Elefant. Jamie Bulloch

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ divorce threw him off the rails. He’d been living with his wife, Terry, and the twins, Katie and Jerome, in a large bungalow in Fendalton, the smartest suburb of Christchurch, running a veterinary clinic with his partner and earning good money.

      Sure, he’d had the odd affair, but just when he was improving on this front he caught Terry with his friend and partner. A terrible shock. He was prepared to forgive the two of them and attempt a fresh start, but although Terry wanted a fresh start too, she didn’t want a fresh start with him. After their divorce she married his partner.

      Harris got himself hired as a vet on various game reserves in Asia. He’d only been back to New Zealand three times since, to see his children. They’d grown into teenagers and on their last meeting had made it plain that they didn’t think much of his rare visits. Contact with them was now restricted to modest bank transfers on their birthdays or at Christmas and the occasional awkward Skype call. Harris didn’t need to pay any maintenance and his own infidelities hadn’t been disclosed during the divorce.

      A few tables further on two female tourists were feeding the ravens. He’d already noticed them on his first visit to the buffet. About thirty years of age, German-speaking, no beauties, but determined to experience more than just foreign culture and nature on their trip – this was something Harris had an eye for.

      They were having great fun watching the birds land on the table and nibble their food. Harris could have impressed the women by pointing out that this was a good way of contracting cryptococcosis and psittacosis – not completely false, nor completely true either. He was just about to go up to the dessert buffet and make a remark to this effect when his mobile rang.

      The display said ‘Roux’.

      Harris answered, listened, said, ‘Hold on,’ took a pen from his jacket and jotted down some numbers on the back of the list of daily specials. ‘I thought it would never happen,’ he said, before finishing the conversation and dialling another number.

      ‘Kasun?’ he said into his phone so loudly that a number of guests turned and stared. ‘Get yourself to Ratmalana. Now!’ He made the international gesture for ‘The bill, please’ to the waiter, and when it wasn’t brought immediately Harris went up and signed the slip. On the way to his room he called his contact at the heliport.

      Harris ordered a taxi and quickly put on his work clothes – khaki trousers and faded short-sleeve denim shirt. From the wardrobe he took his instrument case, which he’d already packed and checked over and over again for this long-awaited opportunity.

      Barely five minutes after the phone call he was in a taxi on his way to Ratmalana Airport, fifteen kilometres to the south of Colombo.

      A quarter of an hour later he was there. Kasun, the young man assigned to him by the Department of Wildlife Conservation, was waiting for him beside a Robinson R44, a light, four-seater helicopter. Its rotors had started spinning as soon as Harris’s taxi came into sight.

      When Harris got to the chopper, Kasun was already strapped into the back seat, his headphones on.

      The pilot increased the rotor speed, the small aircraft rose slowly and hovered over the runway for a moment. Then the pilot lowered its nose and they set off towards the south-east.

      4

      The same day

      They’d flown the last few kilometres at low altitude above the railway line and could see the stationary train from far away. A few metres behind the engine a group of people were gathered around the injured elephant.

      The pilot flew higher to give them an overview of the situation. Not far from the site of the accident was a clearing, at the edge of which stood a few huts. Enough room to land.

      Apart from a handful of old women and small children the village was deserted. Those not working in the fields had gone to the scene of the accident.

      Laden with instrument case, a hard-shell cool box and various containers, the stocky Harris and his tall, loose-limbed assistant hurried along the narrow path that led from the clearing to the railway line in the forest.

      As usual in Sri Lanka, it was over 30 degrees with more than 90 per cent humidity. When they reached the railway embankment Harris’s shirt was sticking to his large torso. They laboured their way up the gravel and began heading northwards along the tracks. The site of the accident had to be just beyond the bend.

      Not a scrap of shade fell onto the railway line; they were at the mercy of the roasting sun. It stank of the hot creosote that the wooden sleepers were impregnated with. And of the passenger lavatories.

      Now they could see the train as well as the people grouped beside the embankment.

      Just before they reached them, Harris instructed his Sri Lankan helper to go first to clear the way. Kasun barked some instructions in Sinhalese, and all Harris understood were the English words ‘National Wildlife Department’. The curious villagers and passengers from the train immediately moved aside.

      Before them lay the little elephant and beside it knelt a young woman, stroking its head.

      ‘It’s okay, it’s okay,’ she said, choking back the tears.

      The animal’s eyes were wide open, it was biting its trunk and its hind legs stuck out at an unnatural angle. Harris put down his case and opened it.

      ‘Are you a vet?’ the tourist asked him in her American accent.

      Harris nodded. He took out a syringe and filled it from an ampoule.

      ‘Will she be okay?’ the American woman asked, worried.

      Harris nodded. He lifted the injured animal’s right ear. The network of veins on the back stood out prominently. Harris chose a swollen one as thick as a finger, positioned the needle, and injected the contents of the syringe.

      ‘Painkiller?’ she asked.

      Harris nodded once more. ‘Painkiller,’ he muttered, checking his watch.

      The elephant seemed to relax. The tongue slid from her mouth and lay on the trampled grass like a weary snake. The American tourist kept stroking the baby elephant’s head, which was dotted sparsely with long hairs. ‘Shhh, shhh,’ she said, as if to a child going to sleep.

      Harris checked his watch again and made a sign to Kasun. He understood and touched the woman’s shoulder, who flinched and looked up at him.

      Now Harris could see how young the tear-stained face was.

      ‘Let’s go, miss,’ Kasun said.

      The American looked at Harris for help.

      He nodded. ‘Everybody leaves now. We have to do some surgery.’

      Slowly she got to her feet, looked back down at the baby elephant, wiped the tears away with the heels of her hands and looked at Harris. ‘You put her to sleep, didn’t you?’

      He didn’t reply.

      She turned around and was led away by the train guard to the group of passengers waiting a few carriages further on in the shade of the СКАЧАТЬ