She spent the whole day with Sophie, working on commands, moving her in and out of protected contact, practicing lifting her feet, making sure Sophie felt comfortable with Natalie’s hands in her mouth, taking multiple trips to the mud baths and the river. Anything to stay busy. Anything to push away the clouds of doubt and the streams of memories. Anything to quell the homesickness.
Cicadas buzzed as the sanctuary’s dogs chased each other in a game of rough-and-tumble tag on the platform. Most of the volunteers had returned home for the Christmas holidays, leaving for the month of December to return in January, if they were to return at all. A skeleton crew remained so that the administrative duties would be accomplished. All of the Thai staff were still in place since the majority of them were born in the area and Buddhist. Of the non-Thai staff, only Karina, Hatcher, and Natalie stayed to celebrate the Christian holiday. Andrew, still in Africa, probably wouldn’t return until February. Andrew’s absence provided a stay of execution for Sophie and gave Natalie more time to work with her.
But it still wasn’t enough.
Whenever there was a thirty- or ten- or even a two-second lapse in activity, memories cropped up in Natalie’s mind: Danny’s first Christmas when he stared at the lights, fascinated by their brilliance. That simple act thrilled all the adults around him. He had been the center of attention since birth, a happy baby who giggled constantly. Even two-year-old Stephen got a kick out of the baby’s wide-eyed staring at anything that twinkled or sparkled.
By his third birthday, Stephen understood Christmas and Santa Claus, and he begged her to take him to see the “toeman” (his way of saying “snowman”) in the yard around the corner, and he never understood when she tried to explain that the eight-foot-tall blowup snowman lit up only when it was dark outside. Each night when she picked him up from daycare, they came home via another route so they could see different decorations, but he wanted—and expected—to see that “toeman,” so she finally gave up on everything else. And he smiled and laughed every time they did see that “toeman.” He told Santa Claus that Christmas that he wanted the “biggest blue bike,” and when Natalie asked him why, Stephen answered in his best three-year-old serious voice, “Because blue bikes are the fastest, Momma.”
“He would’ve loved you, Sophie. Both of them would have,” she whispered into the elephant’s ear as they walked back from the river.
In the distance, she heard laughter coming from the administration building and realized with a start that it was dinnertime. She imagined Hatcher and Karina at the table with a bottle of wine and the Christmas chicken they’d talked Hom, Mali’s friend and one of the cooks, into butchering for their holiday dinner. For a long moment, she and Sophie stood silently in the road, listening to the echoes of the conversation. Natalie considered getting Sophie settled and going to join them. Perhaps it was time to put differences aside and celebrate the holiday the way it should be. On some soundless nights, the loneliness for home and familiar things manifested as a physical weight on her chest. Tonight’s weight felt astronomical. She’d stay alone tonight. Being around others would only accentuate the depth of her loneliness.
Still, she was hungry and it certainly would be nice to at least have a festive dinner—even though she had no desire whatsoever to break bread with anyone—least of all, Hatcher and Karina.
While she fed Sophie back at the enclosure, she fought with herself about sharing dinner with the others. She sang a Beatles’ song to Sophie as her stomach growled again, and Sophie farted in response.
“Thanks, Soph. God! Talk about curing someone of their hunger.” She backed off and waved her hand in front of her face. She could have sworn Sophie grinned, having a good joke on the stupid human. “Okay, I give. I’m leaving.”
In the dark, she found her way to the back of the administration building, hoping she could find the kitchen door and beg some food from Hom. She knew the women in the kitchen would think it strange, especially since she’d never been to the kitchen’s back door before, but she really didn’t want to be forced to share an uncomfortable meal with Hatcher and Karina. A faint light from inside beckoned her.
Female voices and laughter floated through the kitchen’s screen door as she drew closer. One of the voices sounded like Hom’s. Her high-pitched giggle rose in octaves depending upon how tickled she felt, and right now, she seemed breathless. Natalie felt a little twinge of jealousy that she’d been left out of moments like this, but it passed as quickly as it came when she caught the unmistakable fragrance of green curry chicken and another scent—pungent and spicy. In the dark, she couldn’t identify the plants and bushes, but she suspected the scent came from one of them, then she bumped into something wooden.
A box set up above the ground. Her fingers explored the side of the box, and she wound her way around it until she faced its front. The scent came from the box, not the kitchen. A yellow light streaming from the kitchen door highlighted the box, which she now realized was a Buddhist spirit house, the center of which held a sitting statue of a Buddha. An altar shelf filled with half-burnt candles and small mementoes: a statue of a little man, a car, a tiny doll, some beads, and what appeared to be a dozen eggs. The spirit house, shaped like a temple, had probably been built at the same time the main building was erected.
The incense. That’s what I smelled.
She’d seen spirit houses throughout the country: on street corners, in funny little alcoves outside convenience stores, at entrances of parks, or in doorways of apartment buildings. Wherever there were people and homes, the spirit houses were there, too, to pay homage to the land and to the ancestors who owned it.
On the opposite side of the box: a color candid shot of a little boy around six years old in full head-thrown-back laughter. She could practically hear his delighted chortle and imagined him trying to get his favorite dog to behave. She lifted her fingers to smooth the photograph’s edge. A lump rose in her throat. She turned away.
The screen door slammed. She heard a match strike and a cough. She spotted Hom.
They both jumped as if they’d seen a spirit and shared a good belly laugh with each other. When the giggles died down, Natalie pointed to the photo of the little boy, then to Hom.
“Is he yours?” she asked.
Hom looked at her blankly. She knew very little English.
Natalie pantomimed rocking a baby, pointed to the photo, then to Hom. This time, Hom’s face brightened.
“Your baby?” Natalie asked.
“Beebee, beebee.” Hom pointed to her stomach, then rocked an imaginary child and pointed to the photograph. The light from the kitchen door framed Hom’s round face. A definite resemblance, she seemed to say. Hom smiled, somewhat reassuringly, and reached out to touch Natalie’s arm.
“Aaa-haan-meuu-yin? Dinner?” Hom asked, pantomiming a plate and moving her hand from the ‘plate’ to her mouth, then pantomiming the act of chewing. “Yum, yum.” She rubbed her stomach, motioning for Natalie to follow her.
Inside the small kitchen, three women bustled about, cleaning up pans, sweeping the floor, putting food back into the industrial sized refrigerator. One large stove took up one wall, the sink and refrigerator against the other. An amazingly small kitchen for the amount of food that they produced every day. And it sizzled inside the little room. But it didn’t seem to matter to the women. One of them, whom Natalie had never seen before, handed her a disk full of chicken and rice and vegetables that smelled so spicy it made her mouth water. She started walking out the door, intending to take it back to her cabin, but the woman pulled over a three-legged stool and motioned for Natalie to sit and eat. So she did.
She ate her Christmas dinner as if she hadn’t eaten for the past three days, all the while watching the women as they moved confidently around each other, wrapping up leftovers, cleaning the only counter in the kitchen and scrubbing the remaining pots. By the time she finished eating, they had completed their tasks, so they all left the kitchen together. Hom shut off the kitchen light and, in complete darkness, the trio of women moved off into the night, heading for the enclave of cabins located on the other side of the administration building. The opposite direction that Natalie headed.
After they walked away, the surrounding vegetation swallowed whatever sounds they might have made, leaving Natalie in silence under the stars. She took a deep breath and tasted the chicken’s spices, a very different taste from what she would have eaten any other Christmas night.
In her ear, Danny whispered, “What an adventure you’re having, Mommy.”
She felt a faint brush of wind, as soft as a breath, and reached her fingers up, knowing she wouldn’t catch it. But she smiled anyway. It was okay. Everything was as it should be.
On her walk down the road back to her bungalow, she found her voice and lifted it clearly to the stars.
You’d better watch out.
You’d better not cry.
You’d better not pout.
I’m telling you why.
Santa Claus is coming to town.
Danny’s favorite.
She lifted her head to the sky. Thousands of stars dotted the heavens in familiar constellations and unfamiliar clusters. She’d never been an astronomy buff—she was lucky she knew how to spot the Big Dipper—but she loved looking at the sky. In the moment and more than a little buzzed from the wine, she shut off the lantern and let the night settle around her. Gradually, her eyes adjusted and she discerned the shapes of trees and the roofline of one of the cabins to her right. For several long moments, she stood there, staring into the night sky, not thinking, simply breathing. Then the sound of the sanctuary’s phone ringing in the near distance broke the silence, reminding her she hadn’t ventured very far from the platform.
After the third ring, she heard Hatcher’s gruff “hullo.” Amazed she could hear him so clearly, she remained anchored, wondering who’d be calling so late. Then she fuzzily realized it had to be a long distance call. Another time zone. Part of her hoped it was her mother: it would have been good to hear from home, but Maman wasn’t prone to unplanned phone calls or visits. Natalie knew when Maman would call because she wrote to let Natalie know weeks in advance. Natalie often teased Maman that mail actually did arrive within a week to ten days, and if Maman wanted to reach Natalie sooner, she could email. But, no, Maman was very old school: paper letters—handwritten—and long, newsy phone calls.
“No, I’m alone right now,” Hatcher said. “How are things in Kenya?” His voice floated through the clear night air as though he held a microphone. It had to be Andrew calling. “Things are going well, for the most part. Running a skeleton ship here, you know. Everyone’s gone home for the holidays . . . yes, yes, yes, most back in January . . . no, we’ll be fine. All the mahouts are still here . . . yes, yes, that’s fine . . . she’s still here . . .”
For several moments, he only murmured or huffed, then, “You have a lot more faith in her than I do . . .”
Natalie’s ears pricked up. Was it the tone of Hatcher’s voice or the words he used that told her he was talking about her?
“Do you realize how much money we’ve spent on her little experiment? Nearly seventy-five thousand American dollars!” Another silence. Hatcher kept trying to speak, but Andrew must have been having his own say on the other end of the line. “We’ve never spent this much on one elephant. If we have a medical emergency anytime soon, we’re royally buggered.”
Natalie sucked in her breath. Hatcher was lying through his teeth! The expenses were minimal. Where the hell did he get that figure? Whoa, wait a minute. Karina. Natalie wished she could hear Andrew’s response.
“Sophie’s a serious waste of time and resources, Andrew, and you know it. She’ll come only so far, then something will push one of her buttons, and she’ll blow her cork, like before. We need to cut our losses . . . I know . . . I know . . . No, I don’t think that’ll work. You know how I feel about this!” Hatcher’s voice became more strident. He liked having his own way, and right now, it didn’t appear that was happening. “She’s going to hurt someone, and we’ll end up being sued . . . I know, you must under—Don’t worry. I won’t.” He grunted a few times. Listened.
Deep down, Natalie felt a guilty pleasure hearing Hatcher bumble around and was glad she hadn’t butted in when she heard him lie. He’d entrap himself without her help. She had become so used to his bullying that his failings were a relief of sorts. Made him halfway human. A contradiction, of sorts.
“All the other ellies are fine. Yes. Dogs, too . . . yes, Mali went to her sister’s for a couple of days. Should be back Saturday . . . okay, I will . . . don’t worry, I won’t say anything . . . Andrew! I said I wouldn’t say anything . . . you know I don’t like the woman . . . It’s more than the dissertation, Andrew. You know that . . . But we’re supposed to discuss these hires before you bring them onboard. If you’d talked to me . . .” Silence again.
The hair on the back of Natalie’s neck bristled.
“Yes, I understand that.” Hatcher’s voice grew quieter, like a schoolboy answering his teacher. “I do understand, but I wish we had.” The conversation stopped right there.
Afraid to breathe, Natalie waited a couple more moments, then realized Andrew must have hung up. He had a reputation for ending conversations where he wanted them to end, often spinning on one heel and walking away, interrupting the other person mid-sentence. Even Mali complained of his tendency to be curt. Knowing that Andrew had cut Hatcher’s conversation short gave her an even greater sense of satisfaction than she’d felt listening to Hatcher stumble over his own words.
A cough echoed in the night air. Footsteps. Hatcher came down the path toward her. She turned and walked quickly toward her cabin, feeling with her feet for the path, keeping her lamp unlit and hoping she didn’t trip on the way.
The smell of ginger blossoms suddenly turned sour.