CLICK TO PLAY The Elephant in the Tower
Read by Ed Cooper Clarke
Aaaah! J’adore the smell of Poissy in the morning, this little place on the outskirts of Paris, the birthplace of kings, the birthplace of my king, Louis IX, my master, mon amour, ma raison. Poissy exudes royalty, its perfectly pleached hedges, its aroma of oils and spice, tabac et parfum, its fine Dukes and Counts in tailored silks, debating philosophie and art on the lawns to the sound of a soft harp. Even Poissy’s sunshine is somehow regal, its air noble, its water majestic … Oh, bon matin garcons, ou est mon petit dejeuner? Attend … wait … arretez, stop … get your hands off me! … Where are we going? Louis! Louis! They are taking me! Unhand me, sir! Louis!
Day 1
I have been kidnapped by the English, whipped and smacked inside a box then carted to Hell, a stinking, rainy, festering, muddy-muck, flea-ridden, soiled, bubonic hideousness of a Hell.
I have yet to be told of a reason.
I have yet to be officially received by nobility.
I have been simply kidnapped, stolen across the sea and locked in the Tower. There are three lions already imprisoned here and when I called to them for some sort of explanation, they roared me quiet because I had woken them. A mangy polar bear then sauntered over and asked my name without a third party’s introduction, just all right there, geezer! What’s your name then? I don’t know what came over me but I was not going to stand there and be asked my name without knowing the asker’s title or standing. I, well, it’s indecent but I ran at him. Shackles were placed upon my feet as result, these jailors declaring me unruly. The cretins! There is such a disgusting smell in this place. They have constructed a box for me to sleep in, no bigger than half of me. Tomorrow I shall wake up in Poissy, in Louis’s arms, and this will all have been a foul nightmare.
Day 2
The lions tell me I am in London, and to keep calm. London’s people stare. They are desperate for staring. They arrived from all around the city to stare. I woke to staring. The Beast they call me. The beast! The beast is about ten years old, one Beefeater keeps telling them, possessing a rough hide rather than fur, has small eyes at the top of its head, and eats and drinks with a trunk. As though nobody in this insidious, stinking hole has ever seen an elephant before, swarming around at all sides of me with toothless grins, laughing and making faces. I shouted—Louis will have your heads—but they just kept laughing.
Then, the polar bear appeared from the river with a fish in his mouth, shit dripping from it, and they all cheer!
‘I apologise for my behaviour, yesterday,’ I said.
Then he said, he said—‘Don’t worry old chap, water off me hairy ball-sack.’
What sort of place is this where such language is used?
Then there is a zebra, a drunken slob of an animal, who drinks beer with the Beefeaters in their canteen.
‘Hello, handsome,’ she says. ‘You’re a big boy. They say once you go elephant! What sort of equipment you got down there, love?’ Then she inspects my…
‘That’s some set of crown jewels all right,’ she says and trots off, the ghastly thing.
Tonight I long for Louis. I see him in his finest armour, storming the Tower with a battalion of men and burning it to the ground, freeing me as we freed him in Egypt, then we return to Poissy where he bathes me clean with coconut milk.
Day 3
I wish for death.
King Henry III arrived and I said, finally, this mess, this bloody mess will be rectified.
‘Your Majesty,’ I said. ‘This has obviously been some dreadful mistake. I belong to King Louis IX of France. I live in Poissy.’
‘Who is it from?’ he said.
‘It is a gift from King Louis IX of France, your Majesty,’ said a Beefeater.
And my heart burst an ocean of pain into my chest. Louis, my master, mon amour, ma raison had given me away like a sack of potatoes. There are no words.
‘Looks a bit like old Louis,’ said King Henry and everyone laughed. The sycophants. ‘What’s the beast’s name?’
‘We were waiting for you to name it, your Majesty.’
‘Let’s call him…Simpleton. What does he eat?’
‘We were hoping you would know, your Majesty.’
‘Of course I know,’ he shouted. ‘It’s an elephant. It eats…beef and red wine. Now feed it. The poor beast looks starved.’
And with that, he left, and there are no words, and they placed a piece of cow in front of me for supper and a barrel of red wine, and there are no words, and I wish for death.
Day 13
I was starved and malnourished and had gone two weeks without eating. There is nothing here, no music, no insight. The monkeys throw shit and sometimes the patterns are interesting but there is nobody to converse about the deeper meaning. Death was just about here and I welcomed it. All of a sudden, the Beefeaters held me at the neck and forced a slab of beef down my throat then poured the barrel of red wine down my trunk. I am truly forsaken.
Day 26
They burn women upon Tower hill. It is the reason for the stench. The accused stand in front of three or four cardinals with a barbarian crowd booing and cheering behind them. The accused perform their defence. More often than not, they are found guilty by the cardinals and burnt alive, much to the delight of the masses. I hate this place.
I am regularly eating beef and drinking red wine. They will not give me anything else! I long for water, for fresh vegetables, for crunchy hay, for fruit and nutrition, for decent food.
Day 43
Today there may be some hope. An ostrich was presented to King Henry by the King of Belgium. The ostrich is of nobility and hates this place, too. They throw her nails and metal to eat because somehow, the King thinks ostriches eat metal. He concocts these stories when he is under pressure, and then, after repeating the story several times, he genuinely believes them as the truth.
‘Escape,’ the ostrich whispered to me tonight. ‘I know a way.’
The snitching zebra then came into earshot and we hushed. But it was enough to dream with—escape. The ostrich has given me hope. I will not go back to France. We will go south, catch passage to Africa where we can live free with the wild animals there on the plains. And life will once again be sweet. The ostrich indeed, has given me hope.
Day 45
The ostrich died yesterday. The menagerie’s vet said it was a witch’s curse and not as result of the 23 nails she had eaten. 7 years in medical school and all the man can say is witch’s curse. Perhaps that was the escape she spoke of. The Beefeaters picked a woman out of the crowd and burnt her alive for casting a curse on the royal ostrich. I have to say here in private, I enjoyed it. My grief had somewhere to go—even if it was at the end of a pointed finger without reason. I had Goosebumps and in the excitement, drank my whole barrel of red wine.
‘Thirsty today, Simpleton?’ said a Beefeater, and rolled me over a second barrel. I drank that, too and found myself roaring along with the mob.
‘Burn her!’ I shouted. ‘Burn the witch!’
I woke today sore and ashamed, with an ache in my head and back. No more red wine, I said, trying to stand, only to find a group of leery builders on my back with brick and mortar, talking of big-titted conquests whilst building a structure. Apparently King Henry read in a book that elephants could support enough weight on their backs for a castle. I drank red wine to take the edge off.
Day 143
Waaahey! Simpleton the Elephant. The Tower! Fuck my balls. My big elephant balls. Me and the monkeys flung shit at the lions. Haha! Those fuckin’ lions. Think they’re so great. Fuck ‘em. No, haha! I’m goin’ now to fuck that zebra bitch. Where is she?
Day 236
The hangovers. I am voiceless in my hangovers, deadened and null. I can barely find time between them to write. I find myself wailing for more wine as soon as I wake just to quell them. My behaviour over the last few months has been disgraceful. The zebra and I have done some atrocious things. I have fallen out with the lions and the polar bear. The new leopard has been told to stay well away from me. The only things I look forward to now are the witch burnings. One is on tonight at 8 o’ clock. ‘Burn the witch,’ I will shout. ‘Burn her!’
I cannot even remember what I’m angry about? I just know I’m angry. They say an elephant never forgets but I cannot retain any longer, I cannot…retain.
Afterwards, we will souse ourselves on ale and wine. And the Beefeaters will lock the doors and we will break and damage and roar, pot-valiant and brave, and we will talk of escape and rebellion because we are the ones with the strength. They only have the keys and funny hats. And then we will sleep and start it over.
I never needed God in Poissy. But this place, this place has made a believer out of me, because if there is a Hell, this is it, and if there is a Hell, there must be a heaven, there must be.
I need wine.
Day 435
We took Egypt together, Louis! Do you remember? And I stood by you when you were captured. A whole two years. Do you remember, Louis? We took Egypt, Louis. Joyeux Noel. I hope you are happy.
Day 500
500th day in the Tower. More wine! More wine, Beefeaters! They don’t know. They don’t even know, the fools. You are fools! They don’t know me! You’ve all come to see the elephant? Well, here I am! Are you not entertained? Step right up and see Simpleton the elephant! More wine!
Day 579
Last night I found myself dumbfounded on a sea of elephants, a lost elephant. Simpleton the elephant, floating atop of a sea of elephants, a million elephants deep and a million elephants wide, a raging sea of elephants, and I couldn’t ascertain which elephant was me. I tried hard to find myself, but every elephant looked the same, and I could have been anyone of them, and we just raged hard in the squall, giant waves, a thousand elephants high, crashing and turning and swirling…
Day 622
The ravens have gathered, squawking dinner, and methinks they will have it soon. I am a dying thing, diary. The menagerie’s vet inspected me today.
They are burning the witch now.
If I could save the poor woman, I would.
It is the Kings who shuffle us like this, I’d tell them, it is the Queens who point out our villain, but my words, if I could speak them, would do her no good. These people do not want truth, because if the truth were to be heard, their grand illusion would crumble, as has mine.
So here I’ll lie until the end, in my little box behind the great big wall, watching witch-hunts as the Kings and Queens go unobserved in their devilment, and I’ll drink your cheap wine and eat the stewed and toxic meat you serve. I will breathe your smoke and I will carry your stone on my back and pray at night for better days. I’ll be your pickled savage, your placid simpleton and you will hear a peep no more from me.
You have come to see the elephant?
You have seen him.
(c) David McGrath, 2013
The Elephant in the Tower by David McGrath was read by Ed Cooper Clarke at the Liars' League KINGS & QUEENS event on Tuesday, July 9th, 2013, at The Phoenix, Cavendish Square, London.
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