“Best I can do right now,” she pronounced and closed her laptop. She had spent the whole morning trying to finish the paper. She tried to push it out of her mind as she readied herself for the day, but it kept sneaking back, so she kept one more small notebook in her pocket and jotted down her thoughts, intending to do a final rewrite later before sending it off. She had a pile of notebooks atop the table in the corner of her room. Thankfully, Maman had more coming in a box already on the way.
Siriporn had fed Sophie and taken her to the river while Natalie wrote, so she anxiously wanted to hear how Sophie had done with the other elephants, though she sensed it must have gone well. If it hadn’t, the whole sanctuary would have heard about it by now. It didn’t take long for news to travel.
Mali was still in the kitchen when Natalie arrived at the platform, so she made a cup of tea and sat quietly at a table, watching angry gray storm clouds gathering above the mountains. Everything smelled like rain. The elephants huddled in a tight group at the far end of the platform. The whole baker’s dozen of them: trunk to tail to trunk.
They must sense another storm coming, she thought as she sipped the bitter and hot black tea. Elephants heard rain and wind more than a hundred miles away, often pointing with their trunks in the storm’s direction, Andrew had said in his lecture at the conference where she met him. African herds migrated at the end of dry season because they knew there’d be fresh water if they moved toward the area most likely to get rain. Meteorologists could put away all their fancy equipment if they learned to read animals, Natalie thought. Crossing her ankle over her knee, she once again marveled at all she had yet to learn about animals even after many years of schooling and many more of daily experience.
A breeze picked up and blew her napkin across the table. She wore long cotton pants for the first time in months and folded her arms to her chest to make up for the flimsy t-shirt she wore. The temperature had dropped ten degrees since she awoke, but she laughed when she realized it felt chilly though the temp hovered between eighty-five and ninety degrees Fahrenheit. Nowhere near the chilliness of a North Carolina winter.
A pair of feet came into her line of vision—dirty, missing two toenails on the right foot. Siriporn’s feet. She glanced up at his smiling face.
“In old day, instead of saying ‘Saw-a-dee,’ we ask ‘have you eaten yet.’ Show we care for you.” He plopped down next to her and folded his hands on the table. “So, have you eaten yet?”
She lifted her cup in answer. “Only this.”
“That not food. You too skinny. Voice not deep enough to command Sophie. Eat more!” He pounded his chest in a comical Tarzan imitation.
She laughed and shook her head, remembering her mother accusing her of being anorexic. Little did she realize that no matter how much Natalie ate, she didn’t put on a pound. “You have a hollow leg,” her father would say. Natalie laughed again. Siriporn seemed pleased to make her smile.
“How did Sophie do this morning?” she asked.
“Eat first. Then talk.” He padded toward the kitchen, his bare feet slapping against the cement. She watched his strong, walnut-colored calves, wondering idly whether hers would ever be as strong. When he returned, he held two bowls of rice and placed one in front of her.
In silence, they ate for a little while, Siriporn scooping the rice with his fingers, the Thai way. Natalie gave him the respect he requested and waited for him to finish before she pointedly raised an eyebrow and asked again.
“All the ellies play in the mud with truck tire. Sophie watch, then she play like schoolgirl. That’s why her job perfect.”
“Her job?”
“She’s one of oldest females. Should teach younger ones. Good for her. Make her feel better.”
Natalie pondered Siriporn’s statement. True, Sophie had improved tremendously in the past couple of months, and she always got along better with elephants than with human beings and dogs. Could it be time to start putting her back in with the herd? The only thing stopping Natalie from doing so were the dozens of dogs who roamed freely throughout the sanctuary. If Sophie ran into one, Natalie had no idea what the elephant would do. PTSD could rear its ugly head at any time, and Sophie could easily kill any dog that irritated her. On the other hand, Siriporn could have suggested the very thing Sophie needed in order to take her next step in recovery. Giving to others worked for Natalie. Why not for Sophie, too? Perhaps Siriporn made a good point. Maybe they needed to try.
They spent the next half hour planning how to re-introduce Sophie to the herd, and when they were done, Natalie headed for Andrew’s cabin to ask him whether he could have everyone rein in the dogs and keep them confined to one area of the sanctuary for the next couple of days while she and Siriporn worked with Sophie.
It was the first time she’d visited his cabin since the day he’d upbraided her about complaining about Peter, and though she didn’t look forward to talking to him, she knew he held no grudges and would probably concentrate on the task at hand rather than bringing up what she’d said. She knocked on his door and waited a minute, hearing a bit of a scuffle like a chair being pulled back from inside. When he didn’t answer the door, she knocked again.
“Coming!” he said. Then the door opened and he stood there, red-faced, white hair wild, his shirt half-buttoned. “Oh, Natalie. Ummm . . .” He glanced over his shoulder, then back at her, all the while buttoning his shirt. His feet were bare, and she suspected someone else shared the cabin, but she didn’t want to know who. Especially if it wasn’t Mali.
“Sorry to interrupt, Andrew, but Siriporn and I were just talking about Sophie and planning on reintroducing her to the herd and we wanted . . .” She rambled through the plans they’d discussed and asked about the dogs, wondering as she spoke whether he heard anything she said because he appeared thoroughly disconnected. Though he nodded as she spoke, he wasn’t looking at her. Instead, he stared over her shoulder and cocked his head as if trying to hear any noises coming from within the cabin.
“Sounds good, sounds good,” he finally said and she heard a brushoff in his tone. “Let’s get together and talk about it at dinnertime, say? And why don’t we talk about your article then, too.”
She nodded, and he closed the door. In her face. Before she headed back down the stairs, she heard a woman’s voice from inside. Mali’s voice.
That was strange, Natalie thought as she headed for her own cabin. Why wouldn’t Mali say hello? She shook off her curiosity, certain she’d interrupted something.
By the time she’d reached her own cabin, she’d thought more about the article and had made a few more mental notes. Actually, it would be good to talk to Andrew about the paper she’d written about Sophie and how she’d worked with her, combining old mahout techniques with Protected Contact. She’d started sending out queries about it several weeks ago, and one of the international veterinary medicine journals had already expressed interest. It had been a long time since she’d published, so opening the email to read of the editor’s fascination with her project had given her a thrill. Unfortunately, she couldn’t share her excitement with anyone yet, because it wasn’t officially accepted. She’d probably push the “send” button on her rewrite late at night. Today was the first chance she’d had to speak with Andrew. Though he wasn’t a vet, he’d have some great input, for sure. She’d concentrate on that rather than her odd interaction with him, she decided.
She caught a glimpse of herself in the small mirror hanging by her door. Her dark hair was a mess, frizzy around her hairline from the humidity of the day and caught in a long tangle of braids that fell to the middle of her back, but her brown eyes were bright and her smile wide. She almost didn’t recognize herself. The shock made her step back and re-examine the image in the mirror. How long had it been since she’d actually looked at herself when she combed her hair or brushed her teeth? She didn’t have a mirror above the bowl she used for cleaning every morning. A previous owner had left this tiny mirror behind, and she had to be honest with herself: this was the first time she’d actually peered into it.
Now she stepped closer and examined herself. No makeup, no long hours spent working the frizz out of her hair, no monthly appointments for facials. This was her. Fresh. Simple. Unadorned. Her skin: blemish-free and browned by the hours she spent in the sun. Her eyes: clear. No dark bags underneath as there had been during the year after Danny’s and Stephen’s deaths. She slept every night now. Sometimes she didn’t dream or even realize she was falling asleep. She’d simply lie down and suddenly she’d be conscious again, and it would be the next day. And even though she felt like she’d never get rid of the dirt under her fingernails, she didn’t look dirty in her mirror. She looked . . . what was it? Happy? No, not happy. Content. In spite of all the stresses of working with Sophie and the other animals and the tension with Peter Hatcher, she was content.
She stepped back and laughed. Content. No shit.