‘Yowchie!’
The shallow water that laps up over my ankles is icy cold.
‘Watch out, Rosie. There’ll be hell to pay if you go drowning their tucker!’ Markus calls to me from a few metres downstream.
Hungry trunks wriggle in front of me, and two sets of small eyes focus on the baskets full of bananas and watermelon in my hands. Just a short while ago I was running scared of these giants and now, I’m willingly walking towards them. Willingly walking towards the elephants – and Markus.
I wasn’t sure what would happen after our kiss, if we’d ignore it and get on with things, or if we’d fall longingly into each other’s arms. We’ve landed somewhere in between.
It is becoming harder and harder to deny the sweet stretch in Markus’s too-tight pants. I no longer think of Markus as that egotistical stranger I met weeks ago, but a generous, caring person. I haven’t felt this level of comfort with a man I’m attracted to in a long while. Perhaps it’s because I haven’t allowed it, keeping my guard up to prevent heartbreak.
We’d agreed to take things slow, so I’ve spent the last couple of nights alone, tossing and turning in my bamboo bed. Who knows if it will even eventuate into anything serious? But it feels too good to put a stop to it now.
I’m also fairly certain that I’ve finally worked Markus out.
Anxiety comes in all forms, and it makes complete sense that Markus’s ‘charms’ had developed as a sort of defence mechanism to handle the limelight – distorting and transforming who he really is. I’d been quick to judge him. His smarmy smiles and ridiculous gestures were made all the more palatable now that I understood them. Not that I’ve witnessed any of that lately. India seems to have a grounding effect on him. Or perhaps – as he’s remarked himself – it’s me.
But by all accounts, Rick still isn’t happy. Markus has been filming and re-filming. Luckily I’ve managed to whisk him away to enjoy Kindred by night, doing all the cheesy stuff that PG rom-coms are made of, like walking hand-in-hand under the moonlight and taking it in turns to feed each other spoonfuls of dessert. Banana halwa is our favourite.
Tonight, we’re feeding Eddie and the rest of his herd. I pick my way carefully over the slippery stones towards Markus. He’s standing between Eddie and another elephant, with a long-handled scrubbing brush in hand – and his shirt off.
His pecs are defined, but not in a gross, steroidy way. They’re supported by the ripples that make up his abdomen, as defined as the crescent-shaped peaks in the fast-flowing river. Yes, he’s basically a clean-cut Tarzan (all that’s missing is a tasselled loincloth around his waist), but I’m not about to get swept up in the tide of his hotness. I’m after more than an amazing body.
His manly chest – with its perfectly tame dark mane – has become somewhat of a familiar sight around Kindred. The fierce humidity here makes clothing a sticky plight, so when not in khaki and trembling in front of the camera, it’s been shirts off.
I wade deeper into the river; the freezing water sends chills through my entire body but does little to sedate my burning desire. Markus is like a delicious birthday cake I’ve cut into. I’ve licked the frosting from the dirty knife, and now I’m waiting patiently for my piece.
Even after such a short amount of time, I feel a certain claim over that bare chest. I don’t know how I’ll go back home, with all of the Dr Markus Abrahams groupies and trending hashtags. That’s if we even last that long. Who knows what Markus is thinking?
I continue wading towards him, admiring his muscled arm as he works the brush and scratches at Eddie’s expansive leathery back. I’m knee-deep in the murky water when the burning finally subsides. I’ve also acclimatised to the temperature, and the water now feels refreshing after a day spent in the muggy heat.
I tuck my dress up into my swimmers so it doesn’t get too muddy. I hope Markus notices the extra bronze to my leg. The jungle surroundings have meant an improvised beauty regimen. Luckily, I thought to pack some tinted sun cream, which I’ve applied liberally to freshly shaven legs.
I step up onto a mossy stone beside Markus, steadying myself with a hand on one of his broad shoulders.
Just as I find my balance, Eddie’s trunk juts out at me, whacking the basket of fruit with force and almost sending it – and me – flying. Markus’s arm instantly goes around me.
‘Careful!’ Markus berates Eddie. ‘Rosie is precious cargo.’
A renewed warmth trickles through my body, but this time it’s closer to my heart.
He sets me back on my rock, as effortlessly as moving a chess piece, and waits for my reassuring smile before returning to his scrubbing.
Eddie and his mate’s appetites are endless, but unfortunately my baskets of fruit are not. They’re emptied in about two minutes flat, with the last piece of watermelon cradled and scooped into Eddie’s mouth before Markus has a chance to instruct me on what to do next. I’m not exactly in my element.
The empty baskets don’t deter them, and they sniff for more. I back away slowly. One ‘harmless’ nudge and I’m likely to end up face first in the Periyar River.
‘Sorry, boys, I’m all out. Are they even both males? I don’t know why I assumed that.’
Markus has moved to scrub the mud off the other side of Eddie, so I can no longer see his face, only his muscular legs.
‘Spot on, Rosie. They’re brothers.’
‘Awww. That’s sweet.’
‘They’re a formidable pair – had a tough start to life.’ Markus ducks back under Eddie’s large body and moves next to the other elephant. ‘Eric here has had it particularly rough. I’m not sure if you can tell, but one of his back legs is a bit wonky.’
Now that he’s pointed it out, I can see that the back leg closest to me is a little shorter than the others. As if sensing that we’re talking about him, Eric tilts his head to look at me. A watery, blackened eye meets mine. I see sadness. He’s staring so intensely, like he’s reading my mind or trying to send me a subliminal message. His eye becomes glassier as we stare but, just when I think the wetness is about to spill over into a fat tear and roll down his leathery cheek, a wrinkled lid closes over and our trance is broken. I’m left staring at an enviable set of thick lashes.
‘Both Eddie and Eric were separated from their mother as infants, crammed into crates, gouged with bullhooks and beaten mercilessly. They were lucky to survive, but they’re not without their scars. We found Eddie first – Eric was only rescued a few months ago. That’s why he’s a bit more tentative.’
‘How horrible!’
Markus continues to scrub as he talks. ‘Unfortunately, being taken from their mother at such a young age means they missed out on invaluable survival skills. During their early years, calves follow their mother everywhere to feed and learn everything they need. These poor guys never really got that chance, which means a life of captivity – they’d never survive out in the wild. Sadly, they would have spent longer in their mother’s belly than with her in the outside world . . .’
Perhaps this is what I’d felt between Eric and I – the silent pain of missed time with our mothers. Although, I’m sure Eddie and Eric were very much wanted. I shudder as I imagine their mother being tranquillised, roped and dragged away from her calves. Mine willingly walked. It’s hard to know which scenario is sadder.
I plunge my hand into the water. Like a slap to the face, the chill pulls me out of my dark thoughts and back to the river. It’s still too soon to open up to Markus about Mum. I’m not ready to go there.
I wade towards the bucket of soapy water balanced on the rocky ledge next to me. ‘Can I help you wash them?’
I can’t do anything to change what happened to them, but I feel like I need to do something to help now – even if it’s just giving a good back scrub.
‘Look at you go, Rosie.’
Markus grins at me like a proud sensei. It’s funny how differently I feel about that smile now compared to that first time at Lesters.
‘Normally that would be totally fine, but we’re trying to minimise any forced human interactions with Eric until he’s all settled in. Professional handlers only, unfortunately. Eddie is also extremely protective of his brother, so I’m not sure how he’d react.’
‘That makes sense,’ I say.
Duh. Just because I’m finally familiar with Squash’s preferred Delightful Tuna Gourmet flavour doesn’t make me instantly qualified to handle an elephant. Actually, Squash has two favourite flavours. I hope Ceddie is alternating them each morning.
‘It’s amazing that they were reunited,’ I say.
‘Yes, we got really lucky. It was Eddie who helped us make the connection.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘When Eric first arrived, Eddie wouldn’t leave him alone. He’d frequently be by his side, always nudging him and poking him gently with his tusks. We started to have our suspicions, so we had them tested and it was a match!’
If only Markus could bring this enthusiasm on set, he’d have no issues with Rick.
‘That’s lovely. Are you covering their story in the documentary?’
‘No, unfortunately not. Rick thinks it’s best to stick to the science.’
‘Ah, that’s a shame.’
‘Yeah.’ Markus hangs his head and I sense the mood beginning to shift.
‘Do you have any siblings?’ I ask, an attempt to redirect the conversation.
The long handle of the scrubbing brush slips though Markus’s fingers and falls into the river, making a big splash. Markus snaps into action and dives into the water before it can sink to the bottom or be swept away by the current.
‘Got it!’ He stands back up triumphantly, his chest glistening with droplets caught in his body hair. He’s transformed from Tarzan into a hot water deity. ‘Sorry, Rosie, were you asking me something?’
My question now feels redundant, but I’m keen to move beyond those washboard abs and learn as much about the real Dr Markus Abrahams as possible – especially since he’s already proven to be somewhat of an enigma. I may know where he lives and how he takes his coffee, but not much more.
‘I was wondering if you have any siblings? It’s just learning that these two are brothers – it makes you think about how powerful that bond must have been for them to find each other again. I’m an only child, and I always wondered what it would be like to have a sibling.’
I think of Penny, who comes from a large family of eight and often referred to me as ‘her sister of choice’. I’m sure she won’t notice writing one less Christmas card this year.
‘Um, yeah, same,’ Markus says.
‘Oh, really?’
I respond perhaps a little too eagerly, but I’m delighted to discover that our common ground stretches beyond physical attraction.
‘Yup, it’s only me.’ He’s speaking so softly that I can only just make out his words over the rushing water.
I’ve obviously hit on a sensitive topic.
It’s silly to assume we grow out of our sensitivities as we get older, when we so often grow into them. I’d been too focused on being down a mother to have any hang-ups about being an only child. Sure, at times it would have been nice to have the camaraderie of a sister or brother, but mostly Dad and my self-made support system of Wes and the girls had been enough.
‘Ah, I’ve heard it’s not all that it’s cracked up to be anyway – just lots of bullying and constant competition,’ I continue.
Shut your mouth and change the subject, Rosie.
But I don’t want to derail our conversation completely – not when we are teetering on the edge of something meaningful. Then again, I don’t want to risk Markus asking about my mother.
A hiccup escapes from Eddie. It’s not an adorable, delicate sound but more of a roaring, unsettled belch. I’m grateful that I’m a decent distance away, as I can tell from Markus’s twisted face that there’s an accompanying smell.
We both laugh, and Eric peels his eyes open then shuffles forward and curls a protective trunk around his brother’s own trunk, forming a misshapen figure of eight pattern.
‘Sorry Eric,’ I address him. ‘We’re laughing with your brother – not at him. Actually, scrap that, we’re laughing at him.’
I beam at Markus, and he responds with another howl. ‘I wonder how good that fruit was? Elephants have been known to get a little tipsy from over-ripe fruit,’ he says, attempting to pull himself together before succumbing to more peals of laughter. ‘Have you ever seen a drunk elephant, Rosie?’
‘Only Dumbo.’
Markus is now the one hiccupping.
Is that another thing he likes about me? That I make him laugh? Somehow, I’ve managed to put off analysing things too much, but at some point my brain is going to unwillingly dive into the inner workings of this coupling to try to decipher how it makes sense. The hot TV star vet with, well . . . me.
‘You’re the best, Rosie.’
‘Um . . . thank you?’
‘Seriously though, I know I’ve said it before but you’re the one keeping me sane through this whole nightmare.’
His giggles are gone. Eddie and Eric are quiet, and we are left with the lull of the flowing river and chirps of cicadas high up in the trees. Being in the middle of a remote jungle makes it feel like we’re the only two people on earth.
‘Marrrrrrkuuussss!’
Rick’s voice bounces off the rocky outcrops crowding the riverbank.
‘Where in God’s name are you? I need you for an evening shoot. Nowwww!’
‘Shit!’ There’s panic in Markus’s voice and he starts gathering up the washing things. He upends the scrubbing brush and gives both elephants a gentle tap from behind to get them moving back towards their night-time enclosure.
‘Raincheck, Rosie?’