An Inconvenient Elephant by Judy Reene Singer Page A

were taking a terrible chance. We were hoping to strike a balance in his mind, that he would somehow know the oranges came from us and eat what was being cast before him without charging us and overturning the truck.
    Diamond threw several more pieces of fruit and we watched. Tusker and the young bull scooped them up greedily, then trotted a few feet forward, reconnoitering the ground for more. They looked at the truck and then at the ground. Then at the truck. Tusker trumpeted and shook his head and wiped his trunk along the ground trying to pick up the scent. They moved toward us again, and Grisha gunned the truck. They followed, trunks extended straight out andpointing to us. Somehow they suddenly understood, and we were on our way. Toss, drive forward, toss, drive forward. Slow enough to get out of their way, fast enough to keep them walking behind us.
    It was working.
    After two torturously slow hours, we had covered about fifteen miles. Fifteen miles of potholes that could pass for ravines, of washed-out roads that had us scrambling sideways to keep from toppling over, of stopping to let a black rhino and her baby trot by, of watching Tusker casually uproot an acacia tree and eat the bark, of watching him argue with the bull over one particular orange while standing on several others.
    The road washed out again, and we had to detour between acacia trees, barely squeaking through overgrown and tangled thornbushes that had stickers like claws. We tried to hurry a small herd of buffalo that strolled casually in front of us and ground us to a halt while the elephants were closing in behind. It was all tricky business, and my nerves were strung tight. I looked over at Diamond, who was checking the maps against her GPS and puffing furiously on her cheroot.
    Suddenly she glanced up. “Bollocks!”
    â€œWhat?” I asked breathlessly. “Is something wrong?”
    â€œI’m hungry,” she declared. “Did we pack anything to eat?”
    â€œCitrus,” Grisha replied, giving an expansive wave at the contents of the truck.
    â€œGreat,” I said. “So we eat oranges and baste ourselves from the inside out.”
    We hit a deep rut and bounced hard, dislodging a box of fruit that tumbled across the road, spilling the contents.
    â€œWe can’t leave all that fruit behind,” Diamond announced as Grisha slowed to a stop, “or we’ll be waiting here forever to make sure they finish it. Otherwise, we’ll have half a dozen elephants running after us.”
    â€œ Da ,” Grisha agreed. He jumped from the Rover and ripped the box open, kicking some of the fruit across the road into the brush, and picking up the rest that were remaining, before the elephants caught up to us. “Maybe they won’t notarize all of it,” he said hopefully.
    They did notice them and stopped for a feast. It was afternoon now, and we had another twenty or so miles to go. Grisha was growing impatient. Diamond and I were more worried. We were entering the rim of the park, far from any encampments. If we had problems, we would be totally on our own.
    There was a drone from one of the side roads. Diamond and I looked at each other in alarm. It was a motor, to be sure, and I held my breath, hoping our good luck would stay with us. We pushed the remaining fruit under our seats and covered the rest with the tarp.
    â€œI hope they’re tourists,” Diamond muttered, “and not Mugabe’s men.”
    Grisha pointed under his seat. “Grisha has rifles,” he said. “Do you have nerves?”
    â€œI have nerves,” Diamond declared grimly. “I have big nerves.”
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    It was the assistant game warden from Charara. He drove toward us in his jeep, then pulled up next to our truck.
    â€œI suggest you turn around,” he said. “You’re pretty far from camp.”
    Diamond smiled at him. “I’m a licensed safari leader. I’ll bring them back