Elephant Tracks 



he returns to his European life he is pursued by a 

 haunting craving which besets him in a manner 

 similar to the whisperings of the syrens in the ears 

 of the unwilling Odysseus, and which frequently 

 leads him to return once more, and his intimates, 

 shrugging their shoulders, not understanding, merely 

 wonder. It was the last day of my leave. I 

 was nearing camp amidst a tropical downpour, 

 feeling miserable. A long drawn-out exclamation 

 from my orderly caused me to wake up out of my 

 despondency. 



He was measuring something on the ground 

 with his feet. " Alfille kebir " ("elephant big") 

 was all he said. I checked his measurements in a 

 twinkle; sent off two orderlies, one for an extension 

 of leave and another for my hunter, who had dragged 

 behind, for it was pleasant once more to turn my 

 back on the beaten track and to wade through the 

 billowy elephant grass, buoyed by that eternal 

 delusion — hope — just once more. 



I soon came upon a native village with a crowd 

 of its inmates jabbering around a havoc of wreckage, 

 depredations due to my friend the elephant having 

 very evidently helped himself. I questioned quickly, 

 and discovered that he visited frequently, in fact, 

 every other night. Another Mzunga (European) 

 had arrived, but although they had pointed out 

 where the elephant was he still remained in his 

 tent. I believe the man was either sick, or that 

 the enormously tall elephant grass made the chance 

 too overwhelmingly difficult. At any rate, it was 



III 



