The only other person on the bank with Natalie was an older Thai woman who worked in the kitchens. No matter what the mahouts did, the Thai woman smiled, enjoying every moment as if it was a musical performance she’d waited her whole life to hear. Hardly the barometer for the fear Natalie felt.
But then the woman let out a yell.
Natalie glanced over to see the woman’s eyes widen as she raised a hand and called out again. The situation had gotten out of control. Scrambling down the embankment, she knew she wouldn’t be able to do anything about the elephant, but if a human needed to have mouth-to-mouth, at least she’d be close and able to help. She was about to dive into the water when Ali rolled again and came up for a breath, Chanchai still atop his back. Chanchai shook his head, his hair flipping side to side like a wet dog’s, as he sputtered. Relieved guffaws and what seemed like taunting shouts rent the air. The other mahouts repeated, “Ting tong, ting tong, ting tong,” over and over again. That was one phrase she knew. “You are very crazy,” they told their friend. She agreed.
Shaking with adrenaline, Natalie crawled back up the embankment to where she’d been sitting. The mahouts laughed from behind her, and her cheeks burned with embarrassment, sure they were sharing a joke at her expense. Only after they filed slowly out of the river and down toward the large shelters to have their afternoon meal, did she rise to head in the other direction toward the clinic.
“Dr. Natalie? Dr. Natalie!”
She turned to see Mali’s son, Siriporn, running toward her. They hadn’t officially met, yet Andrew had pointed out the boy at breakfast that morning. He favored his mother, sharing her wide, dark eyes and infectious smile. He was smiling when he reached her and took off his baseball cap. He folded his hands in the Wai greeting, in prayer position in front of his heart and slightly bowed his head.
“Sawadee ka,” he said. “Good meeting you! I am Siriporn. Want welcome you to Thailand.” He nodded and bowed again, his megawatt smile never leaving his face.
She bowed back and thanked him. “Your mother has told me about you.”
He nodded and laughed, a surprisingly deep and rich sound, unlike his tenor speaking voice. “She says I teach you about elephants, but I say my English not so good. Maybe she teach you?” He laughed again, and Natalie realized he was teasing his mother though she wasn’t there.
They walked toward the clinic together, Natalie’s sandals keeping time with Siriporn’s bare feet. He spoke with his hands, gesturing toward the sky as he told her about his father, a respected mahout, who had died in an auto accident nearly ten years ago. Then he placed his hand on his heart when telling Natalie how proud he was of his mother and the loving way she raised him and his siblings. But his most expansive gestures accompanied his stories about the elephants he’d worked with throughout his life.
“Your English is fine,” Natalie reassured him after he apologized for the fourth time when he couldn’t think of a word. It’s actually quite endearing, she thought, but she was surprised it wasn’t better since Mali was fluent in English. There’s a story there, she thought, instantly wondering whether Andrew had any part in it. Siriporn’s words tumbled over each other in his excitement to share his thoughts. When she asked him about the individual elephants, his knowledge of each appeared far more comprehensive than Peter Hatcher’s or Andrew’s. They might know the elephants’ illnesses or dietary needs, but Siriporn knew their personalities.
When they reached the clinic, she saw Hatcher’s head through one of the windows. He appeared intent on examining something and didn’t give any indication that he saw her.
“I need to join Dr. Hatcher,” she told Siriporn, though she was reluctant to end their conversation, “but before you go, please tell me more about Sophie.”
For the first time, Siriporn lost his smile. He shook his head slowly, then placed both hands on his heart. “Sophie in much pain. She want be good but she in pain.”
It surprised Natalie that Siriporn’s first comment was about Sophie’s emotional state instead of her leg. She watched Siriporn’s face in the changing shadows cast by the broad leaves of the cashew tree under which they stood. He thought long and hard for a moment, then continued.
“She very sad elephant. Work hard her whole life. No family. She very, very lonely. Siriporn work with her but no have time she need. She need friend. That make her feel better. And she need . . . how you say? She need . . .” He gazed up and squinted his eyes. “She need leg better.” He shook his head and his frustration that he hadn’t been able to help Sophie was evident. “She no like other mahouts. She no like Dr. Peter’s needles. She no like dogs.”
He scuffed his bare feet in the dust, crossed his arms over his chest and looked away. The collar of his t-shirt was frayed and the sleeve was torn, showing his bicep as it flexed a little, the muscle throbbing like a tick.
The unspoken resonated in Natalie’s mind. She knew how Siriporn felt. There had been times in her career when she’d failed one of her animals, and the helplessness made her feel like she was walking on logs in a rushing river. The look on his face right now was one she’d worn in the past. She longed to reach for Siriporn and envelope him in a motherly hug. She wanted to remind him that there were often challenges in life that would cause him to grit his teeth and hold back tears, but all she could do was stand in the dusty road and listen to the distant barking of some of the sanctuary’s rescued dogs.
“Is that all Sophie needs? Friends?” she asked, thinking that, between the two of them, maybe they could give her the time and energy it would take to start healing from her traumas, both physical and emotional.
Siriporn’s smile faded. He shook his head.
“What do you think might make her feel better? Medicine? What kind of training?”
His eyes cleared. It was obvious he’d been thinking about this already. “She need freedom. Kindness. She need friend. Elephant always need friend.”
Natalie nodded and smiled, then gestured toward the clinic. “I have to go to work,” she said, “but let’s talk again. And . . . maybe . . . can you meet me at Sophie’s shelter tonight?”
His head bobbed up and down, and he thanked her over and over again as he backed away.
When she reached the top of the stairs to enter the clinic, she glanced back over her shoulder and laughed out loud to see Siriporn running up the road, occasionally jumping up to tap low-hanging branches as he passed underneath. She smiled to herself, thinking it was the first time she’d been able to enjoy a boy’s antics without being concerned about memories of one of her own boys bringing her to her knees.
Eleven
No, my dog used to gaze at me,
paying me the attention I need,
the attention required
to make a vain person like me understand
that, being a dog, he was wasting time,
but, with those eyes
so much purer than mine,
he’d keep on gazing at me
with a look that reserved for me alone
all his sweet and shaggy life,
always near me, never troubling me,
and asking nothing.
-Pablo Neruda
She was still smiling when she entered the clinic, but that smile quickly faded. She’d forgotten that today was canine day. The clinic was filled to capacity with dogs on the first Wednesday of every month, Hatcher had told her. “Write it on your calendar and make sure you get here early. We’re always full. Every hand is necessary, no matter what your skill level.”
She didn’t know why he had to add that last phrase, but he was right about the rest.
All of the sanctuary’s resident dogs, plus most of the village’s strays, filled the clinic’s tables and kennels. Some came in for flea treatments, shots, checkups, and baths; others had continuing conditions that needed treatment. Every one of the twenty or so cons
tantly-rotating volunteers was on hand, as well as the villagers who claimed one of the dogs as his/hers. Many of the dogs came from the same litters: obviously-related, large black labs with floppy feet and goofy smiles. Others were medium, sandy-colored mutts, and several small, curly-haired dogs that looked like they had poodle DNA.
All of the dogs barked or whined at a pitch so high and loud that the best way for Hatcher to communicate with the other human beings was via sign language. When you have dozens of dogs all in the same building, you improvise, she thought as he pointed and nodded at her.
“Take over on that,” he yelled and pointed with his chin to the tray filled with vials of vaccines and flea treatment.
Nodding, Natalie slipped an apron over her shorts and immediately went to work, saying a silent thank you to the universe that Hatcher hadn’t noticed she was late. In only a few moments, she got into the rhythm of vaccinating and giving each dog a quick check.
Anurak was an incredible asset on days like this. Normally it unsettled her to turn around and find him behind her, silent and smiling, his dark eyes twinkling with a secret to which only he was privy. Every time, he surprised her and she would shriek, which gave him a case of the silent giggles. He would slap his hand on Decha’s head and open his mouth for a croaking laugh that Natalie could only imagine would be a braying howl of delight if the boy could speak. Even Decha would pull back his gums, show his teeth, and hang out his tongue, tail wagging so hard he lifted his back legs—complete with the heavy cast—off the ground as if enjoying the joke as thoroughly as his master.
But today when she turned around, Anurak stood there with an extra towel in his hands or a leash ready to slip over the next dog’s head, as if he anticipated what she would ask him to do. He’d attach the leash and hold the dog still while she administered a shot or checked for ear mites. And Decha stood on the opposite side of the dog being treated, pressing against him as if providing the other dog a bit of canine comfort. Without the two of them, the day would have lasted twice as long with only half as much done.
When six o’clock in the evening rolled around and the last of the mutts had been happily released, all of the staff wearily found their way to the administration building and plopped onto the picnic benches for dinner and a beer. No one usually spoke on those nights—few had voices after yelling all day—and after eating, one by one they melted back down the road to their cabins to take advantage of a shower under cool rain water stored in barrels beside each building.
The quiet gave her time for reflection. Watching Hatcher during the day, she had to give him his props for putting events like this into place. By immunizing, sterilizing and protecting the local dogs, he saved their lives and, conversely, cut down on over-population. A win-win situation. It broke her heart to know that the dogs found on the street never had a chance. No homes—temporary or otherwise. She’d been horrified the first time she saw a truck filled with dogs. Live dogs. Piled ten deep atop each other, heads poking through the wire cages into which they were crammed. They were on the way to market. After the truck passed, she vomited. Then she became angry.
“We have to be part of the solution,” Andrew often said. Every time he saw another problem, he employed everyone who worked for him to discover a solution. His actions bought life for more dogs (and elephants) than he had ever imagined. In less than a year, he’d not only saved the dozens of dogs they worked on today, but hundreds more. Hatcher had been part of that success.
Natalie nursed the last of her beer until everyone except Hatcher had left. It felt like this was the right time to approach him.
“We did some good work today,” she said. He sat a table away from her, but she didn’t move from her own seat. Truth be told, she was simply too tired to get up and join him.
“Thirty-eight vaccinations, twelve dogs spayed and god-knows-how-many flea treatments. Good day, but the tip of the iceberg, I’m afraid.” He lifted his bottle and polished it off, then rose to place his dishes in the wash bucket.
Encouraged by the interaction, she rose and emptied her dishes, as well. “Must seem like an impossible task sometimes. To take care of all the strays as well as the abused elephants, I mean.”
He nodded. “Quite different for you, I’m sure.”
“True. There aren’t many stray horses in North Carolina, though I’ve seen my fair share of abuse.”
“No comparison, is there?”
As they walked to the end of the platform and down the stairs, Natalie chose her words carefully, hoping she could find some common ground with him. “It is quite different, but one of the reasons I came here was for that very reason. I admire what you’ve done for Andrew, and for all of those animals. I’ve already learned a lot from you.”
Hatcher stopped mid-step. “Why are you buttering me up? You needn’t bother. I trust my first impressions of people, and the one I have of you won’t change.”
“Buttering you up? I’m not buttering you up. It’s the truth. But I also think I could contribute something, as well. I’ve had a few ideas about Sophie—”
“Stop right there.” He halted in the path and turned on her, a flush coming up in his pale cheeks. “I appreciate your experience, Dr. DeAngelo, but I have far more years with elephants than you do. I’m happy to listen to your ideas about dogs or cats or . . . horses.” He stressed the last word. “But the elephants are mine.”
He stalked away. She wanted to chase him down and defend herself, but instead, Natalie straightened her shoulders and shook off her anger. Once again.
Still, she didn’t want to follow him so she turned right to take a path she’d seen Mali take.
“I’ll deal with you another day, Dr. Hatcher,” Natalie muttered as she fought her way through short palm trees that dug into her calves with the ferocity of a feral cat. She lifted her legs and slammed them down, breaking branches and leaves like a stampeding bull. Determined to find her way back to the cabin, she ignored the stinging cuts in her legs and concentrated on her anger at Peter Hatcher. “I’m not giving up on Sophie,” she announced to the dark night sky. “Whether you like it or not. I’m not giving up on her until she gives up on herself. And, even then, I’ll fight you, you bastard.”
Twelve
Beyond plants are animals,
Beyond animals is man,
Beyond man is the universe.
-Jean Toomer
“Are you ready?” Hatcher asked Natalie.
Behind him, the mahouts Khalan (Mali’s middle son) and Jabari, who had been in the river with his elephant the day before, yelled harsh commands and waved their arms frantically at Sophie. She stood in front of them, wide ears flared and her trunk raised to the sky. Backing up as far as her tether would allow, her white-rimmed eyes grew twice their size, a sure sign of her fear. She trumpeted, long and loud, an abrasive sound that slithered down Natalie’s backbone. Natalie knew that sound. Sophie was angry. Again.
Natalie glanced apprehensively at Hatcher. He stood to her right, fully composed and focused on Sophie and the mahouts. The mahouts moved closer, carefully monitoring Sophie’s every move, talking to her, commanding her to stay still, and using their ankuses to hook her by the ear and turn her so that Hatcher could examine her festering leg.
Natalie assisted Hatcher, responding to his needs of antibiotic-filled needles and giant swatches of white cloth that he used to wipe the wound. The fetid smell told Natalie volumes. If the elephant didn’t submit to the antibiotics, the infection would spread even further, and she would die.
She sighed deeply and shifted backward. Hatcher abruptly stopped mixing the ingredients for Sophie’s afternoon medicine and pulled his glasses down so that he could peer at Natalie over their rims. He scrutinized her through his virtually non-existent, white-blond eyelashes.
“Are you ready?” he asked again. Quietly. Evenly.
They had agreed yesterday that she and Si
riporn would be on hand for the treatment so Natalie could assist and Siriporn would translate the mahouts’ commands when they moved Sophie. So far, confusion reigned and all Natalie had learned was to stay out of the way of Sophie’s flailing trunk. But now Hatcher expected her to assist. She could not only assist; she could do the work herself, but the look Hatcher shot her now made her feel he truly expected—and hoped—that she would fail.
Her body tensed up every time they shared the same space, even when there were many other people included in their group. She found herself waiting for a judgmental comment or a sarcastic jab. He didn’t want her there. Period. He didn’t bother to try to hide it. His anger was a thick, dark mask he wore like a steel cage over his fair and otherwise innocuous features. Dr. Peter Hatcher liked to be in control and when anything arrived that threatened that control, he lost his composure.
His icy eyes now sharpened like a camera lens suddenly in focus. If she wanted to offer a suggested treatment for Sophie, she would be facing his wrath. She kept her mouth shut. It wasn’t a good day to take on Hatcher’s anger. It was more important to tend to Sophie’s infection.
She sensed movement behind her and turned, expecting Siriporn, who’d been with her only a moment before, but it was Anurak, his fingers wrapped around Decha’s ear. He stood only a couple of feet away from her. Both the boy’s and dog’s eyes intently focused on Sophie. Natalie’s first instinct was to move them out of harm’s way, but they appeared ready to bolt the second Sophie flicked an eyelash, so she let them be. Anurak smiled shyly, lifting a hand in greeting. He wore the same ragged red basketball shorts and red-and-white t-shirt he had worn when she saw him last. As she waved back, she wondered if they were the only clothes he owned and made a mental note to ask Mali if the boy could use some new ones.
The Mourning Parade Page 9