An Inconvenient Elephant (4 page)

IT IS A HEARTBREAKING SKY THAT FALLS OVER AFRICA
when there is death in the air.

Before I knew of Tusker, I had enjoyed watching the sun nestle itself into crimson clouds for the night, turning the sky rose pink and pale peach before slipping away. Now I sat outside the hut and stared at the sky, at the red streaks streaming across, and could think only of blood.

We had tipped our guide well, and he promised to return soon with our dinner, but I had no appetite. Diamond finished both our portions of
sadza
and greens and roasted squash.

“How can you eat, knowing what's going to happen to that elephant?” I asked her.

She looked surprised that I would even ask. “What does the color of maize have to do with the song of the bulbul?”

I still don't know what she meant.

 

Tusker didn't come back to camp the next day, and I wasn't sure if I was relieved or worried. I had come to think of him as my elephant and felt very proprietary toward him. I worried if he was eating, if he was frightened, if he was spending his day happily pulling trees out of the ground or making mischief by flipping cars. I was so enamored of his great frame and wise eyes and congenial face, of his splendid majesty, that I would have laid my life down for him.

“What do you think he's doing right now?” I asked Diamond several times throughout the day while she tried to get Charlotte on the phone. “Do you think he's okay?”

She rolled her eyes at me. “Neelie,” she said with an exasperated sigh. “He's been coming to this park for more than forty years. He's been finding food, water, whatever he needs. I think he's fine.”

I flashed her a dark look. “For now,” I said.

She was waiting for a phone call from Charlotte, hoping her friend could offer either advice or manpower or horses. Charlotte's safari business was based in Chizarira, about a day's journey from where we were. If there was a chance she and her husband were able to help us, I was sure we'd have to move Tusker nearer to them. I paced our hut nervously, thinking any moment I would hear a fatal shot ring out and my elephant would be dead, but Diamond was stretched out on the floor to nap, with the phone next to her ear to wake her when it rang.

“But will they be able to help us?” I asked her again. “Do they have Rovers? Do they know anyone with a plane?”

“First of all,” Diamond replied testily, “the Zim govern
ment listens in on all phone calls, so I can't get the information I want, and secondly, I need a nap.” She jumped up to push me out the door. “I'll tell you everything as soon as I find out,” she said. “Take a hike.”

 

I did.

I followed the path along Lake Kariba in the opposite direction from the day before, tracing the shoreline toward the other half of the encampment. It was unbearably hot and unbearably dry, and I wished the lake could rise up, breach the atmosphere, dissolve into it, and ease the searing heat. I eyed the water longingly, wondering if its placid blue would be cooling or unpleasantly warm, but I wasn't foolish enough to put even a toe in. Several houseboats floated by. Their occupants, mostly wealthy tourists, were taking dips in the lake inside swimming cages that protected them from the profusion of crocodiles that shared the water. Several gazelles were drinking warily, their delicate faces streaked with black that made a straight line up to their antlers, giving them a sport sneaker look. A herd of zebras fled as I drew closer, cantering away in a flurry of dashing stripes.

The heat was hypnotic. Maybe I was dreaming all of this. Maybe I was still in Kenya with my baby ellies. Maybe I hadn't even left New York. How improbable it was that I was here! The intense blue of the sky reached down, connecting with the intense blue lake. The mountains directly across from me were covered in mist, and a fish eagle screed overhead. I squeezed my eyes shut, wondering if it would all disappear if I clicked my heavy boots
together, and I would wake up and be home with Tusker, like Dorothy and Toto. I opened my eyes again. I really was here.

But I didn't have the Wizard of Oz to help me.

 

There was a commotion ahead. Dreading and yet hoping it was Tusker, I ran to a campsite that was supported by a large, flat, rocky ledge the other campers had called the Chill Spot. It overlooked the water and was used by foreign tourists with less formal equipment who were vacationing on the cheap. Tusker was standing in the middle of a small crowd. They were obviously used to the sight of elephants, since elephants appear out of everywhere in Zimbabwe. Garbage was strewn about his feet, and he was being pelted by glass soda bottles that were breaking into shards around him. A boy, maybe sixteen, had another bottle in his hand, aiming to throw it, and I ran to him and grabbed his hand to divert him from his target. The elephant lifted his trunk over his head, and the gathering crowd moved menacingly close, taunting him and screaming obscenities. He shuffled his feet nervously and trumpeted, and there was a collective gasp.

“Give him room to move,” I yelled. “Move back and give him room! Give him a way out.”

The crowd parted, still yelling, disrespectful and foolish, deceiving themselves that their trappings of civilization, their bright plastic coolers with matching trash pails and flowered umbrellas and rented drop-sided campers were somehow equal to the elephant's irrevocable rights to this territory. They had forgotten, or never learned, that
he
be
longed here,
he
was the native and they were the intruders, in their garishly bright reds and pinks and turquoise tropical clothing.

“Leave him alone!” I screamed, even as the game warden drove up and dispersed them in calm, authoritative tones.

“Leave them to me, mademoiselle,” he said, and I politely retreated, still watching Tusker, who sorted through another trash pail before he turned around and casually walked away.

 

“We have to get him out of here soon,” I announced to Diamond.

We were eating dinner:
dovi
—a peanut butter and chicken stew—with greens and cauliflower and dinner
sadza
and tea. Inexpensive native food, unlike the steaks and seafood that the guests in the other huts were receiving, since we weren't paying, courtesy of Charlotte and Billy Pope.

“You had to see the way they were treating him,” I added. “Have you heard anything yet?” Tusker was all I could think about.

“I spoke to Charlotte, and she's working on a plan,” Diamond replied, quickly finishing her dinner. “She's been trying to pull something together ever since the Conservation Task Force issued the execution order.”

Execution. The word again sent a chill through me.

“What kind of plan?” I asked.

Diamond made a face. “She thought a crew could somehow push him to where she is, and then she could make arrangements to have him airlifted out. She's been working with some rescue friends that she's known a long time.”

Chizarira National Park was the most remote park in the
country, with fewer tourists, and would give us more privacy and more opportunity, so Charlotte's idea seemed logical. Though there were some driving roads cut throughout Charara, the terrain, according to Diamond, would be mostly uncharted.

“Did you tell her that we want to help?” I asked.

Diamond nodded. “She says that we can be the ones to push him to Chizarira. It would save her a few days. He doesn't have a lot of time.”

“But how?” I asked. “We can't do it on foot. Is she sending horses?”

“No,” Diamond said, eyeing my plate. “They finally managed to get petrol. She's sending us a Rover. Are you going to finish that
sadza
?”

I pushed my plate at her. “Take whatever you want. I never did figure out what the appeal is with this stuff.”

“It's cheap and filling,” Diamond said, wiping my plate clean with her fingers. “Charlotte also said they're sending an old friend of theirs who has done like a million rescues. She said he should be a big help.”

“That's great,” I said. “When does he arrive?”

She burped and checked her watch. “In about another hour.”

 

I thought I would never see him again.

There was a rap at our door and a sharp whiff of cigarette smoke as soon as Diamond opened it. Russian cigarettes. From an old Russian friend who was a major part of the rescue team when Tom rescued Margo.

Grisha.

“Madame Neelie,” he said with great surprise, his thick Russian accent as garbled as ever. “My eyes cannot believe my heavy amazement!”

“Me either!” I said. I fought the temptation to look over his shoulder for Tom. We embraced and I stepped back to exult in my good fortune. Grisha had spent most of his life helping Tom with elephant rescues and was considered a world expert. “Please, just call me plain Neelie.”

He looked just as I remembered him—pale blue eyes that noticed everything, maybe a little more gray throughout the thatch of light red hair he left uncombed, but still lean and muscular, with the ever-present Stolichnye Light hanging from the corner of his mouth.

“What are you doing here?” I asked him joyfully. “How did you get involved with this?”

He looked perplexed. “Have I committed grave confusion? Grisha is thinking woman peoples would have gladness over his present position.”

“Oh, we do, we do,” I said, and pulled out a chair for him. “Sit down, we need to talk. You have to tell us everything.”

Diamond was still standing by the door, watching us, looking mystified.

“Oh, Diamond,” I apologized, “I forgot. This is Grisha, Tom's assistant.”

“Diamond-Rose Tremaine,” she said, extending her hand to him. Ever courtly, he rose halfway from his chair and kissed the tip of her fingers. “Where are the other men?” she asked. “Surely you brought others.”

His eyes widened. “But Grisha can drive only one truck at a time! I was disclosed you have help
here
.”

“But it's just Diamond and me,” I protested. “How are we going to be able to move the elephant with only the three of us?”

“This is a tribulation,” he agreed, sitting back down. “Now Grisha must make new strategy.” He pressed his fingers to his chin. “Since we cannot make heavy spectacle here and we must bring ellie to Chizarira,
da
? And Grisha has only one Grisha and two woman peoples…” He closed his eyes to think. “We can make use of same plan. Is good plan.
Da
. I have plan to move elephant. Don't make heavy worry too much.”

“We have to use the park roads, not the main roads, or we'll be stopped,” Diamond interjected. “We have to transport him somehow—or drive him along the more remote park roads until we get to Charlotte's camp. But then what?”

“Oh, when we make arrivement, Mr. Thomas determines to bring plane in and—shoosh!” Grisha made a swooping motion with his hand, implying that we would just lift the elephant and take him away. “But Mr. Thomas having heavy problems too much getting plane in.” He gave me a dark look. “We must keep fingers twisted.”

“Mr.
Thomas
?” I repeated breathlessly. “Thomas—Tom Pennington? Tom—is he with you?”

“So.” Diamond was piecing it together as fast as I was. “This Tom Pennington, the man with the plane is”—she turned to me—“Thomas Princeton Pennington? I know the name!” Her voice dropped reverentially. “Used to get the newspapers flown in from Nairobi. He was always in the business section. Kind of an entrepreneur. He's
your
Tom?”

I looked at Grisha, but he didn't have to confirm it. He just made a helpless gesture with his hands. “Mr. Thomas is only disclosed last night that he has peoples here to bring ellie to Chizarira. He is not disclosed that it is
you
.”

“No,” I said. “He didn't know I was coming here.” I gave Grisha a rueful smile. “In fact,
I
didn't know I was coming here.”

He nodded gravely. “Mr. Thomas will not be joyed-over for this, Plain-Neelie,” he replied, wagging his finger at me. “Grisha is seeing heavy agitation ahead.” He rolled his blue eyes at me and took a very long drag on his cigarette before expelling a cloud of thick gray smoke. “
Heavy
agitation.”

GRISHA'S PLAN WAS SO LUDICROUSLY SIMPLE, SO
laughably naive that for a few minutes I didn't believe it. He had driven a ten-seater safari Rover to us, and the next morning, he said, it would be filled with his secret weapon. He had determined, and correctly so, that we couldn't just lead a wild animal through a jungle and expect him to follow along complacently like someone's pet poodle. Nor could we drive him ahead of us like cattle in a scene out of an old cowboy movie, whoopee ti-yi-ellie. The elephant would have to be
lured
. Grisha's plan was for us to drive ahead of him and lay a sporadic path of oranges.

Oranges.

Elephants cannot resist citrus. They love citrus. They adore it to the point that it had to be banned in all the wilderness parks for fear of attracting them to the campsites.
Grisha's plan would take advantage of this peculiarity of the elephantine palate by having us throw the oranges in a zigzag fashion to keep Tusker from directly following the truck. Hopefully, he would find the oranges, eat them, and keep moving on for more. We would be working a fine line between luring him and preventing him from figuring out we were the source.

In the meantime, Grisha said, Charlotte Pope would be waiting for us just outside of Chizarira, on a savannah that lay between the two parks. Once we met up, she would help drive Tusker deeper into Chizarira, where the appropriate tranquilizer dart guns and Tom leading several helpers would be waiting to load him into a large cargo plane.

Comical as the plan sounded, it was very dangerous. And our part was the most dangerous of all.

“I have citrus,” Grisha declared. “Grisha buys many kilos citrus. Enough for several cows of driving.”

“Cows?” Diamond repeated.

“Hours,” I translated.

“How did you manage to sneak oranges into the park?” Diamond asked.

“Not yet. It comes early in the morning cows.” Grisha stood up and stretched. “So we sleep now. Tomorrow citrus comes and we commence.”

“Wow,” I said. “Like the Pied Piper!”

“No, Plain-Neelie,” Grisha replied sternly. “No French champagne for celebration. We will drink only good Russian Sovetskoye Shampanskoye.”

 

We were up before dawn to help unload an outside truck
whose driver first bribed the guards and then drove in with the oranges under cover, in boxes marked as sanitation supplies for the compound. He also delivered several machetes and a few of the elephant guns that I had come to hate. Now we had to work fast before the magical smell of citrus attracted every elephant in the park. We stuffed oranges into every available space the Rover had, and since all the seats except the front ones had been removed, there was plenty of room.

“I feel like the Tropicana Queen,” I remarked to Diamond, who only gave me a puzzled look and handed me another carton. Humor is definitely not cross-cultural, I decided.

We packed ourselves in, along with our luggage, some thermoses of water, and a few flashlights. Grisha covered everything with an old tarp and declared us ready. Diamond had road maps of the area, primitive though they were, her GPS, and a compass. Dawn still had not broken, but the air made us feel as though we were walking across the face of the sun.

Grisha crossed himself twice, checked to make sure he had his three cartons of Stolichnye Lights, started the truck, and began driving us out of the camp.

We took the road that passed the lily pond. Diamond tossed several oranges around its rim. A few rolled into the pond itself, as well as under the trees and brush surrounding it. Grisha cut the motor and we waited.

Tusker could be anywhere, but we were hoping that the fruit would cast its spell and bring him safely and quickly to us.

We waited for two hours, and Grisha was getting nervous. I knew he had planned for us to accomplish the drive in daylight, and we were wasting it, just waiting. Getting caught in darkness with a truckload of elephant lure was a recipe for—well, I didn't want to think about it. Human à l'orange might make a great elephant delicacy, but not when you're one of the ingredients.

 

We waited still.

There wasn't even a rustle of brush when suddenly
he
was next to the pond, no more than fifty feet from us, sniffing at our bait. I thrilled again at his massive body, the huge ears flapping with curiosity, the perfection, the majesty, the incredible hulking mass, noble and exquisite to every cell. He picked up an orange with his trunk and tossed it into his mouth, then waved his head up and down with approval.

But this time he had brought a friend.

It was a young bull. Not as tall as Tusker, but enormous, still. He flapped his ears rapidly, and I noticed that his left ear had an odd notch. He peeked out at us from behind Tusker, impatiently waving his trunk up and down, then shaking his head sideways and grunting. Tusker pushed back against him as if to discipline him, and the bull stopped for a moment and stood respectfully. Then he caught the scent of oranges and swung his trunk back and forth across the ground like a minesweeper, sniffing, until he, too, discovered a prize and ate it.

“Bollocks,” Diamond whispered in my ear. “He looks to be a young bachelor. They team up with older bulls and get very attached. We may have two on our hands.”

Grisha watched them quietly and agreed with her. “Grisha thinks elephant brings too good friend.” He shook his head with a grave expression. “Some of times you cannot make separatement of good elephant friends. It makes us even heavier problem now.”

“If he follows Tusker, we might have to take him as well,” Diamond agreed. “Or one of them can rampage. Maybe both.”

“Let's hope that's all he brings,” I whispered back. “Or we're going to have to hire a fleet of planes.”

Grisha turned on the motor, and the elephants looked up with only a mild interest, not spooking at all, a tribute to how used they had gotten to trucks in the bush. Diamond rolled a few more oranges at the animals, and Grisha inched forward. The elephants stood for a moment, watching us. Tusker raised his trunk and trumpeted loudly, then held his ears out wide. The situation was tricky, and my heart was pounding. We were taking a terrible chance. We were hoping to strike a balance in his mind, that he would somehow know the oranges came from us and eat what was being cast before him without charging us and overturning the truck.

Diamond threw several more pieces of fruit and we watched. Tusker and the young bull scooped them up greedily, then trotted a few feet forward, reconnoitering the ground for more. They looked at the truck and then at the ground. Then at the truck. Tusker trumpeted and shook his head and wiped his trunk along the ground trying to pick up the scent. They moved toward us again, and Grisha gunned the truck. They followed, trunks extended straight out and
pointing to us. Somehow they suddenly understood, and we were on our way. Toss, drive forward, toss, drive forward. Slow enough to get out of their way, fast enough to keep them walking behind us.

It was working.

After two torturously slow hours, we had covered about fifteen miles. Fifteen miles of potholes that could pass for ravines, of washed-out roads that had us scrambling sideways to keep from toppling over, of stopping to let a black rhino and her baby trot by, of watching Tusker casually uproot an acacia tree and eat the bark, of watching him argue with the bull over one particular orange while standing on several others.

The road washed out again, and we had to detour between acacia trees, barely squeaking through overgrown and tangled thornbushes that had stickers like claws. We tried to hurry a small herd of buffalo that strolled casually in front of us and ground us to a halt while the elephants were closing in behind. It was all tricky business, and my nerves were strung tight. I looked over at Diamond, who was checking the maps against her GPS and puffing furiously on her cheroot.

Suddenly she glanced up. “Bollocks!”

“What?” I asked breathlessly. “Is something wrong?”

“I'm hungry,” she declared. “Did we pack anything to eat?”

“Citrus,” Grisha replied, giving an expansive wave at the contents of the truck.

“Great,” I said. “So we eat oranges and baste ourselves from the inside out.”

We hit a deep rut and bounced hard, dislodging a box of fruit that tumbled across the road, spilling the contents.

“We can't leave all that fruit behind,” Diamond announced as Grisha slowed to a stop, “or we'll be waiting here forever to make sure they finish it. Otherwise, we'll have half a dozen elephants running after us.”

“
Da
,” Grisha agreed. He jumped from the Rover and ripped the box open, kicking some of the fruit across the road into the brush, and picking up the rest that were remaining, before the elephants caught up to us. “Maybe they won't notarize all of it,” he said hopefully.

They did notice them and stopped for a feast. It was afternoon now, and we had another twenty or so miles to go. Grisha was growing impatient. Diamond and I were more worried. We were entering the rim of the park, far from any encampments. If we had problems, we would be totally on our own.

There was a drone from one of the side roads. Diamond and I looked at each other in alarm. It was a motor, to be sure, and I held my breath, hoping our good luck would stay with us. We pushed the remaining fruit under our seats and covered the rest with the tarp.

“I hope they're tourists,” Diamond muttered, “and not Mugabe's men.”

Grisha pointed under his seat. “Grisha has rifles,” he said. “Do you have nerves?”

“I have nerves,” Diamond declared grimly. “I have big nerves.”

 

It was the assistant game warden from Charara. He drove toward us in his jeep, then pulled up next to our truck.

“I suggest you turn around,” he said. “You're pretty far from camp.”

Diamond smiled at him. “I'm a licensed safari leader. I'll bring them back before sundown.”

“Do I know you?” He squinted at her.

“You probably know my good friends, the Popes? They run ThulaThula Safaris out of Chizarira.” She flashed him a dazzling smile and gave just the slightest toss of her glowing red hair. “They can vouch for me.”

He gave her a lingering look, glanced over at me, then at the jeep, then at Grisha.

“I only drive truck,” said Grisha, shrugging. “I know nothing.”

“Well, be careful,” the warden said. “I found oranges along the road. Looks like some tourists sneaked them. Crazy bastards.”

“Oranges!” Diamond feigned surprise. “I can't imagine anyone being so stupid,” she said. “Your guides need to do a better job. I personally search my clients' luggage.” She gestured at my suitcase with a stern face. The warden looked over at my luggage, and I pushed the cartons of oranges even farther back under my seat with my legs.

“We'll be very careful,” Diamond added. “I know the rules.”

The warden eyed the Rover, then eyed the oranges that had been kicked off the road by Grisha, then looked back at us. “We may have to close the roads down for a few days until it's safe again. We can't take a chance.”

“Absolutely,” Diamond agreed, while I smiled at him, hoping he couldn't smell our cargo, since we were reeking like a mobile orange grove.

“Well, don't touch them,” he said. “If the
tembo
s smell orange on you, they'll tear your truck apart. You can follow me back if you want.”

“We want to get just a few more photos,” Diamond said. “Then we'll be along straightaway.” She motioned to the camera hanging by the front seat.

The warden looked us over one last time. “Right, then.” He returned to his jeep and drove away. My arms and legs were shaking. Grisha gunned the Rover forward.

Just in time. The elephants were trotting directly at us, hoping for another snack.