Under the Marula Tree

Under The Marula Tree
“Over there, just to the right, about 50 yards. Do you see it?”
“Under the marula tree?” I asked.
“Yes, yes, that’s the one.”
The marula tree, I thought. With its straight trunk and distinct rounded crown. The tree that is only found here in the warm, frost-free regions of sub-equatorial Africa. A tree whose succulent fruit is enjoyed by many safari animals.
The old elephant was alone. Its wrinkled, creased, and crusted skin evidence of the inescapable African environment. Probably too slow to keep up with the herd.
“Do you see the spot, the crease of the ear. Aim for that spot.”
The old elephant raised its huge tusks off the savanna grass. Lifting its trunk upwards into the marula tree in search of the succulent, yellow skinned fruit.
“The elephants’ favorite fruit,” my hunting guide had told me.
“According to Zulu folklore, elephants will eat the fermented fruit until they get drunk. The folklore became so widespread, that the nickname for the marula tree quickly became the elephant tree.”
“That spot at the crease of the ear, will result in an instant kill. That spot leads directly to the brain.”
Looking at the old elephant, I turned to my guide, “how old?”
“Elephants can live to be over 100 years old, but I would guess this one’s around 80.”
Interesting, I thought, sad too. The old elephant and I were the same age. But there was one big difference. I was the one holding the fifty-caliber rifle with its 500 grain solid bullets.
“Are you going to take the shot? This is the last day of your hunting safari. You don’t want to go home empty handed.”
Yes, this was the last day of my personalized hunting safari. Hunting elephants in the South African brush. For the past three days, from sunup until sunset, bouncing over the harsh African terrain, in an old Jeep, in
search of the perfect “tusker.” That one gigantic tusker, the world’s largest land mammal, guaranteed to provide me with “the hunting experience of a lifetime.”
It was late June; the wet season was over. Everything was so green; wildflowers were in bloom. The marula tree was bursting with ripened fruit. But the old elephant looked tired. Age was catching up to him. He didn’t even look that interested in the tree’s fruit. Perhaps he was only there for the shade?
“Too late, you waited too long.”
The old elephant turned his back to us. He wasn’t ready just yet.
“Is he male or female?” I asked.
“Definitely a male.”
“How can you tell?”
“The size. Males are larger. And males have a larger and more rounded
forehead.”
“How come he’s alone?”
“Because his job is done.”
“Job? What job?”
“The older male elephant is a mentor to the young males in the herd.
The older males teach the younger males how to navigate the terrain, where to find water, food, actually how to survive.”
“Seems important. So why don’t they stay with the herd?”
“Well, the herd is female dominated. Once the young males have acquired important survival skills, their mentors are no longer needed, or welcomed.”
“So, they leave?”
“Well, wouldn’t you? No longer needed.”
I didn’t answer. But I understood. Suddenly, I understood how the old elephant felt. Alone, under the marula tree. No longer needed.
“Welcome to corporate America,” my younger sister said. Of course, she had tenure at a major university.
As for me. For 40 years with the company, I watched younger employees join the firm. Like the old male elephant, I mentored the young employees.
Training them in the skills they would need to succeed. Training them to one day replace me. I wasn’t ready to leave, to retire, but I had become redundant. I was no longer needed. And so, like the old elephant, I was
told to leave.
The old elephant turned. He was facing us. Could he see me, I wondered? Did he know we were both no longer needed?
“A straight head shot is very difficult. You should wait for him to turn.” But he didn’t turn. He just looked at us. Could he even see, I wondered? Perhaps his eyesight, like mine was fading. Macular degeneration, my
optometrist said. Nothing we can do.
“Does he ever rejoin the herd?” I asked
“No, never. But sometimes they’ll bond with other older males. But no, they’re not welcomed back to their original herd.”
“Jesus, that’s so sad,” I replied.
“Yes, and that’s why we only hunt the old bull elephants. They are no longer wanted, no longer useful.”
“So, we’re putting him out of his misery.”
“I guess that’s one way of looking at it.”
It certainly is, I thought. Out of his misery. I too wanted out of my misery. Shortly after I was let go, no longer needed, I thought about it. That night I held the full bottle of sleeping pills in my hand, thinking why
not. Like the old elephant. End it now. But I didn’t. Wrote a check for $60,000 to hunt old elephants instead.
Jesus, what was I thinking? Shooting old elephants! The old elephant slowly turned. He was sideways now. His big ear was flopping back and forth. The crease where the ear started was waiting for me.
“Now, shoot now.”
I raised the rifle and took aim. Through the scope I saw the crease. I also saw the eye of the elephant. He was looking at me. He knew what was coming. He looked like he was ready. His last offering would be for
me to have the “hunting experience of a lifetime.” Yes, that would give his life meaning. A trophy for me. Stories to tell my friends. How I brought down a majestic tusker. I turned to my guide. He was waiting for me to shoot.
“Did my check clear?” I asked.
“What?”
“My check for this hunt. My check to put this old elephant out of his misery?”
“Yes, of course it did.”
“Good,” I said, as I pulled the trigger.
The old elephant was startled. He let out a roar. So loud I thought. So majestic. The bullet logged in the trunk of the marula tree. The force was so great that the fruit rained down like a fierce storm in the African rain season.
The old elephant was almost out of sight now, but he turned and looked back. He was confused. Just like my guide. I stood up and started walking towards the marula tree.
“What the hell was that all about?” He asked.
“That, oh, that. I just wanted to try the fruit from the marula tree.”
“What?”
“Come on join me. Let’s get drunk.”