Chapter 6 — Where Old Elephants Rest

The white pickup truck covered in red road dust stopped in front of the camp gate at exactly nine o'clock in the morning, neither a minute early nor a minute late. Ha Lam, rolling up his sleeves in the middle of cleaning the barn, looked out and saw a man getting out of the car, tall, with tanned skin like someone used to working outdoors, wearing a picnic jacket with many pockets, carrying a metal suitcase containing medical equipment.

"Hello, I'm Giang Tuan Khoi, from the Vietnamese Elephant Conservation Fund," he introduced himself, his voice calm, shaking her hand professionally, neither too polite nor cold. "I came to survey the care conditions according to the appointment scheduled with you via email."

"Hello, I'm Ha Lam." She replied, trying to keep her voice polite even though she was still a little wary. After everything that had happened over the past two weeks — her father hospitalized, Hoang Kim's pressure, family secrets looming — she didn't have much energy left to be welcoming to a stranger who came here just to "assess" whether her camp was worthy of help or not.

Tuan Khoi, seemingly sensing the reserve in her attitude, did not try to break it with meaningless gossip. He simply asked, "Can you show me around the barn and the elephants? I want to get started right away, so as not to waste your time."

That directness made Ha Lam a bit surprised - she had prepared herself for a long conversation, possibly accompanied by a few probing or judgmental questions, but Tuan Khoi went straight to work like a person who only cares about the nature of the problem, not caring about unnecessary social formalities.

She led him to the elephant field, introducing each animal in turn: Sao Mai was standing near the stream, Mun was resting under the shade of a tree with her front leg slightly bent due to joint pain, May saw the stranger and immediately backed away, leaning close to Vang as if looking for support.

Tuan Khoi observed very carefully, not hastily making any comments. He took out his notebook to take notes, occasionally stopping to observe the gait, standing style, skin condition and toenails of each elephant, asking a few short but to the point questions about diet, disease history, water source, and area of exercise.

"This Mun, can you let me take a closer look at its front legs?" he asked, his voice professional but not cold.

Ha Lam called Bay Kinh to assist, and the two of them led Mun to a closer approach area for Tuan Khoi to examine. He knelt down, carefully palpating his leg joints, examining every inch of skin around the old scar left by the chain. His face flashed with something indescribable — not quite simple pity, but more like a deep sympathy mixed with anger that had been restrained as a professional habit.

"This scar leaves behind thick scar tissue that compresses the nerves, which is why he limps," he explained, standing up and brushing his hands off. "Not life-threatening, but requires more frequent physical therapy, and may consider adding glucosamine to the diet for joint support."

"We applied tobacco in the traditional way, but we didn't have the means to buy specialized supplements," Ha Lam said, with a bit of defensiveness in his voice, as if he was mentally preparing for a criticism.

But Tuan Khoi just nodded and wrote a few more lines. "The traditional tobacco compress you are doing is actually quite reasonable. Some types of forest leaves have natural anti-inflammatory properties. I will write it down in the report as an effective temporary measure under limited conditions. But in the long run, if there is funding, adding more will help Mun feel more comfortable."

The answer did not have a judgmental tone as she feared, making Ha Lam somewhat less tense. She continued to lead him through each other area of the camp — the food warehouse, the wastewater treatment area, the safety fence, the quarantine area for new or sick elephants — while Tuan Khoi remained calm, took meticulous notes, and occasionally asked questions, showing that he truly had a deep understanding of elephant behavior and physiological needs, not simply applying rigid textbook standards.

Near noon, when the two stopped to rest under the shade of an ancient banyan tree near the executive building, Xuan Mai brought out two glasses of cool water and a plate of grilled rice paper, placing them on the rustic wooden table.

"How long has Mr. Khoi worked for the conservation fund?" Xuan Mai, with her open and curious nature, does not hesitate to start a conversation.

"It's been five years," Tuan Khoi replied, taking a sip of water. "Before that, I worked as a veterinarian for several other wildlife sanctuaries, including elephants, rhinos, and tigers."

"So you must think that our camp is very small, compared to the big conservation areas," Xuan Mai said, her voice a bit self-deprecating.

Tuan Khoi shook his head, his eyes looked out towards the elephant field where Sao Mai was standing quietly under the shade of a tree. "Scale is not what I appreciate the most. I have seen very large conservation areas with huge investment, but the way animals are treated is still more of a performance mindset, serving visitors rather than actually being for the animal. But here," he paused for a moment, his eyes stopping on the image of Ha Lam standing next to Sao Mai, his hand placed on the elephant's body naturally as if it were a part of his own body, "I clearly see the real attachment, not acting for anyone. see."

That sentence, even though it was not directly said to Ha Lam, still made her hear it and feel something warm creeping into her heart, even though she still tried to keep a calm appearance, not revealing her emotions too clearly.

In the afternoon, Tuan Khoi continued his work of surveying and checking the medical records of each elephant that Ha Lam had carefully kept for many years, even though they were only handwritten notebooks and not professional electronic records. He seemed impressed by the meticulousness in her note-taking, despite her rudimentary means.

"Where did you learn how to take care of elephants?" he asked, flipping through the pages of his notes on the Morning Star.

"From my father," Ha Lam replied, her voice mixed with a bit of pride and a sadness that was hard to name. "He is a gru, an elephant tamer since he was young, learned from the M'nong people in Chu Rinh village at the foot of the mountain. But he is sick and can no longer work directly, so now everything is done by me and Mr. Bay Kinh."

Tuan Khoi nodded and did not ask anything more about Mr. Thach's illness, perhaps because he realized it was a sensitive topic. Instead, he asked about the camp's long-term plans, revenue sources, and specific difficulties that Ha Lam was facing in maintaining operations.

At the end of the day, when the sunlight turned to afternoon, Tuan Khoi closed the notebook and looked at Ha Lam with serious eyes. "I need a few more days to complete the full survey, is that okay? I want to observe more about the elephants' daily rhythms over many days, not just one session."

Ha Lam nodded, even though she was still a little uneasy, not knowing what the final result would be. "Okay, we have a spare room for guests to stay if you need it."

Bay Kinh, who had just finished leading Mun back to the barn, passed by and heard the story and chimed in with a rare cheerful voice. "Stay here, tonight I'll cook bitter eggplant and frog, a specialty of this region. Once you eat it, you'll remember it forever." He looked at Tuan Khoi from head toe with the searching eyes of an experienced person, then nodded, as if he had made his own assessment of this guest, completely different from Ha Lam's initial caution.

"Then I'll ask permission to bother you for a few days," Tuan Khoi smiled, the first smile he showed during his serious work day, making his normally calm face suddenly become much more friendly. "It's been a long time since I've had a chance to eat at home. I only eat at restaurants along the way on business trips."

That evening, around the simple tray of rice under the light of a temporary electric string light on the porch, the atmosphere was much more open than the reticence of the morning. Mr. Thach, although still weak, sat up to eat with everyone for a while, chatting with Tuan Khoi about old trips to the forest, and about how to distinguish the roar of an elephant signaling joy from the roar of warning of danger. Tuan Khoi listened attentively, occasionally asking questions, his eyes shining with genuine passion for folk tales that perhaps no veterinary book had ever taught him.

Ha Lam sat and watched from afar, seeing his father, for the first time in many weeks, seem happier and more lively when recounting old memories to someone who actually listened. She wondered if the appearance of this strange man not only brought hope for funding, but also reignited a bit of vitality in her father that he had not seen for a long time.

"Thank you," Tuan Khoi said, then added, his voice a little softer than the professionalism he maintained throughout the day, "I know you're worried about how I will judge you. But I want to tell you the truth, what I see here today, is much better than what I imagined before coming."

That sentence, simple but sincere, made part of the burden in Ha Lam's heart a little lighter. She looked towards Sao Mai standing quietly in the sunset, wondering if this strange man, with his meticulousness and heart for animals that she felt through every small gesture, could become a true ally in the fight to protect this place, or simply a guest who would leave after a few days and disappear from her life like so many others had.