Once, I Saw an Elephant
By Yan Sham-Shackleton
We stood at the taxi stand before day-break as the lower part of the sky began to lighten. As the white mist burnt away, the buildings across the harbor began to show themselves as night became day. The sounds of early morning surrounded us—the sparse whoosh of passing cars with long intervals in-between. The beeping of rubbish trucks as they backed towards the rubbish bins. The rustle of newspapers as the men who ran the newsstands assembled and folded them up.
I rested on Tai-Men’s shoulders as we stood at the front of the taxi line. The morning air made us shiver even if it wasn’t that cold. The heat from the club had saturated us through the hours of dancing until dawn. We didn’t speak. In our silence we shared the knowledge that we must be home before our parents woke up so they didn’t discover we had snuck out the night before.
The other tightly packed bars and clubs began to close as well, and the patrons spilled out and headed towards the taxi queue as well. Most of them were western men, wearing crumpled collared shirts. They looked like a blur of thinning hair, punch stomachs, and wrinkles deepened by a night of drinking. Young Filipino women, attired provocatively, accompanied some them. Those men I knew, were the same men we saw in the business districts wearing suits and respectability, or playing tennis at the LRC exposing their rarefied existence in the last British colony of Hong Kong. My boyfriend and I, happened to be there because police didn’t like raves, so clandestine promoters held them at the red light district where the bar owners and the police had an understanding—the former not being too open with their girls, while the latter didn’t look too hard— and in-between DJs and electronic music slipped unobtrusively in the middle of it all.
“Don’t move,” I said to Tai-Men. “Don’t speak.” I slid behind him and turned him towards me, so his back faced the end of the queue.
“What’s going on?” he whispered. I furtively glanced behind him, and he quickly figured out we needed to hide from someone. “Who is it?”
Peering over his shoulders, trying to peek and hide at the same time. I could only hope the person wouldn’t be who I thought it was. If the man saw us and told my parents, my boyfriend would be banished for life, and my parents would throw away the key and I would live like Rapunzel until I escaped to college. My parents, although open minded compared to most Chinese parents, had their limits, and finding me dancing all night with maybe a little bit of help would go beyond theirs.
Although I could see the familiarity standing at the back of the line, I knew there was no reason for him to be there at that time in the morning; although I had to acknowledge, neither did we. The man trimmer than his counterparts, had hair thinner with more salt than I remembered. Despite his age, he probably didn’t need to pay a girl, I thought, but moreover, he shouldn’t be looking for someone, but there he in his suit pants, an opened blue shirt with his sleeves rolled up, standing with his arms around a very pretty young girl who wore a polyester purple top that clung to her waist and breasts. He kissed her neck, she playfully pushed him away, and he staggered while holding onto her. Not discouraged, he grabbed her ass. She giggled in return.
Just then, a taxi arrived. My boyfriend opened the door and scooted me inside, blocking me from view. As the cab sped away I turned to look out the back window. From the safe distance, able to stare without hindrance, I could no longer deny who was in front of me. My view of that person was too clear to pretend him to be anyone else. The drunk man was indeed my best friend’s dad. Robert had picked up a prostitute while Cleo, accompanied by her mom, competed in an equestrian competition in Singapore.
Anne sat across from me over the kitchen table while we waited for Cleo to arrive home. Her skin tanned, her soft flowing hair naturally bleached by spending time in the pool. In my mind she glowed, as if she danced in the sun. In her 20s she went to Africa by herself, photographing hippopotamus and lions, and met tribal members. At times, she would share a memory and it would start with sentences like, “Once, I saw an elephant.”
Compared to my mother, Anne seemed endlessly glamorous and fascinating. She sat on the seventh floor balcony overlooking the city with a glass of wine. Her husband would kiss her as he passed, and called her “darling” and “love.” I always dreamt of a man who showed me affection and outwardly loved me, unlike my more reserved parents.
"Would you like some tea?” she asked me as English people always asked when I visited their homes.
“Yes, please.”
“Earl Grey? Breakfast? I have some mint if you like.”
I struggled to make sense of watching Robert kiss another woman and not Anne. I wondered if he ever meant the words he said in front of us. Were they at least true throughout our childhood, but he had since fallen out of love, or was he an outright liar always?
I considered whether to tell Anne, although I knew we would need complete privacy, and we weren’t at that moment, alone.
Next to the sink stood the maid washing lettuce in silence, emanating misery and frustration. I didn’t blame her, I too would not want to work as a “domestic servant” coming all the way from the Philippines away from my family only to return two weeks every two years while living under the roof of an unfamiliar family.
My heart pounded as we sat in the light filled living room decorated with modern Asian furniture of rattan and white cushions. The tea sat cooling on a carved an African wooden table with sculpted leopards for legs, looking like they would either curl up around my ankles then bite. A sense incompetence filled me. I felt that Anne needed to know that her husband betrayed her, but that conversation was beyond my teenage ability. While trying to gather up the courage to simply say the words “I saw Robert with another woman,” I stared at a wall opposite me. Hung next to a painting of young monks in orange robes walking towards gold roofed temples was a family portrait of the Cawthornes looking like the families in advertisements printed in the imported fashion magazines from America, Cleo and I read. I willed that image to sooth me into believing in that idea of the family again, so I concentrated on smelling the grilling chicken, and felt the breeze from the circulating ceiling fan, while Anne asked after my parents, my grades, and whether I had any plans with Tai-Men over the summer vacation.
At lunch, Robert complained he didn’t have enough meat, just one piece of grilled chicken.
“Your cholesterol is too high,” Anne said. “I want you to be around as long as you can for me, Cleo and Mark.” Mark being Cleo's older brother.
I shoved my salad around, the vegetables spreading the balsamic dressing on the plate, leaving it looking like a finger painting.
“Rachel, why aren’t you eating? Aren’t you hungry?” Anne asked.
“She’s on one of those diets all the girls are on, aren’t you?” Robert replied for me. “You girls care too much about your weight. You’re beautiful as is. You’re a very gorgeous girl with a good figure. There will be plenty of boys who will go crazy over you.” He ended that with a wink at me.
“Don’t embarrass the girl,” Anne said. Shaking her head gently.
“Ah, she likes it. All girls like to be told they are attractive, don’t they? Ask Cleo right? You are my gorgeous girl.”
“Yes, daddy,” Cleo smiled too.
I felt sick. The compliments that once meant so much to me, their intimate family banter that sent me into fantasizing about my future family, seems sappy and forced.
Rose, the maid, with her long hair not tied up, came out holding a jug of water. Approaching me, she tried pouring water into a glass that I had barely drunk from, preferring to sip on the Sauvignon Blanc instead.
“No, thank you,” I said, but she continued to invade my space. I moved away, scowling a little at her but she didn’t budge. During that moment, when she stood, hip jutting out at me, I waiting for her to finish her uninvited task, I noticed she looked very different from usual. Not only did she wear her hair long, she wore a face full of makeup. The foundation, a light powder on her face, a brown blush to match her dark complexion. Liquid eyeliner rimmed her eyes thickly, with its flakes floating under her eyes. Closer to Cleo and my age, she was very pretty.
Why would she wear make up to work in the kitchen? Who’s going to look?
I had seen the helpers dressed up beautifully on the Sundays they have off, in fashionable clothes, and high heels, but never on their work days. Rose wasn’t allowed out at night on the weekdays.
“Are you sure miss?” Rose said as she looked right into my eyes. I did not know what to say. We stared at each other for longer; this time her expression filled with even more displeasure. Our relationships with people who worked in our homes tended to be polite but not too friendly and definitely never aggressive. Why was she interacting with me that way? What had I done? I scooted my chair backward to give her as much space as possible and allowed her to put a drop of water into my glass. Stopping someone wanting to over zealously do their job seemed ridiculous. She started to walk towards the kitchen. Then I noticed her figure. The way her shirt clung to her breasts, the way her legs looked in her denim shorts. I glanced over at Robert, then I knew where else I had seen Rose.
She was the woman I saw in Wan Chai.
She came out after Robert complimented me. She felt jealous. That night, Robert hadn’t picked up a prostitute, he had taken out his mistress.
I could tell, Anne didn’t know.
Cleo's dad needed to run an errand. We stood by the door saying, “Goodbye.” Something else I dreamt my family would do. No one really paid much attention when we left as long as we all knew where the others were going.
Kissing Anne, Robert then kissed Cleo on her cheeks and giving her a hug as well. He tried to do the same to me, which had once been completely normal, but I squirmed away. He smiled a somewhat nostalgic and wistful smile, as he misinterpreted my refusal with my growing up.
Then Rose walked out of the kitchen as well, standing not too close, doing nothing. She too came watch him leave. Robert glanced at her but didn’t acknowledge her, and as he walked out the door, he paused, like he had forgotten something and should return to pick it up. He turned, heading towards her, probably wanting to kiss the third woman in his house, then remembered he couldn’t.
Rose’s face dropped as he turned away. She didn’t even hide it, but if no one knew to pay attention, how would they notice such a small thing?
I knew it couldn't go on. Cleo's mom shouldn’t be lied to every day. I loved her too much to have her humiliated like that.
Robert left.
"Annabel,” I said, trying hard to channel my father, and his straight forwardness, “I really need to tell you about something. It's really important. Anne, you too.”
“What is it my dear?” Anne said. “Is something the matter?” I could tell from her expression that she was really concerned about me.
“Are you okay?” Cleo asked.
“Yes. It’s not me.” I stuttered. Not able to look at their faces. After so many days of imagining how to tell them, I still hadn’t chosen what words I would use.
Walking towards a Buddha’s head the family had on a mantelpiece as a decoration, I sat down. Both Cleo and Anne followed and sat opposite me. Cleo then leaned on her mother as they waited. A silence descended as they anticipated what I might say.
“I snuck out on Saturday night,” I began.
“Do your parents know?” Anne asked.
Not saying anything, I shook my head.
“It’s not that. I saw something.” I tried again.
“A crime?” Cleo said aghast, placing her hands on her face.
“NO!” I replied, frustrated at myself, but also at their constant interruption.
“I saw Robert with another woman,” I finally blurted.
Expecting them to react badly straight away, their calmness confused me. Cleo just looked at me, as if to ask, why would I tell her something so mundane, while Anne’s expression seemed to feel a little sorry for a confused child.
“Oh,” Anne said. “When?”
“Early morning on Saturday. In Wanchai.”
“What were you doing there?” she asked. “Do your parents know?”
“No…” I wanted to wail, “That’s not the point.” But that seemed rude.
“I saw Robert with a woman,” I began again, adding more information. “He was kissing her.”
Then with the new piece of information, all fell into place.
Cleo stood up. “Why would you say that about my dad! You got the wrong person!”
“Cleo sit.” Anne told Cleo. “Listen to what Rachel has to say.” She seemed curious, leaning forward, her gaze held steadily at me, wanting to learn more about the situation. “Are you sure it was him?”
“Yes,” I said. “I know it’s him because he was with Rose. He was kissing Rose.” Breathing in really hard, I felt an involuntary chill for saying the words out loud.
“No!” Cleo yelled, “You’re a liar.” Furious at me, her face contorted, arms at her waist.
“Cleo, stop it,” Anne said, holding up her hand, then cocked her head at me. “Are you sure?”
Nodding, I could see Anne’s response, a look of a woman betrayed. For a second I feared that was directed at me, that I had let her down by telling her the truth, but she looked away, and glanced around the room, gathering herself.
Even though I’d imagined how Anne might react when I told her, I hadn’t expected the feeling of devastation I would experience. In my mind, I could see the motions of the event, but didn’t feel any emotion. Never could I have expected Cleo to accuse me of being a liar. Tears started to stream down my face.
“Why are you crying?” Cleo said. But before I could reply.
“Get Rose.” Anne said to Cleo.
Cleo didn’t move, remaining there staring at me. She had a lot more to say, but kept quiet because of her mother.
Anne stood up slowly, then shouted, “Rose! I want you here.”
After a moment, Rose appeared from the kitchen wiping her hands on her apron, as she’d been washing the dishes. She showed her annoyance as Anne had interrupted her. She stood there, waiting for instruction of a domestic task.
Instead Anne turned to her, and asked, “Where were you on Saturday night?”
At first, I could see Rose didn’t understand the question, wondering why it was important.
“Who were you with on Saturday night?” Anne asked again, this time slower and louder, as her anger surfaced more.
Then Rose flinched, she must have remembered she was with Robert.
“No, Ma’am, I wasn’t with anyone.” Rose said quietly, stepping slowly away.
“Stay here,” Anne hissed. “Tell the truth Rose. It’s better that way.”
Rose stood up a little, and shook her head. Her demeanor changed, she was a women being confronted, rather than someone talking to her boss.
“Were you with my dad?” Cleo blurted, “Did you kiss my dad?” Cleo’s voice shaky yet hopeful. She wanted Rose to deny what had happened, and to prove I was a liar. But Rose said nothing.
“How dare you!” Cleo screamed, and she ran towards Rose looking like she would hit her. Anne stepped forward, grabbed her arm, and Cleo stopped.
“Go to your room!” Anne ordered. “Rachel, go home. I want you to leave.”
“But…” Cleo said.
I didn’t say anything, sobbing now, knowing it was me who caused this scene. Me who found this out, chastising myself for sneaking out at night to go clubbing. Had I just not…
“Go to your room, Cleo,” Anne said again. “Rachel, you heard me.”
Fetching my bag, I avoided Cleo, afraid she might attack me instead, but as I moved, she stomped away into her room and slammed the door. Keeping my head down, as I left, I also avoided Rose, afraid she would hit me as well. Anne, paid no attention to me, only glaring at Rose, who remained unrepentant.
As my hands reached for the handle, the house felt quiet as I stood at the door by myself. This had never happened before. Anne would nearly always walk me to the door, and Cleo would come downstairs with me to wait for the bus. Standing there alone, wiping the snot away with my sleeve, I felt utterly rejected. I whimpered as quietly as I could, not wanting to pierce the tense atmosphere.
Instead of taking the elevator down to the ground floor, I walked down the six flight of stairs, afraid that Robert would come back, and I would be standing there waiting as he walked out of the elevator.
The consequences of my telling plagued me in school also. Cleo continued to refuse to talk to me, which put our other friends in a difficult position. We existed in the same parties, lunch times, but never talking. Fortunately, it didn’t last long, the term was about to end. In September, Cleo was going to return to the UK to go the university. Tai-Men was going to Canada, and I would start Chinese U.
Through friends, I knew Cleo’s parents were getting a divorce, and that Rose was fired right away.
During the summer, Anne called me.
“Rachel,” she said.
“I’m so sorry,” I replied, feeling so guilty, I had caused so much trouble.
“There is no need. I want to thank you for telling me, and apologize for not being in touch sooner.” We had a brief conversation, Anne told me even though she hadn’t spoken to me, she appreciated me for telling her.
Cleo and I didn’t reconcile during the summer as I had hoped. But then I never called her either, not knowing what to say. We went to university, and I slowly lost touch with most people.
Years later, we found each other through Facebook. Cleo reached out to me. Anne had passed away during our mid-20s from breast cancer. Cleo still occasionally saw her father, and even though he and Rose lived together after he was kicked out of their home, ultimately it didn’t work out. I felt so sad to hear the news of Anne, losing her so soon felt like the world lost a person who caught the light. Moreover I had something to tell Anne. Through the years, I had hoped I would run into her and be able to share my news. I wanted her to know, on my 21st birthday, I visited Kenya, and went on a Safari, and would have a life where I too could start a conversation with, “Once, I saw an elephant.”
THE END