Tusk

Tusk

The brown paper package was hand delivered to Miss Lucy Sanders, aged
8, of Fourteen Littlewood Park, early on that Thursday morning.

Eight thousand miles away, a lone scream rent the scrublands and the
animals fell silent.

Lucy's eyes shone with excitement. She held onto the package
reverently, savouring the moment when the wondrous mystery that this
gift was became a precious joy of discovery. This was her birthday
present from Daddy, who was working for three months in the company's
office in Cape Town. Lucy was sad that her dad would miss her party,
but she knew that he would have sent her something even more lovely
than Tour Guide Barbie.

This one was mad. Damned mad. His ears flapped furiously and his trunk
was raised and held before him. He thundered through the thickets and
in to the waiting firing squad of the poachers in the clearing. The
second scream of fury and indignation caused the adrenaline to rise
along with the hairs on the back of the poacher's necks. An angry bull
elephant is a large target but he's also an unpredictable force that
may take several shots before he goes down. They were in this for
money, not for any reason of sport, but every man there felt his balls
tighten and his heart race as the beast blundered on towards him.

Carefully Lucy tore off the brown paper packaging. Her hands wanted to
rip at the paper savagely to get to the surprise within, but her mind
urged her to extend this moment of pure pleasure to make it last as
long as possible. She squealed in delight as she saw the brightly
coloured birthday paper beneath the dull brown topcoat which she had
discarded. The gift tag read simply "To my Lucy, Happy Birthday
Sweetheart All my love Dad XXX"

Under its thick layer of paper the gift was rectangular and about
twelve inches long by eight wide by six deep, and it was hard. Not
something to wear then. Her mind raced ahead to what the gift might
be.

The first shot hit the elephant square in the chest. The velocity and
high calibre of the bullet carried it through the thick protective
skin. Once through the tough hide it smoothed through the tender flesh
and muscle like a hot iron through solder. It found its home and
nestled comfortably in the amorphous mass of the elephant's right lung.
It stopped him dead. He bellowed in agony and anger, but he didn't go
down. Instead he lowered his huge head and shook it mournfully. His
body wracked and convulsed as he coughed and the pressure forced a
rivulet of bright, veinous blood through the ruin of his chest. The
spasm passed and still he stood, confused but steady. The men smelt the
stench of their own fear mingled with the rancid stale sweat. They knew
the bull was at his most dangerous. More shots tore into the elephant
but the men in their panic fired wild and high. The air whistled with
the tuneless whiz of liberated bullets, and the few that hit their mark
did little more than bank the fire of fury in the beast. His head
swayed as he followed the sound of the bullets that went wide; he was
ready to charge but seemed confused as to where the barrage of agony
was coming from.

"Flatten" shouted one of the poachers, and the men lay prone on the
floor, making their bodies as flat and as still as possible. The
elephant scanned the scrub that had partially hidden the men who were
attacking him. His eyes peered at the three-foot level that they had
been crouched to. His attackers had vanished, and yet he could smell
them. Confused and addled with pain, he lurched forward anyway. The men
resisted the urge to get up and run, forcing their bodies to remain
still no matter what their impulses ordered them to do. They were
seasoned ivory hunters and they knew that an elephant runs six miles
faster than the fastest human; not dramatically faster but odds that
were not in their favour. The elephant passed within eight feet of the
closest man.

He was fading rapidly now, his mind furring and shadows eclipsing his
retinas until he finally fell, shaking the plains and sending birds
screeching from their roost.

As the light of life left his eyes the poachers were already advancing
on him with their knives drawn. The precious tusks were gored from the
animals face and his feet were sawn free; his eyes, tail and huge ear
flaps were all ripped from the warm carcass and then the first vultures
moved away, leaving easy access for the second guard.

Three hours later and a young bull calf stood dejectedly by his
mother's lifeless body. She had no valuable ivory to give, only her
feet for waste paper baskets and her ears, eyes and tail for gory
souvenirs. The brave young bull had rushed the men, barging into them
and snorting furiously in his high pitched trumpet, but the men had
laughed and jeered at him. They pushed him back out of the way as they
used their steel blades to rape his mother's body and take her wares
before following the herd to mark their next victim.

Lucy's eyes widened in delight. Her mother smiled as she saw the joy
spreading over her daughter's happy face. The little girl ran her
finger lightly over the pretty jewellery box. The waxed mahogany was
warm to the touch as though it still lived, contrasting with the cool
finish of the gleaming mother of pearl inlay. The mother of pearl
itself contrasted in turn with the rougher texture of the creamy flat
ivory. She opened the box and gasped at the beauty of the soft padding
that was the exact colour of bright veinous blood, but Lucy saw only
luscious red velvet that would soon show off her trinkets and treasures
to their best advantage. The child was in rapture.

Eight thousand miles away, a lone scream rent the scrublands and the
animals fell silent.