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That atmosphere that night was cool; the air conditioners were on full blast, the knives and forks clinking, as they wrestled against dinner plates. A soft and low music was playing; it seemed to be guiding the occasional outbursts of laughter that were coming from some lady in the corner of the room. For some reason this made him more attentive to reality. He had on a white shirt that was similar to what the waiters were wearing, but he’d folded the sleeves on his. His black pants, black belt and black shoes made no difference; the shoes weren’t a match to any of theirs. Dim yellow lights, a candle that reminded him of the existence of oxygen, the checkered table cloth with their wine glasses and a plate full of Caesar salad meant to be shared between him and his date.
His date was not a striking beauty, nor was she a ruthless babe; and no nose was pointed to the air, or to the ground; black dress on and red lipstick—these made her very elegant.
“Your shoes look nice. I noticed them when I saw you come in,” was the only thing she’d said after the arrival of the salad. She munched the vegetables as if she belonged to a group of pachyderms.
This was not their first date. It was their fifth to be exact, but he had never seen her ears until she pushed her hair back to expose them on this particular date. She did not do it to show off her ears, or her earrings, but her tresses were disturbing her appetite; whenever she would lean to eat, they would fall off to nearly touch the plate.
“Your e…eeaarrss…..they look ssttuunning….stunning,” he managed to stammer. He said that only to save himself so she would not notice his abstraction. He had nothing in his mind at that particular moment but the small elephant he’d seen at the centre. The long evening walks, the beautiful fields that surrounded the centre, the sunset, the distinctly designed houses, the street dogs, the run-down restaurants and the big building in which was his elephant was imprisoned.
At first he saw them from distance, but the next day when he paid more attention, he saw the shape of the ears. The third day, he got stepped inside the inviting doors of the centre. The place was not crowded, not one soul to see the circus elephant. He got closer until he found himself down on the ground. When he opened his eyes he saw that the sun had set a little more since he had last seen it.
He stood up, and touched the elephant. Its skin was normal, its trunk intact; a small tusk ready to grow. He brought his other hand forward to measure its ears; they were the same size as his.
His following visits to the centre were made with the sole intention of meeting the elephant, and talking to it to see if it would talk back. Day after day, he would sit beside it and speak to it. The elephant would simply stare at him, but he would go on and on until it got dark.
It was a great relief for him, a pain killer of sorts, something that helped him deal with his rising and falling emotions. He had never been that close to anyone; he named the elephant ‘It’. One day, he brought with him a few bananas to feed It, but the creature would not eat them at all. Another day, he got himself a packed lunch of pork chops; when he offered it to the elephant, it seemed to show interest. He decided to share the pork chops with it, and It gobbled the fat meat down in one swallow. This was no normal elephant he decided then; a carnivore with ears the shape of humans.
He treated It like his own unborn son. But after a few days, It began showing some worrying signs. It would not stand properly, and even stopped eating the pork chops he would bring occasionally. He decided to take It home, so the next day he waited outside the doors of the centre, but they would not open. It was as if someone had left It there to rot. No one came; the centre was no less than a ragged asylum with broken windows, and dog shit lying all over the field. But it had been recently painted so that the gates looked decent enough.
He waited for exactly three days but he lost his cool, brought a hammer, and crushed the iron chains with one huge blow. He took It home washed him and fed it milk (which it drank). Then the next day, as he stepped outside, he saw It lying on the floor, it’s mouth drooling. He ran to it and cried, A day later, he went to the centre and buried it there. Over the earth, he planted a rose. He decided then to never come to the burial place, and left a dozen of bananas over the mud.
“I only wish you’d eat bananas,” he said before leaving.
“Do you mind if we go someplace?” He asked the girl who was now having ice cream as her final dinner piece.
She stood up, leaving the ice cream half eaten and signaled the waiter to bring the bill over. She paid the bill, and walked towards the car following his footsteps. She was confused about what was to come next.
They didn’t talk in the car; neither did they exchange any glances. It was as if both of them were scared of where they were going, but the girl had no idea whatsoever.
He pulled up, grabbed the torch, and then they got off the car. He had taken her to the Animal Centre where he had last buried It. The place was full of wild grasses so they were careful about where they were stepping. On the far corner next to the wall was a rose plant—slightly slanted, with a single yellow rose which was highlighted by the light of the torch.
They both stood beside each other; the torch in his hand pointing at the rose. The rose was in full bloom. He directed the light down on the ground and smirked because he found the dozen bananas he had left months ago fresh, untouched by air, water, sun or the wind.
“It didn’t like bananas,” he said, and in the night’s haze he smirked, with his head down—in confident shame or beautiful grief...
- Shrinkhal Shrestha
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