by Martin Suter
Reber stood up. ‘Come on, Kaung. Let’s go and see the elephants.’
The oozie looked at his boss uncertainly. Pellegrini nodded.
‘I’m coming with you,’ Roux snorted, following the two of them.
When they entered the stalls, the cows started moving and rattling their chains. Trisha’s calf, untethered, was standing next to his mother. Now more than a year old, he no longer fitted underneath her. Fahdi, the bull, was in a separate pen.
‘You can stay here if you promise to keep calm and not drive the animals crazy,’ Reber said curtly to Roux. ‘Otherwise I’ll have to ask you to leave.’
‘No worries,’ Roux snapped. ‘This isn’t the first time I’ve been close up with elephants.’
First they went over to Rupashi, the elephant cow who was in her nineteenth month. She’d been artificially inseminated by Dr Horàk’s team and so far had enjoyed a problem-free pregnancy.
Due dates for elephant cows are difficult to predict. They barely exhibit any pregnancy symptoms and are fully fit until just before the birth. Kaung thought she’d be giving birth in less than three months and Reber was inclined to believe him because he’d predicted the birth of Trisha’s baby almost to the day.
Reber wanted to carry out an ultrasound scan nonetheless, and Kaung helped him.
Everything about Rupashi looked normal. Kaung was probably correct with his prognosis.
All was fine with Sadaf too, an artificially inseminated breeding elephant in her seventeenth month.
Reber started packing up the ultrasound device.
‘What about Asha?’ said Roux, who’d kept quiet as ordered until now.
‘What about her?’
‘I want you to give her an ultrasound too.’
‘Why?’
Roux gave no answer, he just raised his eyebrows scornfully.
Reber understood. ‘I see, you don’t trust me.’ He exchanged glances with Kaung.
‘Let’s just say I don’t trust that one over there,’ Roux said, pointing at Kaung.
Reber thought about it briefly, then waved the oozie over and they carried the device to Asha. Roux followed them and bent over the monitor.
Reber smeared gel over the elephant’s wrinkly grey skin and applied the sensor.
There was movement on the monitor. Shapes and contours, areas with changing tones of grey, outlines and structures appeared and disappeared.
For several minutes Reber scanned Asha’s flank, while Roux peered over his shoulder at the screen. Kaung watched with bated breath.
‘Tell me when you’ve seen enough,’ Reber said coolly.
Roux let him scan for another couple of minutes then left the stalls without saying a word.
When he was sure that the man was out of earshot, Kaung asked, ‘How you do that?’
Reber started packing the device away. ‘Something so little,’ he explained, ‘is hard to find.’ He smiled. ‘And easy not to find.’
Only now did Kaung see that there was sweat on Reber’s brow.
2
9 April 2015
This was the first time that Kaung felt conflicted in his loyalty to the Pellegrinis. He owed them a debt of gratitude, especially Paolo Pellegrini, the father.
Although the old director hadn’t understood much about elephants, he knew a bit about people. And Kaung soon learned that to run a circus it was more important to understand people than animals. For this was how you identified those who did know a bit about animals.
He wasn’t bound to Carlo by the same feelings. Kaung’s loyalty was to the father, the circus and the elephants. Which is why he didn’t feel particularly conscience-stricken about the fact that he’d gone behind Carlo Pellegrini’s back and defrauded him of some of the money that Roux owed him.
Kaung worked every day with the animals as usual. He taught them new tricks, helped look after Trisha’s baby, a bull calf by the name of Nilay, kept a close eye on the two pregnant cows, Sadaf and Rupashi, and an even closer one on the officially not-pregnant Asha.
But it wasn’t long before the secret was in danger of being exposed. In spring, Pellegrini received a request for another surrogate pregnancy.
This request came right on cue, for Circus Pellegrini had just experienced a slow season and they were missing the contributions for Asha’s sustenance and care that had stopped when the foetus was miscarried.
Of the four cows, one was nursing and two were pregnant. But in theory Asha was a possibility.
More than two months had now passed since she’d lost her foetus. For elephants in the wild it could take up to two years for the cycle to begin again. But for an elephant cow in captivity it was possible for this to happen only two months after a miscarriage.
Once again the request came through Dr Horàk. He wanted to measure Asha’s progesterone levels every week to check for her receptivity.
When Kaung was instructed by Pellegrini to take a weekly urine sample from Asha he rang Dr Reber in horror.
Reber was horrified too. If Horàk got hold of a urine sample from Asha he’d know by the following day that she was pregnant.
‘Kaung, can you spot when an elephant cow is ready for the bulls?’
‘Yes.’
‘Is Trisha ready?’
‘No.’
They hung up.
Shortly afterwards Kaung was able to take some urine from Trisha.
3
17 April 2015
After the evening performance Pellegrini wanted to take another look at Rupashi. He never usually did this, but Kaung had hinted that he didn’t think Rupashi would be able to perform the following day.
He entered the animal tent and put his wet umbrella in a bucket by the elephant stalls. An inspection lamp shaded by cardboard, which hung in the bars of the stalls, cast some light on the elephants. They were all lying down. Kaung had arranged a place to sleep in the corner with a horse blanket and he leaped to his feet to give the director an appropriate welcome.
‘Have you started the night watch?’ he asked.
‘Baby come tomorrow or next day,’ Kaung said.
‘How can you tell?’
‘The eyes.’
Pellegrini peered long and hard though the bars at the elephant’s visible eye, but saw nothing. He turned to the neighbouring pen, where Asha was sleeping, and moved his head to the thick, widely spaced bars that were set in the upper third of the wooden construction until they touched the brim of his top hat.
He stood there, silently watching the sleeping elephants, then said, ‘It would be good for the circus if Asha were ready for the bulls again.’
‘Yes, I know. But is not. Is not for long time.’
Pellegrini tore himself away from Asha. ‘There’s no reason why Dr Horàk needs to know that though, is there?’
‘No.’
Pellegrini stood there in his tailcoat, tall and troubled. Then he nodded, turned around, grabbed his umbrella and left.
The following day Rupashi became unsettled and jumpy. She urinated at short intervals and kept dropping small balls of dung. The unease spread to the other elephants. Kaung decided to leave her in her pen during the performance. Too risky, he thought.
The next day the unease and jumpiness escalated. Rupashi stopped eating and tossed sawdust beneath her and on her back.
In the night Kaung noticed that she’d lost some mucus. When morning came he went to his boss and said, ‘Doctor must come in evening.’
Before Dr Reber arrived Rupashi lost the mucus plug that surrounds the cervix during pregnancy. Two circus workers put up a partition wall to separate off an area where Rupashi wouldn’t be disturbed by the other elephants. When Reber got there she was having her first contractions, which were pushing the baby into the birthing position.
She lay on the floor, rolled around, stood up again, hit herself between her legs with her tail, all the while appeased and comforted by Kaung.
At dawn Rupashi broke off the birth.
Dr Reber sta
yed for another two hours, but the elephant cow gave no more signs apart from losing a little more mucus and blood.
Reber had been amazed by this phenomenon at other elephant births. To avoid being disturbed mothers gave birth at night. But because a single night often wasn’t sufficient to complete the process they would pause in the morning and not resume until the following evening.
He drove off to his clinic and came back later.
Rupashi was in the litter stall, picking up sawdust from the ground and throwing it onto her back. Kaung was crouching and talking to her softly in Burmese. Otherwise nobody was around. The show was about to begin.
The other elephants were already decorated for their performance. They wore leather headdresses covered with glittering studs and colourful coats that hung down to their knees on either side.
When Kaung saw Reber he got up. ‘Must change,’ he said and hurried out. Rupashi swung her head from side to side, as if in disapproval at Kaung’s departure. Then she lay down. Trisha, who was right next to Rupashi’s pen, came as close as the chain tied to her foot would allow and stretched her trunk through the bars.
Kaung returned. He was now wearing a red turban, a white collarless shirt and yellow Indian trousers. He crouched down to Rupashi and spoke to her again.
The circus orchestra struck up. It consisted of three men and a lot of electronics. What they played was anything but a suitable accompaniment to the thrilling spectacle the audience witnessed.
Rupashi moved her trunk as if she were looking for Kaung. He held out his hand and she grabbed hold of it tight. She lay peacefully like this for a while until Pellegrini came with two circus workers. He was wearing his tailcoat, top hat and red riding trousers.
‘Where are you?’ he called out into the stall.
Kaung got up and Rupashi copied him. He whispered something, stroked her trunk and called the elephants, who followed him reluctantly. Fahdi, the bull, went first, then Asha and Sadaf, while Trisha and her baby brought up the rear.
Now Reber was alone with Rupashi. He heard a plodding elephant tune coming from the orchestra.
The elephant cow started playing with hay and scattering sawdust around. From time to time she struck her belly with her trunk or bit its tip.
Reber grew nervous and hoped that Kaung would be back soon. Although he’d been present at many elephant births, he had never been alone before. If something went wrong he’d need help. And much could go wrong with an elephant birth.
Rupashi turned around 180 degrees as if in the circus ring. She thrashed about with her trunk and Reber saw a small bulge beneath the tail root.
The ponderous elephant march was still playing.
Rupashi sank to her knees, stayed there for a while, then stood up again.
Reber took a carrot from a bucket that Kaung had prepared and offered it to Rupashi. She took the carrot, toyed with it briefly, then tossed it across her back. She lay on her stomach and stretched out her hind legs.
By the time Rupashi was back on her feet the edge of the amniotic sac was sticking out of her like a ball. Reber tied the rubber apron around his waist and put on surgical gloves.
Finally the music stopped and he heard a thin applause. Soon afterwards Kaung was back beside him.
Rupashi made a noise that sounded like a scream. Kaung went up to her and laid his hand on the top of her trunk.
Now the circus workers led the elephants in and back to their pens. But Kaung instructed them to leave them outside Rupashi’s stall. The animals crowded around the bars and watched.
The final contractions had started. In the cramped space Rupashi was going around in circles, from right to left and back again. Once more she made the noise that sounded like a scream and the other elephant cows answered her.
She hunched her back then stretched it out again.
All of a sudden the baby’s hind legs slid out.
In the distance a drumroll from the orchestra announced another act.
Rupashi squeezed the baby out. It hung there briefly before falling to the ground in a gush of amniotic fluid and blood.
The elephants outside the stall trumpeted.
Rupashi turned around and, swiftly but carefully, freed the baby from its sac.
It lay there for a second without moving or breathing.
Rupashi knocked the baby with her feet and trunk, as if trying to shake it awake.
The baby raised its head and looked around.
At that very moment the circus orchestra played a fanfare.
Kaung said something in Burmese to the new arrival.
The elephants greeted the baby noisily.
Reber started crying, as he did at every elephant birth, whether it went well or not.
Less than twenty minutes later the little elephant was on its feet.
It was already getting dark when Kaung accompanied Dr Reber back to his car. This was the only opportunity they’d had that evening to speak in private.
‘I’m worried about Asha’s baby,’ Reber began.
‘No worry,’ Kaung said. ‘All good.’
‘With elephants the babies trigger the birth. Asha’s is too small for that.’
Kaung smiled. ‘Asha do it herself. All good. No worry.’
4
8 June 2015
Some two months later Pellegrini received a short message from Dr Horàk saying that he didn’t need any more urine samples from Asha. The progesterone curve wasn’t showing any change and he’d decided he needed another surrogate mother.
Alena – Pellegrini’s stepmother who was young enough to be his sister – had returned from Ibiza bloated by lovesickness, and she proceeded to tyrannise him and the entire circus from her luxury caravan.
The next setback was the birth of Sadaf’s baby. Everything went fine until Sadaf tried to remove the amniotic membrane with her trunk and front legs. It was her first birth and, whether out of inexperience or aggression, she kicked the little one so hard that – as Dr Reber later diagnosed – it suffered multiple skull fractures and died.
Pellegrini was saved by the fact that Trisha, the mother with the two-year-old calf, finally showed symptoms of being on heat. He was able to offer her as a surrogate mother. This was also a stroke of luck for Kaung and Dr Reber. Monitoring Trisha’s pregnancy gave the doctor an excuse to keep a discreet eye on Asha’s too.
Which in truth was progressing most peculiarly. Now in its sixteenth month, the foetus was fully formed, but hardly growing. Reber estimated its shoulder height at less than twenty centimetres. He’d have loved to examine the baby with special transrectal ultrasound equipment like Dr Horàk had. But he had to make do with his conventional device and remain patient each time until the mini foetus manoeuvred into a position where it was visible.
The tiny heart kept beating and all Asha’s blood values fell within the normal range.
5
Summer 2015
Dr Reber didn’t feel comfortable with the situation. His decision to get involved had been a spontaneous one, even though spontaneity wasn’t one of Hansjörg Reber’s most obvious qualities. He was more of a systematic, organised and focused individual. ‘A cold fish’, as his ex had sometimes called him. But that wasn’t true. He could be emotional too. ‘Sentimental’ was what his ex had said.
‘If one of your bloody animals snuffs it,’ she said once, ‘you’re inconsolable. But you don’t give a shit about the fate of your fellow beings.’
‘Which fellow beings?’ he asked.
‘Me, for example,’ came her reply.
And he had to admit that she hadn’t been entirely wrong in this. He’d already become indifferent to her in the first year of their marriage. It wasn’t something that just happened; he consciously engineered it. The persistent dissatisfaction she expressed about him, herself, her life, their fellow human beings – in short, about everything – got so badly on his nerves that one day he resolved not to care less what she said, felt or thought. In line with his systematic and
focused approach to life he consistently maintained this detachment, and soon felt liberated. He realised that the logical outcome of his stance must be a growing indifference to her as a person too, and accepted that their marriage was ultimately doomed.
The loss of his marital status was balanced by a gain in freedom. The freedom to abandon a career in the large animal clinic where he worked. The freedom to become a small country vet. The freedom to undertake voluntary work and traineeships so as to develop an expertise in elephants. The freedom to not become a rich man.
No doubt his ex would have added to this list: the freedom to let himself go. Another example of her not being entirely wrong either.
Since their separation he’d put on eight kilos, one for each year. And even before that he hadn’t been a slim man. His gait had become somewhat ponderous. His wardrobe consisted of comfortable, practical clothes that he bought large enough and kept wearing until even the farmers noticed how shabby he looked.
Dr Reber lived in a secluded farmhouse that he’d bought cheaply in the second year of his practice. He’d been the first person to discover that it was for sale.
Brudermatte Farm was a small, half-timbered house with four rooms and a spacious kitchen from which you could heat the sitting room stove.
Attached to the house was a large barn which consisted of a stable for twelve cows and a few calves, a shed he used as a garage and a hayloft still containing some leftover hay from the previous owners.
One day he intended to renovate the barn, he just didn’t know what for.
The house came with eight hectares of pasture, arable land and some woodland, all of which he’d leased to a neighbour.
Outside, beneath the windows of the sitting room, stood a bench where he could sit in the evenings and gaze at the rolling hills, the black stands of fir trees and the three farmhouses where his neighbours lived.
When he bought the property he’d pictured himself sitting on this bench watching dusk slowly envelop the surrounding countryside. But he can’t have sat there more than about twice; Reber didn’t have time to enjoy the sunset.