Jazz Elephants

Beardmore Paul

Description

Two elephants escape from London Zoo in this delightful comic fantasia which is also a deeply perceptive study of freedom of expression, modern bureaucratic obsession and the psychology of individuation. They yearn to be jazz trumpeters - and succeed - only to discover that the outside world is much more bizarre than life behind bars...

Sujets

• Fantasy (canción de Mariah Carey)
• Fantasy

Informations

• Publié par: Means to Meaning Ltd
• Date de parution: 06 juin 2013
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9780957603912
• Langue: English

Extrait

THE JAZZ ELEPHANTS
PAUL BEARDMORE
Agent for all rights in The Jazz Elephants Andrew Mann Ltd 39–41 North Road London N7 9DP Telephone: [phone] Email: [e-mail] Web: www.andrewmann.co.uk
Copyright © 1991 by Paul Beardmore
The right of Paul Beardmore to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
Cover illustration by Wendy Hoile
All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any electronic printed or other form nor stored in a retrieval system, nor transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission of the publisher and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data Beardmore, Paul The jazz elephants I. Title 823[J] Hardback: ISBN 0-356-20095-7 Paperback: ISBN 0-349-10249-X Kindle: ISBN 978-0-9576039-0-5 EPUB: ISBN 978-0-9576039-1-2
First published in Great Britain in 1991 by Scribners, a Division of Macdonald & Co (Publishers) Ltd Ebook first published 2013 by Means to Meaning Ltd, 5 St John’s Lane, London, EC1 4BH
Chapter 1
R umpus Pumpus leant against the outside wall of the elephant house, raised his trunk in the form of a question mark and sniffed the damp air.
‘Rhinoceros,’ he said, in a dull, final tone that sounded like the closing comment on all the problems of the universe.
‘Rhinoceros.’ And he lowered his trunk, closed his eyes and entered into torpor.
Meanwhile, Finta Fanta was a few metres away in the compound and was kicking blithely about in the hay that had been put out for her. First she kicked it one way up the compound until she came to the moat; then she picked up a bunch of it in her trunk and threw it up in the air; and then she watched it fall straight to the ground again. There was not a breath of breeze on this cold, damp day at the end of February.
Finally she kicked it all into a heap against the elephant house wall and ate it.
‘Not bad,’ she murmured, ‘as London hay goes. Goodness knows where they get it from. Always tastes like rhinoceros food, baby fodder, with none of those interesting woody bits that add zest to an elephant’s breakfast.’
Rumpus Pumpus was only a trunk’s length away and on hearing the word ‘rhinoceros’ he opened one eye. Perhaps serious elephants don’t open both eyes just to talk about rhinoceros.
‘Did I hear you say “rhinoceros”?’ he intoned.
‘Yes, my Rumpus, yes indeed,’ mashed Finta Fanta through a mouthful of mushy hay.
‘You do understand,’ said Rumpus Pumpus, ‘that I’ve got nothing against rhinoceros but… but don’t you find they smell rather strong?’
‘Well, since you mention it,’ munched Finta Fanta, ‘I do actually and…’ munch, myam, scrosh, squelch, swallow, ‘and what’s more, I think this hay we get is really more rhino hay than elephant fodder. Sort of thing my father would only eat when he had trouble with his teeth.’
‘Exactly,’ put in Rumpus Pumpus.
They stood without talking for a few moments; but with a very knowing look in their eyes. They viewed the day, grey and misty and damp. An occasional flipper flap came to their ears from the seal pool. A sheep baaed over towards the perimeter fence, beyond which was the green grass of Regent’s Park. Across the path, just beyond the moat and wall of their own enclosure, a couple of kangaroos and a wallaby hopped quiescently across their compound; but with no joy in their jump, rather as if their springs were run down.
‘I can see you’re thinking,’ said Finta Fanta and raised her eyebrows in an expectant gaze. After a pause, Rumpus Pumpus spoke.
‘Do you know, Finta, the zookeepers and cleaners, and especially the old elephant keeper are all very nice in their way, and I wouldn’t like to disappoint them or hurt a hair on their heads, but when all is said and done, this is no life for beasts like us. We need freedom and fresh air,’ he cast an eye towards the rhinoceros enclosure, ‘and a chance to keep company of or own choosing.’
‘Couldn’t agree more, my old Rumpus,’ said Finta Fanta. ‘Let’s see if we can get sent back to Africa and then we can join up with the old herd again and meet old friends; and get back into the good, honest life of the savanna and eat trees and fresh grass,’ Finta Fanta was getting quite carried away, ‘and wallow in water holes and tramp the great plains and…’ but Rumpus Pumpus cut her short.
‘Sorry Finta. But it wouldn’t do.’
‘What do you mean, “It wouldn’t do”?’
‘I mean it wouldn’t work,’ explained Rumpus Pumpus. ‘I’ve thought about all that. First of all we’d have to ask them; the keeper and so on, I mean; and then they’d know we could talk. Then we’d become scientific curiosities and we’d be studied and observed and all sorts of things like that and they’d never let us go. Secondly, we had a good life on the savanna with the herd, but, look at us, Finta, we’re not like the rest of them any more. We don’t like the sedentary existence here and the boring diet and some of the neighbours, but we do rather like discussing the finer points of life. And when there’s a thunder storm or a snow storm, well, it’s comfortable to be inside and be waited on and not have to forage for yourself.
‘Then there are all the people. Do you know, we’d miss them? We’d miss discussing them between ourselves and seeing what the latest fashions are. We’d miss the intellectual challenge of piecing together the acquired wisdom of humanity from their conversations round the elephant house. Just think of what we’ve learnt listening to the crowds. Why, when we came here we didn’t even know we were pachyderms, let alone that we had close relations in India, wherever that is, who are tamer and smaller than we are. Do you remember that guide who went on and on for ages about mammoths and mastodons and all our ancestors? Why, back in the herd, they wouldn’t even know how to talk. And as for what we’ve learnt off ice-cream cartons and dropped newspapers: it’s a revelation we could only share with humans. Though I must say’, he added, ‘I don’t understand that pink one very much.’
‘Well then, Rumpus, we’ll just have to stay,’ said Finta Fanta. ‘After all, summer will come, there’ll be warm days and green trees to look at. And the swifts and swallows will be back and they smell of Africa.’
‘True,’ said Rumpus Pumpus. ‘But so does rhinoceros, in a way.’
Finta Fanta gave a chortling little trumpet and swaggered off to the pool for a drink. She quaffed a few trunkfuls and squirted a bit behind her ears, which always helped her to think. Then she sauntered back to where Rumpus Pumpus was standing. He was chewing a bit of hay and looked forlornly at a trolley of crunchy cattle cake that was being taken across to the cows near the fence. He wondered what it tasted like. It looked very interesting.
‘So what do we do?’ asked Finta Fanta.
‘Escape,’ said Rumpus Pumpus.
‘Cor!’ said Finta Fanta.
‘Escape,’ said Rumpus Pumpus.
‘Rumpus,’ began Finta Fanta, although rather warily because she knew he normally thought through what he suggested, ‘what would be the point? We both know we can walk down into the moat, I can kneel down and you can walk out across my back and over the wall, then pull me up after you. Like we did that night we wanted to read what it said on the front of our enclosure. And we could kick the perimeter fence down like a couple of acacia trees on the savanna and be in Marylebone Station within the hour. But what do we do then? We’d just be rounded up and herded back, and people would come and photograph us and they’d keep us inside till they’d dug the moat deeper and we’d be nothing but a sensational story for the newspapers. Imagine it, animals of our intellect reduced to titillating humans on a piece of litter!’
‘It depends how you do it,’ said Rumpus Pumpus; and his eyes took on that cold and knowing look which Finta Fanta understood meant great thoughts, and great decisions.
‘The key to it all,’ explained Rumpus Pumpus, ‘is people. Since we can’t really go back happily to the savanna, which anyway has poachers, hunters, game wardens and the like, to become wild life, we’ll have to live in the world of people somehow. Now the problem with a straight breakout like the one you’ve just described is that it puts everyone against us. In other words, it will make people feel that we’re against them. We’ll be seen as ferocious and unrestrained vandals from the African plains, hell-bent on busting out of the humane care of one of the world’s greatest zoos.’ Finta Fanta smiled, but regained her serious composure as Rumpus Pumpus arched his towering brow.
‘As I’ve said, talking to people at this stage will only take us from being zoo creatures to laboratory animals. We’d become suitable subjects of study. No, what we’ve got to do is to find a way that will let us slip out quietly when no-one is looking and then try and somehow find a place, not against humans, but in company with them.
‘It’ll be risky, we still don’t know how we’ll succeed but what it boils down to is that we’ve got to sneak out, not bust out. In fact it’s not so much sneaking out, it’s sneaking in. Sneaking out of captivity and sneaking into the world of people.’
This time Finta Fanta arched her brow and pursed her lips.
‘How? My dear young Rumpus, how?’ she trilled.
‘Tunnel,’ said Rumpus Pumpus.
‘I see,’ drawled Finta Fanta, and threw another strand of hay up into the air. It floated down in a zigzag, carefree sort of way and, as it fell, she said, ‘We just dig a sort of long hole one night and then saunter down it and out into the world of people. Is that it?’
‘Not quite,’ said Rumpus Pumpus. ‘I think, in fact, it may take a little longer than one night.’
And if any visitors had been looking at the two elephants from over the moat, like most spec