Early morning broke with the storm having subsided. The waves, although large, had lost their force. Their valleys were not as deep, nor the crests as high. The whitecaps had gone, and visibility was ten to fifteen feet, with fog so thick it looked as if a cloud had settled on the water. It was another time, another place, where things were wet and silent, where corners did not exist, and all light had gone but for a candle’s worth, aglow against the pale dawn sky.
As the survivors awakened, they looked upon one another with despair and pain. They had not realized what ravages the storm and the ship’s sinking had wrought until they saw one another’s faces. Before, they’d only imagined; now they saw horror written in agony and pain. Bram had slept the night atop Mo, and awoke when he felt the tip of her trunk on his face.
“Is it over?” he asked of anyone who knew the answer.
“It’s over,” said a voice from below. Others nodded and mumbled their agreement that the hurricane, at least, had passed.
“What now? How do we get help?” Bram asked innocently.
Hands was stretching his huge, long arms, relieving the soreness. “We wait, lad. There’s nothing else we can do but wait for them to find us.”
“Yes, but they probably think we all drowned.”
“Enough of this pessimism now,” spoke Hands firmly. “I think you’d all better thank your lucky stars that this elephant showed up. If she hadn’t, many of us wouldn’t even be here right now. And the only reason she’s here is because of the kid.”
“You’re right, sir, but this is all so damn peculiar. I mean, whoever heard of an elephant swimming in the ocean?”
“Elephants are great swimmers,” defended Bram. “Why, back home, we used to swim all day and she never got tired. That’s because she can just float, naturally. Unless, I guess, she gets waterlogged or can’t hold her trunk up anymore.”
“Is this your elephant, son?”
“Well…”
“Yes,” Hands interrupted. “You’re goddamn right it’s his elephant.”
Bram looked at Hands in surprise, saw his grin, and added “Damn right!”
Everyone was starting to feel hunger pangs, but above all, the worst agonizing pain, the pain of thirst.
“With all this water around us, you’d think a little bit wouldn’t hurt,” one of the circus roustabouts mused.
“Just try it, you’ll see,” responded an elderly midshipman.
A system was established whereby people would take turns resting up top on Mo. She seemed not to mind and was content as long as she was within view of Bram. Every couple of hours, four or five people would tread water in front of Mo, allowing her to stretch her trunk out across their shoulders so she could relax it and rest a bit. At first she thought it good fun and would wiggle and tickle their faces, so Bram told her no, and because of the seriousness of his voice, she soon stopped.
The day passed without their encountering more people or debris. Bram, to while away the boredom, loved to curl up underneath Mo’s chin. He’d nestle in between all that muscle and skin and movement. It was like being in a room all to himself—the chin and jaw above, the neck and chest behind, two huge legs on the side, and sometimes the trunk would come down for a visit from above. It was when he was “in his room” that he noticed Mo kicking her feet and swimming. Realizing the importance of conserving her energy, he taught her to stop kicking and let them hang.
“We aren’t going anywhere,” he told her.
The glow of day disappeared. Night had fallen, and still no sign of help. Men were openly crying, worried about their families, their chances of rescue. One man put his hand on Bram’s head, praying and thanking the Lord for him. Bram lifted it off and put it on Mo’s head. Light rain fell most of the night, and by morning everyone was chilled and preferred to stay low in the water.
The second day was no different from the first. The fog got so heavy that it was as if they were in a small mystical room, with vaporous walls, a watery floor, and an eerie light glowing from above. Even their voices took on a hollow effect. By nightfall many cases of delirium were evident. Outbreaks of screaming, crying, fighting, and thrashing in the water became more frequent. Those who felt that there was no hope in sight seemed to work their way around the rope to the back of the elephant. There, in a private moment, they could just drift away.
Idling their way into the third day, most were resigned to their fate. Few talked, too weak to care about anything. Bram felt his body weakening. He slept more and even caught himself talking aloud. Mo, too, suffered from exposure to the elements. Her body quivered from the constant lapping of water at her sides. She was losing her body heat because of no circulation, and strength was leaving her muscles. The men were so weak they could no longer help support her trunk, so sometimes, in sleep, her trunk dipped below the water, causing her to awake sneezing and sputtering, choking on the salt water. In her own way, she seemed to understand what was happening.
What seemed to be more important to her than anything, including the dangers of the sea, was being with Bram. At times he would nestle up to her ear and tell her stories about the barn, the circus, Gertie, Mutte, and Curpo. It was as comforting to Bram as it was to Mo.
That night Bram counted twenty-seven people still clinging to life. The ocean was calm, the water warm, all was quiet except for an occasional moan. Bram had fastened a piece of rope into a support sling to help Mo rest her trunk. It would last awhile, then break, and he’d have to start over again. Many times he and Hands joined together, acting as human rope, lifting just the top portion of her trunk above water so she could breathe. They knew that without Mo, nobody would last more than a few hours.
By Bram’s mental watch, it was about ten o’clock in the evening when they heard it. At first it sounded like a motorboat. It was the only mechanical sound they’d heard since being in the water, and everybody—everybody who was conscious—rose up to listen. The little band of survivors started to scream, yell, many were crawling, scrambling for a foothold to climb on Mo’s back, sinking her down. Bram and Hands had to fight, kicking and shoving, to get them off, but the people had gone mad, desperately close to death, with only one hope: the sound of an engine.
Then they saw it! The sight brought tears of joy to waiting survivors. Crazy patterns of colored, flashing searchlights were waving up and down, ruffling the darkness, weaving trails of red, blue, and orange against the fog bank. Then the bow of the ship broke into view.
“Helloooooo…” came a voice.
“We’re here! Over here!” yelled Hands instantly.
Through the billowing vapors knifed an antiquated Indian dhow—small but powerful. It featured one mast with its sail tightly furled from top to bottom, and a small wheelhouse located in the forward center of the boat. Huge amounts of rope were coiled throughout the deck. The low throbbing of the powerful engine made Modoc a bit nervous. Across the bow was carved the name Sahib. On board were two Indian men, each wearing a turban—one white, the other red—and both sported the traditional beard. Their white teeth flashed smiles as they moved in closer to Mo.
“They told us on the radio what to expect, but one must see it to believe.”
“Go easy now, man, we don’t want to frighten her,” said one.
“Aye-aye, sir,” the other answered.
They cut the engine and let the boat drift until Hands could grab hold of the side. The wind had picked up and the swells had increased, so it was difficult for him to climb aboard. Once on deck, Hands could see the tug wasn’t much bigger than Modoc.
“Aren’t there any larger boats that could be sent?”
“We heard the SOS and have come to help, as I am sure other boats are doing. Please accept my apology for not having a larger vessel,” replied the man humbly.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude, but you see we have a problem here.”
“If you mean the elephant, oh, that’s no problem! Just leave it and I can arrange for you to acquire another when we
reach shore.”
Hands glanced toward Bram, but he’d gone to “his room” out of sight under Mo’s chin.
“I am most sorry to have to tell you, sir, that we must load quickly, as a very unhappy storm is approaching and we must go back immediately.” The swells had become full-sized waves, their whitecaps riding the crests…reminders of the past.
“Okay,” signaled Hands, “one at a time. Get aboard.”
A sigh of relief swept through the men as Hands allowed them to board the vessel. Many collapsed on the deck, trying to find their sea legs, or too weak to stand. Hands was beside himself. What was he to do? Never in his career had there been a problem that he couldn’t resolve. He’d grown fond of the boy, and Modoc, too, and had promised that everything would be all right.
“Bram!” Bram reappeared into view at Hands’s shout. “Look, son, the only way to do this is to go back with the boat and bring out a vessel big enough to handle the job.”
Hands knew what he was saying was ridiculous, since Mo’s trunk was already hanging completely below the waterline except for the tip. With the storm approaching, there wouldn’t be enough time. From under Mo’s chin came Bram’s resigned voice.
“It’s okay, Hands, you go on. I’ll be fine.”
“What the hell are you talking about, huh? Now don’t be stupid, boy. A ship will find her and…Bram, you hear me?” Hands was starting to lose it. His voice broke from the strain. Bram had turned Mo away from the boat.
“Move up, girl, that’s it, move up.” He was moving her slowly away from the boat. Her energy was at a low ebb, and had it not been for Bram, she wouldn’t have budged.
“Bram! Get the hell back here! You’re crazy! You can’t do this!”
“Don’t worry. Mo and I will be okay.” As the fog swallowed him into the invisible, his voice trailed away saying, “Bye Hands, thanks for everything.”
“No, wait! Don’t go. I’ve got an idea.” Hands was berserk with what was happening. “We can tow her in! That’s it! We’ll put these ropes around her and tow her. Bring her back here now, Bram!” Hands immediately set to work. “You men grab those ropes!”
Nobody moved.
“Bram, bring her around!”
Hands was tripping and falling as he tried to handle the ropes by himself. The men weren’t moving. With the storm coming they’d have to get back to port at full speed, and tugging Mo would only slow them down. More important, they saw she was failing fast and was too weak to endure the trip.
“You men hear me!” Hands raged, tears welling up in his eyes, his throat in a knot. “Now give me a hand!”
He reached down to gather another coil when one of the sailors picked up a huge chunk of wood off the deck and coming up behind him, cracked him hard over the head. Hands fell, blood oozing from his temple. Everyone sat still, looking at his body, except the man who had hit him. He rolled the lifeless body over, sopped up the blood with the bottom of his shirt.
The sailor turned to the captain of the tug. “We can go now.”
The storm had gathered strength and the tug was being tossed around like a cork. The big engine revved up, the boat leaned back and roared ahead, powering its way through the waves, back from where it had come. As it disappeared into the fog, voices could be heard crying out.
“Bye, Bram, thank you…”
“See ya, Mo.”
“Sorry…”
16
HOURS HAD PASSED. The fog thinned, and in places had torn open to reveal the white brightness of a three-quarter moon outlining the massive thunderheads that dominated the heavens. Whitecaps had transformed into large, smooth swells that rolled in wide sheets of bottomless liquid, while a light warm rain sprinkled the surface with silvery dimples. Mo’s huge, flaccid body floated low in the water, as though dead, her energy long gone. Mini-whirlpools slowly swirled around Mo in big circles, as if she were a leaf being washed downstream. Bram was nowhere in sight. A clot of floating debris got hung up briefly against Mo’s side. A hand slowly reached out from under Mo’s head and grabbed the largest piece of wood.”
“This’ll help some, Mosie.”
Bram’s voice was barely audible and he was shaking, weak from exposure and exhaustion. Struggling to lift her trunk off his shoulder, he set it on the floating piece of wood, which sank a bit from the weight but kept the tip out of the water for the moment. Bram knew she was dying. Mo’s body was cold to the touch, and unmoving; her trunk lay listless, no sign of life anywhere in her entire being, except her eyes…living eyes in a dead body, as though someone inside was looking out. It was from these half-closed eyes that she watched his every move. Cuddling down under her chin, he supported her huge head as best he could on his shoulder.
“Now, girl, we have to think about all the good things that have happened to us. Papa told me that whenever things go bad, look to—” Bram felt a slight shudder in her body. “Mo, are you listening?” Tears spilled over the rims of his eyes as he set her head down and moved to her side so she could see him better. Her lids were closed. “Mo!…Mo!…”
She opened them slowly, searching languidly until one looked directly at him. This was the boy she loved, the one person in the world for whom she would do anything. The glazed eye saw his lips move, his mouth speak. Her whole existence of trust and love was in her gaze. Bram’s voice was choked with tears.
“It’s time, Mosie…now don’t you be afraid. We’ll be together, and as long as we are, nothing can hurt us.” He wiped his face of the flood of tears, they tasted so sweet; then put his cheek against hers. He smoothed the soft skin around her eye with his finger. “Goodbye, Mosie. I’ll see you on the other side.”
Modoc’s eye gradually closed, squeezing a bead of wet out of the corner.
“Now I’m going to slip this board out from under your trunk,” Bram said, kissing the wet spot, “and when I do, you just keep thinking of the circus, and Emma, and the clover fields, and all your friends who love you.”
Bram realized that these were his own final moments, and for the first time he felt scared. “Papa…sorry, Papa, I tried.” A warm sensation came over him as he thought of seeing Josef. He knew his father would be waiting. “Maybe we’ll even meet your namesake, huh, Mo?”
Bram didn’t want to be out there alone without her, and he knew once the board was pulled, she wouldn’t be able to keep her head above water. He gently pushed his arm up into Mo’s mouth, resting his hand on her tongue. He asked her to “hold,” knowing this way he’d be pulled down with her. Then, looking around to see if there was anything he might have forgotten, white with terror, he said, “Goodbye, Mama…Gertie…Curpo.” He pulled the board; it drifted away.
Modoc didn’t fight it; she instinctively knew they were at the end of their adventure. In a few minutes her huge head slowly sank into the water with Bram’s arm locked in her mouth. His head disappeared beneath the surface also.
For a moment all he felt were the bubbles; the agonizing wash of the sea was gone, and a peace and quiet descended upon him. By reflex, he held his breath. He was slowly letting it escape when he heard a noise. A curious noise. It was a distinct sound, the vibration of a motor and it was…yes! Getting louder!
He wrenched and twisted, trying to swim up, but his arm was firmly locked in a death grip. Fighting for his life, he pounded on Mo’s cheek. It was futile; they sank deeper. Bram was about to black out, everything was fading into one…the water, the bubbles, Modoc, the noise…Everything was melting together and spinning, spinning into oblivion.
Suddenly he felt the impact from a gigantic splash only a few feet above him. It was so enormous, so startling that Modoc, in her resigned death throes, reacted. Shocked, she moved up, breaking through the surface of the water, carrying Bram high into the air with her! They were blinded by the brilliance of floodlights. Men in special suits were all around them in the water, some holding up Mo’s head and trunk, others swimming under her, fastening a thick canvas sling beneath her. Bram felt a powerful a
rm scoop him up. Airborne for a moment, he was placed upon a hard surface. People were attending to him, but through the crowd his bleary eyes searched for Modoc. He could see her being hauled out of the water by an enormous crane. A large man wearing a turban was shouting orders. They were on board a ship, the whole back of which lay in the water like a great hinged gate. In a state of shock, Bram wondered why the ship didn’t sink.
Mo was carefully swung over the deck and gently lowered. As her feet touched the deck, her legs buckled and she collapsed, so she was laid on her side. Bram, exhausted, passed into unconsciousness.
“Engines…full throttle…radio Calcutta for arrival at 0400!” and the local city ferryboat got under way.
17
“I’M SORRY, but the doctor left strict orders that the patient is not to be disturbed!”
“But I understand he’s starting to wake up, the doctor told me so himself!”
Bram was gradually coming around, first in his mind, trying to contemplate who he was and what was happening to him, then in his body, pushing away the excruciating pain. His eyes opened to a blur of pastels, white, light brown, pale yellow, a tinge of blue. Nothing was moving in the blur except a brown flat thing that kept cadence with a creaking sound.
“Please, I have to be there when he wakes up.” The man pushed his way past the nurse and headed into the room. Leaning over the bed, he tried to look through the mosquito netting that tented over it. “Bram, you in there, old man? It’s Kelly…from the ship.”
Bram fought with his senses to clear his mind as well as his vision, which was slowly coming into focus. He saw he was lying in a bed encapsulated in gauze. The man outside the netting was talking to him. Kelly…Kelly! It all came back fast and hit him hard. He bolted into a sitting position. Searing pain cut him to the quick; every muscle, joint, bone, and tendon was sore and painful. He howled in agony, clutching his body for comfort. Kelly pulled back the netting as the nurse, giving him a dirty look, settled Bram back down into the pillows and blankets.