4

Hagenbeck headed the Badtjala group and Louis towards the carriage and the elephants. ‘It is time we left,’ he said within Hilda’s hearing. He directed Dorondera into the carriage, where Hilda took hold of her hand.

‘A boy threw a stone at Uncle,’ Dorondera said.

‘A boy!’ Hilda was ashamed that such a thing could happen in her country. ‘I am so sorry,’ she said, aware that already she was apologising too often on this journey about which she had been so hopeful.

‘It was just a foolish boy,’ Hilda’s father told her.

Hagenbeck issued a command to the Sinhalese men in their own language, and the men spoke to their elephants, which bowed. The men held the animals’ ears and pulled themselves over the elephants’ heads and onto their backs. The rider of the lead animal raised his arms into the air, and the audience clapped. The man pointed to Bonny and indicated that it was his turn.

‘I am to ride it?’ Bonny asked Louis in Badtjala, for the first time appearing afraid. The only large animals he had seen were horses ridden by police and native troopers, intent on murder.

Hilda turned to Herr Hagenbeck. How could he think it ‘natural’ for an Aboriginal man to ride an elephant? She considered how she might politely challenge him, but Bonny was already repeating the command he had heard the Sinhalese man make and the elephant bowed its head obediently. Bonny smiled in apparent surprise as he took the creature by the ears and climbed onto its back. Several of the audience shouted their approval and the mood shifted again to one of lively appreciation. The crowd was like a giant school of fish, changing its mood and direction en masse, Hilda realised. The man seated behind Bonny moved further backwards until there was a foot of space between them.

‘Now the second Australneger,’ the showman said in German, pointing at Jurano and the next elephant. Jurano mounted the beast whose rider made room for him and called out something to his compatriot, who answered with a laugh and a wave of his hand.

‘What did he say?’ Hilda asked the showman.

Hagenbeck shook his head. ‘I’m not sure. I understand only the basics. When they want to speak privately, they talk quickly like that and I am lost. They are quite cunning.’ The second elephant rider shouted again to the first, and Hagenbeck stopped to listen, then held up his right index finger.

‘Ah.’ The showman nodded. ‘He said, “We ride with monkeys!”’ Hagenbeck chuckled and shook his head, speaking loudly enough for a German boy beside him to hear and reach into his distracted mother’s basket for a banana.

‘Here, Mr Monkey!’ the boy shouted, throwing the banana up towards Bonny, who caught it without understanding the joke. He did not know of monkeys and peeled the banana to spreading applause. People passed the joke between them, and it travelled backwards through the crowd. The woman who Hilda assumed was the boy’s mother flattened her son’s golden hair with her gloved hand.

Before Hilda could say anything to Bonny, the carriage door was shut and the parade lurched forwards, trundling close to the shopfronts that lined the docks. Hilda had not said goodbye to Johann, who was still unloading goods, and wondered if she would ever see him again.

They passed a store crammed to the rafters with caged animals just as Hagenbeck had described. Frenzied birds were confined to tiny cages alongside squawking monkeys of all shapes and sizes, their cages stacked atop and beside one another with no space in between. Hilda pointed at one monkey holding the finger of its neighbour through metal bars. Two others were fighting.

It was not until the elephants turned the corner into a narrow laneway that Hilda again glimpsed Bonny and Jurano through the carriage window. The crowd forced its way forwards and squeezed around the elephants. Someone grabbed hold of Bonny’s foot, and Hilda feared that if the animals panicked in the mayhem, Bonny or Jurano might fall and be crushed.

Finally, the parade drew to a close at 13 Neuer Pferdemarkt. Other than the words ‘Carl Hagenbeck’s Thierpark’ nailed in large lettering across the front, it looked like many other Hamburg residences: brick and stone, with rows of large rectangular windows on each of its three storeys, and a wooden door built under a stone archway. The Sinhalese men steered the elephants down a laneway that ran between Hagenbeck’s home and the next building.

Herr Hagenbeck leapt from the box seat onto the gravel road. He opened the carriage door for Hilda and Dorondera.

‘Wilkommen,’ he said. He pointed to the front door of his house, and Hilda felt her father’s eyes on her, hoping she was pleased.

‘Thank you,’ she said. Thinking back to the basic camp on K’gari, and of what her father would want her to say, she added, ‘You have a lovely home.’

Hagenbeck laughed. ‘It is quite ordinary, but wait until you see behind it.’ At the front door, Hagenbeck introduced his wife, a dark-haired woman in a white blouse and long black skirt, who shook their hands and introduced them to two older children and several grandchildren. All appeared to be taking the new arrivals in their stride.

‘It is his family?’ Dorondera asked in Badtjala.

‘Yes,’ Hilda replied. ‘Papa says he has other children, too. Grown up.’ Hagenbeck’s wife was listening intently, looking to Hilda for a translation, but Hagenbeck had turned to the crowd and was asking for silence.

‘How fortunate we are in Hamburg that we don’t need to endure the risks of travel to see such exotic beasts and men!’ Hagenbeck exclaimed. He paused to allow the crowd to applaud and waited again for the clapping to subside. Hilda looked at Hagenbeck’s children and grandchildren in their buttoned-up shirts and stiff jackets. One was watching a bee busying itself at a flower, while another was eyeing the boomerang in Bonny’s belt. Hilda remembered Little Bonny once using wax to glue a small feather to a bee’s wing so that he could follow it and find the nest.

‘There will be a break of three hours. Gates open again at four o’clock. We invite you to return then!’ Hagenbeck waved his hat and opened his home’s front door, directing Hilda, her father and Dorondera inside. His family followed in an orderly line. The showman shut the door behind himself and breathed out lengthily as if he, too, were exhausted from a journey that had spanned continents and oceans.

Inside was an unattended ticket booth and a large corridor adorned with taxidermised creatures, antlers and animal skulls. Dorondera’s mouth fell open as she pointed at a monstrous set of antlers.

‘From what animal?’ she asked in Badtjala.

‘Are they from a deer, Herr Hagenbeck?’ Hilda asked, pointing also.

‘A reindeer. The Laps brought them.’

Hilda had no translation.

‘Very dangerous?’ Dorondera asked.

‘No, not really,’ Hilda said. ‘Good eating. It would feed all those on K’gari for a month.’ She smiled and Dorondera laughed behind her hand, a gesture Hilda had not seen her make before. Dorondera, it seemed, had been observing the audience as closely as she was being watched.

‘What are you saying?’ Hagenbeck’s wife shook her head.

‘My apologies,’ Hilda said. ‘Herr Hagenbeck asked that our friends only speak Badtjala. I was just saying a reindeer would feed many people back on the island where Dorondera comes from.’

‘Yes, I’m sure,’ the woman said. She touched Dorondera’s wallaby-skin cape.

‘From the wallaby that died aboard,’ Hilda informed her.

‘Shame,’ Herr Hagenbeck said. ‘My nephew is schooled in taxidermy. He could have used it. There is always a demand for such curiosities. And the skeleton?’

‘I have a contact at the Museum Godeffroy …’ Louis said.

Hagenbeck raised his eyebrows. ‘Of course. They are fond of such things there.’ He paused. ‘I, on the other hand, prefer living exhibits.’

He opened the large back doors onto a terrace and, beyond it, the thierpark, a rectangular open space, overlooked on all sides by three- and four-storey residences. The gravel yard was dotted with a small patch of lawn, several trees, huts, an aviary and two large iron cages where Hilda was enthralled to see two polar bears and several prowling tigers.

‘Look!’ She pointed to the iron cages.

Dorondera’s eyes opened wider still and Hilda looped her arm through her friend’s, proud to be showing her such things. Birds of various shapes and colours began to call in all manner of song, drawing Hilda and Dorondera’s attention to the aviaries, the wire sides of which were woven with feathers, reminding Hilda of a child’s tapestry. There was a small pond where pink flamingos stood. Dorondera and Hilda squealed with each new discovery. It was the most exciting and wondrous place Hilda had ever been. It is all worth it, she told herself.

Hagenbeck laughed. ‘I am delighted you approve.’ He nodded at Hilda and winked at Louis.

All along the thierpark’s thickly vegetated perimeter fence were the pale faces of small children and their parents trying to gain a glimpse inside without paying. Hilda looked up at the surrounding residences where more children were leaning out of windows. What fortunate children to be able to look down upon all of this, she reflected.

‘Usually, the animals are here for about a week, until the buyers collect them,’ Hagenbeck said. ‘So, it is ever changing. We’ve had up to one hundred specimens at any one time. Large and small.’

‘Your very own Noah’s ark,’ Louis said, and Hagenbeck dipped his head in recognition of the compliment.

At that moment, an elephant trumpeted. Through the rear gate, the Sinhalese men, Bonny and Jurano entered the grounds atop their elephants. Hilda’s heart soared as she admired Bonny, regal on the beast.

‘With the quite recent addition of exotic people, I now call my shows “anthropozoological exhibitions”,’ the showman said, and Hilda recalled the letter that she had read under the pandanus, a world away.

‘Where will our friends perform?’ Hilda asked as Bonny and Jurano proudly dismounted and approached.

‘Here also.’ Hagenbeck watched closely as the elephants were chained to a nearby tree, denuded of its lower branches. ‘But we have access to the city’s zoological gardens if we need more space. Maybe for the throwing of the boomerang.’

From the doorway of a crude bamboo outbuilding, a dark-skinned girl aged five or six extended her head. Hilda hadn’t realised there were children here. A woman, perhaps the girl’s mother, appeared and called to the elephant drivers. She seemed taken aback by the sight of Bonny and Jurano.

Hagenbeck held up his hand to her. He spoke in the woman’s language and she retreated once more into her shelter, apparently placated.

‘You were being modest,’ Hilda said.

‘I only know the key words and phrases.’

Louis addressed Hagenbeck. ‘Do you mind if I …?’ He made a swirl with his index finger, indicating a walk around the garden.

‘Be my guest.’

But Bonny and Jurano were already leading the way. They peered, awestruck, at the sleeping polar bears and spoke quickly between themselves in hushed voices.

Hagenbeck surveyed his mini-empire. ‘When I have raised enough capital, I intend to buy acreage in Stellingen where there will be no fences, no territories,’ he said. ‘The animals will be free to roam.’

‘You’ve shown people from a number of countries, Papa tells me.’

‘Yes.’ Hagenbeck nodded. ‘A minute.’ He stepped back inside his residence and entered a room to the right of the expansive hallway. When he re-emerged, he brought with him a weighty stack of cartes de visite, which he handed to Hilda. There were multiples of each, and Hilda supposed Hagenbeck had printed hundreds of them to sell to visitors.

In the border above the first image were the words ‘Carl Hagenbeck’s Thierpark’ printed in bold text. Hilda looked into the faces of the photographed group: men, women and children. Along the margin was written ‘Laplanders 1874’. There were sleds and dogs, and cloth tents, despite the snow. The fair-haired people wore animal-skin clothes and leather shoes. There was a reindeer with large antlers. No one was smiling. Hilda tilted the card so that Dorondera could see it and pointed at the antlers.

‘Our little friends from the northern Arctic,’ Hagenbeck said. ‘A great success. And the next?’ He signalled for Hilda to turn to the next set of images.

Hilda put the copies of the first card to the back of the pile and looked instead into the faces of ten Africans. She recognised the photograph from the one Hagenbeck had sent her father.

‘Nubians,’ Hagenbeck declared. ‘From the Egyptian Sudan. Another most successful tour. You have never seen such excitement in the eyes of children as when the Nubian caravan arrived by train in Berlin. There were ten males and one female, plus elephants, rhinos, giraffe, and a number of cattle, zebus, ostriches, donkeys, young lions, monkeys, sheep and goats. Such a spectacle! The procession progressed from the train station along Mühlenstrasse, across the bridge and beside the canal to the zoo. The soiree that night was something I will never forget. Our African visitors played games and music with the Berliners long into the night.’

He ran his finger under the text in the bottom margin: Berlin, 1878. ‘That picture was taken on the first Sunday of the first show. Sixty-two thousand people came to see them that day. Some called it “Nubian Fever”.’

Hilda waited for the man to laugh, or to show by way of some facial expression that he knew he was bragging, but he didn’t. Christel would never have let Louis get away with such a boast. And what of Herr Hagenbeck’s insistence on authenticity? Hilda pictured the Africans playing German games with the Berliners. Card games? And what music?

‘Did they tour?’ Louis asked, evidently impressed.

‘Of course,’ Hagenbeck said. ‘They travelled here to Hamburg, then Dusseldorf, Paris and Breslau, delighting everyone who saw them. Surprisingly good horse riders. Camel riders, too, of course. They returned the following winter and were shown in Frankfurt, Dresden, London and Berlin.’

Hilda flicked to the next series of photographs. It was clear they were becoming part of a phenomenon that was sweeping Europe. They were at the very heart of it.

‘Ah yes, the first group of Eskimos,’ Hagenbeck said. ‘They toured widely.’ Hagenbeck held up his fist, extending his fingers one by one as he listed the places, ‘Paris, Brussels, Cologne, Berlin, Dresden, Hamburg and Copenhagen. We were lucky in Berlin to have a visit from Emperor Wilhelm.’

‘The emperor?’ Louis said, and Hilda noticed his chest expand.

‘Yes,’ Hagenbeck said, as if it were not uncommon. ‘He was very taken with how they handled their kayaks on the lake, flipping them and righting them, flipping them, righting them again.’ He turned his hand over and back in quick succession, shaking his head in amusement. ‘The emperor loved that.’ Hagenbeck ran his fingers across the image of the group and finished with a tap of his finger in the right-hand margin, as though finishing a sentence. ‘All returned home in good health.’

Hilda turned to the next image.

‘Sadly, not so for Abraham and his family – Eskimos from Labrador.’

Hagenbeck took the card and looked closely at it. He was quiet for a few seconds. ‘Very, very sad. We toured them with a trio of wild Eskimo from further north, housed separately. Abraham and his family were devout Christians. Moravians. They despised the heathen ways of the wild group.’ He drew in a long breath. ‘I mentioned this at the docks. The smallpox that afflicted them was of the worst sort. Haemorrhagic. Horribly fast, often killing before the pustules even appear. Two of the northern group and Abraham’s baby daughter died here in Germany, the others in Paris.’ He studied Hilda. ‘You see why I wasted no time with the vaccinations this time.’

‘Hilda?’ Dorondera probed, reading her friend’s concern as she looked over Hilda’s shoulder at the photograph.

‘They got the white-man disease we talked about,’ Hilda answered, still in Badtjala, touching Dorondera’s vaccination site. ‘But you are safe now.’ She smiled reassuringly, but she felt deeply shaken.

‘Abraham spoke three languages and played the violin,’ Hagenbeck said. ‘Most exceptional.’

‘What did the audiences make of that?’ Hilda asked.

‘For them, he was proof of the civilising impact of religion. In the shows he mostly rode the dog sleds and fished. Normal everyday activities.’ He rubbed the corner of the card several times with his thumb and appeared momentarily lost in the image, or memories of the Eskimos’ visit. ‘Sadly, we also suffered losses amongst the Fuegians who visited last year. You may have heard?’

Hilda shook her head.

‘In Paris,’ Hagenbeck clarified. ‘The conditions there were not ideal, and I suspect there was underlying illness.’

Hagenbeck was about to hand the print back to Hilda when he added, ‘But we are fortunate. Abraham left a diary. Very rare given that many of the visitors to our shores cannot generally write. He was, as I say, really quite exceptional. The Laps also sometimes took notes, although I don’t have copies. Their experiences, I’m happy to report, were very positive.’

‘I would love to see it,’ Hilda said. ‘The Eskimo’s diary.’

Hagenbeck hesitated. ‘If you wish,’ he said, but he appeared to regret having spoken of it. ‘I only have a copy in German.’ He looked behind him towards the room where he had gone to get the cartes de visite. ‘The original went with his belongings back to the mission with the money owing. We are, as I say, fortunate to have such an account. All is not lost. And we have learned much from the recent misfortunes. I’m sure future shows will end much more happily.’

Louis, Bonny and Jurano made their way back up the steps to the house as Hagenbeck’s wife appeared on the back terrace with a box camera and tripod.

‘Ah, yes. Very good,’ Hagenbeck said. ‘Now stand together,’ he instructed, moving Dorondera, Jurano and Bonny into position and asking Jurano and Bonny to raise their spears. His wife disappeared under the black cloth and counted to three before setting off the flash. She took three images, each time asking her husband to arrange the group differently, seemingly unaware of Bonny’s growing irritation. The Aboriginal party had arrived as guests but had not yet been offered a meal, or even invited to sit down.

When the photographic session ended, Herr Hagenbeck reached for Bonny’s spear without warning and Bonny, his reflexes fast, gripped it tightly and did not let it go.

‘Very well,’ Hagenbeck chuckled. ‘Show me what you can do with it.’

Bonny relaxed his posture somewhat.

‘See that tree there?’ he asked in German, which, in the absence of an audience, Hagenbeck did not seem to mind him speaking. Bonny jogged to a tree twenty yards away and pointed to a small circle, an inch in circumference, where the bark was pale. He returned to the group and faced his target. With his spear held behind his head, Bonny drew in a long, controlled breath and ran several paces forwards. Every movement was controlled and appeared effortless, something Hilda had never observed to the same degree in a European man. The muscles in Bonny’s legs, torso and arms worked in unison to draw his upper body back and then quickly forwards as he cast the weapon – a perfect throw that saw it strike its mark dead centre.

‘Wunderbar!’ Hagenbeck declared, again rubbing his hands together. He patted Louis on the back as he studied Bonny and Jurano. ‘And can you fight? Not now but later?’ He waited. ‘Bitte?’

Bonny looked puzzled. ‘Why?’

‘To show your strength to the people,’ the showman said.

‘Yes. I can fight.’

‘Sehr gut,’ Hagenbeck said. ‘Sehr, sehr gut.’ He reached into his pocket for two metal trinkets with the stamp of the thierpark pressed into them.

‘Here,’ he said, holding one out to each of the Badtjala men.

Bonny turned the trinket over on his palm, inspecting it as a jeweller might a suspect gemstone.

Hagenbeck signalled for the group to follow.

‘Kommen Sie, bitte. Your formal performance is not until half past four. I will show you your house!’ He turned to Louis and Hilda. ‘I am sure it is better than where they came from. Their beds are off the ground and there are windows, of course, so the audience can see inside without having to get too close. There will be some encounters, but I will manage them.’