Pandion remembered then that they had been forbidden to approach the compound bounded by the moat, and said no more, annoyed with himself for the mistake he had made. At that moment Kidogo called him; the Negro was in a long shed where several men were working. Pandion saw that it was a potter’s shop where potters were busy making big earthenware pots for grain and beer.
Kidogo could not retain himself… He took a big lump of moist, well-kneaded clay, squatted on his heels, lifted his eyes to the reed-thatched roof and then began modelling. His big strong hands longed to be back at their favourite work and his movements were full of confidence. Pandion watched his friend at work; the potters laughed amongst themselves but did not cease their work. The Negro’s competent hands slowly cut, squeezed and smoothed the soft clay until the formless mass began to take on the shape of the wide, sloping back with folds of skin hanging like sacks from the shoulders that are typical of the elephant. The potters soon ceased their chatter, left their pots and gathered around Kidogo, but the Negro was so engrossed in his work that he did not even notice them.
The thick legs stood firmly on the ground, the elephant had raised its head with its trunk extended in front of it. Kidogo found some twigs which he stuck fanwise into the clay and on this framework moulded the elephant’s ears, stretched like sails on either side. Exclamations of admiration burst from the lips of the watchers. One of the potters, unobserved, left the shed.
Kidogo was working on the animal’s hind-legs and did not notice that the throng of watchers had been joined by one of the chiefs, an old man with a long thin neck, a fleshy, hooked nose and a tiny grey beard. On the chief’s breast Pandion saw the gold chain of one of the chief elephant trainers.
In silence the old man watched Kidogo finish his work. Kidogo stood back and rubbed the clay off his hands, smiling and critically examining the model of an elephant a cubit high. The potters treated him to cries of admiration. The old chief raised his thick brows and the noise stopped immediately. He touched the wet clay like one who knew the business and then made a sign to Kidogo to come to him.
“I see you must be a great craftsman,” said the chief, giving his words great significance, “if you can do so easily something that not one of our men can do. Tell me, can you make a statue of a man and not only of an elephant?” And the chief tapped himself on the breast.
Kidogo shook his head. The chief’s face grew dark.
“But there’s a craftsman amongst us who is better than I, a craftsman from a distant northern country,” said Kidogo. “He can make your statue.” The Negro pointed at Pandion who was standing nearby.
The old man repeated his question to Pandion, who, seeing the imploring eyes of his friend, agreed.
“But I must tell you, chief,” said Pandion, “that in my country we make statues from soft stone or carve them from wood. I have neither tools nor stone here. I can only make your statue from this clay and up to here.” He passed his hand across his chest. “The clay will soon dry up and crack; your picture will last only a few days…”
The chief smiled.
“I want to see what the stranger craftsman can do,” he said. “And let our potters watch him.”
“All right, I’ll try,” answered Pandion. “But you must sit before me while I work.”
“What for?” asked the astonished chief. “Can’t you model the clay like he did?” And the old man pointed to Kidogo.
Pandion was put out by this and tried to find words to answer him.
“I just made an elephant,” put in Kidogo. “But you, who are a trainer of elephants, know that one elephant does not resemble another. Only a man who does not know them thinks that all elephants are alike.”
“You speak the truth,” the chief agreed. “I see immediately the soul of any elephant and I can forecast his behaviour.”
“That’s just it,” Kidogo took him up. “If I want to make a particular elephant, I must see him before my eyes. My friend’s the same; he’s not going to make just a man, he’s going to make you, and he must look at you while he’s working.”
“I understand,” said the old man. “Let your friend come to me during the afternoon siesta and I’ll sit before him.”
The chief went away and the potters placed the clay elephant on a bench where ever-increasing numbers of villagers came to admire it.
“Well, Pandion,” said Kidogo to his friend, “our fate is in your hands. If the chief is pleased with your statue, the Elephant People will help us…”
The young Hellene nodded his head and the two friends returned to their house, with a crowd of children close on their heels.
“Can you talk to me?” asked the chief, taking his place on a high and uncomfortable seat, while Pandion was hurriedly arranging the clay the potters had brought on a block of wood. “Will it interrupt your work?”
“I can, but I don’t know your language very well,” answered Pandion. “I shall not understand everything you say and must answer with few words.”
“Then call your friend, the man from the seaboard forests; let him stay here with you. I’ll soon get tired of sitting silent like an inarticulate monkey!”
Kidogo came and sat with his legs tucked up under him beside the chief’s chair, between Pandion and the old man. With the Negro’s help the chief and Pandion were able to converse quite freely. The chief asked Pandion about his country and his penetrating glance gave Pandion a feeling of confidence in the elephant trainer, a wise man who had seen much.
Pandion told the chief about his life in his own country, about Thessa, about his voyage to Crete, his slavery in Tha-Quem and his intention of returning home. As he spoke his fingers moulded the clay, and Kidogo translated what he said. The sculptor worked with unusual inspiration and persistence. The statue of the chief seemed to him to be a finger-post pointing to the haven of his native land. Memories of the past gave rise to impatience, and the enforced stay with the Elephant People already began to pall.
The old man sighed and began to fidget, apparently he was tired.
“Say something in your own language,” the chief suddenly asked.
“To ellnuiksou ellevthepoy!” exclaimed Pandion.
These were the words that his grandfather loved to repeat when he told the boy stories of famous Greek-heroes; they sounded strange when uttered in the heart of Africa.
“What did you say?” asked the chief.
Pandion explained that those words expressed the dream of all the people of his country — “Whatever is Hellenic is free!”
These words apparently gave the chief food for thought.. Kidogo mentioned discreetly to Pandion that the chief was tired and that what he had done would be enough for that day.
“Yes, that’s enough!” exclaimed the elephant trainer, raising his head. “Come tomorrow. How many days more will it take?”
“Three days,” said Pandion confidently, despite the signs of warning that Kidogo made to him.
“Three days, that’s not too much, I can bear that,” agreed the old man and rose from his seat.
Pandion and Kidogo covered the clay with a damp cloth and put it into a storeroom close to the chief’s house.
On the second day the two friends told the chief about Tha-Quem, its might and its colossal buildings. The old chief frowned, he was hurt by the stories of the people of Aigyptos, but still he listened with interest. When Pandion told him of the narrow, monotonous world of the Egyptians, the chief brightened up.
“Now it’s time you learned something about my people,” he said importantly. “You’ll take news of them to your own distant countries.”
The chief told the friends how they made use of the strength of the elephants to make long journeys throughout the country. The only danger that threatened them was the possibility of meeting herds of wild elephants; a tame elephant might, at any moment, decide to return to its wild brethren. But there were certain ways of preventing even that.