The Trunk Rider

Chapter 3

The trucks arrived on the last day of my old life.  They were as modern as a tour bus from Bangkok, just as long, with shining metal trailers covered in small, ovoid holes.  There were three of them, trucks that not only could carry elephants, but that were designed to.  They would carry Ratana and the others off to Lampang, and I knew, it was near certain I would never see them again.

            I bid a final good bye to all of them, and retreated inside, thinking that I would wait until they were all gone.  After a few minutes pacing the kitchen, not in the mood for reading, I gave in and rushed back outside.

            A long, low metal ramp had been extended out from each of the three trucks where they sat on the driveway.  I saw the shape of an elephant being led into the back of one of the trailers.  I broke into a run and sprinted over the garden to where the line of the remaining animals was being led out of the stables.  I felt an odd mix of admiration and pride cut through the panic as I noted that Ratana tugged forcefully against her lead upon seeing me; apparently it wasn’t anyone who could guide her without touch, as I could, or at least not the two that were leading her at that moment.

            Sukhong, whom I recognized upon closer examination, marched without objection into the trailer.  As always, he kept his head down and walked without the slightest protest.  Ratana, meanwhile, was straining even harder now, trying to get closer to me.  I jogged over to her, and she relaxed slightly, though still tugging fretfully at the lead.

            “Hello,” I greeted the Reserve people passively as I patted her flank soothingly.  They stared at me with somewhat shocked before one, a young European-looking woman, spoke up.

            “Er… Hello.” She answered awkwardly, “Um… not to be rude, but who are you?”

            “Kanya.  Kanya Duvelle,” a sudden stroke of boldness hit me, perhaps inspired by the pride of my having effectively calmed Ratana when they couldn’t, “And seeing as I live here, I should probably be the one asking that.”

            Neither of them answered my implied query – not that I didn’t know –, but they both suddenly looked surprised.

            “He had a kid?” I distinctly heard the woman mutter.

            “Sorry?” I inquired, not bothering to disguise the fact that I had clearly heard her.  “Who had a kid?  My Dad?”

            She was clearly not expecting this affront.  “Well… yes… Um, you see…”

            “Most everyone at the Reserve knows Peter Duvelle.” Contributed the man next to her, middle-aged and Thai.  “He… He, um, worked with us for a while… Back when he first came to the country.”

Something about his tone told me he was trying to withhold something.  I seemed to be hearing this tonequite a lot lately, I  noted.  Dad had never mentioned Lampang, but then again, he never really mentioned anything about his life before the Farm.

            “Alright,” I breezed, dismissing the issue, “So that’s where you’re taking them, is it?”  I began to walk alongside them.  “Just so you know, she doesn’t like cabbage, and she loves having her trunk scratched, she actually let me ride it when I was younger.”

            “I’ll consider it,” acknowledged the man offhandedly, sounding quite annoyed.  I felt a twinge of embarrassment, realizing that I had managed to sound both childish and condescending, but pressed on, describing the picky way Aroon seemed to like his sugar cane cut.  I felt that I should ensure the elephants – I had to stop myself thinking, my elephants – would carry on happily if we were to be separated.