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Authors: Jodi Picoult
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on her forehead is treated. Neo and I stand shoulder to
shoulder behind the vet and Grant, watching in silent misery. At one point our hands
brush. My pinkie hooks tight to his, hidden in the folds of my cargo shirt, where
no one will see.
“I suggest,” the vet says to me when he finishes, “that you get some rest.” He is
tight-lipped about the very obvious fact that we are harboring a baby elephant in
the game reserve, which leads me to believe Grant has made an excuse for me. The two
men leave so that Grant can take the vet to the airstrip.
Although I should be exhausted after the day, I am coiled tight as a spring. I can’t
imagine sleeping anytime soon. I start pacing in my hut, peeking out the door to make
sure Lesego is still unconscious. “She’ll be out all night,” Neo says.
“I know.”
He sticks his hands in his pockets. “I ought to go.”
I should nod, but I don’t. He should leave, but he doesn’t.
I take a deep breath and confess the fear I’ve buried inside for the past three hours,
ever since the debacle of watching Lesego be rejected by her herd. “Neo,” Iwhisper. “I made things worse.”
I am thinking of what sort of life might be possible for an elephant in captivity:
a circus, where she would be forever on display. A zoo, where her world would shrink
to the size of a cage and enclosure. Was it really worth saving her from starvation
for that limited existence?
“You didn’t know,” Neo says.
I round on him. “But I
should
have. The last time I—” I break off, realizing what I am about to reveal.
Neo stands on the ground, and I am one step up on the porch, so our faces are level.
“Tell me why you left Madikwe.”
I glance away. “I was
strongly encouraged
to transfer to a new game reserve.”
“Did you try to save an orphan there, too?”
I think about the trampled calf that died on my watch, because I had played by the
rules. “No,” I say, swallowing.
Neo strides past me into the hut, to the cupboard where I keep my laundry supplies
and—in the far reaches—my emergency alcohol. It’s a bottle of tequila I have cracked
open only twice. Once when the calf died at Madikwe. And once just before I found
Lesego and her slaughtered family.
I don’t ask Neo how he found my stash; he knows this cottage as well as I do after
nearly a month of practically living here. He takes juice glasses from the dish rack
and pours two fingers of alcohol in each one. When he sits down at the table with
the drinks, I join him. “Ever had tequila?” I ask.
He shakes his head, lifts the glass, and downs it in one swallow.
I do the same, wincing at the fire that races along my throat and makes my teeth ache.
“There
was
a calf,” I confess, as Neo pours us each another shot. “He was attacked by his own
mother.”
Neo’s eyebrows raise. “I’ve never seen that happen.”
“Well, Madikwe wasn’t like here. The South African government thought they could manage
the elephant population by killing entire herds and putting the babies together on
reserves like Madikwe. But those juveniles, they didn’t behave the way they would
have if the older matriarchs had been there to keep them in line. And this oneelephant, she trampled her newborn.” I look up at Neo. “It wasn’t her fault that there
was no one around to teach her how to be a mother.” My voice gets hard, bitter. “It
was
ours
. That calf was just collateral damage.”
“You left because you couldn’t save him?”
I shake my head and toss back my second drink. By now, the room is starting to swim
at the edges. “I wasn’t the same, after he died. I hated not being allowed to intervene.
Then about a month later, a group of rangers driving to check on a water pump found
themselves surrounded by a herd of young bulls. One of the juveniles attacked the
four-by-four, charging it over and over, spearing the doors with his tusks. Well,
the
shoulder behind the vet and Grant, watching in silent misery. At one point our hands
brush. My pinkie hooks tight to his, hidden in the folds of my cargo shirt, where
no one will see.
“I suggest,” the vet says to me when he finishes, “that you get some rest.” He is
tight-lipped about the very obvious fact that we are harboring a baby elephant in
the game reserve, which leads me to believe Grant has made an excuse for me. The two
men leave so that Grant can take the vet to the airstrip.
Although I should be exhausted after the day, I am coiled tight as a spring. I can’t
imagine sleeping anytime soon. I start pacing in my hut, peeking out the door to make
sure Lesego is still unconscious. “She’ll be out all night,” Neo says.
“I know.”
He sticks his hands in his pockets. “I ought to go.”
I should nod, but I don’t. He should leave, but he doesn’t.
I take a deep breath and confess the fear I’ve buried inside for the past three hours,
ever since the debacle of watching Lesego be rejected by her herd. “Neo,” Iwhisper. “I made things worse.”
I am thinking of what sort of life might be possible for an elephant in captivity:
a circus, where she would be forever on display. A zoo, where her world would shrink
to the size of a cage and enclosure. Was it really worth saving her from starvation
for that limited existence?
“You didn’t know,” Neo says.
I round on him. “But I
should
have. The last time I—” I break off, realizing what I am about to reveal.
Neo stands on the ground, and I am one step up on the porch, so our faces are level.
“Tell me why you left Madikwe.”
I glance away. “I was
strongly encouraged
to transfer to a new game reserve.”
“Did you try to save an orphan there, too?”
I think about the trampled calf that died on my watch, because I had played by the
rules. “No,” I say, swallowing.
Neo strides past me into the hut, to the cupboard where I keep my laundry supplies
and—in the far reaches—my emergency alcohol. It’s a bottle of tequila I have cracked
open only twice. Once when the calf died at Madikwe. And once just before I found
Lesego and her slaughtered family.
I don’t ask Neo how he found my stash; he knows this cottage as well as I do after
nearly a month of practically living here. He takes juice glasses from the dish rack
and pours two fingers of alcohol in each one. When he sits down at the table with
the drinks, I join him. “Ever had tequila?” I ask.
He shakes his head, lifts the glass, and downs it in one swallow.
I do the same, wincing at the fire that races along my throat and makes my teeth ache.
“There
was
a calf,” I confess, as Neo pours us each another shot. “He was attacked by his own
mother.”
Neo’s eyebrows raise. “I’ve never seen that happen.”
“Well, Madikwe wasn’t like here. The South African government thought they could manage
the elephant population by killing entire herds and putting the babies together on
reserves like Madikwe. But those juveniles, they didn’t behave the way they would
have if the older matriarchs had been there to keep them in line. And this oneelephant, she trampled her newborn.” I look up at Neo. “It wasn’t her fault that there
was no one around to teach her how to be a mother.” My voice gets hard, bitter. “It
was
ours
. That calf was just collateral damage.”
“You left because you couldn’t save him?”
I shake my head and toss back my second drink. By now, the room is starting to swim
at the edges. “I wasn’t the same, after he died. I hated not being allowed to intervene.
Then about a month later, a group of rangers driving to check on a water pump found
themselves surrounded by a herd of young bulls. One of the juveniles attacked the
four-by-four, charging it over and over, spearing the doors with his tusks. Well,
the
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