Perfect, she thought. Her timing couldn’t have been better. She could get a few moments of precious private moments with him before he headed for his office. She wondered whether he’d seen Peter yet.
Andrew’s hands flew around him like a bird’s wings, conducting the opera still soaring in the background. The aria ended, and he looked disappointed. “Radios were free when I was growing up. My ol’ dad always said classical music and opera would make you smart, so that’s what we listened to. Don’t know if it worked, but I do so appreciate the drama.” He laughed, struck one hand out to the side, then up into the air in a triumphant flourish.
He blasted opera on his stereo every Sunday. Natalie was never sure which one he was playing, but he sang along loudly enough for the whole sanctuary to hear. And badly. So badly, it was humorous.
As the music beckoned her up the road, Natalie remembered how much Danny loved the symphony. One moment, in particular, one precious night they went to the North Carolina Symphony alone, just the two of them. The memory, as brilliant as a ten-carat diamond.
Danny sat in the symphony hall after the lights went down, his dark head bent, nose flaring as if breathing too hard, lips tight and intent. Hands folded like a cathedral spire in his lap as he peered over the railing of their first balcony seats as the tympani pounded and cymbals clashed during the final movement of Tchaikovsky’s Romeo and Juliet Fantasy Overture. His feverish eyes alit and his little fingers twitching as if playing the tympani, and when the string section swelled for that romantic crescendo, his eyes filled and he swiped at them as if embarrassed to be so emotionally swept away.
To this day, she cannot hear that overture without falling to her knees in spasms that literally feel like they will crack her rib cage right down the middle. Each time, she can see his face. His dark eyes focused on something deep within the orchestra that no one else saw but him. He lived between the violin strings. His heart entwined in each pluck of the harp. His soul pounding with each beat of the bass drum.
Andrew’s booming hello brought her back to Thailand and the dirt road and his hut in front of her. Reluctantly, she pushed the memory aside.
“Welcome home!” she said as they hugged. “How’s everything in Kenya?”
“Three new elephants.” Andrew was proud of every animal he could rescue and she had no doubt he would be just as committed to his cause even if he was completely broke. There were some whispers that his vast estates were drying up because of recent fluctuations in the market, but at least for the moment, his philanthropy was healthy.
“But there’s been a spate of poaching, and we lost an entire family on the northern boundary of the reserve.” His voice broke, and he fought back tears, as he always did whenever one of his big lovelies fell to poachers. “The new elephants blended in well with the herd, even though they’ve been witness to the horrible murders. And you know what that means. We’ll be dealing with PTSD for a while. However, my big cows are stepping in as nannies, and I think one of them might have known the other ellies. Gives this ol’ limey a warm feeling in the cockles of my heart when their social structure is repaired.”
Andrew wearily pushed a thick hand through his shock of white hair, but he must have felt Natalie’s eyes on him because he gathered himself and looked at her. “So tell me the news about our ol’ Sophie girl. I hear you’ve made quite a turnaround with her. What kind of magic are you weaving?” He waggled a finger in her face as if he knew all of the details already.
“No magic,” she said. “Simply perseverance and a bit of empathy. Oh, and a lot of consistency. We work on moving her around, getting her to obey simple commands, over and over again, building her trust. That might seem rather simplistic, but it has worked. Also, I think it makes a difference that I’m female. Whenever there’s a guy around, she seems tense.”
Andrew chuckled and patted her on the shoulder. “Sometimes animals do have a gender preference. Would definitely explain a few things wouldn’t it?”
They sat companionably on his porch steps, and for a brief moment, everything was quiet. No birds, animals, leaves turning in the breeze. A pause of life. She took the moment to gather her thoughts about what she wanted to say.
“I’ve written up all of my reports about her, Andrew,” she began. “I’ve been keeping track of all pertinent data in my notebooks since I got here, and I’ve recorded the data into spreadsheets now. I know we have a small sample for the testing, but using Sophie as a case study, I think what I’ve done with her can be compiled into a white paper I’d like to deliver at the next World Veterinary Association congress. That is, of course, if you agree.”
“Impressive! I’m amazed that you’ve found time to think about that, what with all the rest of the hubbub. You’ve been burning the midnight oil, haven’t you? Bravo, my dear, bravo.” He patted her awkwardly on the shoulder, as if he’d decided a hug was too much and a handshake too impersonal. “Can you forward the documents to me so I can look at them more closely?”
She agreed to load them on a jump drive and give them to him, then he asked more about Sophie.
“She shares your love for music,” Natalie said, “and the combination of mahout training along with the protected contact techniques has made her more confident. Having Ali around seems to help, which kind of surprised me. I thought she’d get along better with the females.”
“I’m not surprised,” Andrew said. “Sometimes it all depends on how they were raised. Since Ali was a loner, and so was Sophie, and Siriporn has dealt with both of them, they might be more comfortable being together in this type of situation, even though it would be totally different if they were in the wild. Both of them—Ali and Sophie—are probably picking up on your comfort level. Ali’s laid back. Sophie needs that calmness, and she feels that with you. Siriporn’s got a natural way with the ellies, too. He’s a lover not a fighter.”
They laughed. “I see it at the sanctuary in Kenya all the time,” Andrew continued. “Ellies build relationships, both with other members of the herd as well as with humans.”
She filled him in on the antibiotics she’d given Sophie for her leg infection.
Andrew slapped his leg. “I’m excited. The possibilities . . . we can incorporate the same type of treatment with some of the other elephants—both in Africa and here in Thailand.” He gazed off into the distance, as if considering the next step.
Not once did he mention the costs of such treatment or training, the way Hatcher had, perhaps because he realized that what she had been able to accomplish in a short amount of time was only the tip of the iceberg.
“Write up a draft of a paper, Natalie,” he said as he rose and stretched his arms above his head. “What you’ve learned, love, could help many others. Now, time for lunch, my dear.” He shook his legs out and made his way down the stairs.
“There’s one more thing,” she said, still sitting. “Can you give me a couple more minutes?”
His eyes narrowed a bit as if he suspected he’d have to spend more money, but he sat back down. “Of course. What’s up?”
“It’s Dr. Hatcher,” she began. “I know he’s been here a lot longer than I, and I truly respect his expertise, especially when it comes to pachyderm veterinary treatment . . .”
“I hear a ‘but’ in there.”
She smiled a little and nodded. “I need your advice.”
He leaned forward, attentive, his large hands folded on his knees.
“When I first started working with Sophie, I think Dr. Hatcher questioned my intentions,” Natalie began, “and though I tried to reassure him, he didn’t seem . . . well, happy with my expertise. He asked several times whether I’d been delivering the medicines Sophie needed, he’s been concerned about the amount of the budget that’s been going into Sophie’s care, and I don’t think he agreed with the way I’ve concentrated on her rather than spreading myself out more thinly and working with the rest of the animals here. But the biggest issue . . . my greatest concern . . . is that he tried to put Sophie down without consulting me.” She paused a moment and checked Andrew’s face. He lifted a finger to her as if encouraging her to continue.
“Forgive me if I’m wrong,” Natalie’s voice quivered, “but I thought sanctuary policy states that euthanasia takes the agreement of two vets.”
Andrew held up his hand. “Stop right there. That’s true, but as I understand it, he saw the error of his ways, correct?”
She nodded.
“Sophie’s alive, she’s healing, and we now know how protected contact works. Sounds like a win-win to me.” He rose, using his imperious height. The thinness of his smile showed that his pleasure in the conversation had quickly faded. If there was anything Andrew hated, it was personal drama.
She rose, too, several steps above him, yet still not equal to his height. She’d made a mistake, she knew now, and she was sorry she’d brought up the personal issues she’d had with Peter Hatcher. Her throat constricted and the space behind her eyes burned with unshed angry tears. She swallowed hard. “I’m sorry to bring you into it. I just thought you should know about his dealings with me and some of the other people here.”
“Don’t worry. I know.” Andrew closed his mouth and glanced away, focusing his attentions on something in a distant tree. “Let’s leave it here. Concentrate on what you’ve discovered during the time you’ve spent with Sophie and continue to document what works with her and what doesn’t. Let’s work together to bring the world’s attention to our elephants rather than expending your energies on a bloke who has his own work to do.”
His statement made, he turned and started walking up the road toward the main building and his office.
__________
The broad-leafed trees cast a tiny patch of afternoon shade in front of where Sophie stands. She longs to reach it, but even more, she longs for the mud pit, longs to throw some cool dirt over her back, longs to immerse herself in the hole. The day has been brilliantly hot, the sun boring through the breaks in the overhead leaves like small flumes of fire burning down into the ground. It’s time for the mud pit. Time for some relief from the tightened web of her sagging skin.
She and the woman are working in the enclosure and have been for far too long. Though the woman has brought plenty of food—pumpkins and knobby squashes, zucchini and sweet potatoes—Sophie longs for a bucket of water. A roll in the mud-hole. The river. Anything to cool her skin and to rid herself of the biting flies that have started to inflame the wound in her leg.
But the woman won’t let her out of the enclosure.
The elephant moves from one column to another, from the set of bars near the woman to the opposite side of the enclosure near the gate, trying to find an exit, but they are all blocked. Each time Sophie finds herself blocked, the woman is there, offering a treat, forcing Sophie to remain calm, talking to her, asking her to move or allow her to check the wound. Sometimes they are successful; other times, Sophie won’t submit.
The woman is on the other side of the bars now, moving Sophie back and forth with the soft-tipped poles. Each time Sophie moves, a new zucchini comes through the bars and she takes it, but her thirst for water is greater than her need to please the woman.
She’s growling now.
Irritated.
Still, the woman repeats words that the mahouts use, asking once again that Sophie move in and out of the enclosure, backward and forward. Tired, Sophie still lifts her feet at the woman’s commands. Over and over. The constant movement begins to pull at the wound on the leg that has only a few days ago begun to heal.
She plants her feet, tosses her head, trumpets. Irritated. Finished.
The woman steps back, watching, assessing. “It’s okay, Sophie. It’s okay.”
She says something else that the elephant doesn’t understand but the emotion she senses is the same weariness and exhaustion she, herself, feels.
She wants to lie in the cool river and let it run over her hot body.
Now.
She ducks her head and pushes it against the woman’s back as she would a young elephant. A gentle push. The woman glances up as if she knows the elephant is trying to tell her something but she doesn’t quite understand.
Sophie clicks in the back of her throat. A plea.
The river.
“You’re a good old girl.” The woman reaches into the bucket and offers Sophie some sweet pink fruit that tastes like a mouthful of sweet, cool water. Delicious, but still not what the elephant needs.
The afternoon gong sounds, which means the humans go to the big building, and the animals are left alone. And that means the elephant will not go to the river until the woman returns right before the sun goes down.
The woman leaves, following the rest of the humans as they walk up the road, snaking toward the scent of cooking food.
Sophie trumpets in the woman’s direction. She wants water. The river. The mud bath.
Water.
She trumpets again. Louder, this time. She shakes the enclosure gate with her trunk and tastes the sweetness of what’s left of the woman’s handprint on the iron bars. The elephant still smells the woman’s presence. Sophie shakes the gate again, then throws her head back and roars.
The sound is still echoing through the enclosure when the woman begins running in Sophie’s direction. Sophie throws herself at the wall, still roaring.
The woman calls out and starts running back toward the enclosure. Sophie can hear the pounding of her feet as she comes down the road. Other voices follow her. The men.
Sophie backs into the enclosure when the red and yellow and orange shirts jumble together at the gate. The mahouts have ankuses in their hands. She trumpets again, this time from fear mixed with anger.
The woman orders the elephant to stop. The mahouts pause, each poised to come into the enclosure, each prepared to do what Sophie already knows will hurt. The woman moves closer, says the elephant’s name, speaks quietly, reassuringly.
“Look, look, look, Sophie,” she says, and Sophie does.
But the elephant is not only tired and thirsty now, she’s afraid and angry. She watches the woman closely, but she’s fearful of the men. When she shakes her head, her great ears flap. Dust sprinkles down onto the woman’s hair.
“Leave,” the woman tells the men. She tells them to go, then says something else the elephant doesn’t understand, and waves them away.
They return to the road, talking amongst themselves, glancing back over their shoulder at the elephant and the woman in the enclosure.
Sophie relaxes her ears, shifts from side to side, and looks at the woman.
The woman makes a big circle around the elephant, checking her body, touching near the leg wound, and then she returns to stand in front of Sophie’s face and looks into her mouth, checks her trunk and her eyes.
“Better now?” the woman asks. She stands with the elephant for a long moment, hands on her hips, head cocked as though she’s thinking. Then she opens the gate and motions Sophie forward.
“You’re a good girl, Sophie,” she says, and they head in the direction of the river.
When Sophie sinks into the cool water, she rolls forward, an elephant’s version of a somersault, then curls onto her side, trunk spouting bejeweled water into the hard afternoon sunlight.