An Inconvenient Elephant

by Judy Reene Singer

  “You could cure it in fresh gold,” Richie muttered darkly, “and it’s still a sacrilege. It’s not nice to eat meat.”

  “It’s necessary,” Diamond said, with a snort. “You know, there aren’t too many salad bars in the jungle.”

  Richie took an ancient coffee pot off the stove and unproductively tinkered with it for a few minutes before setting it down on the counter. “I don’t really know how to do this,” he finally admitted with a sheepish grin. “Jackie always makes the coffee, and she’s in Alabama, looking for a house for us.” He picked up a bag of coffee and peered at the lettering, looking for directions. “There’s got to be a recipe somewhere on here.”

  Diamond-Rose leaped from her chair, grabbed the bag from him, and then hunted through the cabinets for a saucepan.

  “This is the way we do it on safari,” she said, dumping the contents of the bag into the pan, filling it with cold water and sloshing it on the stove to boil. “Makes good coffee after you let the grinds settle.”

  Ten minutes later, we were sipping coffee that bore a strong resemblance to melted asphalt.

  “So, what’s going on?” I asked, after stirring three or four heaping teaspoons of sugar into my cup, which still didn’t help.

  Richie brought his finger to his lips. “Elisabeth’s upstairs, probably taking a nap,” he whispered, then pointed over his head to where the bedrooms were. “I don’t want her to wake up yet. It’s exhausting to keep up with her.”

  Diamond got up to pour herself a second cup, offering a refill to Richie. “Another cup of my coffee and you could keep up with a jaguar.”

  “Actually, your coffee could fly a helicopter,” Richie said, quickly putting his hand across the top of his cup to decline, “but that’s not what I meant by keeping up.”

  Diamond wasn’t the least insulted. She sat down again and leaned back in her chair. “Mind if I smoke?” She reached into her pants pocket, pulled out one of her cheroots, and chomped it between her lips. Another pocket produced a tin of matches, and after striking a match against the bottom of her boot, she lit the odd-looking object with a deep inhale. The room filled with the scent of fresh dung. I tried not to gag.

  Richie watched her with some fascination. “Is that a camel turd?”

  “A bundu cheroot,” she replied, exhaling with a sigh of satisfaction. “We make them in the bush all the time. Gum tree root. I can give you a couple next time I see you.”

  “I’ve smoked a lot of joints in my time”—Richie laughed, waving the smoke away from his face—“but I’ll pass. I don’t think Elisabeth wants anyone smoking in the—”

  “Oh my! Do I smell a cheroot?” Mrs. Wycliff’s voice preceded her as she toddled into the room, leaning on her cane. She threw her head back and inhaled deeply. “Mmmm.”

  She looked just the way I remembered her, gray hair pulled into a utilitarian bun and still wearing the ubiquitous white cable knit sweater and jeans that had been her fashion statement since I had first met her, more than ten years ago. Maybe she moved a little more slowly, and maybe she was a little thinner, but she sounded as strong as she always had, with good color in her face and eyes bright with curiosity. I shot Richie a quizzical look. She looked perfectly fine to me, and with someone else doing the actual physical work, I didn’t see why she couldn’t stay in charge of her own sanctuary.

  “Elisabeth,” he said, “you remember Neelie Sterling? She helped Tom bring Margo back last year.”

  “Hello.” I extended my hand.

  “Good to see you again, dear.” She took my hand in her thin, cool fingers and held onto it while leaning forward to drop into a conspiratorial whisper. “Sorry that I had to fire Margo. She was very sloppy in the kitchen.”

  Before I could reply, Richie stepped in. “Margo wasn’t the housekeeper,” he said to her in a gentle voice. “She’s the elephant.” But Mrs. Wycliff had turned to stare at Diamond-Rose.

  “And who is this redhead?”

  Diamond stood up and extended her own hand. “Diamond-Rose Tremaine,” she said, a delighted look crossing her face. I could see she was taken with Mrs. Wycliff right off.

  “Hot damn! I did smell a cheroot!” Mrs. Wycliff pointed at Diamond’s cigar. “Do you have any more? It’s been a while since I’ve had one.”

  “Take mine,” Diamond offered generously. “I have plenty.”

  Mrs. Wycliff took it with a pleased grin, then whispered to me, “But don’t tell Harry. He hates when I smoke, so it’ll be our little secret.” She took a deep puff, then carefully lowered herself into a kitchen chair. “If Harry wasn’t such a damn crank about me smoking, I would enjoy one with my Irish coffee every morning.”

  “I rolled about ten dozen of them before I left Kenya—had to sneak them through customs twice,” Diamond said. “I have a few outside in the car, if you want one.”

  “Speaking of vehicles”—Mrs. Wycliff impatiently looked around the kitchen—“where are the keys to my truck?”

  “I have them,” Richie said. “Your truck isn’t running. It needs repairs.”

  “Oh, that’s right.” Mrs. Wycliff exhaled a long, smoky breath across the table. “It got dented when I hit that black rhino last week.”

  “We don’t have any black rhinos, Elisabeth,” Richie corrected her. “You hit the side of the garage.”

  “Whatever it was,” Mrs. Wycliff agreed. “Stampeded right into the engine.”

  Mrs. Wycliff was enjoying her coffee and smoke, and sat back in her chair to regale us with stories of her life in the bush. Diamond-Rose was listening with her head resting on one hand, her face a study in adoration, but I was growing more impatient with each passing minute. I wanted to talk about the elephants, not adventures that took place fifty years ago. I wanted to find out how to keep Margo and Abbie at the sanctuary, and ask Richie the best way to contact Tom about Tusker.

  “Richie!” I made an eyebrow gesture for us to go into the living room. He nodded and left the table, trying not to disturb Mrs. Wycliff. We left her and Diamond in the kitchen, happily passing the cheroot back and forth and comparing notes about their last safaris.

  The spacious living room was furnished with a view toward practicality and comfort. Two black fluffy cats lounged on afghan-covered sofas, while a plump tabby was being accommodated by one of the overstuffed chairs that flanked a bay window. An antique mahogany desk stood against one wall, with a leather chair that hosted yet another sleeping cat, a gray striped, that snored softly. A small table by a side window had a porcelain elephant planter with what looked like the stringy remains of catnip growing from it. In front of the large marble fireplace lay Mrs. Wycliff’s two old black Labs, Baako and Dafina. I drew closer to study the pictures hanging above the mantle, stepping over the snoring dogs. Neither of them lifted an ear.

  I had seen these pictures before—they were of a young Elisabeth Wycliff in safari clothes and pith helmet, posing with elephants or horses or chimps. In one picture, she was caressing a large Bengal tiger. In another, she was kissing the nose of a down-stretched giraffe. My favorite was the one where she was sitting on a horse and holding a lion cub across her lap. It had been an enviable life, and she had done many good things for wild animals. I stood on my tiptoes for a better look.

  “She’s always loved animals,” Richie said, standing next to me. “I think she was only seventeen in that picture—took a trip with her father and already doing rescue work. Mostly in Kenya, though she was in Botswana and a few other places, too. Of course, all those countries had different names then.”

  “She’s a remarkable woman,” I agreed, then turned around to face him. “And that’s why it’s not Tom’s place to take her elephants away from her. She should be respected for everything she’s done. Maybe she moves a little slower, but she can still run things.”

  “No, she can’t,” Richie said. “She gets confused.”

  “All she needs is a little help,” I argued.

  Richie frowned and plucked a cat from the
side chair before sitting down. The cat stretched across his lap and purred. “Neelie, you haven’t been here for a whole year. She can’t run this place anymore.”

  “Then what about this Harry she mentioned?” I demanded. “What’s wrong with him? Why can’t he help?”

  “Harry was her third husband, and he died thirty years ago,” Richie said.

  “Then hire someone to take your place,” I said. “Another manager.” I was getting an idea.

  He dropped the cat to the floor and stood up. “Look, I tried. I found two people that just might have worked out, but”—he made a helpless gesture with his hands—“she thought they were poachers and chased them off with her old dart gun.” He shook his head. “She’s erratic. Her last housekeeper was so intimidated, she left in the middle of the night.”

  I stated the obvious. “What about me?”

  He put his hand on my arm. “Did you forget who her partner is? Do you think Tom would want you up here?”

  Tom again. And I knew the answer.

  “Anyway, the elephants are being moved,” he said with an air of finality. “We’re in the process of making arrangements for them.”

  My thoughts started whirling like something out of Dr. Seuss. I could not lose my elephants, I would not lose my elephants.

  “What about him—Tom?” I said. “He can hire just about anybody to help her keep this place running. Even if it’s not, you know, me.”

  Richie ran his hand through his hair. “Last I heard, he was talking about buying Elisabeth out and as I told you, knocking down the elephant barn. You know Tom—he always has some kind of plan going. And you see what the barns and fencing look like. Elisabeth never wanted anything changed, and now things are just falling apart.” His voice took on a powerless tone. “It’s not up to me. He wants to buy her out, and then her estate could use the money to take care of her. It’s really a good idea, Neelie. She has no one.” He gave me a final shrug signifying our discussion was closed and got up to return to the kitchen, but I stepped in front of him.

  “There must be something I can do,” I said urgently. “Maybe Mrs. W. is elderly, but she conceived this whole place and she has to be respected. She’s got to have a voice in any decision he makes.”

  “She can’t live alone anymore.” Richie was getting impatient. “And she has no one. Jackie’s been the one watching over her. After we leave, the power of attorney goes to Tom or her lawyer, and they’ll have to hire someone to care for her. That’s what today’s meeting was about. After Tom buys her out, what happens to this place will be up to him.” He dropped his voice because Mrs. Wycliff and Diamond-Rose were just coming in to join us. “You can’t fight it, Neelie. Everything’s pretty much set.”

  “But I don’t see why she can’t oversee her own farm,” I insisted. “I’ll help. I promise I’ll do anything it takes—”

  “That’s enough blathering,” Mrs. Wycliff declared impatiently as she entered the room. “You two have had more than enough time to organize this safari. Summon the dogs. We’ll go after that injured rhino first thing in the morning.”

  Richie gave me a meaningful look as Mrs. Wycliff clapped her hands and turned to Diamond-Rose. “Jackie, get the fire going,” she commanded. “We’ll be making camp here tonight.”

  Chapter 17

  “WE’RE GOING TO RUN OUT OF TIME,” DIAMOND WAS saying. It was her turn to cook breakfast, and she was leaving her usual mess of coffee grinds scattered across the stove and countertops, a puddle of water on the floor, which she was tromping through to set out the coffee and milk and mugs, or whatever mugs I had left, as she had a habit of tossing the dirty dishes into the sink with such force that they usually shattered. A jet of flame rose behind her as the grease from the bacon she was frying spattered onto the burner. “I spoke to Charlotte again,” she said, casually flipping a lid over the blazing pan. “I told her that Joshua promised us a few months, but she says you can’t totally trust anyone. You have to call your man. There’s an old saying: You have to get up before the chickens to gather their eggs.”

  “He’s not my man,” I said, watching her nervously. “And if you get up before the chickens, they wouldn’t have had time to lay their eggs.”

  “Well, the ones that laid these apparently did,” she said. “Here’s breakfast.” She placed two perfectly fried eggs and three strips of crispy bacon in front of me.

  I looked at my plate. “How do you do that?” I said. “I mean, you practically burn my kitchen down, but the food comes out great.”

  “I’m not used to kitchens,” Diamond apologized, sitting down with her own plate, “but I am used to cooking over an open flame.” She dug into her breakfast, then looked up at me. “So, will you call him?”

  “I want to,” I began slowly. “It’s just that it’s going to be so hard after not being in touch with him for a whole year. I don’t even know if he’ll answer the phone if he sees it’s me.”

  “Did you mention Tusker to your friend Richie? Maybe he could sort of break the ice for you.”

  I shook my head guiltily. “We got so caught up talking about Margo and Abbie. Besides, we’ll just raise the money ourselves. You said you would think of something.”

  “I did,” she said. “I thought of Tom. He has the planes and the expertise.”

  “That’s not a solution,” I said testily. “Besides, I can’t call.”

  “Well, it’s your pride versus Tusker’s life,” Diamond pointed out.

  My heart sank. “You’re right,” I agreed glumly, and peered into my coffee cup. “I just wish this was a cup of courage.”

  It took me four days.

  Two days of rehearsing what I was going to say. Two days of procrastinating, until Diamond took the plastic bulletin board from my office and hung it on the refrigerator, using its red erasable marker to cross off the days left before Tusker was going to be shot. If I were still a practicing therapist, I would have chided my client that not calling was classic avoidance behavior, but I had only me to chide.

  “Call Tom,” I urged myself. “Tusker needs you.”

  “You call Tom,” I argued back. “He’s not talking to me.”

  Another red X from Diamond increased my guilt. I finally dialed Tom’s cell number with trembling fingers, then hung up, dialed again, rinsed and repeated. Diamond stood over me until I let it ring.

  “I’m probably getting upset for nothing,” I whispered to Diamond. “We may have had some issues between us, but when it comes to elephants, I know we’ll always have a special bond.”

  “Great,” she whispered back. “I love your special bonds.”

  He answered right away, his voice sounding like concern. “Neelie?”

  “It’s me,” I said, then thought how presumptuous that sounded. Everyone refers to themselves as “me.”

  “Are you okay?” he asked, his voice taking on a worried tone. “Where are you calling from?”

  “I’m home,” I said, and couldn’t think of anything else to say. “I’m okay,” I finally added, straining to make small talk. “What about you?” I eyed Diamond, who was giving me a thumbs-up.

  “Very busy.” He sounded mystified that I would care. “I’m very surprised you would call me.”

  “Well, actually, I called about Tusker,” I said, trying to keep my voice from shaking.

  “Oh yes,” he said, the frost definitely setting in. “I was waiting for that. Grisha told me you were part of the team in Zim. I am furious that you took such risks. What the hell possessed you to do something stupid like that?”

  “What do you mean, ‘something stupid’?” I snapped.

  There was silence, then, “Did you call me to argue?”

  He was right. I changed tactics. “Tom,” I said, “Tusker’s running out of time.”

  “Don’t you think I know that?” he interrupted me impatiently. “I did everything I could to get a plane in there, but I’m a marked man in Zimbabwe right now. You wouldn’t believe the politics involved�
�”

  “What about the sanctuary you were building near Kilimanjaro?”

  “There’s a problem with the land,” he said, getting impatient. “We’re still negotiating. Things take time.”

  “Well, Charara’s north,” I said. “Can we move him across the border to Zambia or someplace? Maybe they’ll let us fly him out of Zambia.”

  “Us?”

  “Us.”

  He snorted. “Neelie, it’s dangerous. You have no clue how dangerous it is. You just need to wait so I can—”

  “Are you waiting for the deadline?” I snapped.

  “I’m trying to get a plane in without causing an international incident,” he yelled at me. “Then we have to get him back to Chizarira. I recently spoke to Billy Pope, and he said the elephant has returned to his old haunts. Actually, elephants, since Billy mentioned that you brought two. Did you hear me say that it was dangerous? Stay the hell out of things you don’t know anything about—”

  “I do know!” I returned angrily, but my heart was filling with bitter disappointment. All the work, all the oranges, all the danger. For nothing. “We couldn’t separate them,” I shouted. “I was there and you weren’t! How dare—” But I was talking into a dead phone. He had hung up.

  Diamond had been leaning against the kitchen wall, listening. “Shall I cross that special bond off the list, as well?” she asked dryly.

  “He didn’t even let me finish talking,” I said, still quaking with anger.

  “I’ll call Joshua again,” she said. “I’ll see if we can get a delay. And maybe someone else with a plane.”

  “How many people have planes to fly elephants around?” I said glumly.

  “I have some ideas,” Diamond said. “Don’t forget that I’m good at fixing things.”

  She poured herself yet another cup of coffee and went out on my back porch to think. I peeked through the window and watched as she sat in my old rocking chair, rocking back and forth, sipping her coffee and staring off at my barn, calm and contemplative while I was still boiling over my conversation with Tom.