Let’s imagine this imaginary scenario (probably not that imaginary): Have we given away something that we have previously received as a gift? When we find ourselves in this situation, have we “regifted” with best intentions of pleasing the recipient? Or, does getting rid of something we don’t care about carry more weight in the giveaway action?
This reflection would have crossed the mind of the Portuguese King John III in the mid-Sixteenth Century when, in an effort to please his cousin, Archduke Maximilian of Austria, he decided to give him a wedding present worthy of his royal stature. Such offering would come in the form of an elephant that the king himself would have received a couple of years before from India.
The adventures of Salomon, the elephant, and Subhro, his mahout (caretaker), would end up being brilliantly described thanks to the sagacious narrative of Jose Saramago (Nobel Prize 1998). In this novel, Saramago describes the multiple inconveniences that locals and strangers must deal with when transferring the “gift” from Portuguese lands to the frozen Austrian latitudes.
The convoy that was to pass through Valladolid, Spain, and several cities in Italy, produces all kinds of reactions (some extreme) by the inhabitants of the visited communities who, in the face of the imposing presence of the pachyderm, they would bend their convictions to the point of assigning the elephant an almost divine assessment.
Saramago’s writing is unique, free of grammatical rules and without fear of offending some creeds (the church’s, for example). I admire how he describes the personality of Subhro, the elephant’s mahout, an opinionated caretaker who is completely alien to the local traditions. The fact that he was eventually renamed Fritz, despite being described as illiterate, shows an enviable clarity when expressing his convictions about life, much beyond the mundane care and transportation of the enormous animal to its destination.
For this reason, I conclude this review by paying tribute to one of Subhro’s brilliant reflections: “It is not me who plays with words, it is words that play with me”. Yes, that’s classy!
