My Four Elephants

 MY FOUR ELEPHANTS

 

          Four elephants grace a shelf in my bedroom. To me, each has a special meaning. They were given to me as I climbed up my professional and personal ladder.

            The first elephant, made of sterling silver, is a fine replica. The original, which I lost years ago during one of my many moves, was given to me as a Bar-Mitzvah gift. For those unfamiliar with Jewish folklore, it is relevant to mention that when a Jewish boy turns thirteen, he ceases to be a child and must observe all rituals. One of his duties is to be called up to the Torah-reading-podium where he has to  recite the Haftara – a passage of the bible earmarked for the occasion.

            Important as the ceremony may be, every Bar-Mitzvah boy looks forward to the gifts which the guests, mainly family members and friends of the boy’s parents, bring him in an afternoon or evening celebration. The usual presents encompass watches, books, illustrated copies of the bible and some other odds and ends. The dream gift used to be a bicycle. Naturally, my friends, whose Bar-Mitzvahs approximated mine, used to compare the gifts bestowed on them with those received by others.

            To my utter surprise one of our guests – a remote family member – brought me a miniature silver elephant. When he noted my perplexed face, he explained that elephants were distinguished mammals. They were strong, dignified and had excellent memory. They recalled every act of kindness or favour shown to them as well as any hurtful act. They might forgive but would never forget. His hope was that I would model my outlook on life in a manner resembling an elephant’s.

            His advice guided me during my years in secondary school, my four years in the Hebrew University, my years of pupilage and during practice in Tel-Aviv. I took the splendid gift with me when I went for my postgraduate studies to Oxford. I probably took the elephant with me when I moved to my first academic position at the University of Singapore but, I fear, mislaid it when I took up a Chair of Law at the Victoria University of Wellington. I replaced the elephant when I went down memory lane, a few years after my retirement.

 

            On the way to a sabbatical at Oxford after my first four years in Wellington we – my wife and I – made a stop in Medan to pay a visit to my brother-in-law. His wealthy neighbour invited us for dinner. Most of the dishes suited my wife but were too hot for my palate. My host’s little daughter kept bringing me glasses of ice water. Just before we departed her mother (nudged by the little girl) gave me my second elephant.

            He is an ebony carving about ten centimeters high.   The body is shiny black but the tusks are stained white. The statuette served as my paper weight during my remaining years in Wellington and during my sad years as a professor at Monash University in Melbourne. When I finally returned to Pat’s hometown – Singapore – the elephant graced my study at the University.

            The lady who gave me the elephant is long dead. Her charming daughter, whom I had never met again, had her ultimate struggle with fatal cancer during the very week I spent in hospital after a fall. I did not see her but my wife, who was recognized by an aging servant, paid her a visit. The dying woman remembered our sojourn in Medan. She was pleased to know that the ebony elephant has remained one of my treasures.

 

            On reaching the age of sixty five, I had to retire from my Chair in Singapore, although I continued to teach on a part time basis. A few months later, a former student invited me to take up a consultancy in the leading law firm he had built up. One of my clients, the head of a merchant bank, sought my advice regularly. My third elephant is his gift. A shiny brass emblem of the now defunct bank, it is much heavier than my earlier  treasures. Indeed, if it had been spotted by a writer of crime, it might have been turned in his (or her) fictive work into a murder instrument.

For some nine years this brass elephant graced my office in town. The donor, H., has remained a close friend even after he left Singapore. Occasionally, H. visits me in Singapore and, shortly after my wife’s demise, I flew over to Germany to stay in his fine estate for some two weeks. It was a wonderful vacation.

 

I got the fourth elephant recently after age had dictated full retirement from both practice and teaching.  Life is peaceful; but there are a few clouds on the horizon. Thus, I have continued to succumb to occasional bouts of ‘flu and bronchitis. When I was a boy, mother used to soothe me. Later, my wife shamed me into controlling my panic. I knew, of course, that a bout would incapacitate me for not more than a week but – like most asthmatics – was overcome by fear.

Another problem relates to my seclusion as a widower. There is no locally based friend to turn to when depression sets in. So, I had to find new means to quell my misery. From to time I have achieved this by getting immersed in the porcelain figurines displayed on the net. Most are too dear for my purse but on one occasion my eye caught sight of the neatly glazed light grey elephant. The vendor described it as made at  Limbach at around 1880. He claims to have personally excavated the elephant and hence was confident as regards the description.

His dating could be right. Limbach was active up to 1937. When it closed its doors, many unsold pieces were dumped. The vendor might have excavated the elephant from a trench dug through the old building. However, for a piece that had been discarded by its original owners as worthless, the vendor demanded a price commensurate with his labour. Presumably, he had the right to do, especially as the piece was unblemished. Be this as it may, I bought it.

 

I am attached to my four elephants. Their journeys were even more winding than mine. Further, each was the artistic expression of the respective creator.  Did the artists wish to demonstrate to us a constant in a life of steady, eternal, developments? After all, the mighty mammoth and terrestrial dinosaurs are extinct. The elephant survived because he was the fittest.

Quite apart from this thought, my elephants have the capacity to stir memories. I recall how I used the ebony elephant to weigh down the documents respecting the acquisition of our property in Singapore.

The brass elephant helped me to overcome tense moments in our city practice. His cool touch conveyed to me that many clients deserved patience and had to be taken with a pinch of salt. With his help, I can recall these occasions with a smile.

The porcelain elephant brings back to my mind the acquisition of my first  collector’s item shortly after I graduated from  High School in Tel Aviv and enrolled in the Law School in Jerusalem. A small Vienna piece – stemming from my city of birth – was a gift I bought for my late mother. Today, that small porcelain flowerpot graces  my own collection. It likes to draw me back into the past. It tells me that, unlike my graceful four elephants, I have always been a white elephant: usually not coming up to my full, strong, potential.

My hope is that the four elephants, which are dear to me, will find another appreciative owner when my time is up.