Fable of Contents
One writer is tasked with symbiotically integrating all the stories and characters in this issue of FORTH.

Short Fiction by Sophie Kipner

In his dusty office turned makeshift crime lab in downtown LA, amateur crime detective Morton Forthston squints to read the fine print through his grandfather’s magnifying glass in a room too dimly lit. Anonymously delivered by carrier pigeons through his apartment window on 7th and Grand, the three white, origami-folded notes that lie in his hands are sealed with the acronym, ACNAIB. He opens each to find a clue: the first written in magic marker, “Billy.” The second had come a few days later: “Bianca;” the last, “Noah.” Believing in circumstance over coincidence, he knows he is on to something, although he’s not quite sure what.

On this quiet Sunday night, Morton is a rarity. He will wake up tomorrow—unlike his co-inhabitants—remembering what he did the night before. Thankful for his severe allergy to marijuana, he is one of few locals unaffected by the rampant, widespread epidemic of memory loss plaguing the city since the drug’s legalization five years ago. After failing attempts to interact with the public, he found no use in trying, as everything he said had to be explained. And then, explained all over again. Left happily to entertain himself with matters of importance, like crime solving, the modern day Francois Vidocq, a real life Sherlock Holmes, assigns himself to investigate the correlation between the high turnaround of caged Asian elephants at the Los Angeles Zoo and the increasing rates of amnesia among the middle to lower socio-economic classes. Perplexed for some time by the lower rates of memory loss among the rich, Morton would take his curiosities with him during his day job, driving cars full of tourists around LA in a Pink Bus, filled to the brim with artwork made of recycled trash. On one of his routine stops a few weeks ago at the LA Zoo, he noticed a change in the elephants on display. Each visit, despite the signs that indicated the residency of a lone Asian elephant by the name of Billy, each trunk, tusk and ear was different.

The connection presents itself: Billy the elephant is anonymous note #1. One sign down; two to go.
Relieved and equally pleased with himself for solving the first clue, Morton walks with an extra hop in his step into the kitchen and turns on the television while the kettle begins to boil. The news reporters repeat the statistics, continuing to instill fear and confuse the people, just as they did yesterday to an audience who has no doubt already forgotten. Nonetheless, the people keep smoking, as is the case with tobacco, and the severity of the amnesia’s effect increases by the minute. Special Report appears across the television screen as District Attorney Steve Cooley stands at a podium next to Mayor Villarigosa, advocating the benefits of marijuana both physiologically and psychologically. Being one of the few people listening who would remember that both opposed the bill at their inauguration, a confused Morton starts to thread cause with effect. What would benefit city councilmen by legitimizing a drug that caused memory loss? Reconciling them, he hypothesizes that lying government officials, high turnover of imported elephants, and an amnesia epidemic all point to a childhood saying encapsulating it all: An elephant never forgets.

Monday morning’s sun rises and Morton heads to the zoo. En route, he hears a report on the radio about Truckers Against Elephant Trafficking, in which they interview a local artist and animal rights activist, Bianca Kolonusz-Partee. As he walks in through the Zoo gates, he bumps serendipitously into a half-naked man with ACNAIB indelibly written across his ribcage. Out of character, he asks the man what it means. The man lifts his pensive eyes to meet Morton’s, takes a moment to collect his answer and then tells him it’s the name of a loved one written backwards so his heart can read it. Morton imagines crawling inside the man’s lonely ribcage and from the inside, next to his heart, he sees the name: Bianca. Connecting the dots, he crosses sign #2 off his invisible list, although he’s now faced with having to find her.

His favorite crime thriller writer, Louis Bayard, is giving a talk tonight on his new book, The School of Night, at The Lawrence Asher Gallery in Beverly Hills. He heard Louis is one of the few unaffected by amnesia, but either way, it’s worth the risk; Louis wouldn’t forget what’s already been written. At the gallery, whilst looking at himself in a mirror, he notices ACNAIB reflecting from behind him, barely in view. Turning around in haste, he walks over to a visually arresting installation piece—a featured landscape made from colored pencils, product packaging, adhesives and map tacks, to find none other than Bianca Kolonusz-Partee’s signature on the bottom right-hand corner. He finds the artist in the crowd and explains the series of events that have led him here, to be standing right in front of her. Bianca discloses what she believes to be the cause he’s been searching for. As it turns out, Cooley is allegedly behind an elephant saliva-trafficking scam, pocketing more money than what he could get if the laws were reversed. “The natural laws of supply and demand,” she explains. The room is now redolent of weed as the two share notes, trying not to breathe in too much.

Morton quickly learns the following key facts: the city has been covertly selling elephant memory on the black-market for an audacious fee. Cooley has been using the zoo as a cover for trafficking these elephants into the city, exploiting and disposing of them one by one. Billy, the longest-lasting elephant to date, has proven to be a valuable resource as his memory depletes at snail’s pace in comparison. Affluent customers are told through the grapevine that rubbing fresh Elephant saliva in a slow, circular motion on one’s head cures amnesia. Sold as “Elephant Ram juice,” the cellular components in the saliva are believed to stimulate the hippocampus; the fastest route for absorption being through the head.

Outraged by the sexual nature with which the “Elephant Ram Juice” is extracted and applied, Bianca and Morton jump in the Pink Bus and head towards the zoo. Picking up more trash along the way, Bianca assembles scraps, wrappers and tin into artwork in the back. After summoning help from all the members of Truckers Against Elephant Trafficking, support was not light. Hundreds of 18-wheelers begin to break through the locked gates at the zoo to rescue the tortured animals. Witnessing the act as each long-necked giraffe, cuddly wombat, hissing hyena and kind-eyed elephant cram into the trucks, Morton realizes he’s stumbled upon sign #3: Noah. Smiling richly like the Cheshire Cat, he dusts off his hands as a bona-fide crime detective.

The next morning, as the smog settles once again along the LA skyline, the unsuspecting zookeepers arrive to find thousands of art installations in each cage, where Billy and his friends stood just hours before. Each statue magnificently sculpted and poised as if it were the animal itself. Looking in awe at a sea of energetic, bright colors, decoupaged fabrics on wood and bedazzled eyes of rhinestone, the zookeepers and visitors notice nothing out of the ordinary, simply because they couldn’t remember the difference.