28 March 2020. Gil's.
Two elephants, side by side, in an Albany shop window. One of those places I grew up with, so no wonder it feels so familiar. The intricate brickwork of the facade--a local tradesman, my guess--someone who enjoyed the possibilities of a limited repertoire. Wooden moldings, enameled many times over--currently a pale green, but you really don't notice this in the evening light. There's a lot of stuff in there--I used to think antiques, but I see that it's really a furniture repair. The elephants are in front--at least for now--and they've caught my eye on every walk. Additional light. Whoever placed them anticipated this, splayed slightly--they're made of bronze or brass, with a high polish, trunks raised in some kind of imagined elephant way--idealized into curves, but its the legs that are the least naturalistic--after all, how could a brass elephant truly represent their kind?
The time C and I were walking together at the San Diego Zoo. The elephants, organized into a show, moving in file, around and around in an open space near where they lived. Their cages, I mean. Visitors standing nearby, just outside the perimeter, children especially, the show hosted for them. You take this in all at once--first, the excitement because of the size of the animals, and their aliveness--but with trainers nearby--with their metal-tipped poles--the picture changes. And then the hobbling chains--not too prominent. (Am I misremembering this?) We stood to the side, happy and sad. More sad really, for there was nothing to be done. I watched one of the creatures draw near--we somehow recognized each other. I made a small wave...
C says the elephant knew--she could see it in his eye...
