Ernie Lindsey

 

It had been too dry that summer. September crept in and things hadn’t changed. Dust collected in the corners of pane-glass windows and throats stayed parched. Brown grass crinkled under the bare feet of children playing tag. Tobacco and corn, cabbage and ripe red tomatoes, they begged for a thimble of rain as their leaves curled, sucking away the remaining moisture. There were sweat soaked shirts and hot tempers, barren creek beds and little dew in the mornings. It made the people of Erwin anxious and irritated.

That may be why they were so eager to hang the elephant.

Or maybe they thought they were doing the right thing.

I was 17 years old in 1916 and in love with a beautiful girl named Emily Doane, the daughter of my employer, Harold Doane III, a big man from up North who made his money in steel. He bought up a bunch of adjoining farms and shipped his family down South, down to what he thought was the easy life. He gave me a good job and a strong back; Emily gave me her affections and a summer romance.

Seven days a week, I milked his herd of dairy cattle and helped the other farmhands with a large piece of land in northeast Tennessee. Every night, I went home with cramped fingers and blistered palms. Every other night, Emily showed up at my window. Her bright smile made me forget about my aching joints and her cotton-soft skin soothed away my exhaustion.

Our love wasn’t secret, but our loving was. Mr. Doane liked me and appreciated my hard work. He even approved of me courting Emily. So, we took walks in public, acted shy around each other in the daylight, and long after sundown, we made the animals jealous.

Then, word came from Kingsport about an animal that was wilder than we were. Up there, Sparks’ Circus was in town and rumors flew through the dirt streets of Erwin, in through the barber’s and out through the general store, across porches and kitchens, from saddle to wheat field to lumber mill…

A trained elephant named Mary had killed a man.

I sat at the dinner table that Tuesday night, hovering over a plate of ham slices and potato salad, discussing the matter with Momma and Daddy when there was a knock on our screen door, out in the living room.

Earl Thomas, a neighbor, stood there smiling.

“Y’all hear yet?” he said as I let him in. “’Bout the elephant?” He hooked his thumbs in his overalls, the color of his snuff stained teeth matching the armpits of his white shirt. He smelled like hay and manure. Momma’s potpourri on the nearby table did little good.

I said, “All day long. She killed somebody, right?”

“Grabbed him up with her trunk and tossed him into a lemonade stand. Then she stomped on his head. Popped it open like it was a rotten cherry.”

I crossed my arms and rested against the wall. “Somebody said he wouldn’t let her eat a piece of watermelon she found beside the road. Said he beat her in the head with a stick.”

“Don’t matter none. The circus, it’s setting up over at the railroad yard so they can hang her from that big ol’ crane they got.”

“Hang her? With a noose?”

“Hell, what else would they use, son?”

Momma and Daddy walked into the room, her hands on a knobby pine cane, his hands tucked into empty pockets. Daddy said, “Evening, Earl,” as Momma sat down on my grandfather’s old straight-backed chair, the seat woven from baling twine. There was a slight creak and I imagined it was her bones instead of the groaning wood.

Earl said, “Hello, Paul. Howdy, Sue. Was telling Roy that they’re wanting to hang that murdering heathen of an elephant down at the yard. In broad daylight, no less. They call her ‘Murderous Mary.’” He stomped his boot on the wooden floor and laughed. I saw dust billow when he slapped his thigh.

“Why they bringing her here?” Daddy said. “They can’t do something about it up in Kingsport?”

“The owner’s under a lot of pressure, they say. People’s calling for them to make a spectacle out of that elephant. It’s either hang him or hang her, and we’re the only ones close by got a derrick big enough to do the job. Everybody in town’s all riled up about watching her swing.”

Momma said, “That crane can’t lift no elephant, can it?”

“Yes ma’am. It’s huge. If it can move train cars from one place to the next, I hope to God it can lift an elephant off the ground. Be awful damn worthless if it couldn’t.”

“They tried to shoot it,” I said. “Ben Wilkins told me the bullets bounced off her skin like they were using a slingshot.”

Earl wiped some tobacco juice from his lips. I could hear the sandpapery scratch of his chin stubble as it scraped the back of his hand. “Just gossip, boy. Them fools ain’t got no idea what really happened. Don’t nobody know. They’s rumors that the dang sheriff arrested the elephant and tied her outside the jail. Somebody else said a bunch of folks were hauling a cannon out there. I tell you what, an eight-pounder woulda done it, for sure.”

Daddy said, “They told Roy down at Doane’s that they were going to chain her to the railroad tracks and crush her between two engines.”

Momma put her hand to her mouth. “That’s awful.”

“Naw, it ain’t. She shouldn’t have stomped that feller,” Earl said. “She’ll get what’s coming to her. I can’t wait to see her swing.”

I ground my teeth and tightened up my jaw muscles. “Way I look at it, he got what was coming to him.”

Daddy chuckled. “Hush, Roy. Murder is murder. Animal or not.”

“It ain’t if it’s self defense. Where she comes from, this place named Africa? That’s called survival. Besides, she don’t know any better.”

Earl laughed and sent a pungent blast of wintergreen snuff breath wafting past me. “Sounds like you got the makings of a lawyer here, Paul.”

“Ah, Roy’s got a soft spot for animals, I reckon. Always has.”

I rolled my eyes and leaned up against the piano. Daddy had me pegged. I’d always loved animals and had even wanted to be a veterinarian until I had to drop out of school to work. Money was needed for the farm, and though I complained, I decided it was best to pull my share.

We talked until the late evening darkness crept into the house, making the gray-walled living room darker. Momma’s plants cast shadows that looked like spiders and moths with many wings. I got sleepy.

Then Daddy lit an oil lamp. The fresh light popped my eyelids open.

Outside, fireflies began to speckle the yard like moving stars. I excused myself when Daddy and Earl began arguing over whether or not you could use a scythe to kill an elephant. I’d had enough. It made my heart hurt.

I went to my bedroom and flopped down on the mattress. It felt dirty and bumpy, like laying facedown in the horse trodden road out front. I crawled up to the pillow, smelling Emily’s lilac perfume where she’d been the night before. I hadn’t seen her since.

Earl finally quit arguing with Daddy, and soon after he left, I fell asleep, thinking of Emily, wondering what she thought of Murderous Mary.

Wednesday morning, I woke up to a rooster’s crow. High humidity left a layer of sweat on me, like somebody rubbed me down with a thin coat of cooking grease.

It was early. Emily was asleep. By the time I got to Mr. Doane’s, the rest of the farmhands were already lining up the Holstein cattle.

Ben Wilkins said, “I know you’re particular ‘bout how these cows are milked, Roy, but Doane says if we all get finished early enough, we can mosey out to the circus. Me and the boys figured we’d get a head start.”

“Why the hell you want to go out there for?”

“They say you get to watch that elephant hang for free, as long as you pay to get into the big top.”

“What?”

“I gotta go, Roy. I ain’t never seen no elephant before. ‘Specially not one swinging from a chain.”

The sun came full on like a locomotive headlight. The morning air got warmer and thicker. I glared at him, and smacked his hands off a cow’s teat. “Get out the way. None of y’all ever do this right.”

“God almighty. What’s stuck in your craw?”

“You buncha goddamn bloodthirsty sons-a-bitches, is what. That elephant don’t need to be hung.”

“She killed somebody, Roy.”

My arms pumped up and down on the cow’s udders. Milk filled the bucket. I tried to calm myself. I stared at the haunches in front of me. I said, “You’d go batty too if some darn fool kept poking you with a stick.”

Ben gave up and walked away. I kept milking hard and fast, feeding the cattle through like rounds into a shotgun. Boom, boom, boom, done. I tucked Emily in the corner of my mind and forgot about Murderous Mary.

Hours later, long after I’d finished milking the cows and cleaning out the barn stalls, I stood up after shoeing a horse, soaked through in sweat, and for the first time all day, noticed black clouds shouldering up to the remaining blue sky. Mr. Doane stepped into the barn. “There you are, Roy. Emily sent me back here to pick you up.”

“Where’s she?”

“Already down at the circus. No idea why she didn’t think to bring you when she went the first time.”

I tried to ease myself out of going. Emily or not, I didn’t want to see that crowd drooling for Mary’s death. “Ah, no thank you, sir. I reckon I’ll just visit her later.”

“Nonsense, boy. I came all the way back here to get you, you’re coming with me.”

That was that. Doane had spoken.

We bumbled along in his brand new 1916 Model T Ford. Bouncing through potholes, bouncing over any rock larger than a pebble. I missed having my boots in a stirrup. He jabbered about the car’s benefits while I chewed some homemade beef jerky, nodding when it was necessary, smiling when I thought appropriate. We passed dying gardens and dilapidated houses, a rusty plow and an evaporated pond.

We arrived at the circus and I was amazed by the herd of townspeople swarming around like flies on a cow patty. It smelled that way too. It reminded me of Earl. I looked for him through the crowd, but realized it was supposed to smell like that. Like caramel candy and shit. Nobody seemed to notice over their smiles and laughter. I nearly gagged.

Mr. Doane pulled out his pocket watch. “Almost three o’clock,” he said. “They’re hoisting that elephant soon. If we hurry, we can get a good spot.”

I shrugged my shoulders. “Well, I don’t know…”

“C’mon, son. Emily’s waiting,” Mr. Doane said. He clapped me on the back and winked.

Reluctantly, I obliged.

Mr. Doane was a head above and a shoulder wider than everyone else. His three-piece suit and three-piece bravado carved a path through a sea of ripped britches, discolored shirts, and dirt splotched faces. I followed close behind, ignoring the angry stares.

Emily stood at the front, glowing, her dress cotton candy pink, her smile dogwood blossom white.

She clapped her hands. “Hi, Roy. Glad you could make it. I’m so anxious to see this.” She turned towards the elephant.

“You’re what?”

“I can’t wait. Won’t it be wonderful?”

“You want to see this?”

“Well, why not?” She waved to a friend.

“The elephant?”

“Good heavens, Roy, yes.”

I stared at her, my jaw hanging open. The recognition felt like a horse’s hoof to my chest. I don’t know why I hadn’t noticed it before. Infatuation maybe? Bliss of first love?

I thought back to the day we met, hot already in late April. It was raining, and in such dry times, it used to be a refreshing memory.

She’d been hunting Cherokee arrowheads in a field I’d plowed, walking barefoot from row to row. Stooping occasionally, but finding nothing. Heavy clouds, black and fluffy, meandered in. I rested against a shade tree, hoping she would come talk to me. A clap of thunder and a spattering of rain, drops small like a baby’s tears, provided all the encouragement she needed.

Emily put her hands up and her head down. She ran straight for me and was soaked by the time she made it under the natural umbrella, that white dress clinging to tan skin. She said, “For a farm boy, you don’t know much.”

“What?”

“You’re not supposed to be under a tree in a thunderstorm, Roy.”

“You know my name?”

Her laugh was a melody. She took my hand. “Let’s go to the barn. It’s safer in there.”

Off we went. Lightning sparkled and lit up the dull sky as we sprinted along the tree line with Emily in the lead, glancing over her shoulder. Thunder crashed around us. With each gust of wind, leaves flashed their underbellies like a school of fish changing course.

As we sprinted into the barn, the horses eyed us, and an Angus bull shifted in his stall. Saddles hung from pegs beside hoes and shovels, yards of rope. I leaned against a post and wiped the rain from my face, flinging drops of water onto the brown, powdery surface. Emily smiled at me. I bit my lip and felt my cheeks go red.

A goat named Chester bleated at us from his usual corner. Emily jerked her head toward him and said, “Shut up, you old coot.”

I should have noticed it then.

But, I was too overwhelmed by her that afternoon. She knew my name. She knew Daddy was fond of playing cards. She knew I quit school early and she knew Momma had to walk with a cane.

“How you know all this stuff?” I asked.

“Easy,” she said. “Women have their ways.”

We talked about the heat and how much she loved the mountains. She told me about growing up in Pennsylvania. I was nervous at first, so I rattled on about farming and how much I loved being able to work outside. I said I wanted to be a veterinarian one day and she laughed. She said she wanted to get married and have babies. The rain faded to a drizzle.

I said, “You been here since what, February? Why didn’t you ever talk to me before?”

She shrugged. “Why didn’t you?”

“Shy, I reckon.”

“I know.”

I said, “Is there anything you don’t know about me?”

“Maybe one thing.”

“What’s that?”

She batted her eyes and rested her chin on her shoulder. She said, “Whether or not you think I’m pretty…”

I felt the corners of my mouth turn up like runners on a rocking chair. “Of course I do.”

Emily stood and wiped off the hay sticking to her wet backside. She walked over to me and whispered, “Then would you like to take me for a picnic one day? Down by the river? I’ll bring a blanket.”

The smell of her perfume, faint and rain-washed, made me swoon. I nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Good.” She touched my cheek. The butterflies in my stomach joined hands and danced. I couldn’t stop grinning.

The drizzle stopped and she turned to leave, winking at me as she strolled out, wet dress hugging her thighs.

I watched her jut out her chin and rattle the bull’s gate, spooking him back toward the wall. And before she left, she grabbed a corn cob from a bin and slung it hard at Chester. He trembled. Emily chuckled.

I should have noticed it then and later, the different signs were everywhere. I should have noticed when she whipped a trotting horse too hard. I should have noticed all the times she yanked a cat’s tail or threw rocks at rabbits as we walked hand in hand.

But, love is blind and infatuation tolerates.

At least until it can’t anymore.

The crowd around Mary got louder. Emily took my hand. I slowly worked my fingers loose. I couldn’t abide cruelty. I had no place for that.

Mary was chained to the railroad tracks. She sniffed the ground with her trunk, looking for hope in a few blades of grass. Her eyes drooped. She knew. I could tell.

Children laughed and threw rocks at her. A group of men chanted, “Kill it…kill it…kill it.” There was whooping and hollering and that oppressive, suffocating smell of caramel candy. A scent that I still associate with death. The crowd buzzed like bees.

There was a great roar when a railroad worker ran out and climbed into the towering crane. Then another when Mary’s chain was attached to the hook.

Emily smiled. I cringed.

Machinery growled to life. Pistons churned and pulleys strained as smoke chuffed from sputtering pipes. People cheered as Murderous Mary’s front feet lifted off the ground. Through it all, I heard a gurgling sound coming from her throat.

Emily pulled my arm around her shoulders. I glanced down at her. She was fascinated. Eyes wide, smile wide, chanting along, “Kill it…kill it…kill it.”

I pulled my arm away.

Emily looked up at me, bounced on the balls of her feet, laughing and cheering. The freckles on her nose I once thought were so cute now marred a face I used to adore. She had a crooked tooth. She tried to kiss me. I offered my cheek instead.

Murderous Mary was three feet off the ground. I may have been the only one to notice her right foot was still chained to the railroad tracks. The crane lifted, the crowd flourished. She wasn’t budging. There was an audible crunch as the bones broke in her foot and tendons snapped in two. A second later, a chain link gave way and Mary plummeted to the ground. There was a loud pop. Maybe a broken hip. I felt like crying.

The crowd gasped, thinking the murdering, rampaging elephant was loose. Everyone took a step back. Then another. Murderous Mary sat dazed, immobile.

Emily grabbed me with both hands. She said, “Oh my God, Roy, isn’t this amazing?”

I yanked my arm from her grasp.

She said, “What’s the matter with you?”

“You really think she deserves this?”

“Why not?”

“Look at her. Look how sad she is.” I pointed. If an elephant knew defeat, knew inevitability, Mary showed it in her slack jaw, her lost gaze.

“So?”

I took a step back. Emily reached for my hand. I said, “Don’t.”

Every creature she mistreated, every dog she shoved away with her foot, every kitten she joked about drowning in a sack, all those memories rushed in. It made my heart hurt.

Emily crinkled her forehead. It looked like a plowed field. Our pockets of history, our arrowheads, would be buried there. Dug up on occasion, tucked away for safekeeping.

The crowd edged back from Murderous Mary again as she tried to shift. Someone detached her from the train track. Another man ran out, climbed her back like a miniature mountain and wrapped a thicker, sturdier chain around her neck, slung it over the hook, then scrambled away like some kind of hero.

Emily said, “What’s wrong with you?” A breeze blew stringy hair across her face. She didn’t move it.

The crane shuddered to life once more, lifting Mary off the ground. She offered no resistance, accepting her fate.

I looked down at the ground. My boots were dusty. Emily’s shoes were white and new. I kicked a pebble then glanced around at the crowd. I saw a little girl crying. Earl Thomas waved his hat in the air.

The wind blew harder.

Murderous Mary swung like the last apple on a limb.

Emily said, “Roy, she’s just a soulless…creature.”

I closed my eyes and felt the cool air on my burning cheeks. I thought about yelling at her, but I didn’t. Instead, I turned and walked through the chanting crowd, leaving Emily standing, leaving Mary swinging.