Trafford Publishing: Adorina and the Elephant Choir

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Adorina and the Elephant Choir

by P.L. Chestney; co-published with P.L.S.R. Chestney Publishing Company

80 pages; quality trade paperback (softcover); catalogue #03-0875; ISBN 1-4120-0506-X; US$13.00, C$14.95, EUR11.00, £7.50

Adorina and the Elephant Choir is a story about the Circus, Animals, Gypsys, Elephants, and human relationships. The tale, primarily for young people, is a daily revelation of circus life and the people who live it. It is filled with danger, suspense, mystery, fear, and resolution. It is a story that brings out the best in people.

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about the book about the author sample excerpt catalogue info

About the Book

The circus has been an art form since early Roman times, and was the best and only local, traveling entertainment, before huge electronic technology advances of the twentieth century. The history of the circus from early times to present is important, fascinating, and disappearing. There is another piece of history, soon to disappear forever, and sometimes linked with circus life, the cultural ethnic group of peoples called Gypsys. The gypsy world is underdocumented and somehow linked to a lifestyle of traveling and entertaining people. What is a circus without animals or a gypsy camp without horses?
The main character of Adorina and the Elephant Choir is a gypsy girl, called Dori, who started life as an abandoned baby, and grew up to become the star of a circus. She became an animal trainer or one of those people who have an affinity with animals and a special way to communicate with them. Dori had no mother, in the beginning, but during her life in the circus is given, two special mothers. She is a twin and finds herself in danger, from her gypsy brother. She is by birth order, first born, and therefore Queen of the Gypsys. Dori also finds her selfworth and a boy to love.
The circus she lived in, is a place most kids would love to run away to. Adorina and the Elephant Choir tells the story of the circus and the people who live and breathe circus. Also, the book deals with human relationships, trials and tribulations, emotions, and resolution. The book is generally geared for children and young people, but adults will enjoy reading the book also.

About the Author

P.L. Chestney is a late bloomer. At twenty five years of age, she was granted indentured servant status to a husband whose idea of a marital relationship was to keep the woman locked in the house, and naked. With the marriage, came two sons and a new job title, slave to the selfish, normal kids; now, thankfully grown and independent. During this period, P.L. was cursed with the responsibility of a house; all upkeep, repair and remodelling. There was no money to pay tradespeople, so, P.L. went to free trade college. She was looking for an avocation, and repair abilities. Her husband, Robert, a workaholic chef, was working eighty hours in a good week. P.L. made a lot of mistakes, as she learned, especially, about plumbing. P.L. is now an advocate for women, to learn, where the main water shut off valve, is located, in the house.
For a few years, P.L. bred, Airdales, German Shephards, a magnificent Mackinzee Valley Timber Wolf, now deceased, and domestic Bengal cats. The animals barely paid for their upkeep. P.L. was in the red, after all the shovelling. P.L., the child of extremely disfunctional parents, aren't we all, is a fanatic animal lover, poet, environmentalist, Christian, social activist, cement mixer, inventor, cartoonist, upholsterer, tennis umpire, appliance repairperson, artist, mail sorter, and computer programmer. P.L. found a 2000 BMW touring Sedan, in 1983, for $500, and drove it home on three cylinders. She built an engine hoist, pulled, and rebuilt the engine for her husband's birthday. That project, the husband drooled over.
One year, P.L. and the boys dug up the side of the house for a patio; a section 70 ft. long, 20 ft. wide, and 2 ft. deep. P.L. searched the garbage and dump for old metal: bike frames, metal mattress frame, pipes; anything metal to be used as rebar structure in the cement. P.L. asked her husband why he didn't come home and help lay the 6 yds. of cement. He said he thought P.L. was making a mistake. Then, there was the year P.L. ripped off the roof, for an addition to the house. When asked why he didn't help this time, the husband replied, "I thought P.L. was out of her mind."
After the cement patio success; how hard is it to screw up cement?, P.L. decided to express herself in cement. You, no doubt, have heard of the Great Wall of China, well P.L. built the great wall of Chestney. For over fifteen years, P.L. mixed cement, one 80 pound bag, at a time, in a wheelbarrow. Her mix record, for her best day, was, 10, eighty pound bags, one by one. During those years, she put up a footing, 14 inches high by 12 inches wide, and 200 feet long, to set fence posts in. She was intrigued by the permanency of cement. She started out mixing 14 bags to an 8 ft. section but rapidly learned to buy ten cent broken bricks, in lots, for fill, and reduced her mix count to 6 bags, per 8 ft. section. P.L. then decided there was more potential for cement as decorative ground cover. Besides, she was tired of mowing the grass. She started covering ground with heavy duty paving bricks and other odd things she could cement down. She eventually filled in the entire back yard, plus many more areas with cement coverage. One day, while cementing over ground, in the back yard, the husband came out and excitedly insisted, P.L. leave openings to drain water. P.L. thought the husband was interfering and controlling again, but did what he suggested. She built a large open pit barbecue, and a drain canal to a 4 inch waste pipe. Boy was she glad, she heard him. She has never had a flooded back yard. One time, she tried to add up the number of pounds of cement she had mixed, by hand, but gave up at 70,000lbs. Now, she has a cement mixer. P.L. is a Jill of all trades, master of none.
P.L. has written numerous articles, triggered by events in her life, some of which were actually published, in a BMW tradespaper, a Chef's magazine, and a Baptist Singles periodical. One poem and three cartoons were also published. Being so opinionated, P.L. majored in, Letters to the Editor. P.L. worked her own upholstery business for two years; but gave it up, after one to many, number 12 tacks, pierced her thumb nail, as she tried to upholster and daycare wild sons, simultaneously. For five years, P.L. worked as a tennis umpire. The pay was lousy, and the stress horrific; but it kept alive, her competitive tennis hacker hobby. She had a few wins, many losses, and lots of exercise. P.L. sorted mail, for the state, after her husband, told her, she couldn't hold down a job, and was nothing without his money. It was an awful, under paid, night job; but she did it for a year. She showed him, how to work all night and take care of two kids all day, while laying on the couch.
P.L. wrote an earlier book about animals and taking care of the earth, entitled, WHEN THE ANIMALS LEFT. The book won the 1996 Animal Rights Writing Award, presented by the International Society For Animal Rights. P.L. spent another year developing and patenting an electronic device, repair kit. In 1988, P.L. took up painting, and, eventually, exhibited in the Colorado Duck Stamp Contest and other small local artist shows. Her passionate dream is, to make money, on her work product, like a real job.
As P.L. approaches her sixtieth birthday in 2003; she wonders how much of life is memory; who cares. Her father had so many electric shock treatments, in his struggles to cope with life, she was forced to research defective DNA. P.L. finally views success in life as: peace of mind, no regrets, and a healthy self image.
P.L. wrote this poem in one of her many moments of reflection.

I think that I shall never see, a turtle climbing in a tree;
For turtles only walk on sand and trees to live must have some land.
I hope that I shall never see, a time when turtles cease to be.
So while there is hope for turtle life, we turtle lovers must unite;
And hope that we will never see an ocean that is turtle free.

Sample Excerpts or Table of Contents

... NERO, an African black maned lion, was the star performer of the wild animal act. It was not his ability or temperment that made him a star. He was a vicious unpredictible beast of gigantic proportions, a terror to behold. One look at his menacing features was enough to fill many nightmares. The "Oh's" and "Ah's" of the crowd drowned out the barker's spiel. Nero paced his small ten by five foot traveling wagon, back and forth hypnotically, snarling and hissing menacingly each time he reached the end. The cage was fitted with steel bars on one side and one end to make NERO visible to the circus goers, a tease exhibit to encourage ticket sales. Thoroughly entranced by the unique ferocious beast, the young man stood and watched the animal's nervous pacing, forgetting his own personal mission.
Also on a personal mission, a dark haired girl about eighteen years of age, hurried along a path that would take her directly behind the young man. Absorbed in her own thoughts, she skipped blissfully along, her long bustled skirt swishing awkwardly with her rapid step. A number of gold bracelets covered her slender wrists, striking up a tinkling musical sound.
At the sight of the cat, the girl gasped in suprise; but the big animal having seen and heard the girl approach was crouched to spring. Tail lashing, NERO roared, bellowing primative rage. The sound of insane fury shot panic through the crowd. He lunged with explosive force, five hundred fifty pounds of muscle, fangs, and razor sharp claws, against the steel bars. The cage was strong, the best hardwood money could buy, specially built for large jungle cats; but the wood that held the steel bars in place, had seen many years of service. Although the condition of the wood was checked regularly for weakness, sometimes, wood appears good on the outside but underneath, it is rotton. Animals have been known to chew on the wood in a cage until the bars no longer hold. If Nero had been content to throw his weight against the bars just once, the cage would have withstood the battering. The sight of the pretty girl with the ornately feathered hat and noisy bracelets drove the lion into a frenzy. Two, three, four times, he launched his body like a battering ram against the bars set in the seasoned oak wood. The girl stood very still. Women began to scream, a small child started to cry, and the young man was immobilized, frozen like a statue. The fifth charge by the lion was to much for the rotton wood. It flew apart with a sickening crack and two bars broke free from the wood that secured them. A new door to NERO'S cage was open. As the cat scrambled to his feet again and crouched for the sixth time, somehow realizing that his cage could no longer hold him, the crowd stampeded hysterically in a hundred directions. In an instant, all that remained in front of the lion's cage, was the young man who seemed hypnotized, and the pretty girl directly behind him. In the two or three seconds it took the lion to fly through the air, the girl did the only thing she could. She threw her body in one great leap, against the boy, from behind. The blow knocked him to the ground taking both girl and boy forward in a roll over and over, coating them with dirt. The lion soared over their heads, not being able to alter his angle of flight in mid air. As his front feet touched the solid ground, his long claws unsheathed grasping the earth, giving him enough traction to change his direction almost before his hind feet touched the ground behind him. He whipped around in a rage of insane fury, roaring loudly. Every hair of his bushy black mane was standing on end making him appear larger than he actually was. The volume and vibration of his roar at close range filled the two people crouching helplessly on the ground with terror. Nero began to slowly stalk toward his prey. His tail twitching furiously, step by step like a cat stalking a bird, Nero advanced. His lips rolled back exposing long yellow fangs strong enough to kill a water buffalo.
The young man seemed helpless. Having regained his feet, he could only stare at his advancing executioner. While the girl took a brave stand with him, partially shielding him with her body, she was no match for the beast. As Nero gathered his muscles for the kill, a lion tamer's whip snapped across his snout, from out of nowhere. Popping loudly, the whip broke the killing charge of the beast. The touch of the whip was merely the flick of a fly to an animal so strong, but it was a diversionary tactic well known to lion tamers. With one loud pop the blind rage of the lion was redirected. Nero turned to face his new enemy the lion tamer who quite easily, with whip and chair, maneuvered him into a nearby hastily gathered wagon. "Gee", the young man exhaled. It was not the sound of thanks of someone enjoying a miracle, but rather it was an exclamation that suggested, what a thrill!
"Cordini doesn't use a net. Dori could be killed." Before Mica could reply, Dori launched herself high into the air, spinning over 1-2-3 times, tucked tightly in a ball. Cordini swung out to catch her as she rotated, hanging by his knees. He grabbed her hands before she could unloosen the round knot her body had become, and made a good catch. Dori caught a rope that lowered her to the ground. Cordini was lowered triumphantly, from another rope. The audience went wild.
The decision was taken out of the bandmaster's hands when the girl, taking the bows with Cordini, saw the old lead elephant shuffling and rumbling listlessly at the tent opening. She let out a shriek. "Rhetha," she called, in the direction of the elephant herd. The call startled the audience and sent a convulsive jolt through the ancient mammoth. Immediately animated, Rhetha's large canopy ears perked sharply forward in a rigid listening attitude. She cocked her head to the side like a quizzical puppy, as though she was thinking, trying to remember something. A questioning rumble, like the small beginnings of a volcano, oozed from her throat. The audience waited, absorbed in the human drama before them. The girl sprang forward and broke the spell. As the silver elephant focused on the movement, she came to life and wheeled her ponderous bulk in the direction of the girl. She thundered forth, four tons on a collision course with the girl; sending before her an ear shattering trumpet, "rah-ruu-chtra." It was a horn like roar that split through the eardrum like a knife. Keeping pace behind Rhetha, fourteen elephants of different sizes, followed her lead, as they always did, pounding along like army tanks.
At about six feet before impact during an all out run, the girl, using a small performing trampoline as a spring base, lept with a bounce, straight up in the air. Her body took off, as though she had been shot from a cannon, into the path of the lead elephant. In unison, moans of despair rose up from the audience. Cries of "God help her," and "Oh my," and "Look out," were heard. Rhetha's trunk snaked up and to the side, like a bat to strike the girl in the air. But instead, before everyone's startled gaze, her trunk swung out and caught the full weight of the girl. Like a dandelion seed is floated gently to the ground by the wind, the big elephant clutched the girl's body and drew it gently to her broad face. The girl's face was streaked with tears of happiness. A good many people watching this strange turn of events, first the fear and now the tenderness between the elephant and the girl, were overwhelmed with emotion.
There is a difference between an animal repeating a learned trick and an animal that wants to perform. The elephants began a performance of inspiration. The kind of phantasm, a person is lucky to see once in a lifetime. As if hooked together by wires, in perfect unison, the elephants wheeled. They sat on their performing stools, laid down, rolled over, and sat on each other's laps. They danced to a waltz tune and stood together as a living pyramid. And in rapid percision, they stood first on their hind legs and then did hand stands on their fore legs. All the while, the girl directed the performance from Rhetha's back. As a grand finale, the girl lined the elephants up to depart the ring. With a wave of her arm, like a band leader, she signaled for each elephant to stand up and trumpet. Only instead of it being a shrill sound, each elephant produced a melodious note, and one after another, the next harmonized with the last. As the reverberation of sounds combined, it became a weird and wonderful music. The fifteenth and last note came from Rhetha, who with the others stood on her two hind feet as she contributed her note to the haunting harmony.
"The Elephant Choir," Solly whispered in a hushed and reverent tone.
"An old roustabout named Herman, found a small wooden basket after the show. It was partially concealed under a grandstand seat near the edge of the tent, and a baby was sleeping in it. As Herman was taking the seats apart he found the basket. Now, I know whoever left it there wanted it found. At the time, at first look see, we thought it was food someone had carried into the show and forgotten. After the baby started to cry, our next conclusion was that someone forgot their own sleeping infant in their hurry to get home, with the rain and all.
"I sent a runner to town to the constable's office. I would have sent the baby but it was pouring sheets of rain and the roads were muddy quagmires. With those conditions, horse travel was slow and miserable. I took the baby into my wagon to wait. The baby was perfectly formed and obviously cared for. There were no clothes on her, but from the look of her round body, she had been much loved by somebody. There was an unusual mark of pigment, on her left shoulder. At first I thought it was a tatoo. It was a small mark, not ugly but strange. Sometimes it formed an image, like an animal, well, different things. Maybe who ever looked at it saw something different, from their own mind. I don't know. It's kind of funny but your mother, who loved all the circus children, wouldn't touch the baby.
"Sergeant Manfreid was aware of my plans to move the big circus wagons all night on our way to Regina, a town just over the border, forty five miles south. He had visited the circus lot everday for the three days we had been in town. He had shown me a real liking for our way of life. Part of the attraction, I'm sure, was the animals and the variety of people he saw. Of course the performing thrills were more excitement than he could experience in years of enforcing the law across the miles of trackless uncivilized territory he patrolled. I knew I could count on him to return the baby.
"One look in the basket and Sergeant Manfreid said a single word, 'Gypsies.' The look on my face must have been one of utter confusion because the Sergeant began unwrapping the baby. Off the baby's head came the blanket, exposing a tiny rosebud mouth and little ears with gold ring earrings in them. Hidden in the folds of the blanket, under the baby's head, was a very thin gold necklace. The fragile golden chain had eight precious stones attached to it. There were four red rubies on the chain interspersed with four black pearls. 'There, the Sergeant said, gypsies, what did I tell you. Black and red are good luck colors to the gypsies.'
"Gypsies, good I thought. I was glad he was so positive. Now will you take the baby back home?, I asked the Sergeant.
'No where to take it,' the Sergeant replied. 'It's here because someone is trying to give it a second chance. Something is wrong with the baby. It's crippled most likely. An imperfect baby is cast out of the clan, ostracized. It is a harsh act and usually in itself a death sentence. Before we brought the law to the NorthWest Territories a gypsy baby, if imperfect or marked at birth, would never draw the breath of life. It was one of the duties of the midwife.' The distaste for such cruelty, could be seen on his face.
"Surely, a woman will claim her own baby, I said."
"Emphatically the mountie said, 'No sir, the woman cannot. Either way, she has accepted the loss of the baby. She is hoping against hope, someone in the circus will take her as their own.'
'My wife is an Indian sir. In some ways the indians are more superstitious than the gypsies. My wife would feel compelled to walk a thousand miles to return this baby to its people. Otherwise, the spirit represented in the birthmark would not have the power to fulfill it's destiny. My wife couldn't raise this child as her own. She believes a child with a birthmark has a special power, a special gift. Believe me, the gypsy woman would not have the opportunity to give the baby away a second time. Take her with you sir, give her a chance.'
"Tim O'Donnelly, my bull tender at the time, an Irish fellow, solved a part of my problem. I didn't have many elephants at the time, maybe five. There were a couple young ones I hoped to put into some kind of act one day, two old rejects from bankrupt shows that I couldn't stand to see sold for dog food. I kept them for heavy hauling, and one big old gentle female, the leader. The baby was whimpering continuously from hunger. Her cries were no longer lusty, but had a morbid nerve wracking regularity. She was hungry and I couldn't help her. I could give her water but she needed milk. So I sat and rocked her and rocked her. I was exhausted. Tim appeared at my door, unbidden. He was in a good mood and he was, from what I could tell, sober. Whiskey and Tim were usually constant companions. He said to me as I opened the door, 'I'll gee the lil type a wee bit te eat ferye, what's all she craves guv.' I was to disoriented from fatigue to care and did not resist as he pried the little straining bundle from my hands. I could hear him chattering baby talk to her as he headed toward the bull house. I fell asleep almost immediately and must have slept several hours. When I woke up the baby was sound asleep in the corner. Her face was covered with gooey milk residue. Before I could clear my head of sleepiness, Tim opened the wagon door quietly and tip toed into the room. When he saw me awake, he was full of apologies. 'Sorry guv, I thought you was resting or I would rap. Aint real good at mopping the lil nipper, I aint,' he said sheepishly. 'Guv, the wee nipper's been hungry every hour til she got her fill. If I could keep her with me at the bull house, then your missus could move back where she belongs. We all feel real bad about you being alone. Besides, younguns is what I'm good at. I raised up seven girls of me own after me missus died.'
Tim kept on petioning me to release the baby into his custody. I was suprized by the unexpected turn of events. A few hours earlier, I had problems I could not solve. Standing before me was a wizened Leprecan, an animal trainer who was able to handle the crisis. I felt compelled to find out if he had any Irish superstitions that would influence his feelings toward the baby. I asked him if he thought the baby was cursed. 'No sir,' he replied. 'A sweet nipper like that aint cursed.'
"I was overjoyed. Take her to the bull house with you, I told him. I am placing her in your care and I will hold you responsible for her well being. Take whatever you need from the supply wagon. I want to know daily, how she is doing. Oh and Tim, no more whiskey for you. Whiskey and babies don't mix.
"Tim began a frenzy of pleading. 'Don't be mad guv. At first the big beast would let me milk her. Now the only way to get any milk is to let Dori suck. She found the milk herself, guv, honest, I swear.' When I rediscovered my tongue, I wanted to calm Tim's fears but all I could do was soosh him with a wave of my arm to be quiet so I could watch the drama before me. Once he stopped explaining, we both stood and watched the mother caring for her child. Elephants can be incredibly gentle. When the baby was full, the trunk that was holding her upright curled around her middle and lifted her up toward the big elephant's face where Dori straddled the trunk and held on to loose folds of skin. Rhetha carried Dori to her bed in the corner which was a large wooden box full of quilts. The elephant gently laid the baby in the box and pulled a cover over her. She stood near the box caressing her with her trunk and, if you can imagine it, cooing to her. Dori dropped off to sleep quickly and Rhetha tucked the blanket around the baby before she ambled off to resume munching hay. Dori wasn't as deprived as I thought she was. She knew what it was to have a mother.
"And you know, as strange as it sounds, many times after that day, when I looked at Dori's birthmark, I imagined I could see an elephant." ...

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