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A Man with his Head in an Elephant's Anus
Tom and I were at a party, and had taken ourselves away from the throng to a drawing room. The room was not austere, the furniture was a dark wood with faint art nouveau touches, curlicues and floral forms. and there were books and a piano, and upright chairs and a table.
A huge bunch of creamy lilies sang joyfully from a vase on the table.
Tom sat down. "Nice spot."
He had a bottle of white wine and two glasses.
"One for you, one for me, old boy."
"Quieter here," I said, taking in the gilt framed paintings, the huge Chinese rug, the ruby chaise longue.
*
A man entered. He was wearing red trousers. Tom said, "hey, cunt." The man looked over, "that's not necessary." And left.
Then entered a girl in a blue dress, poised, with lovely rounded shoulders and startlingly large black eyes, dark straight hair, brown skin and a heart shaped crimson mouth.
Tom was interested.
"Hi," he said, "fancy some wine?"
"Nah."
I looked at her and smiled.
She smiled back.
"He's gay," said Tom.
She raised her eyebrows in a sympathetic manner. "May I?" She took my glass and enjoyed a long sip, winked, then disappeared.
*
Another person came in. He was completely bald and wearing dungarees.
'Do you shave your head so you can stick it in an elephant's anus?" asked Tom.
"Yeah? So what's it to you if that's what I like...?" And off he went.
"Tom, for God's sake."
"Oh Christ." Tom gulped his wine. "Do you really think he puts his head in elephants' anuses?"
"It's not likely, when you think about it. It might even be illegal. Anyway, it shut you up. You're going to start a fight if you carry on like that. "
"For some reason he was wearing dungarees," said Tom.
I'd had enough of Tom. I was worried that he would really offend someone and there'd be a fight. So I went into the hall: there people stood about aimlessly. Or maybe they wanted to use the toilet.
The bald man in dungarees appeared with a bottle in his hand. He stood in the middle of the hall, slugging from the bottle.
"What are you looking at? What?"
The blue dress girl was there and she came over and gave my hand a squeeze. We talked a little. Then we decided to leave.
*
In the lamplit street...
"By the way, I'm May."
We shook hands rather formally. "I'm Caspasian."
"What was it about that bald guy? So angry," asked May.
"I don't know, was there maybe something my friend said? Some find him a little blunt."
"I don't know," said May. "He was very cross. And for some reason he was wearing dungarees."
May took me to her apartment and we sat in the kitchen, drinking coffee from tiny porcelain cups. Then she disappeared to the bathroom. I sent a Whatsapp message to Tom.
-I'm at her place.
-Fuck off, replied Tom.
-We're in the BEDROOM.
-Fuck you.
-She's taking off her dress.
No reply
Then May reappeared in a negligee.
*
I decided not to see Tom for a while. His behaviour had become more and more difficult, and I reflected that it was even beginning to limit social possibilities in what was, for me, still a new city.
I did, however, see May.
Spring had come, the city awoke with flinty sunlight, and May, longer a resident, took me on walks in the neighbourhood.
We visited a prominent local museum, famous for its gigantic collection of shrunken aboriginal heads.
"I hope your family don't indulge in this practice?" I asked, as we perused the tiny shrivelled faces.
"Not always, only my stupidest exes are here."
We enjoyed chocolate cake in a famous coffee house, which Freud had frequented. We strolled, hand in hand, through the flower market then admired over-priced antiques in a Victorian shopping gallery.
One charming sunny afternoon we went slightly further up the hill, to discover a municipal park. From the entrance gates cherry trees, in full pink regalia lined the path and down it we traipsed like Japanese lovers, and it led to a large circle of grass in which could be seen trucks of all sizes, and men and women standing around, some opening crates, others supervising, smoking, or talking.
"The circus is in town!" exclaimed May.
And from the side of one truck I read, "Barnley's Greatest Circus Extravaganza."
We watched. A perimeter fence had already been constructed and animals appeared from the trucks: minuscule piebald horses, four merry poodles, then a pair of lions, doped like Californians, sloped dreamily down a ramp, and finally an Indian elephant came, accompanied by two handlers and a man in dungarees.
"I think it's the bald angry guy from the party," said May.
"It is indeed, and he's wearing the same dungarees."
"Hi!" yelled May.
"Hi!" I shouted.
The dungareed man looked over and gave a thumbs up.
The handlers steered the elephant by means of a chain around its ankle and considerable yelling and smacking to an area further from the trucks.
A handler held a large tin open to the dungareed man. He removed some matter from the tin with his hands and proceeded to smear it on his pate.
A set of wooden steps, painted in circus colours, was placed near the rear of the elephant, and the dungareed man ascended. One of the handlers pulled aside the elephants tail, and the dungareed man, after a brief pause to collect himself, inserted his head forcefully into the anus of the animal: after a moment of apparent indifference the elephant raised its trunk to sound the first bars of the national anthem.
May squeezed my hand, and, pressing together, we kissed, deliriously.
Presently, the man removed his head and, still on the steps, raised his arms in a v-gesture of triumph.
May and I cheered loudly. "Bravo!"
*
Illustration: acrylic on hardboard, 6.5 x 8.7 cm, c. 2000
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Read to: The Cornwall Writers' Circle, to Metro Detroit Writers' Group, 14 April, 2021, to Edinburgh Creative Writer's Club, 20 April, 2021 and Astoria Writers 2 May, 2021
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