Still Life with Elephant (13 page)

A
T SOME
point I must have fallen asleep, because Richie woke me up when he came in to feed. I jumped from the cot, embarrassed that I hadn't already been up and checking on Margo.

“How did it go all night?” he asked as he carried in several baskets of fruit from the back of his truck.

“The baby finished two bottles,” I said. “And then they both slept pretty well.”

He looked them over. “Good,” he said, and threw in fresh hay.

Margo watched us vigilantly, always managing to place her large gray body between us and her baby. The baby who still needed a name. I could see the calf looked a bit stronger today, better than yesterday, maybe a bit more responsive. A week of care had made a real difference. She was standing more, and now she was peeping out from behind her mother's knees, curious about me.

“Hello, Margo,” I called out softly. “Hello, baby. Hello.”

The baby flapped her ears and squeaked like a door hinge that needed oiling. That, I knew, was a greeting flap. Margo growled and flapped her own ears, before rumbling to her baby to stay put. That was a warning flap. I understood ears. Ears are terrific indicators of animal emotion. Horses and dogs and cats pin them when they are angry. Elephants flap. I stood, not moving a muscle, until the ear flapping subsided, and Margo browsed her hay again, daintily picking through it with her trunk and lifting it toward her mouth with a delicate finesse. She would have done fine, I thought, dining with my mother at the Hudson Inn. I wondered how I could join their small world. It would all depend on how fast Margo got socialized.

“You know, we'll be able to treat Margo without those leg
bracelets,” Richie said, as though reading my mind, “as soon as you get her socialized.”

“Me?” I asked.

“Yep,” he said, “Wasn't it your job to train her? That's what you signed on for.”

“Oh, right,” I said. “I just have to figure out how.”

Richie handed me some fruit. “First of all,” he said, “you can start trying to hand-feed her. Through the bars. Don't get all brave and go in there by yourself.”

“Like I'm just dying to get intimately acquainted with the bottom of those feet,” I said, holding a banana out to her, through the bars. She looked at me and then her baby, then back at me, suspicion and worry written across her face. She was afraid to leave her baby's side, even though she seemed to want the fruit.

I waved the banana again. She grunted and flapped her ears.

“You have to command her respect,” said Richie. “Make yourself her target by calling her name, and then immediately reinforce it by holding out a piece of fruit.”

“Right,” I said, but couldn't help thinking that becoming the target of a wild elephant might not be the best career move of my life. I took a deep breath. “Margo,” I said commandingly, holding the banana up so she could see it.

She let out an angry trumpet and several impressive ear flaps before rushing the side of the enclosure and giving my hand a hard slap with her trunk that knocked the fruit across the floor and left my fingers stinging.

It's not that I thought any of it was going to be easy—I wasn't picturing the two of us running toward each other through a field of daisies, my arms outstretched, her trunk waving at me—but I was hoping for some sign of recognition. She trumpeted again and finally did give a sign, of sorts. She turned her rump to me and dropped a large mound of poop. I decided that was my signal to leave.

“Coming back tonight?” Richie asked as I walked out with him. “She didn't get to you?”

“Of course.” I replied. “I've had plenty of shit in my life, these past few months. You think one more pile is going to discourage me?”

“Great,” he said. “That's what she needs. Daily contact, so she can trust you enough to let you work with the baby. You have to blow very gently in the baby's trunk so that she'll always recognize your scent. I already did it.”

“You're kidding. Like playing a trumpet?”

He nodded “Almost.” Then paused for a moment. “Listen, why don't you come by a little earlier than usual, like around four?”

“Isn't that when Matt usually gets here?” I asked, squinting with suspicion.

He shrugged and gave me a lame grin. “I'm still trying to help you two,” he said. “I don't hold out much hope, but I'm still trying.”

 

How can you tell if an elephant's been in the refrigerator? By the footprints on the butter. What do elephants take when they get hysterical? Trunkquilizers. Reese thought that one was especially funny. I found an elephant cap with big plastic ears and bouncy accordion-folded trunk that Reese had bought in a dollar store and left on the kitchen table along with a five-pound bag of peanuts tied with a pink bow. I found a banana propped in my coffee mug. Elephant socks on my dresser. A stuffed gray-and-yellow-checked elephant on my pillow. I knew Reese was doing his goony best to cheer me up, but I really wished to be alone, so that I would have the luxury of brooding over the fact that I was alone. I finally told him so.

I had worked the horses for the day and showered, and now Reese and I were having an early dinner that wasn't pizza. It was a bag of McDonald's. In an hour or so, I would have to return to the barn for another night with Margo. I was trying not to gulp down my cheeseburger; Reese was savoring his, wearing the elephant hat.

“I think that one should always dress formally for dinner,” Reese commented, opening the wrappings on his second burger.

“Don't you have a life?” I replied.

“Mom thinks I should hang out here for a while,” he replied. “She thinks you could use a campy Rottweiler.”

“Is that a recognized breed?”

“Company for a while,” he repeated. “Honestly, Neelie. How did you ever get along in Zimbabwe with your hearing problems?”

“Except for one or two skirmishes with Matt and Richie, I had no problems at all,” I said. “None.” And then I put my cheeseburger down and thought about how odd that was.

“W
HAT DO
you think of ‘Dorothea'?” I asked my mother. “I might name the baby Dorothea.”

We were having lunch again, at the Hudson Inn. She was sipping a Bay Breeze, I had a vodka martini.

“The baby?” She put her drink down and looked at me. “Did something happen in Africa that you're not telling me?”

I gave her a big smile. “For the baby elephant,” I said. “I have to name her.”

“Dorothea is a lovely name,” she said. “Your grandmother's name. I thought you were going to save it as a middle name for your first daughter.”

“This baby is,” I said. “Kind of.”

“And do you think your grandmother would be honored to have a…a…
wild animal
named after her?” she asked primly. “I think it would have broken her heart.”

“It's a very nice elephant, and she's going to grow up big and strong,” I said, slugging back the martini. “Big elephant, big honor.”

“I'd be embarrassed to death to have an elephant share my mother's name.” She stabbed up a tiny forkful of salmon.

“Or Amanda,” I said.

“Now, there's a good idea,” she agreed. “Your dad's mother. I wouldn't have any objections to that.”

I pushed away my Caesar salad—I had little appetite for it—and waited impatiently for my mother to pick through her salmon. She looked up at me.

“Are you in a hurry?” she asked.

“What makes you ask?”

“I hear your feet tapping on the floor,” she said. “Are you too much in a hurry for dessert as well?”

The jelly-donut tradition. “I have to work three horses this afternoon and teach two students,” I said. “I spent the whole morning with the elephants, and my workday is only one-third over.”

“Aren't you spreading yourself too thin?” she asked, taking another morsel.

“Listen, are you going to finish your lunch?” I asked in exasperation. “I can't spend much more time.”

“We can always skip going to the donut shop,” she said.

“No, we can't,” I said.

We wound up skipping sitting with coffee, though I did buy a bag of donuts. I grabbed them from the shop clerk and practically pushed my mother out the door.

“So what's happening with you and Matt?” she asked, following me as I race-walked to my truck.

“I have no idea,” I said, peeking inside the bag to make sure I had been given six raspberry jellies. “I don't even think about him.”

“You can't hide behind this elephant forever,” my mother chided, kissing me good-bye. “You have a space flight.”

“A space flight?” I asked. “Are we going to the moon now?”

“Face life,” she said. “Face life!”

“I
am
facing life,” I said to her. “In my own peculiar way.”

 

I spent that afternoon being alternately disgusted and jubilant, depending on who I was riding. Delaney was still a problem child—riding well, then spooking across the ring. I couldn't get a handle on him. I tried being firm, strong, demanding, as well as sympathetic, and I was still hanging on for dear life as he skittered away from something that existed only in his mind. Isis, on the other hand, was giving me more and more piaffe steps, in perfect rhythm. Soon it would be time for her owner to take lessons on her. That was great, because I would get paid not only to train the horse but also for training the owner to ride the horse. And getting paid was a very good thing.

 

“That's your dinner?” Reese asked me with alarm, when I put all six jelly donuts on a big plate, with a mug of warm milk, in preparation for eating them in bed. I had finished a week of sleeping with the elephants and was greatly looking forward to actually sleeping with my mattress.

“That's
your
dinner?” I asked, pointing to the pizza with mushrooms and pepperoni that he had just brought home.

“At least mine has vegetables and protein,” he said. “So it's healthful.”

“And mine has fruit and grains,” I said. “Equally healthful.”

We stared at each other for a moment, then took our respective dinners to our respective bedrooms for a night of TV and junk food. I was very tired. Tomorrow I would rise at dawn, race to the sanctuary to try to get Margo interested in fruit, race back to clean my barn, then work Isis and Delaney. I had no time for my own horses; Mousi was giving me lonely looks over his fence, whereas Conversano seemed to be firmly convinced that his life of loafing was just about perfect.

I was up to donut number three, and watching people eat worms on television to prove how brave they were, when the phone rang downstairs. I ignored it. I had taken the phone out of my bedroom right after the first phone call from Holly-Hateful. I heard footsteps on the stairs.

“It's for you,” Reese said through my door. “Tom something?”

I leapt to my feet and opened the door. “I'll take it in here,” I said, grabbing the phone from him with shaking hands and shutting the door again for privacy.

“How are things?” Tom asked after I said a breathy hello. I was surprised by how glad I was to hear his voice.

“Margo's doing okay,” I announced, settling back against my pillow. “She's eating her elephant chow and alfalfa hay and—”

“I meant you,” he said.

“I'm okay,” I said.

“Are you sure?” he asked.

“No.”

“Well, then, I'd better come by and check on you,” he said with a little laugh. “Maybe we can meet at the sanctuary tomorrow and go for a proper dinner?”

“I'd like that,” I said. “I kind of miss the barbecued warthog.”

“I don't know if I can promise you that, but there's got to be a nice restaurant somewhere in your region.”

“Maybe one,” I said.

“I'll ask around,” he said, then paused. “You say Margo's doing okay?”

“I'm feeding her bananas,” I said, then thought, dang, I had just given him a wrong impression. I hoped he didn't think I was
personally
feeding her bananas, because I meant I was
technically
feeding her bananas by letting her slap them out of my hand. There was a big difference.

“Wonderful! She needs that personal contact,” he said. “You're on the right track.”

“Actually, I'm—” I started, but he interrupted me.

“Damn, sorry to cut you short,” he said in a rush, “but I'm being paged. I've got to get to a dinner and I'm running late, but I'm looking forward to tomorrow.”

He clicked off.

I heard a noise outside my bedroom door. Probably Grace. I opened the door to let her in. It was Reese, bending down like he was tying his shoelaces, except that he was wearing socks.

“You were listening in,” I accused him.

“How could I hear anything over your TV?” he asked. “But who is he?”

“He's the elephant man,” I said. “I'm going to have dinner with him tomorrow.”

“Elephant man?” he repeated, then looked very sympathetic. “Oh. Wow. Sorry. I didn't realize.”

“Not that kind of elephant man, you idiot,” I snapped. “The elephant man I went to Africa with.”

“Oh. Right.” Reese said. “Listen, would you mind asking him a question for me?”

“Sure,” I replied. “What do you want to ask?”

He took a deep breath. “How do you know if there's an elephant under the bed?”

My shoe just missed him.

T
HE NEXT
day proved to be very ecclesiastical, because I spent most of it praying. I prayed all the way to the sanctuary, that Margo wouldn't make me look incompetent in front of Tom. I pictured myself blithely handing her bananas and Margo trumpeting and throwing them right back in my face.

“Please let the elephant take my bananas,” I prayed, sending to heaven perhaps one of its more unusual requests. That prayer was quickly followed by “And please let Tom still be talking to me when the day is over, because I'm going to look like a real fool.”

 

Tom arrived at the sanctuary office promptly at one o'clock, looking fresh and handsome, in a distinguished, silver-haired gentleman-farmer kind of way. He was dressed in acid-washed jeans, Movado watch, expensive loafers, and an immaculate, freshly pressed blue dirndl shirt. My heart jumped at the sight of him.

“How are you doing?” he asked, giving me a salutatory peck on the cheek when he saw me and Richie.

“Pretty good,” I said. “I'm over my jet lag.”

“Glad to hear it,” he said. “You look none the worse for wear.”

Matt, on the other hand, arrived late, drooping with fatigue, needing a shave and a haircut, and wearing a shirt and pair of pants that looked like they had seen a lot of veterinary work.

“How's it going?” Tom asked him, as I stood behind him, making faces at Matt's obvious lapses in hygiene. Matt noticed.

“Horrible,” said Matt, giving me a withering look. “I haven't slept since we got back, and I've had to take over my whole practice.”

“That's because his partner is busy being pregnant,” I offered helpfully.

“To err is human,” Matt said between his teeth. “Are you familiar with that quote?”

“How about this one?” I retorted. “To love and honor, forsaking all others.”

“Let's check on Margo,” Tom said, diplomatically stepping between us and leading us to the barn. Richie quickly secured Margo's bracelets to the floor chains, and Matt administered a mild tranquilizer before carefully washing her wounds and applying huge handfuls of Silvadene ointment. He finished by giving her another shot of antibiotics. The wounds that had covered her hips and legs were starting to close up; her ears and trunk showed new, healing pink skin. Even the baby looked stronger.

“Come on in,” Richie invited me and Tom into the enclosure when Matt was finished. Tom approached Margo slowly, talking softly until he reached her side and was able to run his hands over her legs.

“I see real improvement,” he said. “I'm very pleased. Then he turned to me. “How are you coming with her training?”

I took a deep breath. “I've been holding up bananas so she will regard me as the source of her treats,” I said. “I want her to learn that I'm her target and focus on me.” Richie gave me a thumbs-up from behind Tom's back.

“Excellent,” Tom said. “And how's it working?”

“Working?” I repeated, wondering how I could tell him it really wasn't.

“Margo took a banana right from Neelie's hand,” Richie added.

“Slapped it, really,” I said.

“Wonderful,” said Tom. “At least she's interacting with you.”

“Right,” I said. It appeared that everything had gone well, and I was relieved. My prayer had been answered, Tom was pleased, and I still had my fingers. I turned to leave the cage.

“Can I watch?” Tom asked.

I spun around in surprise. “Watch what?”

“Her take a banana from your hand?”

I looked at Richie with mounting panic, hoping he would save me from humiliation. He held out the basket of fruit, without any expression on his face. I didn't know what to do. Margo hadn't been civil to me since we both got to New York. I took a banana.

“Move a little closer,” Richie suggested.

“Oh, right,” I said. “
Thank you
.”

I moved another two feet toward her and held out the fruit.

“Margo, take the banana,” I said, praying silently that she wouldn't separate my hand from my arm in the process.
And hurry, before the sedatives wear off
, I mentally added. I could see she was getting the flap back in her ears.

Then I remembered what Richie had told me. “Look
here
,” I commanded, standing tall and holding the banana in front of me like a waitress serving a customer.
Hello, my name is Neelie, and I'll be your target for today.

She faced me. Her trunk touched my arm and ran down my hand. My heart was pounding. Her trunk stopped at the banana. She yanked it away from me, and stuffed it into her mouth. I marveled at my good luck.

“See?” said Richie to Tom, while I composed myself. “This is just the beginning. Next week, Neelie will be feeding her inside the cage without the leg chains.”

Tom beamed and patted my shoulder. “Great,” he said. “Great. You're doing wonderfully.”

I thanked heaven for small banana-shaped favors, Richie undid the bracelets from the floor chains, and we closed the gates.

It was time to go, but Matt seemed to be spending an unusually long time in the small office attached to the barn, checking his supplies. Several times he peeked out. I realized that he was waiting for Tom and Richie to leave so we could be alone, but Richie was chattering on about the lions. Tom kept nodding pleasantly, Richie kept talking, Matt kept stalling. We were in gridlock.

Matt finally got paged, made his apologies, and drove off. Richie
ran out of small talk and had to feed the other animals. That left Tom and me.

“I thought they would never leave,” Tom said. “Ready for a late lunch?”

My small victory with Margo had worked up a huge appetite. “I'm ready,” I said.

 

Warthog was not on the menu, though I hadn't really developed a taste for it, and I was too thrilled to eat much of my dinner anyway. Though I had shared a tent with Tom in Zimbabwe, it felt different to share a table. He looked more important, more distinguished, more handsome. He was animated and witty, and though we drank wine, and ate good pasta, and talked about saving elephants, his eyes lingered a second too long each time he looked at me. We talked of everything. Books and music and good food and traveling. And elephants.

“It's terrible that elephants even have to be rescued,” I said.

He nodded in agreement. “It's terrible that we have to teach humans to be humane.”

I took a piece of bread. He studied me, gray-green eyes steady, solemn, filled with—what?—amusement? “I admire you for following this whole project through, you know,” he said. “Not too many women would agree to something so dangerous.”

“Have you ever been hurt?” I asked. “I meant, by one of your rescues?”

He rubbed the scar on his cheek. “One of my early elephants,” he said ruefully. “Before I learned to dodge tusks.”

“Wow,” I said. “And here I've been wasting my time worrying about falling under their feet.”

He laughed and clicked his glass against mine. “I'm impressed with you,” he said. “You've done more than I had a right to expect.” I studied him as he took a sip of his wine. His face was lean, his nose was straight, linear. There was a certain assurance about him, as
though all the plans he ever made fell right into place, as though he would brook no other outcome. Commanding. “Your devotion to Margo amazes me, especially considering what you've been going through. Divorce is not fun.”

“Have you ever been through a divorce?” I asked.

“Twice.” He made a sour face. “And I think it's easier to save an elephant than a relationship.”

I guess he had experienced failures, though there was a sense of control about him. And serenity. I liked the serenity.

We finished our lunch and lingered until Tom checked his watch. “It's getting late,” he said. “If you want, I can follow you so that you get home safely, and then I'm off to the city. I didn't use my driver tonight, so I don't want to be driving back when I'm tired.”

“Right,” I said. Our eyes met and something passed between us. Neither one of us looked away.

“I don't mean to pry,” he began, “but are you officially single?”

“I'm extremely single,” I said. “I'm just not papered yet.”

He laughed, then looked down at his plate with an embarrassed grin. “I feel awkward,” he said. “Because I'm sort of your boss, but I would like to ask you something.”

“What?” I asked.

“Maybe we could see each other once in a while?” he said. “Without elephants?”

“I would like that very much,” I said. Then blurted, “Would you like to come back to my house for coffee?”

If he was surprised, he didn't show it. “Thank you,” he said. “I would like that very much.”

Then I remembered Reese. “I just have to run to the ladies' room—I'll be right back.”

I phoned my house from a stall in the ladies' room.

“Go home,” I said to Reese, after he picked up the phone.

“What?”

“Go home,” I repeated. “I am bringing the elephant man back with me and I want some privacy. Take your pizza boxes and go home.”

“Can't I go home in the morning?” he asked. “I was just getting comfortable.”

“This is important to me.” I was getting irritated. “And I really don't need a babysitter.”

“I'm under Mother's orders,” he said.

“For what?” I asked.

“Because she's worried about you not eating, and dundering around Africa, misunderstanding everything that goes on around you.”

“I don't have time for this,” I whispered fiercely into the phone. “I am coming home in about twenty minutes, so please don't be there.”

“Am I to understand that you have given up on Matt?”

“Whose team are you on?” I hissed.

“There are teams?” he asked. “If I join yours, do I get a free jersey that says Team Elephant?”

“Twenty minutes,” I said, and disconnected.

Tom was waiting for me when I returned. I got into my truck, he got into his hunter-green Bentley, and as we left for my house, I was praying that Reese would be gone, and that maybe something would work out between Tom and me, and then I wondered if I was being too presumptuous to send up this last fervent prayer for the day.