The Elephant of Belfast

by S. Kirk Walsh

  As they walked along one of the white corridors, Hettie caught a glimpse through a pair of double doors of a large, cavernous room filled with women and children. Several nuns hurried around the huddles of families, offering bowls of soup while others washed bleeding wounds on arms and faces and carefully bandaged up injuries. A young mother gripped her swaddled baby to her chest; it was difficult to discern whether the blood that stained the baby’s blanket came from the child’s or the mother’s wounds. Hettie felt her heart sink further, as when she’d first set foot inside the mayhem of the Royal.

  “So many sad stories,” Sister Evangeline said as she continued to lead Hettie down the corridor, “but God is being liberal with his Grace. He allows us to find purpose amid this grave suffering.”

  Sister Evangeline pushed through a door. The convent’s dining hall was crowded with the overlapping voices of nuns and children. There were at least thirty or forty school-age children. They had all been cleaned up—their faces washed and their hair brushed—and dressed in matching uniforms of light blue and white.

  “Is this convent also an orphanage?” asked Hettie.

  “No, we haven’t taken in children for decades,” said Sister Evangeline. “Here, sit.”

  Hettie felt puzzled by the presence of so many children as Evangeline pointed to the far end of the long table, where Liam and Sister Helen already sat. Sister Helen nodded at the empty space next to her. Hettie slid into the spot, and a steaming bowl of vegetable stew was placed in front of her. She took in the welcoming smells of potatoes, peas, and chicken broth. Sister Helen knocked her spoon against her glass and the entire dining room grew silent. She bowed her head and everyone else followed suit. A few children snickered at the end of one table, and Sister Helen glared in their direction. Once they settled down, she commenced to say grace.

  “Let us pray,” Sister Helen said, raising her voice. “Dear God, look down with mercy on all those dear souls who have lost their lives in the air raid on our city. Please sustain and support their families and friends in these dreadful times, and help those who are hurt to recover from their grievous injuries. Per Christum Dominum nostrum. Amen.”

  Despite it being a Catholic prayer, Hettie felt moved by Sister Helen’s blessing. She wanted to believe the tensions between the Catholics and Protestants might subside in the face of the immense devastation. That the entire city of Belfast was in this together. The women and children responded with a collective “Amen.” Then the nuns served the children, placing ceramic bowls of vegetable stew in front of them. At the center of each table, there was a plate piled with chunks of bread that were quickly disappearing as a flurry of small hands snatched them up. The dining hall rang with the music of spoons on bowls and the sweet melody of children’s voices.

  “Help yourself,” Sister Helen said, nudging the plate of bread toward Hettie.

  She thanked the nun and took a piece. The bread felt like a strange object in her hand. She tore off a piece and ate it. Even though the bread didn’t have much flavor, it melted in her mouth. Hettie’s stomach grumbled, and she realized how hungry she was. She glanced over at Sister Helen and Liam. They were working away at their bowls of stew, and she proceeded to do the same. The heat of the soup scorched the side of her tongue, but she couldn’t resist eating it quickly. Sister Evangeline slid into the spot next to her and tucked a napkin into the neckline of her habit.

  “Eat up, everyone,” said Sister Evangeline.

  Liam winked at Hettie. She smiled at him as she tore off another piece of bread and dunked it into the stew.

  “Where are these children from?” Hettie asked again.

  “The orphanage on the Ormeau Road,” Sister Helen said, casting a broad gaze at the roomful of children. “They were moved from there because it is right beside the city’s gasworks, and they were afraid it might be bombed, and their fear was proven correct last night. Only a few walls of the orphanage are now standing.”

  Their youthful voices and bright laughter filled the air. Several nuns were already gathering bowls, one stacked on top of the other, and the children obediently remained seated at the long tables.

  “Isn’t that a Protestant orphanage?” asked Liam, frowning.

  “Don’t look at me that way, Liam Patrick,” Sister Helen said, giving him a steely stare. “We’re taking care of them until we can determine a safe place for them outside of the city. I’ve already heard from the headmaster at Downpatrick. He said that he could take half of the girls.”

  “Downpatrick?” Hettie asked.

  “It’s a boarding school about fifty miles away,” Sister Helen said. “They will be safer there. I’m still waiting to hear from a few other schools. It’s only a matter of time—then they will all be where they need to be.”

  “Elephants and children,” Sister Evangeline said to Hettie. “Everyone deserves a safe place in this city of ours.”

  Sister Helen clapped her hands, and all the children fell quiet at once. The nun slowly lifted herself up from the wooden table, placing her large hands on the sturdy surface. She threw a long stare across the length of the dining room before raising her hands like an orchestral conductor. In unison, the children stood up from their seats and began to sing the hymn “This Little Light of Mine,” their sweet voices converging into one harmonious song. Their innocent voices seemed to elevate the entire dining room, as if everyone was temporarily suspended above the polished floor, no longer attached to either here or there.

  Jesus gave me light / I’m going to let it shine.

  Hettie felt Liam reach underneath the table and squeeze her bony knee. A shiver traveled along her thigh. Hettie moved her hand underneath the table and threaded her fingers in between his. Once the children concluded the hymn, Sister Helen clapped again and they began to file quietly out of the dining room, one table at a time, until the room was empty and their buoyant voices occupied the courtyard.

  “Children shouldn’t have to endure the horrors of war, but they do,” Sister Helen said, returning to her seat at the head of the table. “These poor wee children are never going to forget the sounds of the planes in the sky—and the scenes of death, destruction, and awful suffering that they have witnessed. No child should ever see that. It will be with them forever.”

  Another elderly nun came through the door of the dining room. Tufts of gray stuck out from the rim of her white cap, like the gossamer wings of a moth or a butterfly. The nun bent over and whispered into Sister Helen’s ear, and then handed her a folded slip of paper before silently leaving the room again.

  “It’s a message for you, Hettie,” Sister Helen said, handing her the folded slip of paper.

  Hettie’s hands shook as she unfolded the piece of paper. Who on earth knew she was there? She was prepared to read that her mother was dead, but couldn’t help but hope that maybe the note contained news that was the exact opposite—that Rose was alive and well and accounted for. The message read:

  Dear Harriet Quin, Please return to the Bellevue Zoo as soon as possible. The constable is looking for you as he has news to share about your mother. Her identity has been confirmed and he has more details about where she is currently receiving medical attention.

  The message was unsigned. She wasn’t sure if she should believe what was written, but felt exhilarated by the prospect that her mother could still be alive. Hettie looked up at Liam and then the two sisters. They were all staring at her, waiting for her to speak. What if the note was fraudulent, written by someone trying to find Violet? What if someone was trying to set her up?

  “My mum,” Hettie said, her mouth dry and moist at the same time. “They say she’s alive.”

  “Hettie, that’s good news,” Liam said, reaching for her hand underneath the table again. “Where is she?”

  “I don’t understand,” she said nervously. “Who could know I’m here?”

  “What does it say?” asked Sister Helen.

  Hettie looked down at the paper again. “That I need
to return to the zoo and the constable will be able to share more news about the exact nature of my mum’s whereabouts and medical condition,” she said.

  “Well, it sounds like you need to get yourself to the zoo,” Sister Helen responded.

  “What will I do with Violet?” Hettie asked.

  “Leave Violet here with the sisters,” Liam suggested. “Like we already planned.”

  “Go on,” Sister Helen said. “Find your mum. We’ll be here when you return.”

  “I’ll come with you,” Liam said, standing up from the table.

  Sister Helen gave Liam an austere look. “Liam, remember what we discussed,” she said. “You need to stay and help with the children. Until tomorrow. That’s all I ask.”

  For a moment he looked as if he were going to protest, but then he lowered his eyes. “Yes, of course,” he said, his forehead crinkling.

  Sister Helen nodded.

  “If it’s all right, I’m going to say goodbye to Violet before I leave,” Hettie said.

  “Please do,” Sister Evangeline replied.

  Hettie stood up, headed out of the dining room, and walked in the direction of the stables at the rear of the compound. Liam followed her. They could hear the sounds of children playing in the courtyard on the other side of the concrete wall. Then there was a woman’s distant cry. A pair of nuns walked past them, carrying a supply of bandages and other first-aid materials, and Hettie and Liam exchanged a worried glance.

  When Hettie and Liam arrived, Violet was lying in a corner of the stable. As soon as she detected Hettie’s presence at the stall door, the elephant stood up and shook the hay and other debris from her wrinkled sides.

  “Hey, Vi,” Hettie said softly. “It’s me.”

  Hettie opened the door and stepped inside the stall, and Liam latched the door behind them. Violet nudged her forehead into Hettie’s chest. Hettie patted the speckled spots between the elephant’s eyes.

  “You’re doing good,” she said. “You like it here, don’t you?”

  Liam grabbed a fistful of hay from the dusty floor of the stall and held it out for Violet. She snatched the bundle of hay and tucked it into her mouth.

  “Hettie, she’s going to be all right,” Liam said. “The nuns are good people.”

  Hettie stepped toward Liam and leaned into him. She couldn’t stop herself, despite being inside the sacred walls of this convent. It was as if a magnetic force was propelling her toward him. Pleasure and indulgence. Euphoria and intimacy. These were sensations that Hettie hardly knew, and now she was experiencing them in all their depth and dimension. Here was Liam’s mouth on top of hers again. Here were his hands, slipping inside her shirt. Here was his touch against her bare belly. He unbuttoned the pearl buttons of her blouse and cupped his hand over her breast, making her shudder. It was happening all over again. Liam dropped his trousers and underpants to his ankles. He pressed her against the door of the stable, and she felt the dull splinters of wood against her buttocks. She smelled the stench of fresh manure, heard Violet’s heavy footsteps against the bed of hay. She was already moist and wet, and his penis slipped in easily. The rhythm of Liam’s repeated thrusts was answered by her soft cries.

  We belong together, Hettie tried to convince herself. This is meant to be.

  Liam pushed one final time, and she bit into the shoulder of his shirt as they came together. A warm flood of semen dripped down the inside of her thigh. Liam held Hettie closely, and the rhythm of their breaths matched each other, and she felt as if they temporarily existed within a pristine orb of golden light, where nothing could touch them.

  “I love you,” Liam whispered into Hettie’s ear.

  “I love you, too,” she responded, feeling a rush of tenderness, passion, and lust all at once.

  The barn door slid open, and footsteps traveled down the corridor. Violet released a series of loud chirps.

  “Bloody hell,” Liam whispered, zipping up his trousers.

  He wetted his palms in Violet’s drinking pail and pressed them against the thick curls of his hair.

  “Button up, Hettie,” he said with a soft laugh. “Someone’s coming.”

  Hettie fumbled with the buttons of her shirt and then tucked it into the waistband of her trousers. Violet grabbed another bundle of hay and tossed it up on her head.

  Just as Hettie succeeded in doing up the last of her buttons, Sister Evangeline appeared at the stall door.

  “I brought a few treats for my new friend,” she said. In her hands, she held two sweet buns. “Do you think she’ll like these?”

  Before Hettie could answer, Violet looped the end of her trunk around one of the buns and it disappeared into her mouth.

  “I’ll take that as a yes,” Sister Evangeline said, her eyes brightening.

  Violet slipped the second bun out of Sister Evangeline’s hand. Hettie patted the elephant’s forehead and then glanced up at Liam. His cheeks were crimson and splotchy. She moved her gaze to the uneven floorboards of the barn. She felt if she looked up again at Liam and Sister Evangeline, she might faint. Violet snaked the tip of her trunk around Hettie’s thin wrist. She smiled up at the elephant and gently held the end of her trunk, like a hand.

  “Thank you, Sister Linny,” Liam managed.

  “No worries,” she said. “I’m honored. It’s not every day that I get the chance to care for an elephant.”

  “I won’t be gone long,” Hettie said, as much to herself as to Violet. “Only a few hours.”

  “Go on, Hettie,” said Sister Evangeline. “Find your mum.”

  Hettie gave Violet a final pat on the forehead before Liam walked her to the front gate of the convent. The children had already dispersed from the courtyard. The notes of an organ in the chapel played, and the voices of the children began to join together in another hymn. Liam gently swung open the large gate that led to the Shore Road.

  “That was close,” he said.

  Hettie blushed.

  “What does Sister Helen need you to do with the children?”

  “Do you remember the way back to the zoo?”

  Hettie reflected on the route that they had taken to Éamon’s and then to the convent—down the hill from Church to Arthur to Whitewell to the Antrim Road. Even though she felt as if she were as far away as she could possibly get from all that was familiar, it wouldn’t take more than fifteen or twenty minutes to walk to the zoo.

  “I remember,” Hettie said, looking down the road.

  A lorry, with its rear compartment filled with crumbling debris and twisted girders, drove by.

  “Be good,” Liam said, kissing Hettie on the forehead.

  Twelve

  “I HOPE EVERYONE IN YOUR FAMILY IS SAFE,” MR. CLARKE SAID to Hettie as she paused at his security booth at the front of the zoo half an hour later.

  “Are the constable and his men here?” she asked.

  “They should be returning soon,” Mr. Clarke said, flipping open the gold lid of his pocket watch. “Mr. Wright told me that he’s expecting Constable Ward at half past the hour.”

  Hettie glanced at the face of Mr. Clarke’s watch. It was ten minutes past three o’clock.

  “And your family?” Hettie asked hesitantly. She was uncertain if Mr. Clarke had any family in Belfast. She couldn’t recall him mentioning a wife or children by name. All she knew about him was the well-known fact that he was a third cousin of Mr. Christie and that the aroma of whiskey often accompanied him in the modest space of his security station.

  “My wife and me wee children,” he said, his eyes glistening, “we went to the Clonard Monastery off the Falls Road and hid in the crypt until the bombs stopped falling.”

  “The monastery near the Royal?”

  “That’s the one,” he said. “I don’t think the place has ever invited so many Protestants inside its doors in its whole history. One of the priests stepped forward and gave us absolution during the middle of the night. We didn’t think we were going to make it.”

  “I
’m glad you and your family are okay.”

  “Oh, me too,” he said. “I thought that the walls of the crypt might come tumbling down when the earth shook, but she held solid and steady throughout it all. My baby daughter was crying in my arms, but eventually once the bombs stopped, she fell asleep.”

  Hettie tried to imagine Mr. Clarke, with his pockmarked complexion and whiskey-laced breath, consoling a baby throughout the horror of the bombing. She looked up at him again: His features had softened, and a sheen of wetness dampened his eyes.

  “Is Mr. Wright here?”

  “You might find him in the canteen.”

  Hettie proceeded up the staircase and followed the path that led to the canteen. The ticket kiosk was still closed, with its metal face pulled down and locked. Near the end of the path, Sean, one of the maintenance men, methodically pushed a straw broom against the pavement. He held a stand-up receptacle in his other hand as he collected loose bits and pieces of half-burned paper and trash. He gave Hettie a wave before returning to his task. In the bear paddock, a large red ball sat stock-still next to the high wall of boulders. Flies swarmed over a pile of dried, cracked manure. A flock of shiny black rooks pecked at the ground. In the aviary, the parakeets and finches fluttered from branch to branch. Hettie felt an immediate sense of relief at being surrounded by the familiar sights and sounds of the zoo despite the absence of so many of the animals. It allowed Hettie to return to herself—and remember who she really was.

  At the end of another pathway, next to Rajan’s enclosure, she noticed Mr. Wright and Ferris. Eager to see them both, Hettie picked up her pace. She felt certain that Mr. Wright would know more about the constable and the news about her mother—whether or not the message was true, and if it were true, maybe he would be able to pass along any further news. Hettie still wasn’t certain who had sent the note. Maybe it had been Ferris.

  As Hettie drew closer, she could see Rajan’s enormous body lying against the dirt floor of the enclosure. Hettie started to run. Mr. Wright and Ferris turned around as she approached the enclosure.