Elephant Dropping (9781301895199)

by Trzebinski, Bruce

  In Venice the children discovered real Italian ice cream, fed and chased pigeons in Saint Mark’s square and messed about trying to tip up a gondola, much to the annoyance of the owner, who insisted the family get out of his boat before the ride was through. ‘Hey,’ complained Patel, ‘now we are in the middle of nowhere, you have to take us back.’

  ‘This is not nowhere, this is Venice,’ as he poled away from them. ‘You go back to nowhere,’ he advised.

  ‘You go back to nowhere,’ Jitu imitated the man, pointing at his younger brother.

  Fatima burst out laughing, Patel smiled. ‘Italians, what can you do?’ Soon they were on their way to Barcelona, the kids happier to be moving. Patel had not told Fatima about the car until they got there.

  She was surprised and said. ‘It must be expensive to do that.’

  ‘You know what a sentimental fool I am, I thought we would need our car here silly me, eh?’ He smiled at her.

  She frowned a little at his lie but reasoned that he knew better about what he was doing than she did and besides, she was enjoying his newfound generosity paying for things without so much as a quibble.

  It took three days to clear the car and get all the paperwork done. That morning Patel had given his wife a large wad of money. ‘Keep this handy,’ he said.

  She looked at the money puzzled. ‘Handy for what?’

  ‘I don’t want to carry it on me into the port,’ he said mysteriously. ‘Why don’t you take the boys to the beach, while I collect our car,’ he suggested.

  Patel waited outside the shipping warehouse nervously, while a driver went to look for the Landcruiser. He hopped from one foot to the other unable to keep still, a mixture of excitement and dread. The familiar sight of his car calmed him as it drove up. In a flash he moved round to the back of the car and peered in the rear view window his heart pounding. The spare tire was still in place locked with chains, nothing had been moved. The driver watched him curiously holding a clipboard as he got him to check for anything missing or broken. Patel signed the release, his hand shaking. He started the car and promptly stalled it. The man could see he was nervous. ‘Why don’t you drive around the car park, until you get the hang of it,’ he suggested.

  Patel peered at him looking for trickery. ‘Yes thank you, that’s a good idea.’ He drove back to the hotel and parked in the underground car park, sweating profusely from nervous excitement. He switched off the engine and sat in the car calming himself. Getting out of the car he checked under the driver’s seat for any sign of disturbance, it all looked in order. He then opened the boot and checked the locks on the chains.He undid a clip on the carpet and lifted the corner carefully, a layer of undisturbed coffee granules in his gaze, he sighed with satisfaction, his cargo intact. He was itching to look at the money, but resisted the impulse; he patted the car affectionately and caught the lift up to their apartment.

  The kids were still out. He lay down on the bed with a sense of deep satisfaction, the most difficult part was over and now he had money in cash to start a new and more prosperous life for himself and his family; he dozed off contentedly.

  Patel was woken by the sound of the children in the hallway, racing one another to the door. He hugged his wife. ‘I got the car,’ he said his eyes beaming at her.

  She hugged him back. ‘We had fun at the beach.’

  ‘What car?’ asked Jitu.

  ‘Dadie has brought our car from Kenya.’

  ‘Wow, how did it get here?’

  ‘On a big ship, all the way from Mombasa.’

  Gulam asked. ‘Can we go on a ship one day?’

  ‘Yes we will go on many ships,’ his father assured him.

  ‘Where is the car?’ asked Jitu.

  ‘It’s nearby, tomorrow we will it drive back to England.’

  ‘No dadie let’s not go there, it’s too cold and I hate my school,’ said Gulam.

  Jitu agreed. ‘Yes dadie, let’s go back to Disneyland.’

  Patel looked at his wife and smiled. ‘Your children don’t want to go back. What shall we do with them.’

  ‘We could leave them here,’ she suggested.

  The children shook their heads solemnly. ‘Why do we have to go back to England?’ asked Gulam.

  ‘Because that’s where we live now,’ Fatima explained.

  That evening Patel spent time over a series of maps, using a calculator he made notes on a legal pad. The children were asleep in the adjoining room and Fatima lay on the bed and watched her husband; he had been engrossed in the maps for hours.

  ‘Are you afraid we will get lost?’ She ventured.

  ‘What’s that my dear,’ he said not looking up, ‘lost?’

  ‘The maps, you’re looking at.’

  ‘Oh these, you wouldn’t believe how many roads there are. It’s not like Kenya and we have almost eight hundred miles to go before we get to the car ferry in Holland.’

  ‘You want to drive all that way in one day?’

  He nodded happily. ‘Yes if we can. It all depends on the timing of the ferries across to England.’

  ‘Why the hurry?We could stop on the way somewhere.’

  ‘Now as you said my dear, the kids have to go back to school, but let’s see how we get on.’

  ‘I miss Malindi. How did the sale of the factory go?’

  ‘Not now my love, we will have plenty of time to talk on the journey. In the meantime let’s get some sleep, as you said it’s a long drive.’

  They were all packed and in the car early the next morning, the boys still half asleep. ‘I can smell coffee?’ said Fatima.

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Patel distractedly arranging his notes on the dashboard so that he could refer to them quickly.

  She could also smell scent - woman’s scent on her seat. ‘How is Azizza?’

  ‘What?’ Patel frowned at her.

  ‘Your assistant, Azizza, how is she?’

  ‘I’m sure she is fine,’ her husband replied starting the car. He turned and asked Jitu to move one of the smaller suitcases obscuring his rear view. Jitu tried to adjust it but it stubbornly slid back into position. ‘Ok pull it forward, it will have to sit on the seat between you.’ Patel pulled out of the car park and said. ‘Now no noise please until I get the hang of driving the car ok?’ He drove a little way to the nearest petrol station to top up the tank, making notes on his pad, and adjusting the trip meter to zero and checked the map before setting off. Fatima watched him curiously, she had never seen him so preoccupied.

  Their progress was marked by silence, driving slowly at first until he gained confidence. They got onto the nearest auto route and were soon humming along at a good pace with the other vehicles. After the third fuel stop Fatima asked him if there was a problem with the car.

  ‘No my dear nothing serious, it’s just the fuel gauge doesn’t work,’ he pointed at the dial, ‘and I don’t want to run out.’

  Jitu leaned forward. ‘But dadie you’re only putting in twenty litres at a time.’

  ‘An accountant already eh?’ He roughed up his hair affectionately.

  Patel began to relax as he studiously ticked off the names on his list. One thing he had not thought of was the attention the Kenyan number plate was causing. At petrol stations he became aware of other drivers staring at them, until at a filing station an attendant said. ‘Kenya?’ Pointing at the plate.‘You drove all the way like the Paris - Dakar?’ Patel only smiled, nodding affably, the penny dropping.

  They stopped for lunch at a yet another large filling station, Patel taking his maps with him. ‘We are making good progress,’ he told his wife as they ate slices of pizza.

  ‘Where are we going Dadie?’ Asked Gulam.

  Patel showed him on the map. ‘Look we are here and we are going,’ he traced a line with his finger, ‘to here and then all the way to here, we will get on a ship and go over to England.’

  ‘Wow,’ he said with big eyes, ‘a ship?’

  ‘I don’t want to go to England,’ said Jitu.
‘Why can’t we go back to Malindi?

  Gulam joined in. ‘We could take a ship back to Malindi.’

  Patel laughed and Fatima smiled with him. She had been reminiscing quietly on the journey, the car reminding her so much of the home she had left. ‘Yes I miss Malindi too.’

  ‘Maybe we will go back there one day for a holiday,’ said Patel getting up, ‘come on let’s get to that ship, eh?’

  Fatima tried to draw information about Malindi and the many friends they had left behind from her husband while he drove, but his distracted monosyllabic answers discouraged her and instead she fell into silence, remembering with sweet sadness, images of the home they’d left behind.

  At dinner that night at another motorway café, the kids were bored and tired from lack of activity, listlessly picking at their sandwiches. ‘Aren’t you tired my dear?’ she asked him. ‘Surely we should stop, and spend the night.’

  ‘No I’m fine, it’s not much further.’

  She frowned a little. ‘You know, England is not the same as Malindi, the people there are very different.’

  ‘That’s because they are English,’ he said irritably.

  She sighed. ‘Yes.’

  They boarded the ferry in Holland at ten that evening. The kids had to be woken and led sleepily up the stairs to the lounge area. Patel found a few unoccupied sofa seats in the corner of the lounge and the children lay down and promptly fell asleep.

  ‘I need to stretch my legs,’ he said and walked off leaving her with the children, puzzled and angry. She couldn’t understand his change of mood, ever since he had got that damned car he had been distant and unfriendly and the drive that could have been so much fun, had turned into a weary marathon. She gave up and lay down on the floor beside her children using her arms as a pillow, and listening to the rhythmic throb of the engines, fell into a dreamless sleep.

  Patel woke her. ‘We are here,’ he said, ‘come on let’s go.’

  The children looked up sleepily and stretched. ‘When do we get to the ship?’ asked Gulam, yawning.

  Jitu laughed. ‘We are on the ship you dozy head.’

  Gulam looked about him in wonder. ‘Come on, we must leave,’ Patel instructed as he ushered his family towards the stairs leading down to the car deck.

  They drove off the ramp at Dover. The road divided at the top of the hill where clearly marked signs pointing the way to the red zone, “Something to declare” and the green zone, “Nothing to declare.” Patel gripped the steering wheel and followed other cars that had chosen the green zone. The whole area was lit up like a football pitch and there seemed to be no one about. As he crested the hill more buildings came into view. The car in front of him went round a series of small roundabouts, the road divided again as they passed what looked like a weigh-bridge. He keenly searched for any road signs to London. Some speed bumps slowed their progress, a man stepped out in front of the car wearing a fluorescent orange jacket, and waved them down.

  Patel rolled down his window.

  ‘Good evening sir,’ the man said pleasantly.

  Patel nodded, raising his eyebrows.

  ‘Are you aware sir that you have driven into the nothing to declare zone?’

  Patel said. ‘Yes, it’s only my family, we are on holiday.’

  ‘Good for you sir, but all foreign registered cars, when they enter Britain must go through the red zone, even if you have nothing to declare. Those plates, you’re from Kenya?’

  Patel nodded, gritting his teeth.

  ‘Had a great holiday there once meself. Now sir, if you just carry on this road,’ he said pointing to the left, ‘you will come to a building with a barrier across the road where you can present your car papers.’

  Patel breathed out and managed a smile. ‘Ok,’ he said and followed the man’s instructions; the kids were now wide-awake.

  ‘Where are we?’ Jitu asked.

  ‘Shhh,’ his mother said. Patel stopped in front of the barrier. A uniformed man walked over with a large Labrador on a lead.

  ‘Switch off the engine sir,’ he instructed. ‘Do you have the car papers?’Patel reached into the glove compartment, took out a brown envelope, and handed it through the window. The man stepped back. ‘Just take them into the office,’ he said pointing at a nearby building.

  Patel looked at his wife. ‘I won’t be long,’ he said getting out of the car and walking to the building.

  The man with the Labrador walked round the car to Fatima’s side. ‘This car is from Kenya?’ The dog was animated, sniffing under the wheel arches excitedly.

  ‘Yes,’ she said and smiled.

  The man watched his dog. ‘She must have smelt sum buffaloes or something; I have never seen her so excited. Would you mind getting out of the car madam, you and the kids. Don’t worry, she won’t bite you,’ as Fatima hesitated.

  She got out reluctantly. ‘My husband,’ she said.

  The man had hold of the passenger door. ‘Com’on you two,’ he said to the children with a smile. ‘Georgie doesn’t bite,’ Jitu and Gulam looked at their mother, not moving.

  ‘It’s ok,’ she encouraged them as they scrambled out and stood beside her looking fearfully at the dog.

  Georgie sat wagging her tail. ‘Wont to touch pet,’ the man invited, both children shook their heads.

  He laughed. ‘Ok then this won’t take a moment,’ and lifting the lead up he said, ‘Hup seek!’The Labrador leapt in the back of the car through the passenger door. It sniffed about rooting among the piled suitcases and then dropped to the floor to sniff under the seat. Suddenly the dog stiffened with raised hackles, backing away towards her handler barking furiously.

  ‘Blimey never seen her do that before, you don’t have any snakes do you? Com’on Georgie girl,’ he pulled the frightened dog out and tried to calm her.

  A second customs man walked over to see what the fuss was all about. ‘What’s the story Bill? he asked.

  ‘Dunno, the dog smelt something under the seat there. Hold her a minute will you.’ The dog now had stopped barking but was wining and trembling. He took a torch out of his pocket and ducked down to look warily under the seat. ‘There seems to be a carrier bag there,’ he said straightening up, ‘there under the seat.’

  Patel joined them. ‘What’s the problem.’

  ‘The dog has found a bag under the seat. Would you care to remove it sir?’

  ‘A bag?’ Patel leaned down and looked at a plastic shopping bag he had never seen before. ‘I don’t know how that got there,’ he said to the customs man.

  ‘Would you remove it for us sir?’

  Patel reached in his heart pounding, and pulled the bag out.

  There was something in the bottom wrapped in tissue paper. He unwrapped it as the customs men looked on. The dog started leaping up again, the other handler led her away, to calm her. Patel started to laugh. ‘It’s a dropping! It’s an Elephant dropping.’ He held it out grinning with relief.

  Gulam exclaimed. ‘My science project!’

  The customs man declined to take it. ‘What’s that you say?’

  ‘An elephant dropping, you know, ah, shit. An Elephant shit.’

  ‘Oh an elephant shit is it?’ staring at the round ball of compressed vegetation. ‘That takes the bacon for bullshit that’s for sure,’ he said, clearly not amused.

  ‘No look at it,’ holding it out once more in earnest. ‘My youngest put it in the car for his science project.’

  ‘Replace it in the bag sir, and give me your car keys. I’m impounding your vehicle.’

  ‘What? No. Look there’s no problem, my car has been cleared,’ he waved his envelope, ‘that thing was for my son’s science project, he forgot it in the car that’s all.’

  ‘The keys sir,’ the customs man held his hand out.

  ‘No,’ said Patel, ‘you can’t do this to us, it’s just a piece of dung, please, we have been cleared.’

  ‘Not by me you haven’t.’

  Patel smiled and reached for
his wallet. ‘Now officer, I’m sure we can reach an arrangement.’

  The customs man stiffened and stood a little straighter.

  Patel opened his wallet revealing a large wad of money. ‘Officer it’s late and the kids are tired, please…’

  ‘You’re a right one you are,’ the customs man muttered ignoring him. ‘The keys Sir.’

  Patel handed them over. ‘It’s just a bit of animal shit, that’s all, nothing illegal,’ he said miserably.

  ‘Yes I’m sure, now if you will follow me.’

  He took the still trembling dog from the other handler and handed the keys over. ‘Give her the works John,’ he instructed. ‘Elephant dropping - whatever next!’

  FORTY-FIVE

  Some months later Firdus was expecting Doug and Gem for the weekend, he drove into Voi to do some shopping, but more importantly to renew his gun license, a mere formality but nevertheless it was required by law.

  Firdus had not seen his nephew for months apart from a fleeting visit to collect his motorcycle, it would be fun go bird shooting together. He shopped first, leaving the gun license as the last thing to do and then drove into the familiar sleepy police station presenting his papers at the desk, the forms already completed. All it now needed was a signature from the police commander and he would be on his way. The policeman at the reception read through the papers, his finger slowly following the text as he murmured to himself. ‘It just needs your boss to sign it,’ prompted Firdus pointing at the line that said station commander. The policeman moved the form away from Firdus’s finger.

  ‘Yes,’ he said and continued to read. Firdus waited.

  Eventually the cop stopped. ‘You want me to sign where?’

  ‘Not you,’ Firdus said, ‘the station boss. Is he in?’

  ‘You wait,’ the policeman said and disappeared with the form into the back offices.

  ‘Firdus?’ A familiar voice called out. He frowned, the voice called out again getting closer. ‘Firdus Fernandez?’

  Detective Katana walked up, a big grin on his face.

  ‘Katana!’ Exclaimed Firdus. ‘What on earth?’

  ‘Come in.’ Katana waved at him, his eyes beaming as he lifted the desk counter to let Firdus through.