Ralph Helfer (9 page)

“Bram, listen to me. I know you and the elephant are close. I’ve seen you two together. But we’ve got a chance only if we’re on deck—and if we make it, then perhaps we can help her and the others. But right now we’ve done everything humanly possible. There’s nothing more that can be done.” Kelly continued to look Bram in the eye until Bram lowered his head. “Now come up with me.”

Bram sniffled and wiped his nose with the back of his hand. Looking over his shoulder at Mo, he nodded. “Yeah, sure. I’ll be right up.”

Kelly eyed Bram closely. He understood what he wanted to do. “You don’t have much time. You promise?”

“I promise.”

Sloshing through the water Kelly glanced back to say, “You’re a helluva kid,” before he vanished into the darkness.

B
RAM TOOK A MOMENT
to gaze around the hold. Litter floated in the water, some of it bobbing against the dead sailor’s mutilated body. Tina, Emma, and Krono were now calm and quiet, standing in the water, shivers running from one to the other as through one body. The ominous cannon, still alive, waited, its barrel sticking defiantly out of the shadows. Then there was Mo. She stood by, at his shoulder, ready to do whatever he asked. She was there for him, big and strong, and yet so very helpless. How grand, he thought, that the way of nature is not to let animals know their death is imminent. Yet he knew that Mo sensed the situation.

Anticipation hung heavy on the silence in the hold. The wood creaked with each rising swell like a solemn refrain of a lonely sea chantey, softly lulling the storm. In limbo they waited attentively, breath held, in stasis, awaiting the outcome. Only the dripping sea
water and the breathing of the elephants accompanied the eerie stillness.

Bram went to Modoc. She wrapped her trunk around him and belly-rumbled. The other elephants came over and completed a circle with their heads touching, trunks entwined in the center. Bram had no desire to leave, never had had any intention of doing so. He regretted breaking his promise to Kelly, a lie was wrong, but it had been right for the moment. Drawing his legs to his chest, crossing his arms, he rested his head. To sleep from exhaustion would have been a welcome escape.

It began as a whisper, as if the slight bump of an oar hit the side of a rowboat. Ripples of water that had been calm began to escalate into miniature waves, which began washing against the elephants’ legs. These little waves grew with the speed of an angry genie loosed from his bottle. Everything came to life suddenly, the water, the cargo, the debris in the hold. The dead sailor’s body began its macabre watery dance. The waiting was over. The eye had closed; the storm returned.

The monster lurched to life, its grin more hideous than before. It moved out from its den, creeping slowly as if to survey the situation. Bram moved the elephants as far away from the cannon as possible. They were calmer now, as if sensing the end. He wondered pensively if he’d been wrong about nature’s mercy to her animals. Outside the ocean roared to life. He heard thunder’s voice collide outside the ship with lightning, a deafening cacophony that commanded action. Yet, somehow, the cannon stood still. It waited, as though saving its energy for one final onslaught.

So it was. A giant chasm opened under the ship’s bow, and she started down, plunging abruptly into the canyon of water. The ship raced the waves. The cannon moved, rumbling out of its sanctuary, picking up speed, heading directly for the worn bulkhead, its muzzle poised for the blow. The ship plunged deep as the cannon left the floor and sank its muzzle into the steel bulkhead. The metal sheared off, ripping open the whole side of the hold as the massive monster vanished into the waiting sea, sinking to its watery grave.

For a split second the ocean seemed to freeze in time. Then the deluge hit. A wall of water exploded into the hold in one mighty gusher. Anything not bolted down was caught up in a tremendous volatile explosion.

The storm was in the hold whipping, beating, lashing everything that was within, then expelling it in all its hysteria into the open sea.

The impact tore Bram away from Modoc, wrenching free his grip from her legs. He felt his body turning over and over, pounded, beaten, pushed by a force of enormous power. His eyes were sightless. A spiritual calm overtook him. He had lost all sense of direction. He felt the heaviness of the icy ocean water. A burning sensation in his lungs commanded him to breathe, to take a breath, just one, but his sense of survival made him hold his breath just a little longer…just another moment.

He burst to the surface like a buoy that had been forced under water, coughing, sputtering, wheezing, gasping for precious air. Water ran from his nose and mouth. The overwhelming taste of salt made him retch until his stomach ached. Bram fought to stay on the surface of a world gone mad. He was being swept along by huge mountainous waves. Up and down like a roller coaster, he was taken to the top only to be dashed down into the chasm below. Bolts of lightning arched across the darkened sky. Rain beat incessantly against the surface. A sharp object, flotsam from the ship, hit him sharply in the back. More dangerous debris floated by, pieces of smooth oak, still shiny, combining with chunks of the masts, unopened bottles, books, clothing. A piece of wood came by, big enough to cling to, with its brass fittings attached. He tried to reach it, but to no avail—the ocean was too violent for him to direct himself.

His conscious mind was keeping something from him. Each time his thoughts wandered, there was something out there that wasn’t allowing it to come through. Something he didn’t want to know. His mind battled with his thoughts—the debris, the ship, Kelly, the hold. Mo…Mo! Modoc!

“
Modoc! Modoc!
” he cried.

The aching sobs for dead loved ones are the worst pain to bear. The breaking, shattering of all that once was between two living beings, gone, never to return, causes a weeping only the gods who created it should experience, the acceptance of nonentity.

Bram rolled onto his back, letting his body hang limp, floating as he watched the lightning perform for him. The rain beat down on his face, flushing the burning tears into atonement with the sea.

“Mosie,” he whispered, half-lucid, “Breathe the water in. Suck hard, inhale deeply. It will pass…Die without pain. Be at peace.”

“
Help!
…
Help!
”

Bram jerked his head above the surface, clearing his eyes and ears, and began to tread water. “Where are you?” he screamed.

“Here!”

“Over here!”

The voices were near, but the impenetrable darkness and the huge swells shielded Bram’s view.

Lightning struck low and lit the sky for a moment. There, not fifty yards away, was a group of people holding on to one another, trying to stay afloat. Bram tried to swim toward them, but after ten minutes was exhausted and still not within reach, until a wave swept him by and a hand reached out, grabbing him by the neck. Only one person had a grip like that!

“Hands! You made it! Am I glad to see you!” cried Bram. Then, looking around, “All of you!”

There were five—Hands, two Indian sailors, and two Americans. Hands offered his big grin.

“Looks like you picked the wrong ship to stow away on, boy.”

Bram could only smile his reply, as the swim had taken away his breath. Bram took his place in the group alongside Hands.

“If we made it, maybe others did, too,” said one of the sailors.

“What happened to the lifeboats?” asked one of the Americans.

“Conditions on the deck were so bad we couldn’t get any launched. They were banging against the side of the ship so hard, it was more dangerous to jump into one than risk staying on the ship. A few tried, like that poor fellow over there.”

He pointed a bent finger in the direction of one of the sailors. The man’s leg, supported by a floating piece of wood, hung crushed in his ripped pants. His face was as blue as the face of the dead sailor in the hold. The group fell silent.

Another voice pierced the dark, and then another. The wailing of lost, scared people carried on the wind. Everyone started yelling and screaming.

“Over here! We’re over this way!”

Within what seemed an hour, at least twenty people came together, some sick, some dying, most exhausted, in shock, or both. The strong were helping the injured, trying to hold them up.

“It doesn’t matter how many of us are out here together, you know,” said one dazed sailor, “it won’t help us stay afloat. We’ll just pull each other down.”

“Shut up, mister, or you’ll get my fist in your mouth,” snarled Hands, his face screwed up into an angry knot.

“Ha! Doesn’t matter which way I go. In fact, yours sounds like a pretty good deal.”

Hands realized the man was irrational and began helping the injured man be more comfortable. The hours dragged by; the storm seemed to lose its hurricane intensity.

“Thank God, the water’s warm,” said an American.

“It’s because we’re in the Bay of Bengal. If this had happened
in the Atlantic Ocean, we’d all be dead by now. The water is much colder there,” replied Hands.

In the hours to follow, many took turns being supported by friends who held them up. One man slipped quietly into the water; he was not seen again, or discussed.

Bram’s little group now totaled thirty-four, a large number to survive such a devastating sinking. If help didn’t arrive soon, their survival would all be for naught. They would drown from exhaustion and exposure. Hands said that an SOS had been sent over the wireless continuously from
The Ghanjee
for six hours before she sank. He told the rest he felt their SOS had been heard, but no ship could come to their rescue until the storm subsided.

Bram was trying to float and sleep at the same time. Hands took an “Indian grip” with a person on the other side of Bram, which supported the boy while he rested. Bram tied himself to Hands, turned on his back, and closed his eyes.

What a whole different sensation he experienced. The body without its eyes was never prepared for the onrush of waves, and therefore didn’t resist, just allowed itself to be pushed and shoved at the ocean’s will. Bram’s body for the first time felt itself sore and tender of muscle and bone. Had he not been tied, he surely would have been carried away. His thoughts wandered aimlessly from home and loved ones, to the sinking, and Mo. God! How will I ever live without her? he thought. As he sunk deeper into an exhausted sleep, the dream, the nightmare, became more real.

“Bram! Wake up, son! Listen!”

Bram came out of his sleep. Turning over, he saw everybody alert, listening. “What’s wrong, wha—”

“Shush!”

Bram listened to the waves and wind and, oh my God, a trumpet! A trumpet! Was he still dreaming? Bram looked around; everybody heard it.

“Did you hear it?”

“Yes.”

“Impossible. Listen, listen…”

Again the trumpet.

“Mo…Mosie. God, please let it be. Please Mo…Mo.”

The sound was coming closer. Then, over a passing swell, a large gray mass was seen coming, washing down the current, closer, much closer. For a moment the mist cleared and they saw her.

“Yeah, yeah—it’s her, it’s Mo! It’s MOODOOC!” Bram screamed and screamed, over and over. Again and again, Mo answered back, trumpeting, calling her young to her. Bram was close enough to see her thrash her trunk in the water, bellowing her frustration. He leaped through the water, forgetting he was tied. Hands quickly undid the knot. Bram swam harder than he ever had. Mo, too, was coming fast, caught in a current that was about to bypass and pull her away from him. Mo lunged like a horse, putting everything into her powerful body, and swam forward, stretching her trunk toward him. He reached out his hand, the tip of her trunk came closer and closer, until they touched! Bram grabbed it and Mo pulled him to her and screamed a voice never heard by humans. He hugged and kissed her neck and trunk and eyes and he wept. He couldn’t talk, the emotion choked him up. He tried, but he couldn’t speak.

Mo swam ahead to the people. They were hollering and cheering. Some old rope was thrown over her back, clothes tied to it, and all could relax. They didn’t have to swim or stay afloat. Bram had climbed up on Mo’s back, wrapping his arms around her neck. The others formed a circle around her, tying themselves to the rope. The hurt and wounded were put up top with Bram, and for the first time since the sinking, all slept while Mo, like an island, floated in the churning sea.

Early morning broke with the storm having subsided. The waves, although large, had lost their force. Their valleys were not as deep, nor the crests as high. The whitecaps had gone, and visibility was ten to fifteen feet, with fog so thick it looked as if a cloud had settled on the water. It was another time, another place, where things were wet and silent, where corners did not exist, and all light had gone but for a candle’s worth, aglow against the pale dawn sky.

As the survivors awakened, they looked upon one another with despair and pain. They had not realized what ravages the storm and the ship’s sinking had wrought until they saw one another’s faces. Before, they’d only imagined; now they saw horror written in agony and pain. Bram had slept the night atop Mo, and awoke when he felt the tip of her trunk on his face.

“Is it over?” he asked of anyone who knew the answer.

“It’s over,” said a voice from below. Others nodded and mumbled their agreement that the hurricane, at least, had passed.

“What now? How do we get help?” Bram asked innocently.

Hands was stretching his huge, long arms, relieving the soreness. “We wait, lad. There’s nothing else we can do but wait for them to find us.”

“Yes, but they probably think we all drowned.”

“Enough of this pessimism now,” spoke Hands firmly. “I think you’d all better thank your lucky stars that this elephant showed up. If she hadn’t, many of us wouldn’t even be here right now. And the only reason she’s here is because of the kid.”

“You’re right, sir, but this is all so damn peculiar. I mean, whoever heard of an elephant swimming in the ocean?”

“Elephants are great swimmers,” defended Bram. “Why, back home, we used to swim all day and she never got tired. That’s because she can just float, naturally. Unless, I guess, she gets waterlogged or can’t hold her trunk up anymore.”

“Is this your elephant, son?”

“Well…”

“Yes,” Hands interrupted. “You’re goddamn right it’s his elephant.”

Bram looked at Hands in surprise, saw his grin, and added “Damn right!”

Everyone was starting to feel hunger pangs, but above all, the worst agonizing pain, the pain of thirst.

“With all this water around us, you’d think a little bit wouldn’t hurt,” one of the circus roustabouts mused.

“Just try it, you’ll see,” responded an elderly midshipman.

A system was established whereby people would take turns resting up top on Mo. She seemed not to mind and was content as long as she was within view of Bram. Every couple of hours, four or five people would tread water in front of Mo, allowing her to stretch her trunk out across their shoulders so she could relax it and rest a bit. At first she thought it good fun and would wiggle and tickle their faces, so Bram told her no, and because of the seriousness of his voice, she soon stopped.

The day passed without their encountering more people or debris. Bram, to while away the boredom, loved to curl up underneath Mo’s chin. He’d nestle in between all that muscle and skin and movement. It was like being in a room all to himself—the chin and jaw above, the neck and chest behind, two huge legs on the side, and sometimes the trunk would come down for a visit from above. It was when he was “in his room” that he noticed Mo kicking her feet and swimming. Realizing the importance of conserving her energy, he taught her to stop kicking and let them hang.

“We aren’t going anywhere,” he told her.

The glow of day disappeared. Night had fallen, and still no sign of help. Men were openly crying, worried about their families, their chances of rescue. One man put his hand on Bram’s head, praying and thanking the Lord for him. Bram lifted it off and put it on Mo’s head. Light rain fell most of the night, and by morning everyone was chilled and preferred to stay low in the water.

The second day was no different from the first. The fog got so heavy that it was as if they were in a small mystical room, with vaporous walls, a watery floor, and an eerie light glowing from above. Even their voices took on a hollow effect. By nightfall many cases of delirium were evident. Outbreaks of screaming, crying, fighting, and thrashing in the water became more frequent. Those who felt that there was no hope in sight seemed to work their way around the rope to the back of the elephant. There, in a private moment, they could just drift away.

Idling their way into the third day, most were resigned to their
fate. Few talked, too weak to care about anything. Bram felt his body weakening. He slept more and even caught himself talking aloud. Mo, too, suffered from exposure to the elements. Her body quivered from the constant lapping of water at her sides. She was losing her body heat because of no circulation, and strength was leaving her muscles. The men were so weak they could no longer help support her trunk, so sometimes, in sleep, her trunk dipped below the water, causing her to awake sneezing and sputtering, choking on the salt water. In her own way, she seemed to understand what was happening.

What seemed to be more important to her than anything, including the dangers of the sea, was being with Bram. At times he would nestle up to her ear and tell her stories about the barn, the circus, Gertie, Mutte, and Curpo. It was as comforting to Bram as it was to Mo.

That night Bram counted twenty-seven people still clinging to life. The ocean was calm, the water warm, all was quiet except for an occasional moan. Bram had fastened a piece of rope into a support sling to help Mo rest her trunk. It would last awhile, then break, and he’d have to start over again. Many times he and Hands joined together, acting as human rope, lifting just the top portion of her trunk above water so she could breathe. They knew that without Mo, nobody would last more than a few hours.

By Bram’s mental watch, it was about ten o’clock in the evening when they heard it. At first it sounded like a motorboat. It was the only mechanical sound they’d heard since being in the water, and everybody—everybody who was conscious—rose up to listen. The little band of survivors started to scream, yell, many were crawling, scrambling for a foothold to climb on Mo’s back, sinking her down. Bram and Hands had to fight, kicking and shoving, to get them off, but the people had gone mad, desperately close to death, with only one hope: the sound of an engine.

Then they saw it! The sight brought tears of joy to waiting survivors. Crazy patterns of colored, flashing searchlights were waving up and down, ruffling the darkness, weaving trails of red, blue,
and orange against the fog bank. Then the bow of the ship broke into view.

“Helloooooo…” came a voice.

“We’re here! Over here!” yelled Hands instantly.

Through the billowing vapors knifed an antiquated Indian dhow—small but powerful. It featured one mast with its sail tightly furled from top to bottom, and a small wheelhouse located in the forward center of the boat. Huge amounts of rope were coiled throughout the deck. The low throbbing of the powerful engine made Modoc a bit nervous. Across the bow was carved the name
Sahib.
On board were two Indian men, each wearing a turban—one white, the other red—and both sported the traditional beard. Their white teeth flashed smiles as they moved in closer to Mo.

“They told us on the radio what to expect, but one must see it to believe.”

“Go easy now, man, we don’t want to frighten her,” said one.

“Aye-aye, sir,” the other answered.

They cut the engine and let the boat drift until Hands could grab hold of the side. The wind had picked up and the swells had increased, so it was difficult for him to climb aboard. Once on deck, Hands could see the tug wasn’t much bigger than Modoc.

“Aren’t there any larger boats that could be sent?”

“We heard the SOS and have come to help, as I am sure other boats are doing. Please accept my apology for not having a larger vessel,” replied the man humbly.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude, but you see we have a problem here.”

“If you mean the elephant, oh, that’s no problem! Just leave it and I can arrange for you to acquire another when we reach shore.”