CHAPTER 28

“Who was Gerta?” says Evie, sitting cross-legged on the grass with Albine burk burking in her lap. The cats have taken up on either side of George, leaning against him, purring, as they groom and lick their paws.

“Gerta arrived at the zoo when I was ten.”

My age, thinks Evie.

“Gerta was an African elephant, a matriarch of her species. She was magnificent, graceful and kind,” says George, smiling at Evie.

I love elephants, too. Evie sighs. She thinks she’s now finally accepted the fact the baby elephant didn’t make it ashore after the shipwreck, but it still haunts her dreams.

“Gerta was the new star attraction at the zoo. As a temporary measure, she was housed in the old seal enclosure – they’d all died because algae kept growing in the water. It had been drained and converted into an ‘enclosure’ of sorts, but it was a concrete bunker. Windowless and dank, a dreadful place to keep any animal,” explains George, with a pained expression on his face.

Evie feels uncomfortable about this story. It’s causing her stomach to float around inside of her. Grandpa’s face is grimacing and she knows he feels the same. He looks at her with a sadness in his eyes. He holds his arms open to her and she clambers up onto his lap.

“Not long after Gerta arrived, a handler brought out a long, sharp stick with a hook on the end that’s used to control elephants. Well, Gerta took one look at it and pulled against her chains. She’d seen one before. I saw the whites of her eyes; I knew she was scared.” George whispers this last word, as if he didn’t want them to hear it.

“I visited Gerta every day. I’d take an apple or handful of grass and, one day, I plucked up the courage to touch her. I remember feeling astonished at how warm she was. She kept her eyes closed; I’m sure she was imagining she was elsewhere, anywhere but there.”

Evie looks at Rhino. Does he wish he was elsewhere? She can’t answer this, but she does know Rhino doesn’t stand around with his eyes closed. He’s wide-eyed and always wandering off wherever he fancies, in the garden, in the paddocks with Dominique and Bernard and he visits his wallow daily. He sleeps in a warm stable beside Dominique and is watched over by the ladies. He’s not caged or fenced in, he’s free to roam, and he’s surrounded by people who love and care for him. Of course, it’s not his real home, but it is a home of sorts. Evie hopes he’s found some sort of happy.

Rhino stops munching on grass. He glances up to find all three humans staring at him. The golden-haired child, the old human and the young nervous one who has recently arrived. A sadness hovers over him like a storm cloud. But it is the small human child who is staring at him with the greatest intensity. This is not unusual; she often clutches at his head and gazes deeply into his eyes as she questions the world. He shakes his head, curling his pink lips to show her all is well. He knows he is safe, there’s plentiful food and the company is excellent. The humans turn their attention back to the young nervous one. He begins to tell a story, and Rhino can tell already it is not a happy one. Sounds struggle to be free from him and his heart is trembling. Rhino huffs. The nervous one quakes and quavers, shrinking into himself like a pangolin. He is not one to face things. There is tragedy in this story and Rhino watches as the human child turns her face away to burrow into the old human. Rhino burps softly, lowers his head and watches on respectfully through his eyelashes. He cannot turn away, just in case the golden-haired child needs him.

Evie looks back to George. She doesn’t want to listen to him, but finds she can’t stop herself. He takes a shaky breath and continues.

“I begged my father to build Gerta an enclosure with trees and grass and, for once, he paid attention to me. But it wasn’t long after one was built that a zoo handler poked Gerta once too often with the hook. He went flying and was dead before he hit the ground. Gerta was back in the bunker, this time with her feet chained to the floor.”

Evie feels tears spill from her eyes. Tears for Gerta. Tears for George. She buries herself into Grandpa’s jacket, and inhales everything that is safe; bran and molasses, smoke and ink.

George exhales a shaky breath and talks on, ever so quietly, ever so sadly. “You see, Gerta was captured as an adult. She’d known freedom in her life and they never forget it. She was tortured by the memory of it and by the time I met her, she hadn’t been happy for a long time. Gerta took up a constant, hypnotic swaying, rocking from side to side for hours on end. She never opened her eyes again, nor did she eat again.”

“She willed herself to die,” whispers Grandpa.

“And so I refuse to work with zoo animals. Because of Gerta’s suffering. Because I couldn’t save her.”

“George, you were a little boy. You were ten years old. This wasn’t your fault, my boy.”

George stares up into the sky. “I’ve got to head into Breamlea first thing in the morning to find out where the zoo handlers and bullock dray have got to.”

Grandpa nods.

Evie stares up into the same sky. She knows now there’s no way she can allow Rhino to go to the zoo. He wouldn’t survive.

Clouds are swirling and gathering above Lunar House. Evie’s mind is swirling and gathering. And then, like a bolt out of the blue, a solution.

If Rhino disappears, then they can’t take him away.