Hannah's Dream

by Diane Hammond

  “You say your sorries to Hannah, not to me. Do you have an apple in your pocket?”

  “Yeah.” Reginald withdrew two apple quarters.

  Sam nodded. “Then you apologize and give her that apple.”

  Reginald held out the apple pieces on the palm of his hand. “You can eat them if you want to,” he told Hannah. She picked the two pieces neatly off his hand and popped them into her mouth.

  “Isn’t that something, how she can be so dainty like that?” Sam said. “I’ve never gotten over it, not even after all these years.”

  Winslow spoke. “Is she scared of us—of me and Reginald, I mean?”

  “Nah, at least not right now. You’re not doing anything but walking, and she’s good about people walking on her seeing side, at least as long as they’re people she knows. Guess she’s seen you both enough to know you. Now, see that man right there, the one coming toward us who’s walking real fast? Big man?”

  The boys watched. The man passed close by her blind side and Hannah tucked her trunk into Sam’s armpit. “Baby doesn’t like people coming at her fast like that when she can’t see them,” he explained. “She doesn’t leave her trunk with me very long, because that’s the business end of an elephant, but it makes her feel better.”

  “What else is she afraid of?” Winslow asked.

  Sam shrugged. “I don’t always know. It could be a small thing. You ever been afraid of a bee? Most bees won’t do you any harm, but you jump anyway. Same for Hannah.”

  The boys walked along thoughtfully.

  “What are you afraid of?” Sam asked Reginald.

  “Nothin’.”

  “Now, that’s not true. Everybody’s afraid of something.”

  “I’m afraid of trains,” Winslow volunteered.

  “Trains?” Sam said.

  “The noise when they go by, and that whoosh after they’re gone, like they’re going to suck you right up.”

  Sam nodded. “Well, I could see that.”

  “I’m afraid of my aunt when she gets mad,” Reginald said. “She starts talking and talking, and the spit just flies.”

  “What does she talk about?” Winslow asked.

  “How I’ll end up in the gutter if I don’t try extra hard, how it’s in my blood. I don’t think so, though.”

  “She probably just wants you to make something of yourself,” Sam said. “Woman is looking out for you, son. You remember that.”

  “Yeah.”

  Sam fished a small gourd out of his canvas pouch and handed it up to Hannah. “Either of you suck your thumb when you were little?” he asked.

  “I did,” Winslow admitted.

  “Well, Hannah sucks her trunk sometimes, if she’s feeling spooky, especially at night. Girl doesn’t like the dark.”

  The boys smiled at the thought.

  “She ever cry, mister?” Reginald asked.

  “I’ve never seen her cry, exactly, but she gets downhearted from time to time. Could be she’s thinking about her mama, who got killed on that plantation in Burma. Or maybe she’s thinking about Miss Biedelman. We miss her, even after all these years.”

  They walked in silence for a minute or two, watching people smile at Hannah as they walked past.

  “She’s got you, though,” Reginald said.

  “Yeah,” Sam said after a minute. “She’s got me.”

  Neva waited until she was at home that evening before making her call to Alice McNeary, the director of the Pachyderm Sanctuary, to talk about Hannah. Alice was a gravel-voiced, plainspoken, tough-as-leather old circus trainer who’d been on the circuit for twenty-five years before giving it up to found the sanctuary. Neva gave her an overview of Hannah’s circumstances, including the inadequacy of her yard and ending with the state of her feet.

  “So when did you say she last lived with other elephants?” Alice asked.

  “1954, I think. She lived with one old cow for about a year. She’s been alone ever since.” Neva sat at the kitchen table, where Kitty was laid out, snoring loudly.

  “How about keepers?”

  “That’s its own story: she’s had the same man with her for forty-one years, a good man. But he’s sixty-eight now, and his health is bad.”

  “So how does he feel about Hannah’s leaving? Would he support it?”

  “If she were leaving to go there? Absolutely.”

  “And the zoo? Which one is it again?”

  “The Max L. Biedelman. In Bladenham, Washington.”

  “What the hell are you doing in a place like that?” Alice said.

  “It’s a long story.”

  “I didn’t know they even had an elephant.”

  “Give it another couple of weeks and everyone will know. The director’s launching a big marketing campaign about Hannah and Maxine Biedelman.”

  “I thought Max was a man,” Alice said.

  “Max is short for Maxine.”

  “Isn’t she dead?”

  Neva sighed. “Yes. It’s hard to explain. The zoo director is actually billing herself as Maxine Biedelman, walking around in period clothes, giving talks, stuff like that. I can send you an article that came out about her this morning.”

  “Do that. How does she feel about the prospect of giving up the zoo’s main attraction?”

  “That’s the thing—she doesn’t know anything about it. She’s a controlling harridan. We’re going to have to get such overwhelming grassroots support that by the time she gets wind of it, there won’t be any way out. And frankly, even if we can pull that off, which I doubt, it will probably get ugly by the end. You need to know that up front.”

  Alice laughed. “And when has that ever stopped me? You know I love a good fight. But we’ll have to be very clear that I’m not raiding the zoo—the situation was brought to the sanctuary’s attention, not the other way around. That’s the only way my board would even consider her.”

  “I know that.” Neva passed her hand over Kitty’s flabby gut.

  “Do you have other people working with you? You can’t do this alone, you know; no one can do it alone. You’re tough, honey, but you’re not that tough.”

  “No, it won’t be me, alone. There are several of us, already. The trick will be to keep it away from the zoo until we’re ready to go public.”

  “Look, here’s what we’ll do. I’ll brief my executive committee and go ahead and put her on a wait-list. There are four animals ahead of her, though, and I only have room for two. And my board’s very tough on this. Any animal coming here has to bring two hundred fifty thousand dollars along as an endowment for their care. Those are the terms. No money, no dice.”

  “Well, all right, then,” said Neva. “I guess I’d better go out and find me some rich people.”

  “Keep me informed,” said Alice. “And I’ll do a little sniffing around, myself. I know a couple of people up in Seattle who might be willing to help.”

  On Monday, Truman picked Neva up just outside the zoo gates and drove them to a place on the far side of town called Teriyaki Time, where he was relatively sure no one from the zoo would see them. The restaurant occupied a narrow slot at the center of an older strip mall—two tables wide, twenty-five tables deep, backed up by a stifling kitchen and one unisex restroom with wall fatigue. It was one of Winslow’s favorites, a place they often resorted to after work when Truman lacked culinary inspiration. The owner greeted him enthusiastically.

  “Hey, Truman! How’s it going?” He shook Truman’s hand and looked admiringly at Neva.

  “Hello, Thomas. Neva, meet Thomas Kubota. This is his restaurant. Thomas, this is Geneva Wilson. She’s an elephant keeper at the zoo.”

  Thomas shook Neva’s hand admiringly. “No kidding?”

  “No kidding.”

  “I’ll be damned. You’re pretty small to be bossing a big animal around.”

  “It’s all in the wrist.”

  Thomas handed Neva a menu. “Take this with you. He won’t need one.”

  “Home away from
home?” Neva asked Truman when they’d found a table at the very back of the restaurant.

  “More often than I care to admit. Winslow puts up with my cooking, but there are times when neither one of us can summon the necessary forbearance.”

  “So you come here.”

  “So we come here. You don’t see anyone from the zoo here, do you?”

  “You’d probably know better than I would,” Neva said. “But I don’t recognize anyone.”

  “Thank god. I’ve never been any good at cloak and dagger sorts of things. I hardly ever do anything illicit, and whenever I do, I get caught.”

  “For example?”

  “Sneaking things onto Harriet’s desk to sign when I know she isn’t in there. Leaving work ten minutes early.”

  “You sneak?”

  “From time to time. I’m not proud of it.”

  “And that’s the best you can come up with?”

  Truman thought for a minute. “Well, lately, anyway. I did steal a candy bar when I was six. It was a Payday. I slipped it into my pocket and the next thing I knew, my mother was hauling me up to the store manager’s booth demanding that I make a full confession. My mother was the district attorney here for thirty years. I’ve never fully recovered.”

  “So what did the manager do?”

  “Winked. He winked at me. It was very confusing.”

  While Neva examined the menu, Truman allowed himself to take her in. He had a nearly overwhelming desire to touch her. He imagined it would be like touching a lightly charged wire, that he would feel the hum and the heat. He was startled to realize that she was blushing. “Was I staring?” he said.

  “Yes.”

  “I’m sorry. It’s a novelty to be here with anyone older than eleven. Not to mention nice-looking.”

  “Winslow’s nice-looking.”

  “Even so.”

  A waiter arrived to take their order. Once he was gone, Neva appeared to marshal herself and said, “Look, I’d like to talk to you about something.”

  “Uh oh.”

  “The thing is, it’s got to be held in the strictest confidence. If you’d rather I not involve you, this would be a good time to say so.”

  “It doesn’t involve Paydays, by any chance?”

  Neva looked startled. “I can’t promise that.”

  “You’re not planning a candy heist, are you?”

  “What?”

  “Candy? Payday bars,” Truman reminded her gently.

  “Oh! I was thinking payday with a small ‘p,’ as in ‘to get paid.’ You’re not the only one who doesn’t lie or cheat very well.”

  While their waiter slid plates of teriyaki chicken in front of them, Neva took a deep breath and said, “Is there any chance at all that the zoo might get another Asian elephant to keep Hannah company?”

  Truman looked startled. “Not that I’ve ever heard of. We’re certainly in no financial position to do that. Why?”

  Neva picked at her teriyaki. “There isn’t any way at all?”

  “I don’t see how. The zoo’s revenues haven’t met operating expenses in years. Short of receiving a huge endowment, I can’t see how we’d be able to support a second elephant. And, to be frank, if we did get a huge endowment, I’d recommend using it for physical plant maintenance and repairs, not acquiring another animal.”

  Neva clasped her hands in front of her and said quietly, “Okay, then here’s the thing. I’m going to try to get Hannah relocated to an elephant sanctuary in northern California. I can’t believe I’m saying this to you.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Because she’ll die if she has to stay here after Sam Brown retires.”

  “What? Has something happened? Is he retiring?”

  Neva poked at the ice cubes in her water glass with her fork. “Look, I’m not very good at this. No, nothing’s happened. Yet. But Sam’s sixty-eight years old and he’s got diabetes. It catches up with you fast, at his age. He doesn’t want to talk about it, but I don’t think he’s going to be able to work that much longer. And once he’s gone you might as well put a gun to Hannah’s head, except it’ll be worse than that because it’ll be slower. Way slower.”

  “I don’t understand. You’re very capable. Are you resigning?”

  “No, no, that’s not the thing. The thing is, elephants, especially female Asian elephants, are extremely social. They live in herds dominated by a single leader—usually a female, but in Hannah’s case Sam is her herd. And her leader. Take that away and what she’s left with is a yard that’s way too small, a barn that’s a hellhole, chronically infected feet, and advancing arthritis, especially when she has to stand on a concrete substrate all day, which she will once Sam’s gone because she won’t be going on walks around the zoo anymore. Sam keeps her calm, but without him I wouldn’t trust her out there, she’s too skittish. So her entire world will shrink to about three thousand square feet of concrete and up to fourteen hours a day chained to a wall.”

  “Good god.”

  “Look. I’m not anti-captivity and I don’t have a bleeding heart. I’ve been taking care of zoo animals for twenty years, and I believe deeply in what zoos do, what keepers do, and how we do it. But I also believe in doing what’s right for the animals first. Hannah’s a wonderful elephant and she’s adapted amazingly well. She’s not neurotic, and she’s never hurt anybody. But that could change—it’s almost guaranteed to change—once Sam isn’t here. We need to get her out. And I’d like your help.”

  Truman pushed his plate away. He didn’t really know this woman, but he trusted her. He watched her knock rice around her plate with a fork.

  “Yeah,” she said. “Kaboom.”

  That evening, Truman stood at the stove stirring a pan of spaghetti sauce while Miles and Winslow played nose hockey across the kitchen floor with a plastic puck. He didn’t know who was more delighted, the pig or the boy. During a break in the cooking he got his camera and found two remarkably similar pairs of dark eyes dancing wickedly through the lens.

  When it was ready, Truman set a plate of spaghetti on the round oak table for Winslow, and a second one for himself. On a placemat in the corner Miles received his own small dish of pasta, which he consumed in four gulps and a burp. Truman was discovering a certain charm in the little pig. His utter lack of guile, his naked and cheerful dedication to his appetites—food, warmth, and affection—were not so different from Winslow’s or Truman’s. By some obscure Darwinian chance eons ago, humans cared for pigs and not the other way around. But surely it could have gone differently another day. Admittedly Truman overcompensated. Miles ate cereal for his breakfast just as Winslow did, down to the brand name and the milk. At the end of each meal, his dishes were washed and stored in a cupboard. He had his own polar fleece throw in the den.

  Truman remembered being similarly uneasy when he and Rhonda had first brought Winslow home. He could still remember the terror he’d felt when he looked down for the first time at the gently pulsing soft spot on the top of Winslow’s skull. When he was anywhere near the baby he’d tiptoed, whispered, walked slowly. Rhonda, on the other hand, had seemed faintly disappointed with the entire experience, changing diapers indifferently, complaining about the unceasing demands Winslow made on her time and attention. It was Truman who had rocked, sung, burped, and borne the warm, damp weight of the baby as he slept. Even eleven years later there were moments when, in Winslow’s presence, Truman felt stunned by love.

  Miles slammed the plastic hockey puck into the side of Truman’s foot, breaking his reverie. “Winslow, I’d like your opinion about something.”

  The boy looked up, strands of spaghetti arrested mid-suck. Truman smiled. “Tell me about Hannah. What’s she like?”

  The boy shrugged. “I don’t know. Big. She’s big.”

  “Is she scary? Do you ever feel as though she might hurt you?”

  “No, she’s real gentle. She gets scared sometimes, though.”

  “Does she? By what?”

  “
She doesn’t like when people run. She’s blind in her left eye.”

  “I didn’t know that.”

  Winslow nodded solemnly. “Sam says when he used to take her for walks in the woods she’d get upset if he got too far away. You can tell she likes Sam. She hugs his head with her trunk. He keeps a hand on her when we take her for walks. Me and Reginald do that sometimes, too.”

  “I wouldn’t think that would keep her from running away.”

  “She’d never run away, Dad. Sam says he does it to keep her from getting spooked. Me and Reginald asked if we could take her for a walk by ourselves sometime, but he said she wouldn’t go unless he was with her.”

  “Ah.”

  “She’s real smart, though. Like, Sam says she can tell when he has a headache. I guess he gets these real bad headaches, and she’ll just stand over him like she’s guarding him until he feels better.”

  “Does it help?”

  “Yup.” Winslow twirled a huge forkful of spaghetti and continued talking through his food. “Sometimes she’ll give him stuff, too, like these little round rocks she likes to play with. She’ll bring them to him. He says he doesn’t know why. He says if it’s a real bad day she’ll even bring him her tire. You know, that car tire she sleeps with at night.”

  “She sleeps with a tire?”

  “It’s not funny, Dad.”

  “I didn’t say it was funny.”

  “Sam says she uses it to keep her company when she’s chained up by herself all night.”

  Truman wondered if he could bear to hear more. “What do you think would happen to her if Sam couldn’t take care of her anymore?”

  “That’d never happen, Dad.”

  “But if it did?”

  “It won’t.”

  “Humor me.”

  “She’d die.”

  Truman stared. “Why do you say that?”

  Winslow shrugged matter-of-factly. “Because she would.”

  Truman let Winslow finish his meal and clear the table. Then he picked up the telephone and called Neva Wilson.

  chapter 14

  As the fall of 1957 deepened into winter, it was inexplicably spring in Miss Effie’s heart. She unearthed from her trunks delicate lace dresses with high collars and mutton chop sleeves that had been the height of fashion in 1905. She spent hours in front of her dressing table mirror fixing her hair with combs and rhinestones, a Gibson Girl once again. With Sam she was coy, asking him to fetch the delicate accessories she had packed away so lovingly a half-century before: ivory fans and silk-tasseled parasols, silk shawls and kid gloves so fine you could see the outline of each fingernail through the leather. And then, one sad morning, she erupted into a fit of temper at the inability of her servant to find a button hook. There were no servants. Having journeyed back to a better time, Miss Effie had mistaken Sam for a household domestic.