Elefant

by Martin Suter

  ‘Don’t worry, I’m not going to leave you – Sabu.’

  32

  15 June 2016

  He was woken up by somebody sucking his little finger. Sabu had left the basket and was glowing beside his left hand.

  He took it away circumspectly and checked the time. Seven o’clock already. Some light was seeping in through a chink in the curtains. He pushed the curtain a little to one side. In one of the shutters a louvre was missing, allowing Schoch to see some fir trees in an unmown meadow and a pavilion with garden chairs tilted against the edge of a table.

  Schoch was startled by a handful of chords from a rock guitar. Sabu, too, spread its ears and raised its trunk.

  It took him a while to realise that the music was coming from Valerie’s mobile. He pressed ‘Accept call’.

  ‘Everything okay?’ her concerned voice said.

  ‘The elephant’s hungry.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘It’s sucking my finger.’

  ‘That’s a good sign. I’ll bring something over as soon as the shops have opened.’

  ‘Those I know are already open.’

  ‘But they don’t sell coconut oil.’

  In the two hours he spent waiting for Valerie, Schoch got to grips with the mobile phone. In his past life of course he’d had mobile phones, but back then you couldn’t take films with them. He had a few attempts at videoing Sabu, who kept trying to suck his little finger.

  Eventually they heard the squeaking of the electric gate. Soon afterwards a heavily laden Valerie came into the room.

  She unpacked her shopping bags. Thermos flask, Tupperware, twigs with green leaves, bottles of mineral water. ‘Coconut oil is the base. Baby elephants can’t digest the fat in cow’s milk. Coconut oil is enriched with all manner of minerals and vitamins. I’ll teach you the recipe.’

  She shook one of the baby bottles, removed the protective lid, and gave it to Schoch.

  ‘Me?’

  ‘If it’s suckling your finger …’

  He crouched down to Sabu and offered it the teat.

  The elephant took it in its mouth without hesitation and started sucking.

  ‘There you go!’ Valerie beamed.

  Schoch smiled. ‘Do you think it’ll pull through?’

  ‘That depends on you.’

  ‘Me?’

  ‘Whether you manage to do this every three hours. And spend twenty-four hours a day with it.’

  Schoch looked at Valerie aghast.

  ‘Those are the rules of the game for hand-rearing elephants.’

  ‘I can’t do that without help.’

  She shook her head. ‘Don’t look at me. I’ve got a job.’

  ‘Me too.’

  ‘What’s that then?’

  ‘Homeless person.’

  They watched the baby elephant sucking eagerly at the bottle. ‘Sabu,’ Schoch said. ‘I’ve named her Sabu.’

  ‘What makes you so sure it’s a girl?’

  ‘Well, there’s nothing underneath.’

  ‘Male elephants keep their testicles in the abdominal cavity. And their penis in the skin of their stomach.’

  ‘So she could be a boy?’

  ‘You call a male elephant a bull.’

  ‘A bull,’ Schoch said with a grin as they continued to gaze at Sabu.

  ‘There was an Indian Hollywood actor called Sabu,’ Valerie said.

  ‘And that female elephant who escaped from the circus.’

  Sabu had drained the bottle. Valerie held out a twig. The elephant fished it with her trunk and stripped the leaves off with her mouth.

  ‘You must be hungry too.’ Valerie took a couple of ham rolls from one of the shopping bags.

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘And something to drink.’

  She put a bottle of mineral water beside the rolls.

  ‘Or would you rather have this?’ She took out a litre can of beer.

  Schoch shook his head. ‘You can take that back.’

  She packed the beer away again.

  Sabu tossed the bare twig in a high arc and clearly wanted more. Valerie put the greenery she’d brought on the floor and Sabu launched into it.

  ‘To think she almost died yesterday,’ Schoch said.

  ‘Maybe it was more of a bad stomach upset than poisoning,’ Valerie said.

  As if by way of confirmation Sabu dropped a few balls of dung onto the carpet. Valerie laughed. ‘You’ll never get her house-trained, that’s for sure.’

  She put two mugs on the chest of drawers, unscrewed a Thermos flask and poured steaming coffee. ‘Milk? Sugar?’ she asked.

  ‘Sugar. Lots.’

  She handed him the mug and took one of the ham rolls from the wrapping. To his surprise he was able to eat it, even though it was before ten o’clock.

  ‘What now? Where do we go from here?’ he asked, his mouth full.

  Valerie raised her shoulders to her ears and let them drop again.

  ‘Maybe there’s a place where they look after laboratory animals. Some sort of organisation,’ Schoch suggested. ‘Or the WWF, maybe the animal protection association.’

  Valerie was doubtful. ‘Associations that protect animals are usually rather naïve. What we need are people who are as tough as nails. They have to set up a kind of witness protection scheme like you see in films.’

  ‘When I used to watch films those sorts of schemes tended to go belly up in the end.’ He sipped his coffee.

  Valerie had an idea. ‘Greenpeace! This is perfect for them. They’re well organised and they’ve got money.’

  ‘Greenpeace? They’re good at getting their message out. But can they do the opposite?’

  Valerie got ready to go; she was expected in the animal hospital. ‘I’ll ask around and do a bit of research. I’ll come back after work. Maybe by then I’ll have found a solution. Don’t forget – a bottle every three hours, not too much greenery and, as for you …’ she said.

  ‘I’ve got it under control, for Christ’s sake,’ he snapped.

  33

  The same day

  Sabu was sleeping and Schoch could feel the creeping anxiety at having missed his ten o’clock beer. He decided to take a shower. But when he saw the large tub with its lion’s claw feet, he ran a bath instead. His first for … he couldn’t say how many years.

  The water flowed a rusty red from the tap and took a long time to turn clear.

  In a china pot he found some bluey-green bath salts, which were so stuck together that he put the whole chunk in the tub, hoping that they would dissolve.

  Sabu slept on, disturbed neither by the rushing of the water nor the whistling of the pipes. Schoch got undressed, wrapped the bath towel around his waist and took his clothes down to the ground floor, where he’d seen a laundry room on their way in.

  The washing machine was an old model, but not much older than the ones he was familiar with from the charitable washing facilities. He even found an open packet of a brand of washing powder that no longer existed. It had amalgamated into a single clump, but he managed to break off a chunk. He switched the machine on and went back upstairs.

  Sabu was still asleep.

  The bath was full, the salts had almost completely dissolved, and the water had taken on their bluey-green colour and smelled good in an old-fashioned way.

  Leaving the towel on a bathroom stool, Schoch climbed in. The water was too hot – it was a good while before his body got used to the temperature and he was able to sit, then lie down.

  His head back, his eyes closed, Schoch allowed his restless hands to swim in the water, like when he was a boy.

  What would he have given as a child for a small, living pink elephant that glowed in the dark? He’d only had a guinea pig. Johnny. After a year Johnny turned out to be a girl and died soon afterwards. Of a fatty heart, as his father claimed. If he was being honest, Schoch hadn’t been upset at Johnny’s premature death. It meant he no longer had to muck out the cage and his mother didn
’t nag him any more about the stink.

  Schoch woke up because the bath had turned cold. He ran some more hot water and washed himself with the flaking soap, which he had to use for his hair and beard too, having found no shampoo.

  When he climbed out of the bath and the water level sank, Schoch could see a dark ring around the tub. Even blacker than when he’d been a boy.

  He scrubbed the bath with a brush, which lost a large proportion of its bristles in the process.

  Schoch then heard a strange noise coming from behind him, something in between squealing, squeaking and chirping. He turned around and there stood Sabu, her trunk and ears raised, staring at his naked form. Schoch put the plug back in and filled the tub to ten centimetres. Then he picked up Sabu and lowered her into the water.

  She hesitated for no more than a moment before plunging her trunk into the water and showering her back.

  34

  The same day

  In his search for something to wear Schoch had stumbled across the parents’ bedroom. It was twice the size of the one he’d slept in, had a bathroom with a jacuzzi and a walk-in wardrobe, two-thirds of which was filled with women’s clothes, the rest with men’s suits.

  He took one of the suits from the rail and held it up. Three-piece, colour an indeterminate grey. He laid it on the vast double bed, took the jacket from the hanger and tried it on.

  Valerie’s father must have been roughly the same height as him. But much fatter. The jacket hung off Schoch like a clown’s costume. In the past it would have fitted him.

  Schoch found some braces and tried on the trousers. The same clown-like effect, but it would do until his own clothes were dry. The stripy shirt he chose was passable if he rolled up the sleeves.

  The socks fitted him, but the hardly worn suede shoes were far too small. He had to make do with his worn-out trainers.

  Thus dressed, Schoch made a tour of the entire house. On the ground floor was a living room and dining room, both with French windows that presumably led out onto a terrace. Here too the curtains and shutters were closed.

  At right angles to the two large rooms were smaller ones – a library, a television room, a billiard room and something that looked like a trophy room: faded patches on the panelling indicated that hunting trophies had been unscrewed from the walls. Many pictures must have hung here as well, judging by the pale rectangles with nails on the upper edge.

  Hunting weapons were displayed in two glass cabinets, both locked. But the cupboards beside them were open and full of hunting literature, mugs and cups from shooting matches, a collection of tankards and schnapps glasses with hunting motifs, and piles of framed black and white photographs showing hunting parties with their kill. Each of them featured the same man, sometimes fatter, sometimes thinner, mostly with a broad smile. Presumably Valerie’s father.

  The contents of these cupboards had been randomly stuffed in, and were probably from the empty cabinets and shelves in the room.

  In one of the cupboards he found a cocktail cabinet full of glasses in all shapes and sizes. At the very bottom was a small built-in fridge, its door wedged open with a cloth. Above it was a humidor containing a few dozen cigars.

  Bottles were lined up on the shelf above the glasses, some opened, some not – single malt whiskies, gin, vodka, liqueurs and schnapps.

  Schoch closed the cupboard and continued his tour.

  In the library was an entire shelf of hunting books: The Magic of the Hunt, Before and After Your Hunting Licence, Hunting in the Landscape, Big Game Hunting in Africa. The jacket of the last of these featured an elephant cow with her calf. Schoch took it from the shelf; he might be able to learn something.

  In the television room he came across a wrought-iron magazine rack. He skimmed some of the publications, all of which were from 1997 and most of them addressed to Frau Johanna Sommer, presumably Valerie’s mother.

  The kitchen looked like it belonged in a restaurant: large stainless-steel work surfaces, a cooker with gas and electric hobs, several fridges, all with cloths to keep them ajar and prevent mould from forming inside. There was also a pantry with two hatches and a small staff area with cloakroom and loo. A chef’s outfit was hanging in one of the lockers; in another he saw a waitress’s apron and a starched cap.

  In the corridor that went back to the utility rooms and the garage were some steps that led downstairs. Below was the boiler room with a large oil heater and beside it another door. Schoch opened it and turned on the light.

  He found himself in a large wine cellar. The shelves were two-thirds empty, but he reckoned there must still be 300 bottles stored here, all neatly arranged by area, domaine and vintage.

  Schoch didn’t stay long in there, but long enough to note that not a single bottle was younger than twenty years old.

  When he came back Sabu was standing by the door, as if she’d been waiting for him. Schoch crouched down beside her. At once she wrapped her trunk around his index finger, pulled it towards her with astonishing force and put it in her mouth.

  ‘I know, second breakfast,’ Schoch said, freeing his finger and going over to the chest of drawers where Valerie had put her shopping. From one of the Thermos flasks he filled a bottle to the mark that Valerie had shown him and held the teat out to Sabu. She began drinking greedily.

  ‘Know the feeling,’ Schoch muttered.

  35

  The same day

  Valerie used the first opportunity she had to put her animal hospital work to one side and embark on her research. She couldn’t find anything on projects to miniaturise animals while also making them glow in different colours. Nor did she have any luck with which organisation to turn to with their Sabu problem. However, soon she came across a disease which in human medicine was called ‘microcephalic osteodysplastic primordial dwarfism type 11’, caused by a problem with the protein responsible for cell division. A similar protein substitutes for the defective one, but the person remains small.

  There were adult people with this disease who were no taller than fifty-six centimetres. But Valerie found no indication that animals could be affected too.

  She was called to an emergency: a highly elegant, highly distressed lady had run over her Scottish terrier in the entrance to her garage. The animal had broken both its hind legs and two vertebrae, and had to be put to sleep. She gave the woman a sedative and, because she was now unable to drive her Porsche home herself, Valerie had to keep her company until the driver of her husband’s firm arrived to chauffeur her home.

  When she was finally able to turn back to her monitor, she resolved to reduce her workload in the animal clinic to 40 per cent and increase her time in the street clinic to 60. She read more about primordial dwarfism.

  Valerie learned that those affected by the disease had a lower life expectancy. Their blood vessels formed protrusions or constrictions, often leading to brain haemorrhages or strokes.

  This information made her feel both sad and hopeful.

  36

  The same day

  Schoch took the bottles from the cocktail cabinet down to the wine cellar, locked it and put the key in his trouser pocket. He intended to give it to Valerie. For safety’s sake.

  He was just filming himself feeding Sabu the bottle when Valerie came back. She didn’t know whether to feel perturbed or amused when she saw him in her father’s suit. She decided to ignore it.

  ‘She’s not a bull,’ he told her.

  ‘Have you looked?’

  He nodded. ‘There’s nothing in the skin folds.’

  ‘All the better.’

  Schoch contradicted her. ‘No, it’s not better. Elephants are matrilinear. The females always stay with their mothers and are shaped by them. It’s all in there,’ he said, pointing with his chin at the big game hunting book he’d left on the bed.

  ‘And it looks as if I’m the mother now.’ He smiled down at Sabu, who was sucking powerfully on the bottle. ‘I can’t spend the rest of my life here playing hide-and-seek
and elephant mum.’

  ‘You won’t have to. She probably won’t live very long.’ Seeing his reaction she wished she’d said it a little less bluntly.

  ‘Where did you come up with that nonsense?’ he asked angrily.

  ‘I’ve been doing some research into this form of dwarfism. Not those who are born normal size, then grow disproportionally. But those who suffer from microcephalic osteodysplastic primordial dwarfism type 11. They are born very small and grow slowly, but proportionately, and in the end look like miniature versions of the original. This is what Sabu has.’

  ‘Why do you say she won’t live very long?’

  ‘Because people with this disease often die young.’

  ‘Sabu isn’t a person.’

  ‘All I’m saying is that if you’re fretting over the decision of whether to – how can I put this? – adopt Sabu or not, it wouldn’t be for life.’

  Both of them looked at Sabu drinking from the bottle, her head slightly to one side, her trunk raised and curled inwards.

  ‘How old is she roughly?’

  ‘She’s still got the proportions of a baby. I’d say she can’t be much older than a year.’

  Schoch gave Sabu a probing look.

  ‘You could live here,’ Valerie said.

  ‘What would I do all day long alone in this huge house?’

  ‘You wouldn’t be alone.’

  Sabu had finished the bottle. Schoch put it away and started feeding her bits of carrot. He placed one in the palm of his hand and Sabu’s trunk picked it up and put it in her mouth.

  ‘How many muscles does a human being have?’ Schoch asked.

  ‘About six hundred and fifty if I remember rightly.’

  ‘An elephant has around forty thousand. In its trunk alone. Forty thousand!’

  ‘Just think about it.’

  ‘What would I do all day long?’

  ‘What do you do all day long at the moment?’