The following day—that glorious day of great public tributes to Dailan Kifki—we were awoken by a volley of cannon-fire.
I got up and ran to the garden to give my elephant a bath. King Pochoclo had sent a gift: some opulent apparel for Dailan Kifki to wear on this very grand occasion.
A saddle of golden velvet, braids and tassels for his head and ears, and an honorary astronaut’s helmet.
Roberto helped me bathe Dailan Kifki before saddling him up so luxuriously.
Then we all put on our finery and walked out the front door to where our retinue of the previous days was waiting for us. They were all so dolled up we hardly recognised them!
Granddad had put on—and I honestly have no idea which museum he’d got it from—a lovely uniform of a Patrician Guard.
My Auntie Clodomira was dressed in sky-blue organdie.
My dad had a new poncho.
I don’t even have to tell you that the numbers of TV cameramen, journalists, photographers, busybodies and ice-cream sellers had multiplied a million times.
Since the zoo isn’t too far from my house, we all went on foot. Dailan Kifki led the parade.
We all walked very slowly, in time with the Boy Scouts’ band, who played a slow, stately march.
At the zoo we were met by the most senior officials and King Pochoclo with his whole retinue.
But there was one thing I couldn’t stop wondering about, and I was already getting emotional just thinking about it: what would it be like when Dailan Kifki met his mother?
Because we hadn’t told him a thing.
And what if King Pochoclo was wrong and it turned out that his elephant wasn’t Dailan Kifki’s mother after all?
But I supposed he wouldn’t have taken such a long journey if he hadn’t been completely sure that she was.
Finally we entered the zoo, which was decorated with flags from every country.
There was another volley of cannon-fire, applause, cheers, shouts, a few faintings and a shower of confetti and streamers.
Still moving in time with the Boy Scouts’ band, we made our way solemnly towards the official stage, beside which stood—looking very serious and decked out with a gold saddle—Dailan Kifki’s mother.
When Dailan Kifki saw her, he forgot all about the retinue, the party, the solemnity and the order we’d managed to keep up to that moment.
As though he’d been pricked with a knitting needle, he tore off towards the stage where he embraced his mother, snorting with excitement.
The two of them stood with their trunks wrapped around each other’s necks for nearly an hour. They whispered and puffed away to each other, lifting their ears as a sign of happi ness.
Then the speeches started, which naturally I shan’t transcribe so as not to bore you. And finally we all were served hot chocolate with croissants, right in front of the monkey cage.
I don’t need to tell you the day had been declared a national holiday.
Once the ceremony was over, we decided it was time for us all to go back to our respective homes, but now a real puzzle presented itself.
Nobody had thought about it, nobody had a clever, practical solution for such a terrible problem.
We couldn’t separate Dailan Kifki from his mother, could we?
Nor could I be separated from Dailan Kifki, because I’d become so attached to him, right?
So that was the problem: where on earth were the two elephants going to live?
Even just one could barely fit in my garden.
We began to discuss the problem.
The Director of the zoo, very obligingly, offered to house them in his distinguished institution.
King Pochoclo offered to take them back to Ugambalanda.
Granddad offered to take care of them in his house in Ituzaingó.
But I didn’t want to be separated from them.
When I was just about ready to start crying at the hopelessness of the whole situation, someone put his hand on my shoulder and said sweetly that I needn’t worry, that we were going to live together and everything would come up roses, we’d eat partridges for dinner and we’d also blow our noses.
It was the Fireman.
And right there, quite unexpectedly, he asked me to marry him, and he said we could go and live on his aunt and uncle’s farm, where there was more than enough space for two well-behaved elephants.
I was dumbstruck again, and slowly looked at everybody, one by one, as though asking their advice.
Everyone had fallen impressively silent, and they were all looking down at their newly shined shoes.
Then, hesitant and shy, I looked at the Fireman, and once again I saw what a good fellow he was, and how brave, and kind, and affectionate, and sweet-smelling, and, above all, how much he loved elephants.
I told him I’d think about it.