Follow the Elephant Read online

  OTHER BOOKS BY

  BERYL YOUNG

  Wishing Star Summer

  (Raincoast Books, 2001)

  Charlie: A Home Child’s Life in Canada

  (Key Porter Books, 2009)

  follow the

  ELEPHANT

  BERYL YOUNG

  RONSDALE PRESS

  FOLLOW THE ELEPHANT

  Copyright © 2010 Beryl Young

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without prior written permission of the publisher, or, in Canada, in the case of photocopying or other reprographic copying, a licence from Access Copyright (the Canadian Copyright Licensing Agency).

  RONSDALE PRESS

  3350 West 21st Avenue, Vancouver, B.C., Canada V6S 1G7

  www.ronsdalepress.com

  Typesetting: Julie Cochrane, in Minion 12 pt on 16

  Cover Design: Julie Cochrane

  Paper: Ancient Forest Friendly “Silva” (FSC) — 100% post-consumer waste, totally chlorine-free and acid-free

  Ronsdale Press wishes to thank the following for their support of its publishing program: the Canada Council for the Arts, the Government of Canada through the Book Publishing Industry Development Program (BPIDP), the British Columbia Arts Council, and the Province of British Columbia through the British Columbia Book Publishing Tax Credit program.

  Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

  Young, Beryl, 1934–

  Follow the Elephant / Beryl Young.

  print ISBN 978-1-55380-098-9

  ebook ISBN 978-1-55380-242-6

  pdf ISBN 978-1-55380-198-6

  I. India — Juvenile fiction. 2. Grandmothers — Juvenile fiction. 3. Grandparent and child — Juvenile fiction. 4. Pen pals — Juvenile fiction. I. Title.

  PS8597.O575F64 2010 jC813’.6 C2009-906342-5

  At Ronsdale Press we are committed to protecting the environment. To this end we are working with Canopy (formerly Markets Initiative) and printers to phase out our use of paper produced from ancient forests. This book is one step towards that goal.

  Printed in Canada by Marquis Printing, Quebec

  To splendid travelling companions:

  my son Jeremy and my grandson Cameron

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  You Want Me To Go Where?

  Day One

  Day Two

  Day Three

  Day Four

  Day Five

  Day Six

  Still Day Six

  Day Seven

  Day Eight

  Day Nine

  Days Ten, Eleven and Twelve

  Day Thirteen

  Day Fourteen

  Days Fifteen & Sixteen

  Day Seventeen

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  You Want Me To Go Where?

  “GET OUT OF MY ROOM!”

  His mother glared at him. “Then take your face out of that computer, Ben, and be downstairs in two minutes!” She turned and went back down the stairs.

  Ben banged the table with his fist, making his computer mouse jump. Why did his mother make him so mad? He knew it wasn’t her fault that his dad had died. But it wasn’t his either.

  These days his mother moped around the house and never got dressed up, even though she’d started back to work. She kept serving the same old boring stuff for meals as though nothing mattered now that they weren’t a real family. He was mad at that nine-year-old brat Lauren too. She was back telling dumb knock-knock jokes as though things could still be funny, even with their father dead.

  Everything was different now. There was no Dad to crack jokes at the dinner table, no Dad to go with on bike rides out to the university. No Dad to take him to hockey games. He remembered how excited his dad would get when the Canucks scored a goal. He’d punch Ben on the arm and say, “How’s that for a great shot, Beno!”

  Just about the only thing that had kept his father from being perfect was that he smoked. Most of Ben’s friends thought smoking was definitely lame. Life skills class drummed that into you in grade three. When his father coughed it sounded like the old dog next door barfing up his dinner. His father’s lungs were probably as disgustingly black as the pictures the teacher showed in class. Ben used to hide the cigarette packages and beg his father not to smoke.

  More than once his dad would announce, “Well, I’ve finally done it. This is the last of these little killers you’ll see in my hand.”

  Of course they all believed him, and it worked for a while — then one day Ben would catch his father in the garage again sneaking a smoke. How could a kid look up to a father who did that?

  One day his dad had said, “I started smoking when I was young, Ben, and I thought nothing could hurt me. Now it’s too hard for me to quit.” He’d ruffled Ben’s hair. “Don’t you make the same mistake.” That same week his dad had cut down. But it was too late.

  Then, after his father had died, the stupid hospice counsellors kept asking Ben if he’d like to talk. Ben had nothing to say. He’d been cheated out of having a dad around. End of story.

  What was the point of it all if your father died when he was still in his forties? What was the point of anything? That was why Ben liked computer games. You never had to think about sad things when you were fighting an alien on Battlefront. Computer games were easy. You knew what you had to do.

  Of course his mother spazzed because he spent so much time on the computer. But why not play on the computer? It was way more interesting than school.

  School. Well, he’d got himself into a bit of trouble there too. His friend Mac had talked him into skipping the first time. It had been simple just to disappear after lunch and fun to hang out at the mall gawking at all the new computer stuff. He’d do it again if he got a chance.

  As far as Ben could tell, things would be easier if his mum and dad had divorced. Kids with divorced parents still had their dads to do things with. Like Jimmy, whose dad had taken him salmon fishing up at Campbell River last summer. There was a picture of Jimmy with his father on his bedroom wall, both of them holding up twenty-pounders.

  Ben came into the living room where his mother and his grandmother were sitting together on the sofa. Gran was his dad’s mother, and since his father died she was always at the house. Ben thumped himself down in a chair, crossed his arms and jammed his fists into his armpits.

  Gran offered him some licorice, but he shook his head. Sweet things were his grandmother’s weakness. She wasn’t fat, but she was always moaning about gaining weight and needing more exercise, yet somehow she always had candy to pass around.

  “We’re worried about you, Ben,” said his mother, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees. Her blue eyes locked into his the way only a mother’s eyes could.

  Ben looked away. “Don’t waste your time.”

  His mother pulled out the scrunchie in her ponytail, ran her fingers through her streaky brown hair and twisted it up again. “Ben, you’ve changed since your father died. You’re rude and bad-tempered all the time. You pick fights with Lauren. You bury yourself in violent games and heaven knows what else on that computer. I never see you reading a book. Then last week you skipped school.”

  “So? Lauren bugs me and I told you the truth when I said I’d never skipped before. Besides, computer games aren’t violent. Battlefront and games like that are good for improving your reaction time.” Ben scowled across the room. “Why can’t you just butt out of my life?”

  “Sorry, we can’t do that,” his mother said. She looked as though she might start to cry, but then got herself together. �
��I guess I haven’t been the greatest mother lately. In the months since Dad died, I’ve been a bit lost myself.”

  Ben suddenly wanted to go over and give her a hug, but his shoes were Crazy-glued to the floor and he didn’t move.

  Gran interrupted. “Ben, I’ve come up with an idea, and I need you to listen. Don’t say anything until I’ve finished.”

  What was Gran’s brilliant idea now? Private school? A foster family? He was too young to be sent into the army.

  Gran went on. “A long time ago when I was in grade school, my teacher gave me the address of a girl who lived in India. Her name was Shanti Mukherjee and she became my pen pal.”

  “What’s a pen pal?”

  “It’s someone you write back and forth to. We actually wrote letters in those days!” Gran laughed. “Shanti was my age and she went to an Indian girls’ school where she’d learned English.”

  “What does this have to do with me?” Ben asked.

  Gran took a deep breath. “I was an only child and I shared everything with Shanti. When I was sixteen my mother died, and Shanti wrote letters that made me feel she understood how sad I was.” Gran brushed her grey hair off her high forehead.

  “So?” said Ben, swinging his leg over the chair. “You think I need a pen pal?”

  His grandmother took a small black-and-white photograph from her wallet and handed it to Ben. It was a picture of a dark-skinned girl in a school uniform, her hair in thick braids. On the back was written, Shanti Mukherjee, aged 13.

  My age, thought Ben. “Why are you telling me all this?” He put the photo down on the coffee table.

  His mother looked at him sharply. “Please let your grandmother finish!”

  “Shanti and I hoped we’d meet one day, but then, after years of writing, we had a disagreement and I never heard from her again.”

  Ben picked at his fingernail. “Can I go now?”

  Gran handed Ben an airline ticket. She was smiling. “I want you to come to India with me to find her.”

  Yikes. Ben stared at the ticket with his name on it.

  Benjamin Leeson

  Air India Flight 860

  Vancouver, Canada, to Delhi, India

  January 2 to 19

  “Oh, man.” He couldn’t think of anything else to say.

  Lauren came bouncing into the room. “Does he know? Did you tell him?”

  “Yes, and for once he’s speechless,” said their mother.

  “Lauren knew about this?” asked Ben.

  His sister flashed her lopsided grin at him. “Yeah, Mum’s worried you’re turning into a computer geek.”

  Ben leaned over and gave Lauren a shove. He glanced again at the ticket. “I could go seventeen days without a computer. And I could definitely use a break from a smart-mouthed sister.”

  “Easy, easy,” said his mother.

  Ben got up from the chair. “That is, if I wanted to. But there’s no way I’m going to India.” He headed for the stairs.

  “Come back here, Ben,” said his mother.

  He leaned in the doorway, banging the heel of his runner against the frame.

  “Stop that, Ben,” his mother said.

  “I know you weren’t expecting this,” Gran said. “I want you to think about it.”

  He gave one more kick and stopped. “You’re okay about me missing school?” He looked at his mother.

  “I checked with the school counsellor. You’ll have to write a report on India when you get back,” she said.

  Considering he knew zip about India, that would be a challenge. All he knew was that India was a hot country halfway around the world. Sure, he’d planned to travel in a few years, maybe even go to India or Thailand, but definitely not with an old lady.

  He shook his head. “No way.”

  “It’s a wonderful chance to see a new country,” said his grandmother.

  “Tell someone who cares,” said Ben.

  “Benjamin!” his mother said.

  “Don’t be so mean to Gran,” Lauren said. She flung her arms around her grandmother’s neck.

  “The tickets have already been paid for, Ben,” Gran said, “and as you can see we’re booked to fly right after the holidays.”

  “You and Mum are so nervy. I can’t believe you did this without asking me!” Ben felt like smashing a hole in the door.

  Gran carried right on talking. “You’ll need a passport and a visa for India. We’ll get onto that right away. I’ll take you for a passport photo next week.”

  “What bugs me most is that you told Lauren before you told me!”

  Ignoring him, Gran said, “One more thing.”

  “What?”

  “You and I have an appointment at the immunization clinic for shots. Typhoid. Hepatitis. Meningitis. Cholera. Starting Monday.”

  Ben felt as though he’d been put on a rollercoaster and things were going too fast. “It doesn’t seem to matter what I think anyway,” he snapped on the way to his room.

  The next morning, Ben found his mother having coffee at the kitchen table. The chair where his dad used to sit across from her was empty. Ben slid into it and examined the big splats of rain hitting the window, then turned to his mother. “Why do you want to get rid of me anyway?”

  “What makes you think that?”

  “Because you’re always mad at me. You yell at me all the time. ‘Take out the garbage. Stop bugging Lauren. Get off the computer.’”

  “Just how long is it since you’ve emptied the dishwasher, Ben?” His mother drained her coffee cup. “Think about it. I’m at the office all day and then have to do everything in the house, too.”

  Ben raised his eyes to the ceiling. Here we go, he thought. Mum was getting herself worked up.

  “You’ve always got your nose buried in your computer or that PlayStation thing. I do all the laundry, the shopping and the cooking. You never offer to help out.”

  Ben could see tears welling up in her eyes. He hated that.

  “I guess you want a medal?” Ben said.

  His mother covered her face with both hands. He’d gone too far. “Mum, sorry. I didn’t mean it to come out like that.” He reached over and tapped her shoulder.

  His mother’s voice was muffled. “Why are you so angry all the time?”

  Ben took a minute to answer. “Maybe because I miss Dad.”

  His mother put her hands down. Her face was smeared with tears. “Don’t you think I do? And Gran? Lauren too?” Her voice cracked. “We’re all lonely for him. We all miss the special things we did with him.”

  Ben had to turn away so he didn’t have to watch more tears. His mother tried to steady her voice. “You know I don’t want to get rid of you, Ben. I thought it would be good for you to have an exciting holiday.”

  “I don’t want to go to India with Gran,” Ben said. “She’s too old.”

  “Gran’s sixty-eight, Ben, and except for a bit of high blood pressure, which is totally under control, she’s strong and healthy.”

  “I can see it all. I’m gonna end up being a granny-sitter.”

  “You’ve been asking for more responsibility, Ben. This is your chance to take care of your grandmother and yourself.” His mother got up and stood behind his chair, wrapping her arms around his chest, pulling him close, like the old days.

  Ben spread his fingers on his mother’s warm arms. “Gran can be strict.”

  “Remember you used to say that about Dad, too.”

  Ben could barely remember that his dad had been strict. He was forgetting already. He leaned back against his mother.

  “I’d have to get all those shots.”

  “Hey, a tough guy like you can’t be scared of a few shots.” Mum rested her chin on Ben’s dark hair.

  “Course I’m not.”

  “Good. I don’t want my boy coming back from India with hepatitis. You don’t look good in orange!”

  He turned around and made a funny face at her. It felt good to laugh with his mum. They hadn’t done that m
uch lately.

  All of a sudden his mother seemed like her old self. “Why not just go for it, Ben?”

  Ben wasn’t certain how it happened, but in a few days he’d had a photograph taken and had applied for his passport and visa. It sounded cool, having a passport. Teenage world traveller. Not bad.

  He and Mum had spent an entire afternoon shopping. He bought cotton shirts, new runners and a large backpack with a lock and a small thermometer attached to the zipper.

  “No way I’m wearing shorts,” Ben had told his mother. “Jeans are fine.” What kind of a guy would expose his skinny white legs all over India?

  Then there were all the shots at the public health office. The first day he had three, one needle after another. Once you got used to them they weren’t that bad. He and Gran filled their prescriptions for malaria pills and were told to take one after breakfast every day of the trip. The guys at school had been impressed when he told them about malaria pills.

  This was the first Christmas without his father. On Christmas morning Mum gave Ben a digital camera with a zoom lens, saying she wanted to make sure she and Lauren got a look at India too. Lauren gave him a red baseball cap with CANADA written across it and a maple leaf on the visor. Gran gave Ben a cool pocket knife and told him, “They say never to eat Indian fruit if you can’t cook it or peel it.”

  The family gave Gran a guidebook, India: Land of Adventure, with a photograph of a trumpeting elephant on the cover. Ben had seen the photograph when he’d helped Mum wrap presents. The huge beast was marching through the jungle, its trunk raised in the air, its ears flared like sails. The elephant was terrifying and fascinating at the same time.

  “Look at this,” Gran said. “On the first page it says, ‘A traveller goes to India seeking adventure. What he finds is himself.’”

  “Find myself? I’m not lost,” Ben said.

  “Maybe you are,” Mum said, looking right at him.

  At Christmas dinner, Gran and Mum told Uncle Bob and Aunt Sheila and their eight-year-old son Marvin about the trip.

  “Crazy idea!” Uncle Bob said. “India’s 14,000 kilometres away.”