Elephant Talks to God (3 page)

The elephant liked the silence.

Without the chatter of the day, his mind could pause and rest. Or he could travel across those boundaries that he would never reach in a lifetime.

Or, sometimes, he could do both together. He could slip down that avenue that a quiet mind revealed, and enter those worlds which collide with reality. Not exactly sleep. Not exactly dream.

“A hinterland.”

“Yes,” agreed the elephant.

“And yours alone.”

“Is that true?” asked the elephant.

“Yes.”

“Except for you,” pointed out the elephant.

“In a way, even I come here only at your invitation.”

“How is that?”

“In a way, you are the one who creates this place.”

“But I plan nothing.”

“Let's say that you plan to plan nothing.”

“If I'm not in control,” the elephant was confused, “how can I create anything?”

“Through the knowledge you have accumulated. The unique and peculiar arrangement of these pieces in this place come from your life force.”

“Surely, when I'm nearest to sleep, I am furthest from active life.”

“But closest to the meaning.”

“If that is true,” said the elephant, “then it does not carry well.”

“Meaning is not a portion to be carried. It is the container.”

“And it disappears when I'm awake?”

“When you function as a part of life then you are aware only of the other parts. Your time is consumed by them.”

“But not here?”

“Here — all is equal. Here — you can go further.”

“Where sense does not make sense.”

“‘We are such stuff as dreams are made on.'”

“You always get the best lines,” said the elephant.

“That's the prerogative of the Creator.”

And the elephant smiled and nodded and sometimes opened his eyes and sometimes did not. And sometimes tried to touch the vapours and sometimes tried to sing the dreams. And as he sometimes nodded and smiled and as he watched with open eyes or closed, he was as weightless as his beloved butterflies.

And as free.

He danced the memories of all the dances he had ever seen.

And God beat time.

The elephant was enjoying the beautiful morning.

The jungle was cool and crisp, the leaves and grasses choice and moist. He grabbed at the wonderful feast with his trunk and chewed contentedly as he looked at the other animals around him. They also seemed aware that the morning was a special gift and stood happily in their places wadding the bounty into their mouths with little noise. Even the monkeys sounded relaxed as they bounded through the branches with no hint of alarm in their calls. It was while the elephant watched a particularly playful group of monkeys that he saw the distinct, thick cloud move across the clear sky. It seemed to settle heavily in the air and begin its slow descent right over his head.

“Well,” said the cloud.

“Well,” agreed the elephant.

“Are you enjoying your meal?” asked the cloud.

“Yes,” said the elephant.

“Good,” said God.

“It's been a long time since we spoke,” said the elephant.

“There are no ends to the continuum,” answered the cloud. “You perceive what you think you see.”

“Heavy thoughts for so early in the morning,” commented the elephant. “They might disturb my digestion.” He chewed extra carefully to prove his point.

“You're a heavy fellow,” responded the cloud. “I think you can handle it.”

“Older but wiser?” asked the elephant.

“Where I come from,” said the cloud, weighting down some of the tastier branches to within the elephant's reach, “never the former. Always the latter.”

The elephant was not oblivious to the Christmas season. There were carols at the mission and incongruous baubles hanging from the large banana tree inside the walled yard. He thought that this year he would pay his respects and journeyed half a day until he reached the special clearing. A cloud waited for him.

“It's your s … son's birthday and … and …,” the elephant stumbled over his words. No matter how many times he talked to God, he could not overcome his shyness. “… I want to congratulate him.”

“Thank you.” The cloud descended further. “For those who believe, it is a grand time. For those who take advantage, they get their reward on earth.”

“That sounds like something out of the Bible,” said the elephant.

God laughed. “I thought you couldn't read the Bible.”

“I can't.” The elephant felt better. “You see, there's a couple of new missionaries come to the village. They're
Jehovah's Witnesses, and they take turns reading the Bible to each other. They've gone through it once and are starting again. I like that part, but some of the other things they say I don't understand at all.”

“Neither do I,” said the cloud.

“You mean they're lying?”

“No, not really. They mean well enough, but they expect to know everything.”

“They're not much for Christmas,” said the elephant.

“They mistake what they see for the meaning.”

“It helps to see,” insisted the elephant.

“Sure it helps,” said God. “But the real belief is without seeing.”

“You sent your son for us to see.”

“I'm not above helping you a bit.”

“Things are still pretty hard,” said the elephant.

“That's life.”

“God, you can be annoying.”

“I know.”

The elephant stood, annoyed, blowing dust over himself for a few minutes until he felt some raindrops. He looked up at the cloud.

“I'm waiting.”

“Waiting?” asked the elephant.

“For the kicker,” said God. “The Witnesses have you fired up.”

“I want to see you,” said the elephant, and the words raced from his mouth. “I don't have to see you, you know that. I've believed even before you talked to me. But I want to see you; it would mean so much. I wasn't around for the Baby, but cows and sheep and things got to see Him. I can't explain but it would …”

“Go home,” said the cloud.

“You're not angry with me?” said the elephant.

“No.” The cloud started moving away. “It's an honest request.” The rain stopped falling.

“Thank you for coming.”

“You're welcome,” said the elephant.

“Sing some carols,” the voice was distant. “I like them.”

The elephant turned and started through the woods. He ignored the tasty leaves within easy reach and the rich grass near the brook. He wanted to get home as quickly as possible so he could join the singing he knew was happening later in the evening.

He trotted along the trail, snapping a branch here and there in his haste, when he noted the stillness, the hush which had overtaken the forest. He slowed down and then stopped in his tracks. He turned his head, his small eyes squinting into the brush. There was movement coming toward him, and when the trees parted, he went to his knees with a gasp. Tears rolled from his eyes, and they were gently wiped away.

The elephant was thinking about the past.

It was not an exercise he often performed, but when he did, he did so with concentration and fervour.

He would wander off by himself, and in whichever secluded spot he chose, he would pace back and forth, utilizing the full extent allowed by the lay of the land.

This time he had come to the foothills of the mountains, and he walked along the winding track which followed the contours at its base. With head down, and few glances to left or right, he tramped the trail, oblivious to his surroundings.

This erratic terrain suited his purpose, for he wished to move slowly and carefully. He didn't mind the occasional dip, the occasional hillock, or the occasional rock slide. His powerful stride took him up and down with ease.

It was while he was atop one of the more rocky promontories that he noticed the cloud. Although it was the first time he actually saw it, he now realized a slight
shadow had been preceding him for quite some distance. It had been sliding along the face of the mountain though never falling directly upon him or the path.

He thought about ignoring it, but then realized, with some suddenness, that he wanted to talk.

“How long have you been there?” asked the elephant.

“I'm eternal,” said God. “What a question.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Considering your ponderings about the past, I thought it an appropriate comment.” The cloud slid down the side of the hill and came over the elephant's head. “I also thought that you wanted to be alone with your memories. That no longer seems the case.”

“Why memories?”

“Pardon me?”

“Why have you given us memories?” The elephant sighed. “They can be quite a trouble.”

“For someone who so often blunders into trouble, you seem unduly concerned about avoiding it.”

“Cause and effect,” suggested the elephant.

“Perhaps . . . but in which direction?” The cloud paused as the elephant turned to start back along the secluded trail. “As to your question. If you didn't possess memory, you'd spend the better part of each day hunting for the watering hole.”

“Those aren't the memories I mean.”

“No, they wouldn't be.” The cloud threw a huge
shadow in front of the elephant, making him stop. “You would appreciate knowing the position of the watering hole if you were thirsty enough.”

“I'd be thirsty,” admitted the elephant. “But I wouldn't be sad. The memories I'm talking about make me sad.”

“SIGH ,” sighed the cloud, as it gathered the shadow back into itself. “I suppose you aren't going to consider the happy ones.”

“Not today.”

“Some other time?”

“Perhaps.”

“So this trip down memory lane will concentrate on the road not travelled?”

“In large part,” admitted the elephant. “I do often wonder about what might have been.”

“Then let's continue on our way,” said God. “You may as well reminisce and get your exercise.”

The elephant quickened his pace and soon a flurry of stone and gravel was tumbling down the slope. He didn't know if he wanted to discuss some particular memory which was hurtful or the general feeling of loss which seemed to be enveloping him.

“Let's talk specifics,” suggested God.

“Why?” asked the startled elephant.

“Because added together they become the whole. We eventually deal with everything.”

“Killing two birds with one stone?”

“Don't let the birds hear you.”

“Oops.” The elephant made a hasty sweep of the sky. “Sorry about that.”

“I'm sure you'll remember for the next time.”

“Is that a dig?”

“A gentle prod.”

“Practical application aside.” The elephant began warming up to his topic. “Memory tosses us a lot of misery and bad times.”

“It tosses you as much of the opposite.”

“Is this going to be one of your ‘can't have one without the other' speeches?”

“It is a simple, yet all-pervasive, concept which you fail to grasp.”

“To every thing there is a season,” suggested the elephant.

“Yes.”

“Well, this is my time to be sad.”

“A time to cast away stones,” pointed out God. “And a time to gather stones together.” The cloud shifted. “I don't ask you to ignore the sad times and certainly not to forget them. But, the weight of their importance is always tempered by the happiness which comes before and after.”

“SIGH.” The big beast stopped walking. “It's not as if I wallow in these memories.”

“You're an elephant.” The cloud rose with an abrupt finality. “Sometimes, that
is
what you do.”

The elephant rolled disconsolately in the dust, covering himself in a fine powder.

He snorted and mumbled through his trunk, and a dust cloud settled over him like a canopy. He sighed and coughed and rubbed his knees into the dirt.

“I'm bored,” he said.

“How can you be bored in this?” The dust cloud helped rub the irritants out of the elephant's skin. “This is pleasant.”

“It's the same old thing,” said the elephant. “Foraging and eating and dust baths and jungle.” He flopped onto his other side, making the dust cloud rise into the air. “I want something different.”

“Such as?”

“Not any particular thing,” said the elephant. “Just something else. Something which I don't have.”

“That's rather unfocused,” said God.

“Well. It's rather difficult to be focused in this.” The elephant coughed to prove his point.

“With your imagination,” the dust cloud said as it stirred itself into the dark of night, “if you can't create the things you want, perhaps you don't deserve them.”

“That's easy for the Creator to say.”

“Hmmm.”

The Creator in question suddenly settled all the dust at the elephant's feet.

“Look around you. There the sun rises and there the sun sets. That way are the mountains, that way is the sea. Every river, every grassland, every tree, and every path is teeming with life and adventure. And the promise of something you have never experienced before.”

“Your point?” asked the elephant.

“Your move,” said God.

The elephant was trying to fly.

The butterfly was trying to help.

Which made an interesting spectacle, if one is prone to the appreciation of the absurd. Or, come to think of it, it makes an intriguing scene regardless, for a cloud soon came drifting from the southwest and unobtrusively stopped at a corner of the clearing.