Elefant

by Martin Suter

  Kaung was pleased as it meant every day he could milk Rupashi unobserved and hand over the Thermoses to Hans at the waste disposal point at the entrance to the village.

  On every second Monday, when there was no performance, he’d get into the car and Hans, a silent, daredevil driver, would whisk him off to Barisha in record time.

  Each time Kaung brought an offering: a few flowers in a basket or woven into a garland; a small, decorative offering of fruit – bananas, apples, oranges – and always plenty of incense sticks. He would offer these things to the sacred elephant in a little ceremony. Although the vet never let it show, Kaung knew that he was secretly amused by these rituals. For Reber, Barisha was the result of a scientific experiment gone wrong. Kaung forgave him for this; he didn’t know any better.

  Kaung spent a lot of time with Barisha, praying and meditating until Reber dragged him into the kitchen for the inevitable spaghetti with tomato sauce.

  Afterwards he’d spend the night in Reber’s guest room, which otherwise remained unused, and drove back with Hans to the circus on Tuesday morning. He’d milk Rupashi again and take the bag with the Thermos back to Hans, waiting for him in one of the village pubs.

  But on this particular Monday Kaung was greeted by a peculiar situation when he arrived. Dr Reber opened the front door and took him without further ado into the kitchen. There, beside the wood-burning stove, stood Barisha. She was as still as a statue, and held in her trunk a small bundle of pine chips that Reber used as kindling. The other bundles of kindling that Reber kept in a nickel-plated bin were strewn across the kitchen floor.

  When she noticed Kaung she lifted her head slightly, as if wanting to show him her trophies.

  Kaung unpacked his basket of offerings, lit some candles and incense sticks, knelt, put his palms together in front of his face and muttered a prayer.

  Reber left the kitchen.

  It wasn’t until dusk fell that Kaung came into the sitting room, followed at a slight distance by Barisha, still aloof.

  Reber glanced at Kaung uncertainly and was about to go up to Barisha.

  ‘Leave in peace, please,’ Kaung said.

  Reber paused. ‘Why? What’s wrong with her?’

  ‘Sit, please.’

  Reber sat in his padded armchair. ‘What’s up with her?’

  ‘Barisha is elephant. Small, but elephant. Doctor think Barisha is toy.’

  Reber looked shocked. ‘No, no, I don’t think that at all.’

  ‘But Barisha think doctor think that.’

  Reber frowned.

  ‘Barisha sacred creature,’ Kaung declared solemnly. And when he sensed Reber’s scepticism he added, ‘Doctor need not believe. But must believe that is elephant. Must take seriously. Must respect.’

  Reber nodded.

  ‘Barisha do with wood what elephants do. Wants to show that is elephant.’

  From now on Reber tried to pay the glowing pink mini elephant some respect. Which he didn’t always succeed in doing.

  It was now February. Barisha was six months old, but had scarcely grown any bigger. She wasn’t just living on Rupashi’s milk any more; Reber gave her vegetables, fruit, leaves and twigs too. He was also able to leave her for longer than three hours at a time and without food. But this almost never happened. He didn’t feel comfortable with the idea of her being unsupervised and unprotected. And he missed her, probably more than she did him.

  10

  10 May 2016

  The winter break was at an end and the circus was appearing at Dondikon Common, a place that had become stuck in the transition from village to agglomeration and which, if one was being kind, could be counted as part of the Zürich commuter belt.

  Audiences for the shows were poor, which wasn’t just down to the programme, but also the cold, wet May and the persistent technical problems of the heating system.

  To compound the misfortune, it had also snowed overnight. The big top, the caravans and the mobile stables all lay beneath a heavy, wet covering of snow that had begun to melt before it started getting light.

  It smelled of the slurry that the farmer deposited in brown lines on the neighbouring field.

  Kaung had spent the night with Barisha and driven back with Hans, who was now waiting in one of the village pubs for Rupashi’s fresh milk.

  On this Tuesday he had to leave him waiting for ages, because as Kaung approached the animal tent he could hear Pellegrini’s voice coming from inside.

  He was standing in Asha’s stall, talking to someone that Kaung only recognised when he got closer: Roux. And another man Kaung didn’t know, partially obstructed by the elephant cow. He was holding a stick, attached to the end of which was a bucket, as if he were waiting for the opportunity to collect some of Asha’s urine.

  Asha was agitated, and Kaung could immediately see why: all four of her legs were chained up.

  Only now did Kaung spot the fourth man: Ben, the unpleasant circus worker who sometimes helped out with the elephants. He was wielding an elephant hook, a tool that Kaung never used. It was a stick with a barbed metal hook for leading animals by pressing on their most sensitive spot behind the ears. Ben must have been the one who’d chained Asha up.

  Roux noticed Kaung at once. He broke off mid-sentence, looked at Pellegrini and indicated Kaung with his chin.

  Turning around, the director gave the oozie a nod. ‘This is Dr Hess; Dr Roux you know already. The gentlemen would like to repeat the experiment with Asha.’

  ‘Asha not ready,’ Kaung replied.

  ‘Dr Hess would like to verify this personally. He believes that sixteen months after the miscarriage should be sufficient.’

  ‘Dr Reber says—’

  ‘Don’t give me Dr Reber!’ Roux interrupted.

  ‘Trisha better. Trisha soon ready,’ Kaung said.

  Pellegrini shook his head. ‘But Dr Roux would like to work with Asha.’

  ‘Why?’

  The director was going to answer, but Roux got in there first. ‘Because he does.’

  At that moment Asha urinated, and Dr Hess caught some in the bucket. He filled the sample bottles.

  Kaung watched him and noticed that in the case from which the doctor had taken the bottles were six full blood sample tubes. They’d taken blood from Asha.

  Kaung knew it was possible that Asha was ready for a new implant. You might almost think she hadn’t had a baby. The afterbirth had only weighed two kilos – compared to twenty-five for a normal baby elephant – and Asha hadn’t produced any milk either.

  The doctor packed away his things and the three men left the stall. Kaung started unfastening Asha’s chains. She spread her ears and swung her head back and forth.

  ‘Better get out before chains off,’ Kaung said. ‘Otherwise dead.’

  Ben gave a scornful smile and left the stall.

  Kaung spoke words of comfort to Asha as he undid the chains. As soon as she was free he fetched carrots and fed her. Only then did he milk Rupashi and bring the bag with the milk to the pub, where Hans had just polished off his second breakfast.

  11

  Graufeld

  11 May 2016

  Dr Reber was worried. Barisha was standing beside the kitchen door, playing with her bundle of kindling. Kaung had called him to say what was happening at the circus. Reber was not at all happy to hear that Roux was visiting Pellegrini again, but what was worse was that he’d brought along his own vet: Joachim Hess! Reber knew him too well for comfort. They’d called him Joa, or maybe that’s what he’d called himself – Reber couldn’t really remember. The two of them had studied together and he’d always been puzzled by how Hess had come to veterinary medicine. He had no connection with animals; he merely regarded them as objects of study, which he observed with interest but absolutely no compassion.

  It was only later, when Hess specialised, that Reber understood why he’d become a vet. He acquired a qualification in equestrian medicine, became a vet for riding, showjumping and race horses, and now
moved in those circles he’d always felt attracted to.

  The last he’d heard of Hess was in connection with a doping scandal a few years back involving a legendary showjumping horse. But it was news to Reber that he was now working with elephants.

  Reber understood why Roux had turned up with his own vet: he didn’t trust him. Reber could hardly blame Roux.

  But why was he insisting on Asha as the surrogate mother?

  Reber could only come up with a single explanation, which did nothing to lessen his concerns: Roux didn’t just want to repeat the experiment; he wanted it to fail again. And in exactly the same way as the last time. Roux probably thought that the foetus’s growth deficiency was down to the surrogate mother.

  Another proof that the dwarfism was coincidental rather than having been planned in advance as part of the experiment.

  Roux had intended to create a normal, large, pink elephant. To begin with he’d probably thought that it was a fault in the CRISPR/Cas technology that was responsible for Barisha’s size. But perhaps he hadn’t succeeded in repeating this and was now attributing the result to Asha.

  Barisha dropped the bundle, lay down and rolled on her back. Her mouth was visible beneath her trunk. It looked as if she were laughing.

  During those many days and nights with Barisha, Reber had undertaken detailed research into the status and especially the dangers of genetic engineering. The more he found out, the more convinced he became that what he and Kaung had done and were doing was not only defensible, it was their duty and obligation, to use a favourite phrase of his former professor of biomedical ethics.

  When Reber first came into contact with the topic, decoding the genome was still one of the biggest problems of genetic engineering. Nowadays it was routine.

  The genetic databases were growing daily, allowing those with access to them to produce genetic maps from which they could establish someone’s provenance. And obviously this would be a recipe for a new, more nuanced and more targeted form of discrimination than the one humanity was already familiar with. It would also allow, for example, the development of new weapons that were only effective against certain genetic make-ups. It would be possible, therefore, to attack a country with chemical weapons that were harmless for certain ethnic groups, but deadly for others.

  As a medical man, of course Reber could see the benefits of decoding and modifying the genome too. You could, for example, switch off the genetic functions that triggered Alzheimer’s, cancer or the ageing process, or other scourges of humanity.

  But it also meant that you could reconfigure the genomes of plants, animals and humans. You could design them.

  Barisha was the most spectacular proof of this technological feasibility. And not only that. She was also a delightful advertisement for its desirability and harmlessness.

  Reber went to his computer and searched for Hess’s telephone number. He couldn’t locate one. But he did come across a website called Ask a Vet. In a long list of specialists he found Dr Joachim Hess, zoological veterinary medicine. A wording Reber had never come across before.

  If you clicked on Dr Hess, it opened a window in which you could type your question.

  ‘Hello, Joa,’ Dr Reber wrote. ‘Do you remember me? Hansjörg Reber. I hope you’re well. There’s something I’d like to ask you, but not so publicly. Can I reach you by phone? Till then – Hajö.’

  Less than two hours later Reber heard the ping announcing the arrival of a new email. It was from Hess and consisted merely of a telephone number and the three letters JOA. He dialled the number and Hess picked up straight away.

  ‘Hajö, old chap, how are you? Good, I imagine, seeing as you’re a bachelor again.’

  ‘I’ve been worse,’ Reber replied.

  ‘I’ve been expecting to hear from you. About the elephant thing, no? All I can say was that I didn’t go looking for it, it was thrust on me.’

  ‘Whatever – that’s not what concerns me. I still look after the other elephants. If Roux had asked me I would have declined.’

  ‘Oh really? Why?’

  ‘Because Roux’s an arsehole.’

  Hess laughed. ‘I can’t be so picky.’ And after a pause, ‘So what does concern you?’

  ‘Why’s he insisting on Asha? After the bad experience last time? The miscarriage. Trisha is ready.’

  ‘He says the foetus didn’t grow. And that’s what he’s after.’ Reber could picture him grinning. ‘A cute mini elephant. That’s what he’s hoping for.’

  ‘I thought he was involved with experiments in Austria.’

  ‘He was. Two. Both failed.’

  ‘Also dwarf foetuses?’

  Hess didn’t reply.

  ‘Anything else particular about them?’

  Silence.

  ‘Colour? Glowing?’

  ‘Sorry, Hajö, I’ve said too much already. Bye.’ He hung up.

  May snow lay on the ground outside and Reber was freezing. He’d heated up the stove and went into the kitchen to put more wood in. He cut up an apple and carrot into small pieces. When he returned to the warm sitting room Barisha was waiting for him by the door and raised her trunk in greeting.

  Reber squatted and stroked the tiny creature. ‘Don’t worry,’ he muttered. ‘I’ll look after you.’

  12

  Circus Pellegrini

  5 June 2016

  Ben’s real name was Tarub. Tarub Ben Bassir. But everyone called him Ben. He came from Morocco and had joined the circus shortly after the death of Pellegrini’s father.

  His job at the circus consisted of helping put up and take down the big top, and setting up the props in the dark between acts and putting them away again. Apart from that he had to clean the stalls and perform all manner of other menial tasks.

  But Ben had no intention of spending his whole life as one of the lowly circus workers. He was good with animals and one day hoped to have a career as an attendant, then to become a trainer and finally to perform with them in the ring.

  Kaung was in his way.

  Kaung, the ‘elephant-whisperer’! ‘Better get out … otherwise dead’! They’d see who was ‘otherwise dead’ first, now that Ben had discovered Kaung was dealing in elephant milk.

  It had struck him some time ago that Kaung was behaving strangely, as if he had something to hide. He always waited till he was alone, then he did something nobody was allowed to know about. Ben hadn’t cared what it was until now. He wasn’t one to interfere in other people’s business. But now, after this insult, it was no longer just someone else’s business.

  Kaung was milking Rupashi! Every day! Ben had secretly watched him. Kaung would take the milk to a fat young man who waited for him in a car in various locations. He’d noted the registration number.

  ‘Better get out … otherwise dead!’

  13

  The same day

  To begin with Carlo Pellegrini didn’t know what to do with this information. Kaung was milking Rupashi? And taking the milk to a car with a Zürich number plate? For what purpose? What could anybody do with a litre of elephant milk?

  Was Ben telling the truth, or did he just want to get one over on Kaung? The two of them couldn’t stand each other, something Pellegrini had realised early on. Ben’s treatment of the elephants was a thorn in Kaung’s side. And vice versa.

  Ben stood keenly facing Pellegrini, expecting praise.

  Another mistake, this Ben, the circus director thought. Clearly not all Moroccans were born circus workers. And this one wasn’t even popular with his fellow countrymen, the ones who had been hired by Carlo’s father.

  ‘Thanks, you can go now,’ was all he said.

  Ben looked as if he wanted to add something, but changed his mind and left the director’s caravan.

  Carlo sat there at a loss, holding the piece of paper on which Ben had noted the registration number in rather crude writing. Then he turned his chair to the monitor, opened the Swiss vehicle index website and typed in the number. The owner was ‘Hube
r, Hans’, resident in Graufeld.

  Graufeld?

  Pellegrini put ‘Graufeld’ into his contact database and, indeed, Dr Hansjörg Reber appeared on the screen. Veterinary practice in 8323 Graufeld.

  That couldn’t be a coincidence. Was Kaung sending a litre of elephant milk every day to Reber’s practice?

  Pellegrini typed ‘Dr Hansjörg Reber, vet’ into the online telephone directory and got two results. One was the practice in Graufeld. The other address was Brudermatte Farm, 8323 Graufeld.

  Pellegrini checked the time. Just after six o’clock. He could be there within the hour.

  14

  Graufeld

  The same day

  He hadn’t expected so much snow in June. The area where Reber lived was at a slightly higher altitude than Dondikon. The wet snow that had already melted there in the morning still covered the fields and pasture here by the road. And with the snow now falling again it settled immediately. He had to cut his speed and it took him an hour before he finally saw the Graufeld sign.

  Putting ‘Brudermatte Farm’ into his GPS had brought no results, so he had to ask the way in the village pub.

  A sign on the front of the half-timbered building announced the pub’s name as Löwen. The chit-chat died down as he entered. This is where, it seemed, all the farmers in the village came to enjoy a beer after work. He went up to the bored young woman pulling beers at the bar.

  ‘Could you tell me how to get to Brudermatte Farm, please?’

  ‘Tell you? Yes, I could tell you.’

  ‘But?’

  ‘But would you understand?’

  As a circus director he wasn’t used to a huge amount of respect, but some, at least.

  ‘It’s all rather complicated, you see.’

  ‘Try me,’ he replied, somewhat resigned.

  ‘Fancy one too?’ she said, pointing with her chin at the glasses of beer she was pulling.