Behind him, the mahouts Khalan (Mali’s middle son) and Jabari, who had been in the river with his elephant the day before, yelled harsh commands and waved their arms frantically at Sophie. She stood in front of them, wide ears flared and her trunk raised to the sky. Backing up as far as her tether would allow, her white-rimmed eyes grew twice their size, a sure sign of her fear. She trumpeted, long and loud, an abrasive sound that slithered down Natalie’s backbone. Natalie knew that sound. Sophie was angry. Again.
Natalie glanced apprehensively at Hatcher. He stood to her right, fully composed and focused on Sophie and the mahouts. The mahouts moved closer, carefully monitoring Sophie’s every move, talking to her, commanding her to stay still, and using their ankuses to hook her by the ear and turn her so that Hatcher could examine her festering leg.
Natalie assisted Hatcher, responding to his needs of antibiotic-filled needles and giant swatches of white cloth that he used to wipe the wound. The fetid smell told Natalie volumes. If the elephant didn’t submit to the antibiotics, the infection would spread even further, and she would die.
She sighed deeply and shifted backward. Hatcher abruptly stopped mixing the ingredients for Sophie’s afternoon medicine and pulled his glasses down so that he could peer at Natalie over their rims. He scrutinized her through his virtually non-existent, white-blond eyelashes.
“Are you ready?” he asked again. Quietly. Evenly.
They had agreed yesterday that she and Siriporn would be on hand for the treatment so Natalie could assist and Siriporn would translate the mahouts’ commands when they moved Sophie. So far, confusion reigned and all Natalie had learned was to stay out of the way of Sophie’s flailing trunk. But now Hatcher expected her to assist. She could not only assist; she could do the work herself, but the look Hatcher shot her now made her feel he truly expected—and hoped—that she would fail.
Her body tensed up every time they shared the same space, even when there were many other people included in their group. She found herself waiting for a judgmental comment or a sarcastic jab. He didn’t want her there. Period. He didn’t bother to try to hide it. His anger was a thick, dark mask he wore like a steel cage over his fair and otherwise innocuous features. Dr. Peter Hatcher liked to be in control and when anything arrived that threatened that control, he lost his composure.
His icy eyes now sharpened like a camera lens suddenly in focus. If she wanted to offer a suggested treatment for Sophie, she would be facing his wrath. She kept her mouth shut. It wasn’t a good day to take on Hatcher’s anger. It was more important to tend to Sophie’s infection.
She sensed movement behind her and turned, expecting Siriporn, who’d been with her only a moment before, but it was Anurak, his fingers wrapped around Decha’s ear. He stood only a couple of feet away from her. Both the boy’s and dog’s eyes intently focused on Sophie. Natalie’s first instinct was to move them out of harm’s way, but they appeared ready to bolt the second Sophie flicked an eyelash, so she let them be. Anurak smiled shyly, lifting a hand in greeting. He wore the same ragged red basketball shorts and red-and-white t-shirt he had worn when she saw him last. As she waved back, she wondered if they were the only clothes he owned and made a mental note to ask Mali if the boy could use some new ones.
A shuffle and a sharp cry returned her attention to Hatcher and the mahouts. Hatcher crouched next to Sophie’s leg, his hypodermic needle inserted right above the infected area. Sophie growled and trumpeted, tossing her head, but the mahouts caught her with their ankuses, stopping her trunk when it whipped dangerously close to Hatcher. Natalie gasped and started forward, but the mahouts waved her back.
“Move right,” Siriporn ordered her. He reappeared on Natalie’s left, but his eyes were not on her. Instead, his attention was on Sophie and he watched every nuance of the elephant’s body language. “Sophie nervous. She know Dr. Peter will stick needle in. See her left leg?” Siriporn spoke without taking his eyes off Sophie. One arm kept Natalie back; the other was flung wide to keep his own balance.
Sophie’s leg lifted, and she flicked it backwards.
“Damn!” Hatcher darted forward but not in time to complete the injection before Sophie moved away.
“Let me help!” Natalie said. “Pass me the needle.” She took a deep breath and shouldered her way in to squat next to Hatcher.
“Christ, no! She’s not a horse, Dr. DeAngelo,” Hatcher snapped. “And I don’t have time to train you right now. Get out of my way!”
Natalie knew that it was now or never. Either he had to accept her help, or she needed to book the next flight. She planted herself and grabbed a couple of disposable gloves, slipping them on her hands, before picking up the large bottle of antiseptic at Hatcher’s feet. The next time Sophie swung around, Natalie shot the infection on Sophie’s leg with a squirt of antiseptic, then got out of the way so Hatcher could inject the needle. He took her cue, stabbed the elephant’s leg with the hypo and injected it while the mahouts used every bit of their strength to hold Sophie in place.
Hatcher pulled out the needle after the medicine had been delivered and skipped out of the way the next time Sophie’s head lolled in his direction. Wiping his hands on his shorts, he stepped back and watched her as if pleased with himself. He glanced at Natalie and nodded. A simple nod, not a word of encouragement, but it was enough. At least he’d acknowledged her.
“How often are you planning to do this?” Natalie asked as they stood about ten feet away and gathered Hatcher’s medicines and needle packs into his bag.
“Every six hours, if she’ll let us. It’s gotten so that she knows why we’re bringing her into this building, and she’s truly afraid, but this is the only place that’s large enough to hold her so we can inject medicines and check her vitals. The worst part is she needs two rounds: one above the infection, another closer to her heart. Now that she’s had the first round, she’ll feel a bit of relief, and it’s easier to give her the second round. If we don’t get this infection under control, it’ll spread quickly throughout her system and we’ll lose her. Their skin often heals over the wound, so I’ve been trying to keep this wound open until the infection calms down.”
“Let me give her the next round,” Natalie said quietly, not taking her eyes off the mahouts.
“You’ve never done this . . . She’s unpredictable. No. I’m afraid I’m not going to let that happen.”
“Listen, I’ve given more rounds of antibiotics than I can count. Horses. Cows. And, yes, when I was interning, even a few elephants, and one time, a rhino that had the toughest hide of any animal I’ve ever shot.”
Hatcher opened his mouth to argue, but she stepped forward and put her hand on his arm. “I can do this,” she said quietly.
Without another word, he handed the hypodermic needle to her. The mere weight of it in her hand reminded her how much larger this animal was than the horses she regularly medicated. She felt a strength within that she hadn’t embodied for a very long time. A welcome feeling, she moved with it as confidently as she would respond to a horse she’d been riding for years.
With one eye on the mahouts, she silently synchronized her movements with theirs, as Siriporn had encouraged her. Any quick or jerky movement on her part would alert Sophie to her, and the elephant would swiftly lower her massive head or swing a heavy foot, could reach out her trunk and grab the nearest body part, then easily fling Natalie so far that every bone would be shattered.
Natalie knew that, and because that image was as real as the hairs standing up on her forearms, her sense of timing became as natural as any other animal’s. Part of that sense came from years of working with horses and connecting with a hoof one too many times. She knew several clients who had lost family members because of accidents with horses. That horrible knowledge taught her to be cautious, quick and alert to the signals animals telegraphed before they reached what she called the red zone. Besides, no heightened physical danger could be as horrifying as sitting alone and thinking of her boys. Her sons, her lost loves. Her body and her mind now belonged to this one elephant rather than to her own self.
As soon as the mahouts caught Sophie’s attention and the large gray head began to swing in their direction, Natalie plunged the foot-long hypodermic into Sophie’s upper leg and delivered another round of the antibiotics into her system. The elephant bellowed and lifted her leg, but Natalie skirted out of the way, twirling like a ballerina. Sophie’s leg and trunk missed her by a mere two inches. Sophie bellowed again, but this time, it was born of frustration rather than surprised pain. She wasn’t used to being caught off guard. The mahouts caught her head with their short wooden prods and diverted her attention.
Hatcher stood aside, a shocked expression on his blond-whiskered face.
From the corner came the sound of clapping. Natalie had forgotten about Anurak and Decha. The boy gave her a big grin, and Decha, as if he knew what had happened, yelped and wagged his tail. Sophie roared and charged forward, but she couldn’t go far.
Natalie sprinted to Anurak, lifted him off his feet, and ran with the dog and child out of the building and into the sun. Sophie was still trumpeting when Natalie, out of breath, stopped by a monkey pod tree and leaned against it. Decha held his cast straight out, his tongue drooping from the corner of his mouth in a lopsided dog grin. Anurak looked at his dog, then up at her, and silently began to laugh. Suddenly, she realized that the boy and his dog had made a game of taunting Sophie, and if it continued, one of them could be Sophie’s next victim.
“You’re going to have to stop doing that,” she told Decha, shaking a finger in his face, “and you, too,” she told Anurak as sternly as she could. “Stay away from Sophie, okay?”
She wondered if either of them understood.
__________
There are so many humans Sophie cannot see them all. They flash by in colors like the sun and the river. Though she hunkers her head down, leaving her peripheral vision open to see those flashes of color and people, those brief warnings of danger, she concentrates instead on using her other senses to determine the direction the men are moving.
First, they’re in front of her, and she can see their scowling faces and the swirls they create when they pass in front of her or wave their arms like the river birds. Then they hover behind her legs like flies do after she rolls in the mud.
Some of the men flit to her right, and one has zigzagged behind her left hip. She’s surrounded. Her heart starts beating more quickly. She needs an escape. She must find a way out of this rapidly-tightening circle.
The woman is to Sophie’s right, her voice calmer and lower than the mahouts. She holds herself straight and wide, and she’s taller than the men. They listen to her. They watch her, and so does Sophie, because the woman is trying to control the yellow dog. In and out of the woman’s legs, the dog weaves, in and out. Then he’s dashing in and out of Sophie’s sight, charging forward to bark, then pulling away when the boy who doesn’t make sounds grabs the dog’s ruff. The woman commands the dog, yelling at it the way mahouts yell at Sophie. The dog sits and stares directly into the woman’s face, and it’s clear the dog understands and will obey her.
Sophie cannot be sure. She cannot trust.
The elephant slams down her back feet, lifts her front leg up and, growling, slams it down. She’s afraid. She’s telling them: do not come near.
The yellow dog is unpredictable, and though Sophie can see him sitting at the woman’s command, it is the dog she must watch. He is the danger. His claws ripped the skin of her leg, split it open to burn anew. She must not let him close enough to do the same again. She will kill him if he hurts her again.
Sophie’s ears twitch, begin to flare out. She flaps them, a sure sign she is threatened. The woman calls to the dog as if she senses what Sophie feels. Then she pulls the boy and the dog to the side and talks to them before turning to the other humans with a voice that sounds like a growl. She flails her arms, gestures for them to leave, pushes against them. She looks over her shoulder, says something to Sophie, but the words are lost. Sophie cannot hear them above the men’s yells. So much noise. So many voices.
Sophie grunts, shuffles backward.
Too many humans.
She raises her rear foot, turns it like a small radar. Lowers it to a hairsbreadth above the ground. Dust clouds skitter on the earthen floor, particles really, tickling her sensitive foot pads. She knows without turning her head that the human behind her is moving away. It was a man, the mahout who rides the young female with the high-pitched trumpet that shakes the palm leaves whenever she shrieks. He moves up the road, joining the man who smells of red meat. As they disappear into the dust, they talk loudly, throwing their words to the ones left behind.
The woman continues to move around the circle, speaks to each man, to every mahout who had been around Sophie. The woman sounds angry. She growls like a jungle cat. Urgent. Commanding.
She speaks to each of them, one by one, until she has reached them all, and the waves of her fury appear stilled. They leave, the men, disappearing into the trees like gibbering monkeys, chattering and pushing each other until they are well out of sight.
Only then, when all sound vanishes into the tree branches and she no longer smells the man smell close by, does Sophie feel she can totally lower that rear foot. She settles it down so gently not even one speck of dust is disturbed.
The boy and the yellow dog hug the woman’s shadow, following so close on her heels that she stumbles. She lets loose with a sound, but she laughs. It’s a sound of relief after what could have turned tense.
And, still.
The dog eyes Sophie, and she stiffens, immediately alerted. Vigilant. They stare at each other, daring the other to make the first move. Sophie thinks of the pain. If the dog moves, Sophie will lift him with her trunk and slam him to the ground.
When the woman speaks to the boy, the dog cocks his head, pants with a long pink tongue and wags his stiff sliver of a tail. The woman points toward the dwellings up the road where the others live, and the boy and dog follow her command, sprinting away through the low, sour bushes that lead to the river.
Relieved that the dog is gone, but unsure whether everyone has left, Sophie raises her head, lifts her trunk, scents the air. Only the woman is still here. She stands near Sophie’s head, gazing off into the direction of the river. She reveals no anxiety, no tensions, no rage. She breathes deeply and with regularity. Sophie can sense the beating of the woman’s heart.
She settles her rear leg back to the ground, satisfied. It’s safe.
The woman is safe. She has not caused any harm. She will not hurt Sophie.
But Sophie knows: being alone is always safest.
She looks toward where the sky meets the mountains and watches the last of the sun’s appearance for that day.