Bagus.

What you see on the t-shirt is the portrait just as I created it: an Asian elephant facing forward, with medium ears and not a single tusk — Bagus is a makhna, a tuskless bull, a natural thing among his kind — wearing the mustard corduroy shirt and the brown gentleman's waistcoat against a plain celadon-green background. Nothing else around him. It's the face of someone who doesn't rush for anything: patience made into an expression, the face of someone who knows fever has its own timing and that not even the most urgent errand gets better for being rushed.

There's something that rises up in Bagus without warning. He gets short-tempered, locks up the stall and disappears up the mountain for a few days, alone, with no more explanation than "I need some air." In his story he's the male who left the herd and lives apart, and that restlessness comes from his own kind, not from any sorrow; anyone who wants the rest of it can find it in his biography. A t-shirt of his suits anyone who also needs, every now and then, to close up and head off to nowhere in particular, just to come back better. Bagus returns on the fourth or fifth day, opens the stall and grinds the day's work as if he'd never left, just a little calmer.