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53 Joy, the Elephant, Greenville Zoo, 1990 Her cage was the one at the top of the hill: pool dirty with upcountry clay, two tires scattered in dust, a few blocks of hay to keep the ground from running when it rained.Thick-skinned and dry, beast which Aristotle wrote passeth all others in wit and mind, accompanied the lonely river my grandmother walked with my brother and me some Saturdays. She danced by herself in the rise and fall of a one-two-three, the drag of her feet, her heavy trunk and tusks in the afternoon. In the mail years later, my grandmother wrote that Joy had died: a newspaper photograph showed her gait, her widening eyes. She looked quite weightless, as I remember, a sort of waltz in her thighs. ...

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