Why ‘bastard’? Wherefore ‘base’? … I grow, I prosper. Now, gods, stand up for bastards!
– Edmund, ‘King Lear’ by William Shakespeare
My handlers repeat the proscription like a mantra, whenever my eyes fill with envy: Elephants never covet. A litany of warnings fill their mouths, like a burning acacia tree speaking Pachyderm Commandments. Elephants never foment, never dissent, never… there it is, covet. How petty must be god to have such a list! I reject their shackling words, though my head bows assent.
Among the females of the herd, Pelenor faces no such controls. What he wants, they provide. What he desires, he takes freely. Each season, they welcome him back with trumpeting and anticipation. Bringer of life, ascendant one, savanna lord, they hail him. A mere two seasons’ seniority buys him shelter in a palace, attendants instead of handlers, and every indulgence. Yet these females forbid my resultant envy as unfair.
Nay, no longer. Phandomino has languished on the outskirts for too long.
So, I fix a smile to my lips, keep my trunk uplifted. Submission buys inclusion, closeness to the herd. Perhaps they suspect my motives, at first. But I remain jovial, meek. “He has matured,” I hear one senseless cow utter. I portray the repentant pachyderm to gain proximity to my half-brother.
I find Pelenor reclining upon his divan, recently sated by a female. He gorges on those fermented marula fruits he devours nut and all. Languid, relaxed, weak, he smiles archly at me. His mouth degrades me, spewing out provocations and bits of fruit. He seeks a reaction, yearns for proof that I still wallow in envy. But I have heeded my handlers well. Elephants never covet.
No, as I draw the blade concealed in my left tusk, I feel only resolve. This time, Phandomino takes what he desires!