Scheherazade

DOUG DONNAN

Executive Editor/OMNI-GENRE+ 

                       




"Scheherazade"

             by

       DOUG DONNAN

            

 

                      CENTRAL AFRICAN REPUBLIC/SOUTHERN CHAD

                                         ZAKOUMA NATIONAL PARK

                          SOMEWHERE ALONG THE SALAMAT RIVER

   

      “Be on your guard Colonrik,” DeSpaine whispered under the brim of his weathered

khaki bush hat, “the native boys say this is a ‘free fire zone’…anything and anybody is

considered fair game. AK47s, machetes, and all-terrain vehicles are the tools of the

trade out here!”

     The fallen carcass of the bull elephant was as big as a metropolitan bus. Its’ massive

head had been heartlessly and crudely severed. With scorching indifference the midday

African sun was mercifully, albeit slowly, cauterizing the festering wound. In their

inimitable parasitic way the ants and flies were frantic, tenacious in their attack on the

lifeless gray mountain.    

     “Jesus Christ DeSpaine,” Colonrik choked out over his crumpled blue bandana,

“What did they, your poacher boys, do to this poor creature…decapitate it?”

     DeSpaine lowered his head somewhat and squinted out a laser-blue stare at the

obese, sweat stained American. He underscored the look with a snide puff of disgust.

     “May I remind you Mr. Colonrik, it was your idea to come out into the field to see

first hand how the ivory ‘procurement business’ operates. There is nothing pretty

about it— nothing fair, or off limits. You people want the product. We get it. The old law

of supply and demand—with a deadly set of twists out here on the African plain. It’s a

dangerous game—try and remember that!”

     An ominous squadron of vultures performed a patient pinwheel far overhead as the

twosome continued to vent their concerns and opinions.

     “But was it necessary to chop off its’ very head?” Colonrik sighed as he mopped at

his  bulbous forehead with the kerchief. “I didn’t know that—”

     “The boys are very good at what they do,” DeSpaine cut in as he glanced around into

a scraggly stand of parched Terminalia trees. “They have to be quick about things.

The park rangers and guards are just as determined to protect the elephants as we are

to relieve them of their ivory burden. I’m afraid it’s the most efficient way.” DeSpaine

said softly in a hollow, matter-of-fact tone.

     Off in the distance the snapping sound of rapid gunfire made them cock their heads.

They both stood there for a moment until DeSpaine waved a hand in miming, beckoning

for Colonrik to follow him. He quickly shouldered his huge Marlin hunting rifle and they

made off into the dry bush and cutting whip grass of the sweeping savanna. The muffled

brap-a-brap sound of their four wheelers breaking into the serenity of the park.

                                                               *     *     *

     It was a herd of almost 200 strong. They were on the run, once again. The huge

matriarch at the point frantically trying to lead them out of harms way. She was an

experienced elder, and knew both the safety boundaries of the park and the ruthless and

conniving ways of the poachers. She was wise and cunning; a survivor and protectorate,

a living legend known as Scheherezade—Sherrie for short. Sherrie was leading them all;

young and old, large and small, male and female, in what she felt and trusted to be beyond,

and out of harms way.  However, this time she was wrong—dead wrong! As the running

herd broke through the sea of Terminalia and Acacias they found themselves confronted

by the raging, muddy water of the Salamat River. Most of the older elephants, including

Sherrie, had never confronted this situation. They were more familiar with the Zakouma’

areas sporadic watering holes,not the tumbling turmoil of this mighty, rainy season river.

Also, even with her poor vision, the steadfast matriarch could see the enormous log-sized

crocodiles waiting patiently on the other side of the river. As the gathering herd stacked

up behind her in a nervous wave she quickly decided that now was the time...

The time to make a stand.

                                                                        *     *     *

     “Stagger yourselves along this entrance way,” Aksenhamman ordered as the rest of

the poachers ran this way and that around the huge mounds of elephant droppings that

lead off into the thick sprawling rain forest. “There must be at least one hundred of them

off in there—headed for the river I’d say, not too smart if Scheherezade is leading them

on. The Salamat is much too treacherous for crossing this time of year, and also the resting

crocs on the other side would be a major concern for Queen Sherrie.”He jammed a fresh

banana clip of ammunition into his AK 47 rifle and then adjusted his dark, aviator

sunglasses. “We’ll wait here a while and see if they come back. If not, we can press in

slowly and finish them off by the river bank. Should be a good kill, many tusks.

Mr. DeSpaine will be pleased.”

     The sun burned down relentlessly as the ominous play and the characters in it below

fashioned and formed up for the final scene. There was to be a startling convergence

between the hunters and the hunted.

                                                                             *     *     *

     Sherrie stood for a moment by the riverbank, still as stone—thinking. Before long she

rotated her great body and gave some slow, but deliberate fades of her head and trunk to

the left. She had decided to lead the herd back around the woodland, in effect, doubling-

back the long way around as opposed to heading back into the trampled path they had

 made through the trees. She felt some type of trap had been set for them. A deadly trap

that she was now determined to outsmart.

                                                                 *     *     *

    

     “There they are, just up ahead,” DeSpaine called out with an extended arm and

shaking finger. “They’re on point for something…something big looks like!”

     The two throttled up and raced to the huge broken and trampled opening in the trees

where Aksenamman and the other nervous, onyx-skinned poachers waited—automatic

rifles locked and loaded. Electricity and apprehension cut through the sweltering African

air like a million piercing knives.The fear and perspiration washed over them all like

an ominous ague.

     “What’s up Akkie?” DeSpaine asked silently as he eased to a stop. “You all got some

big ones in there?” he nodded off in the direction of the opening.

     “I believe so sir. Many numbers of elephant came this way. Perhaps led by their great

mother Scheherezade.” Aksenhamman replied with a hand salute to the faded rim of his

New York Yankee baseball cap.

     “Sherrie, huh?” DeSpaine rubbed at his lantern jaw with a puzzled look around. “The

ol’ gal is a little out of her jurisdiction around these parts wouldn’t you say Akkie?”

     “Juri…s…dic?” Aksenhamman tried to repeat.

     “Around the Salamat, ‘specially this time of season,” DeSpaine recovered. “Hmm.,”

he squinted up at the darkening sky. “Another storm is brewin’ my friend. We’ll just wait

here a while and see if she heads ‘em all back out of there. Keep your team ready. You

know how quiet they can be, even a big herd like this one.”

     “Very good sir,” Aksenhamman said as he retreated with a submissive little bow.

                                                                 *     *     * 

     The complacent yet curious crocs observed the sweeping herd of elephants from their

other-wordly position across the raging, muddy Salamat. The long parade of gray giants

was on the move now. Quickly, hurriedly did they follow their trumpeting leader as she

lead them down and down the sandy stone and stick river bank. On and on they ran, great

strides and steps until the stand of trees off to their left did begin to thin out and curve

backward, again revealing the vast wind-swept veldt. Here Sherrie changed course and

started in her cambered pattern. The others followed her with a wild abandon, trusting her

instincts and intuition with every determined stride. They were behind her, come what may.

     All this hurried activity was too much for the crocodiles to ignore. A potential meal did

always stimulate their total commitment to action. So, in a flash of thunder and lightning,

a silent armada of them slipped into the muddy, uncaring river. They were on their way,

memories of blood and rapid spinning driving them across.

                                                                 *     *     *

     It was only a matter of time that the sky turned into a ribbon of darkness and the

clashing clouds relieved themselves. The heavy rain drove down in waves, so fast and

hard it was as if it could not wait to reach the ground. However, the undaunted Sherrie

and her followers pressed on in their curving quest. Around and about did they continued

for some time until, at last, did she slow considerably. The others spreading silently along

beside her for some distance. Eventually, the great matriarch froze in position, this time

in a state of satisfied concentration. She focused in on the blurred figures up ahead. It

was the bad ones— she remembered them. Now, having formed abreast of each other,

as far as the eye could see, the herd (some 200 plus) did stand there in the storm whipped

tall-grass, still as statues, undetected by the band of far off preoccupied poachers.

The mighty, resolute elephants were in position, ready for ‘their’ turn. Now was the time—

the time for revenge.

                                                                 *     *     *

      “I can’t see anything in this shit DeSpaine!” Colonrik called out from deep inside the

hood of his dripping L.L. Bean all-weather parka. “Why don’t we just turn back. Go back

and have drinks at the lodge in Khartoum, let the boys go in there and finish up. I’ve seen

enough of this.”

     DeSpaine turned and shook a disgusted look at the cowering Colonrik, “Sure, sure

whatever you say Bwana. We’ll leave the boys here in this African monsoon to do your

dirty work. But mark this and mark it well; this ivory ‘collecting’ business isn’t an

inexhaustible one. You’ll find that there will come a day when all of these gentle giants

will be gone, killed off by you, me and other sons of bitches like us that don’t give a damn

about anything but money and the pursuit of it. We’ll find out one fine day that…” he

stammered a little as he squinted a dripping look around Colonrik’s flapping hood. Off in

the distance he thought he could make out a long roll of large surging shapes, figures of

some sort. He stepped around the windswept Colonrik. “What the fu…?”

     It was Sherrie and the elongated herd standing in formation, like an army of

enormous gray ghosts.Poised for their assault, they marched forward in the driving rain,

as in a dream, slowly…quietly.           

     “Stay—stay right here,” DeSpaine whispered nervously. “Don’t move!” He made a

series of sandcrab-like movements and then paced over to Aksenhamman and the

others who were huddled under the convoluted, bushy branches of a giant blowing

Terminalia tree. The rain was unrelenting in its attack. There was a wild exchange of

hand waving and finger pointing between DeSpaine, Aksenhamman, and the rest of

the trembling poachers as they stared at the wall of elephants off in the distance.

     “My men will have none of it Mr. DeSpaine, and I am with them in this matter.

We have never seen something like this out here. I see a bad thing out there…a very

bad thing. It is Scheherezade, and she has all the others in collection with her. They

are now as one— they prepare to come for us.”

     “Come for us?” DeSpaine screamed into the drawing rain and wind. “What in the

Hell are you talking about Akkie? Have you and the rest of these little bastar…lost

your cotton pickin’—” he stuttered uncertainly as he whipped around to survey the

distant steaming horizon.

     They were on the move, advancing en masse with Sherrie at the very head of the

frenzied herd. The steadfast matriarch calling and trumpeting the charge.

     The frantic band of poachers dropped their weapons and exploded from beneath the

useless expanse of the listing Terminalia tree. They ran wildly, as if possessed, down

the trampled opening in the trees toward the raging Salamat and the waiting,

voracious crocodiles. The dispirited and desperate Colonrik had already made his

risky and imprudent decision to flee.

     He was to be dealt with first. In his frantic attempt to circumnavigate the rushing

elephants he was woefully unsuccessful. The angered giants easily waved over his

sputtering four-wheeler and made quick work of him. His muffled cries for help were

brief and then there was only the seismic sound of the trembling ground as they had

there way with him.

     DeSpaine, now seemingly frozen in time, witnessed the entire assault in total horror

and disbelief.He soon found himself struggling with his limited options. Time, for him,

was running out. He cursed crazily at the thundering herd as they drew down on him.

Fumbling with his 45 automatic pistol, he emptied the clip in a futile attempt to halt

their maniacal advance. But, in the end, it was to no avail. They overtook him and

quickly trampled him with a purpose. As the rest of the herd moved away in hot pur

suit of the renegade poachers, a lingering Sherrie methodically finished his contorted

body with a succession of powerful, goring thrusts from her curving tusks.

     In due course the once zealous poachers, having just managed to escape from the

elephant’s storming encroachment, found themselves rushing into a snapping ambush

arranged by the lingering crocodiles. Perhaps surprised, but never discriminating, the

vast gathering of peaked crocodiles rushed in for the kill. The swiftness of their scurrying

for the trembling, skinny legs and crawling arms was merciless. Having soon overwhelmed

their prey, they dragged the meat and bones back into the murky waters of the Salamat.

 

     It was done.

 

 

                                                               *     *     *

     The rain had given up and made way for a blinding sun that opened a fissure in the

gloomy afternoon sky like a living presence. The mighty herd, having only recently been

united in their determined revenge, had now disbanded and moved out into the vastness

of the savanna, separate groups going separate ways. Scheherezade and her followers

made for the calm waters of the far off Rigueik water pool where they would wash the

caked mud from weary feet and dried blood from their glorious ivory tusks. They stood

together each in their own towering magnificence with the invincible Sherrie, her royal

majesty, to watch over them and protect them.

                                             _____ The End _____