Słoń
by Slawomir Mrozek
If Philip Roth had done nothing but edit Penguin’s series of “Writers from the Other Europe,” he would have done right by the world. But other publishers were mining the Eastern Bloc, too. In 1984, Grove published Slawomir Mrozek’s The Elephant. The Spectator blurb on my copy says, “Extraordinary! Something like Kafka’s stories but funnier.”
Actually, Kafka’s are funnier. But Mrozek is great and still timely. He wrote for the theater but The Elephant is a collection of fables, some about animals: lions, swans, giraffes, and horses. The title story reminds me of that New York Times piece about hunger games in German zoos. Here’s the story in Konrad Syrop’s translation, along with a mix to keep the kids occupied while you read.
Słoń
The director of the Zoological Gardens has shown himself to be an upstart. He regarded his animals simply as stepping stones on the road of his own career. He was indifferent to the educational importance of the establishment. In his zoo the giraffe had a short neck, the badger had no burrow and the whistlers, having lost all interest, whistled rarely and with some reluctance. These shortcomings should not have been allowed, especially as the zoo was often visited by parties of schoolchildren.
The zoo was in a provincial town, and it was short of some of the most important animals, among them the elephant. Three thousand rabbits were a poor substitute for the noble giant. However, as our country developed, the gaps were being filled in a well-planned manner. On the occasion of the anniversary of the liberation, on 22nd July, the zoo was notified that it had at long last been allocated an elephant. All the staff, who were devoted to their work, rejoiced at this news. All the greater was their surprise when they learnt that the director had sent a letter to Warsaw, renouncing the allocation and putting forward a plan for obtaining an elephant by more economic means.
“I, and all the staff,” he had written, “are fully aware how heavy a burden falls upon the shoulders of Polish miners and foundry men because of the elephant. Desirous of reducing our costs, I suggest the elephant mentioned in your communication should be replaced by one of our own procurement. We can make an elephant out of rubber, of the correct size, fill it with air and place it behind railings. It will be carefully painted the correct color and even on close inspection will be indistinguishable from the real animal. It is well known that the elephant is a sluggish animal and does not run and jump about. In the notice on the railings we can state that this particular elephant is exceptionally sluggish. The money saved in this way can be turned to the purchase of a jet plane or the conservation of some church monument.
“Kindly note that both the idea and its execution are my modest contribution to the common task and struggle.
“I am, etc.”
This communication must have reached a soulless official who regarded his duties in a purely bureaucratic manner and did not examine the heart of the matter but only the directive about reduction of expenditure. He accepted the director’s plan. On hearing the Ministry’s approval, the director issued instructions for the making of the rubber elephant.
The carcass was to have been filled with air by two zookeepers blowing into it from opposite ends. To keep the operation secret the work was to be completed during the night because the people of the town, having heard that an elephant was joining the zoo, were anxious to see it. The director insisted on haste also because he expected a bonus, should his idea turn out to be a success.
The two keepers locked themselves in a shed normally housing a workshop, and began to blow. After two hours of hard blowing they discovered that the rubber skin had risen only a few inches above the floor and its bulge in no way resembled an elephant. The night progressed. Outside, human voices were stilled and only the cry of the jackass interrupted the silence. Exhausted, the keepers stopped blowing and made sure that the air already inside the elephant should not escape. They were not young and were unaccustomed to this kind of work.
“If we go on at this rate,” said one of them, “ we shan’t finish before the morning. And what am I to tell my missus? She’ll never believe me if I say that I spent the night blowing up an elephant.”
“Quite right,” agreed the second keeper. “Blowing up an elephant is not an everyday job. And it’s all because our director is a leftist.”
They resumed their blowing, but after another half-an-hour they felt too tired to continue. The bulge on the floor was larger but still nothing like the shape of an elephant.
“It’s getting harder all the time,” said the first keeper.
“It’s an uphill job, all right,” agreed the second. “Let’s have a little rest.”
While they were resting, one of them noticed a gas pipe ending in a valve. Could they not fill the elephant with gas? He suggested it to his mate.
They decided to try. They connected the elephant to the gas pipe, turned the valve, and to their joy in a few minutes there was a full-sized beast standing in the shed. It looked real: the enormous body, legs like columns, huge ears and the inevitable trunk. Driven by ambition the Director had made sure of having in his zoo a very large elephant indeed.
“First class,” declared the keeper who had the idea of using gas. “Now we can go home.”
In the morning, the elephant was moved to a special run in a central position, next to the monkey cage. Placed in front of a large real rock it looked fierce and magnificent. A big notice proclaimed: “Particularly sluggish. Hardly moves.”
Among the first visitors that morning was a party of children from the local school. The teacher in charge of them was planning to give them an object-lesson about the elephant. He halted the group in front of the animal and began:
“The elephant is a herbivorous mammal. By means of its trunk it pulls out young trees and eats their leaves.”
The children were looking at the elephant with enraptured admiration. They were waiting for it to pull out a young tree, but the beast stood still behind its railings.
“. . . The elephant is a direct descendant of the now extinct mammoth. It’s not surprising, therefore, that it’s the largest living land animal.”
The more conscientious pupils were making notes.
“. . . Only the whale is heavier than the elephant, but then the whale lives in the sea. We can safely say that on land the elephant reigns supreme.”
A slight breeze moved the branches of the trees in the zoo.
“. . . The weight of a fully grown elephant is between nine and thirteen thousand pounds.”
At that moment the elephant shuddered and rose in the air. For a few seconds it swayed just above the ground but a gust of wind blew it upwards until its mighty silhouette was against the sky. For a short while people on the ground could still see the four circles of its feet, its bulging belly and the trunk, but soon, propelled by the wind, the elephant sailed above the fence and disappeared above the tree-tops. Astonished monkeys in the cage continued staring into the sky.
They found the elephant in the neighboring botanical gardens. It had landed on a cactus and punctured its rubber hide.
The schoolchildren who had witnessed the the scene in the zoo soon started neglecting their studies and turned into hooligans. It is reported that they drink liquor and break windows. And they no longer believe in elephants.
Slawomir Mrozek (1930-2013) lived and worked in Kraków and Nice, among other places.
