nature, a blur of dust and legs, running full out, ears forward, sweat flying, trunk loose, whipping in every direction. She was a wild thing, a killer about to kill, a god of nature. Bram rolled away. The bandit stood facing Modoc in total disbelief, his weapon hanging loose in his hand.

Mo never stopped. She ran directly into and over the man; the body burst, his blood squirting…body parts were thrown in all directions. Bram had never seen Mo kill anything before. Her vengeance scared him. He had never realized her strength and stood in awe. Mo stomped and slid her feet across the body until it was a thin hide of an unidentifiable thing. Then with the blood still running down her chest, she came to Bram, encircling him with her bloody trunk, holding him tight. Her body trembled from the heat and exhaustion of the battle. Bram reached up and quickly and smoothly pulled the knife from her chest, her blood oozing down his hand. He laid his head against her quivering leg muscles. His body and heart flooded with the impact of it all. He broke into an uncontrollable sobbing…a mixture of love and grief.

A
HUNDRED YARDS DOWNSTREAM
Bram found a place where the water widened. With Bram scooping the dirt with his hands and Modoc repeatedly dragging a front foot, they succeeded in creating a fair-sized shallow pool. He had Mo lie down in the middle so he could pour cool water over her injury.

Sucking in the water, she blasted it deep into the six-inch wound. She sometimes winced from the pain. Using a scrap of cloth, he cleaned and dried the hole as best he could. He knew he had to get her to a doctor to prevent infection from setting in. Cutting off a piece of the damaged cinch, he fashioned a huge bandage, which he put around her chest, supported by another rope over her shoulder.

Due to Modoc’s weakened condition, he decided to leave the howdah behind. Putting anything worth salvaging into two bags, he tied a rope between them and hung them around his neck. Bram
walked by Mo’s side, leaving a pool of crimson red as they followed the stream, heading toward the mountains in the near distance.

It had been two days since the abduction and Modoc had slowed down considerably, occasionally dragging her feet in the dirt. Her ears hung forward, head low, eyes droopy. Her bleeding had subsided but there was considerable swelling and pus oozing from the wound.

On the morning of the third day they arrived at the edge of the mountains, where a quaint village nestled near a small sheltered valley. The community, poor as it was, existed on the side of a hill that had not been graded. No one bothered to cut horizontal floors in the houses to walk on, but rather built them on the natural slant of the hill. Although not too severe a slope, it nevertheless caused a ball to roll from one end of a room to the other with ease. The slant was everywhere, and the local citizens didn’t seem to mind walking, sleeping, sitting, or eating in this strange position. Bram was to discover the reason for this unusual phenomenon was the yearly floods that came with the monsoon season. The downpours were so heavy, the floods would roar down the mountainside, literally lifting some of the old structures off the ground. Trenches were built to avert the onslaught but it proved too powerful, and hence holes were cut into the backs of the buildings to allow the water to run its course through the houses without washing away the floors, or the houses themselves. Seeing it happen every year, they had decided long ago not to bother with repairs.

Although there were many goats, Brahmas, and pigs running loose, Bram saw no elephants. As they approached, several people came out to see the two. Apparently not many passed this way. Surrounding Bram and Modoc, they spoke among themselves in a dialect Bram had not heard before.

He pointed to Modoc’s wound and gestured for need of medical treatment. Within moments, ointments, bandages, and antiseptic were brought and applied by one man who seemed to know what he was doing.

In the days and weeks that followed, Bram and Modoc came to know and befriend the people of the village called Mayaua. Most
had lived in the village their entire lives, as had their parents and theirs before them.

As Modoc’s health improved and her strength increased, Bram put her to work hauling water from the wells high up on the ridge. Where they had previously carried the water in goatskin bags, one upon the back of each man, now dozens at a time were loaded on a slide board the townspeople fashioned. Modoc would pull it to the water storage area.

As the monsoon season approached, the city began to prepare for it, boarding the windows, reinforcing the doors and framework of the buildings. But everyone worked on the most important building in the village—the storage building. All the food supplies harvested from the year before were kept there, along with bags of rice, grains, seeds, and oils. At the far end the equipment ropes, wood, wire, fencing, and farming tools were stored. With Modoc’s help they finished a month ahead of schedule.

The village was proud to have an elephant. Though it wasn’t theirs, they had all learned to love Mo and thought of her as their own. The children painted designs of bright colors all over her. A woven tapestry, depicting the past wars the country had fought, was taken from the wall and draped over Modoc’s back. The village artist painted detailed figures of Indian deities on Mo’s tusks. Flowers were picked and woven into a garland that lay over her forehead.

Although poor, the village had not lost its ability to enjoy. Dances, featuring strange musical instruments and foodstuffs, were held in the dirt streets of the village’s marketplace. Bright-colored ribbons were wound around the fronts of the shops.

Bram and Mo earned their upkeep by doing any job that needed Mo’s size and strength. Bram’s ability to teach and show her what had to be done and how to do it made them an unbeatable team. Together they hung signs, hauled water, dragged lumber, and even performed for the children every Saturday afternoon.

Bram knew he would have to spend the winter in the village and although anxious to move on to warmer climates and, hopefully, a job in the teak forest, he also realized how very fortunate
they were to have found such a warm and caring village.

The winter hit with a mighty wall of water. Sheets of rain poured down in an incessant torrent, never letting up for a moment. The village became a slippery slide of mud that started high above them in the nearby hills. By the time it arrived at the village, it had gathered force and was rushing through the town at great speed—carrying with it anything it touched. The rain gutters did their job carrying the mud to the bottom of the hill. It flowed into the valley below. Now Bram understood why the townspeople left the town in its slanted condition. Had they rebuilt, it would only have been washed away.

Bram wondered what had become of Mr. North. Was he still looking for them, or had the rain stopped him for now?

One morning Bram awoke to the voices of children. Their giggling and laughter reminded him of his school chums at play during the recess hour. It seemed like a lifetime ago. It was the first morning in a long time that he hadn’t awakened to the pattering of rain on the tin roof. The monsoon season had passed. The rains left the surrounding hillsides with brilliant hues of color, each vying for the attention of one’s eye. Small flowers popped up everywhere, reminding him of the field flowers at home. Lately it seemed as if he compared everything he saw to his home and friends.

He knew it was time to move on. New places and people would occupy his mind and ease the pain of remembering. He also didn’t want to lose sight of his goal—to find and work in the teak forest.

The whole village turned out for their leaving, and with Modoc packed with all the food and equipment she could carry, they started up the sloping hills, zigzagging their way to the top. They looked back and saw many of the people still watching. A wave of his hand sent many into motion waving colored streamers and blowing horns and whistles that could be heard all the way up the mountain. Modoc’s trumpet answered their enthusiasm, and then they were gone—heading into the high country from where the rains had emanated.

F
OR A MONTH HE PRESSED ON
, rarely stopping except to ask directions, sleep on the ground, or bathe in a nearby stream. The earlier spring rain had drenched the earth and changed the forest drastically. A strong sweet-smelling scent of musk hung in the silent humid air like moss from the mandarin tree. The forest and vegetation grew thicker, more exotic, more junglelike.

A burning crimson sun appeared and disappeared among the tall vine-covered treetops as they moved up the trail. Bram shed most of his clothing so the sweat could run freely down his back. He tore a piece of orange fabric from material he found in the sack the villagers had given him. This he twisted into a band and tied around his head to keep the salty sweat from running into his eyes. Cool sun-sparkling streams of mountain-fresh water meandered through the forest.

A smattering of people walked the trail. They traversed small tributary paths leading in and out of the forest. One old man, bent
low from carrying a heavy wooden yoke, winced at the pain of its pinching into his shoulder. Clay pots hung from each end spilling water as he attempted to balance his rather obstinate load.

An occasional elephant passed, blowing a snort to Modoc, she offering a chirp in return. Topless women carried a multitude of items on their heads. All were dressed in bright-colored apparel. Others pulled rickety carts make of root and wood, covered in ornately carved bark; all waved, offered friendly smiles, and were most helpful in informing Bram as to his whereabouts and pointing out the best route to his destination. He was feeling the sweetness of a new forest and was in no hurry. The plumage of the birds was iridescent. The drone of the insect life was a steady monotone, and the chatter of the monkeys composed one cacophony of song.

The trail divided. Both paths were of the same size. “Move up, Mo!” he said, letting her be the decision maker. She chose the one on the left. After some time the trail began to narrow. He was about to tease Mo for taking the wrong trail when he heard the sound of running water. Bram dismounted. He approached an idyllic area where the ground cover was similar to the grass Bram had found at the maharajah’s palace—brilliant lime green and as soft as a silk robe. A light pale mist rose from the earthen floor, swirling its way up through the sun’s rays.

A cool breeze brought the sound of a waterfall. Bram followed the sound, letting it guide him through the forest. Mo followed. Coming out of the brush, he stood at the edge of a beautiful pond. Lily pads floated in bouquet, their large leaves catching the eye of the myriad fluorescent purple-backed dragon flies that swooped and hesitated over the pond. The bush came right up to the shore of the pond, giving it a look of privacy.

The heat of the day made the pool more than inviting. He slipped off his wrap and headband. He put his amulet, alongside his choon, in the bag tied across Mo’s back so he wouldn’t lose it in the water and, without hesitation, dove into the silent waters. He swam hard. The stronger the stroke, the more swiftly the water pulled at his body, giving him a feeling of his nakedness.

Mo stood at the shore spraying her body with the cool water with an occasional eye directed at Bram. He floated on his back, eyes closed. He floated aimlessly, his mind suspended in a surrealistic world of gentle love and tenderness.

“Hello.”

The small voice came as the chirp of an insect, the movement of a leaf, the warm wind through the grass. Moments passed before Bram realized it wasn’t the voice of nature—it was a girl’s voice.

He exploded! Completely disoriented, he splashed his balance, then dove beneath the surface. Swimming under water, he headed for the lily pads and gently let his eyes and nose emerge. His eyes searched the shoreline, trying to pierce the underbrush. Then he saw her. She was sitting on the shore, her legs askew, head back, occasionally running her hand through her hair, long raven-colored hair drying in the sun. Her wrap of bright red and yellow material appeared wet.

“Hello,” she said again, only this time with a bit of a giggle in it. “Sorry if I startled you, but I come here often to swim. I rarely see anyone else.”

Bram raised his head high. Her voice was hesitant.

“I live close to here. The weather has been so hot…” No response from Bram. She became a bit embarrassed at the silence. “Sorry, I best go.” She started to rise.

“No, it’s okay. You…just…surprised me.”

“I know,” she said, her eyes looking at Bram’s cloth lying on the ground.

“Please…ah…will you?”

Understanding his wants, she picked up his wrap and threw it to him. Bram quickly tied it on and swam to the shore. As he stepped out of the water, the girl rose in front of him. She was much smaller than he had thought. Her almond-shaped eyes looked up at him. A smile came gently and she said, “I’m Sian.”

“I’m Bram.”

All was quiet. Neither knew what to do next. Modoc saved the day. She moved to Bram, wrapping her trunk around him.

“This is Mo. Her real name is Modoc, but I call her Mo. Sometimes Mosie.” His voice trickled on. Mo reached an inquisitive trunk over to the girl and sniffed her long hair, wrapped the trunk around her carefully, and brought her in close. Bram heard the low belly rumble of “Everything is okay.” “She likes you,” he said.

Hugging Mo’s trunk, she said, “I like her, too. Would you like to see mine?” she asked.

“Your what?”

She laughed. “My elephant.”

“You have an elephant?”

“Well, it’s really my father’s. We have many, not many but a few…” She hesitated. “Like four!”

He noticed a slight English accent mixed with her Indian tongue. “Do you want to meet her? She’s just here.” She pointed into the brush.

“Sure,” said Bram. As they started to walk, Bram held Mo’s ear to guide her through the forest. “Why? What do you do with them?”

“My father works at a teak village. You know, where they cut the wood.”

“Yes, I know, I’ve come a long way in hopes of finding such a village that would employ me…and Mo.”

“We could ask Father. Maybe he could help.”

A rather smallish elephant stood quietly just off the main trail. Sian undid a soft hemp rope tied to a tree from around its leg. Once free, the elephant reached down, picked up the rope, and, as if it were carrying its own leash, walked to Sian.

“This is my baby, Swati,” she proudly announced.

Modoc greeted Swati with a rather snobbish attitude. “She is a fine animal,” said Bram, running his hand over the pale gray underbelly.

Each mounted an elephant, Sian getting a leg up from Swati. Mo lowered her head and Bram grabbed her ears. She lifted him up until he could jump to a straddle position. He followed Sian as they headed up the trail, enjoying watching her hips sway to and fro.

How close the village was! Had he continued up the trail he would have come upon it within the hour.

They had ridden to the top of a mountain overlooking the village. Sian and Bram slid off their mounts and walked to the rim. The teak village was as Bram had imagined it to be. It was nestled in a lush green valley, inundated with towering teak, with a muddy brown river that coursed its way on the far side. An occasional peaked thatched roof was visible through the forest.

She led the way down a small path that ended in the middle of the village. A man came out of one of the larger buildings. A sign overhead stated:
TEAK FOREST VENTURE, LTD.—NORTHERN DISTRICT
. On the door, a small sign read:
OFFICE
.

He was a thick person, stockily built, with dark eyes and black hair. He wore a clean white, short-sleeved shirt with epaulets and the customary shorts.

“Hi, Father!” greeted Sian. She kissed his cheek. By the look of surprise on her father’s face, Bram knew that the kiss was not something she did often.

“This is Bram, Father, and…uh…Modoc.”

Bram stepped forward to shake the man’s hand. The handshake was brisk and heartfelt.

“I’m Ja.” He walked over to Mo and said in the same breath, “This is a handsome animal you have here. From up north, I take it?”

“Bram has come looking for work, Father.”

“Yes, well.” With hesitation: “I must attend to my duty just now. But I am sure Sian will be most happy to show you our village.” Then as an afterthought: “I’ll talk to the headman this evening and inquire about a position. By tomorrow we should know. Sian, Bram can stay the night at one of the banana houses until such time as he can meet the headman,” offered Ja. Then with a gracious smile and slight bow he was gone.

Up on the slope stood a row of palm-thatched huts. There were bananas everywhere. Monkeys sat in the nearby trees, too full to move.

Bram learned one had to be careful of the giant palm spiders
that frequented the plants. They were as big as a man’s hand. One could be reaching for a banana and end up with a couple of large fangs sunk into a finger. A quick wipe of the hand against the stalk usually dismembered the hairy body from the head, but sometimes the fangs remained and in many cases had to be removed surgically.

Sian took Bram through most of the compound. Near the bottom of the slope were three large thatch-covered buildings, one dining area, another building for offices, and the third for repair and storage of the elephant gear. This building was the last in the row and closest to the river.

At the far end of the valley, about halfway up, stood a small Hindu temple. Hand-carved of teak, it was a reminder of how beautifully the teak could be used.

The larger structures represented the families with the most children and the better positions. The largest, most elegant private residence was the home of the headman of the village, a man Bram was yet to meet. The hospital, laundry, market, and school were the smaller buildings.

Running parallel to the river was the elephant lineup. Two three-hundred-foot-long heavy hemp and vine ropes lay parallel to each other about fifteen feet apart. Heavy root stakes held them to the ground.

Every ten feet there was a circle of rope tied across from one rope to the other. When the elephants were brought into line side by side, they were tethered by a front left and a rear right leg in the loops of the rope. Each night they were alternated.

Bram and Sian walked back to the banana huts. Food had been set out for him and there was water in a cauldron still hot from the smoldering coals.

“Have a nice sleep,” Sian said. She headed down the trail to her own house. She turned her head sharply as if to swing her long hair out of her eyes, but in truth to give Bram a final smile. “Till tomorrow.”

He lay in his bed a long time…thinking. He decided not to reveal the maharajah’s amulet to anyone. He didn’t want people to
do things for him because of whom he knew. He would never know if they were truly his friends or if they felt they had to help him. No, he wanted to accomplish things on his own. Bram’s last thought as his eyelids fell was that North would never find them here.

The trumpeting of many elephants awoke Bram. He sprang to the open window to see a wonderful sight. Down near the river as many as thirty, maybe forty elephants and twice that many people were preparing for the day’s work. He dressed hurriedly, patted Mo his intention to return, and headed for the river.

The din of the activity centered around the river area. Having just finished their early morning bath, the elephants were being prepared for their particular functions. Some were in the “come down” sphinx position resting on their knees and front feet while special howdahs were fitted on them. Others moved into their harnesses that hung in the specially constructed wooden frames.

The elephant would lower its head a bit and move into position by putting its head into the thick, heavy hemp harnesses while two assistants connected the tracer ropes. These were to be used for pulling.

When the elephant was needed to push something, the mahout commanded the elephant to drop its head, causing a thick mat loosely tied around its neck to fall forward. This was used for protection. When not in use, the elephant lifted its head and the mat fell back into place.

A number of elephants were having their tusks rubbed and polished, then a sheath of stitched leather was slipped on for protection until they were used to lift logs.

The jabber of the mahouts, the sounds of the elephants complaining or being mischievous, the hustle and bustle of the operation, all caused an excitement in Bram. In the middle of the preparation stood Ja. He was talking to another who Bram felt was the headman. The man was dressed quite different from Ja. He wore a tan shirt with a number of insignias and badges, tan shorts, high tan socks, and long-legged boots. A tan pith helmet completed his outfit. He also carried a riding crop.

Ja waved Bram over and introduced him to the boss, a man by the name of Singh. A time for them to “have tea” was arranged after lunch, and Bram walked away wondering if the conversation had happened at all.

Returning to his hut, he washed up, changed clothes, and was unshackling Mo when Sian arrived.

“Did you enjoy the morning routine?” she asked. “I watched you from above,” she said, answering his unasked question.

“It was wonderful. Even though everything seemed in chaos, there wasn’t a movement without purpose. Each thing was done to perfection and in the same breath. I hope I am accepted.”

“It’s not that easy to be a mahout, Bram. These men have dedicated their lives to their work. Their elephants have trained for years in the special tasks needed to perform the duties. You and Mo would have to pass many tests. Why, it could take years!”

“I’m ready, and so is Mo. Her body’s at a hardness that is comparable to these others. She is strong and intelligent. Many things I see being done here, she has done; others I will show her and she’ll learn.”

Bram’s tenacity for the job was so intense that she was amazed at his determination.

Bram figured there were about fifty mahouts, maybe sixty assistants and keepers, ten cooks, fifteen kitchen assistants, a smattering of camp boys, security guards, and a rather large number of wives and children who were allowed to stay with their husbands and fathers. A good-sized village, to be sure!