Elephant Talks to God (6 page)

“You've just summed up life in a nutshell,” said God.

The elephant was kneeling on the bank of the river with an envelope of butterflies circling his head, nattering and chattering into his big ears.

They were giving him instructions.

And the elephant dutifully twisted in this direction and that, attempting to take their advice. But, when he moved his ears to try and hear more clearly, the air current which he created caused half of his audience to tumble away.

It was in the midst of one of these mass agitations that he noticed a boulder leaning quizzically in his direction.

“Excuse me,” said the elephant, causing even more butterflies to scatter on the wind. “I …,” he pointed with his trunk. “I have to go and talk to the … er … boulder.”

Which he did, as he lumbered to his feet in a final flurry of butterflies.

“Hello,” said the elephant.

“Hello,” said the boulder.

“A more functional form?” asked the elephant, pointing to the pitted and pocked boulder.

“No,” said God. “Safety.”

“Pardon me?”

“I learned from the butterflies.” The boulder paused as the last few fluttered away. “I figured if I got too close to you as a cloud, I'd be blown away too. On the breezes.”

“They were trying to show me . . .” The elephant felt foolish and took a drink of water. He hiccuped slightly as he wiped his trunk against his ear.

“Yes?”

“They were teaching me to make pots.”

“Pots?”

“Or at least they thought they were.” He lowered his voice. “Between you and me, they're not very good with clay.”

“Pots.”

“Yes.” The elephant was slightly exasperated. “Earthen vessels. Ceramic containers. Hollowed out and hardened objects which function as —”

“I'm God,” said God. “I do know what pots are and how they are used.” The boulder paused in memory. “Watching the evolution of such knowledge was exhilarating. And when there were enough to drink from and carry things in, the beauty created . . . It can be amazing.”

“Sorry,” said the elephant.

“It wasn't the pot which surprised me.” The boulder lowered its voice. “Quite frankly, you don't need pots.”

“But I —”

“Look at your trunk,” said the boulder with enthusiasm. “You tug what you need, carry what you need, siphon what you need.”

“But the —”

“A more functional organ of dexterity you won't find.”

“But I stepped in this clay, along the riverbank,” explained the elephant, his words racing like the current. “In fact, my feet got stuck in it, and I had the devil's own time getting out.” The elephant stuttered, and stopped. “Excuse me. No offence meant.”

“No offence taken,” said the boulder. “I readily accept that the devil has feet of clay.”

“In fact,” He held up one front foot, and then the other. “I still haven't got it from under my toenails.”

“Slosh them around in the water. It will come out.” The boulder stifled a chuckle. “But watch where you balance.

Topple in my direction and thousands of years of durability might turn into pebbles.”

“I could use them to decorate my pots,” suggested the elephant.

“We're back to the pots.” God watched the elephant wash his feet. “Be careful, or you'll flood me instead of flattening me.”

“Sorry.”

“So. Though I do hesitate to ask — and have done my best to avoid it — tell me about the pots.”

“I got stuck in the clay, and the butterflies watched me get out — and not without laughing a lot, either. And then they suggested we make some pots.”

“We?”

“The butterflies and me.”

The elephant finished rubbing his back left foot against his front right leg and walked carefully over to the boulder.

“They suggested shapes and patterns and sizes. Then they described how they could use their wings to help me dry the pots in the sun.” The elephant looked cautiously into the sky and lowered his voice. “But they weren't much help with the practical matters.” He came even closer to the boulder. “I mean, have you ever tried to form a porcelain jug with a trunk and two tusks?”

“You need quartz to make porcelain,” noted the boulder.

“That's what I told them,” said the elephant. “But they had this dream of a translucent container.” The elephant sighed in disbelief. “And the handle . . . well, the handle they wanted was just impossible.”

“But you were going to try.”

“Oh, yes.” The elephant laughed and pointed to the tops of the surrounding trees. “They're all waiting up there, and we'll probably go at it again once you leave.”

“That doesn't surprise me.” God was silent a minute, then lowered his voice. “Before you return to the bank, dig around in the river behind me.”

“Why?” asked the elephant.

“Quartz,” answered God.

The elephant was contemplating his muse.

He was lying beside the river, trailing one of his big feet in the water. He watched as the current rippled and sparkled past and noted the occasional leaping fish with bemusement.

He looked across to the other shore with a sigh and then closed his eyes to more fully experience the race of the river against his toes. After indulging himself in this manner for awhile, he flopped onto his back so he could look at the trees.

He traced their outline against the blue sky with his trunk and followed the curve of some branches overhanging the river with interest. He even smiled benignly as a family of monkeys clambered up one tree, leapt through the canopy of leaves, and raced down another.

He suddenly slapped his forehead with his trunk, rolled over with such force that he jostled a boulder with his flank, and began to emote.

The monkeys in the trees
Cause a breeze when they sneeze
.

“Pardon me?” said the boulder.

I nudged the boulder with my shoulder.
It was older and much colder
.

“Oh boy,” said God.

“I am a POET,” said the elephant.

“Oh boy, again,” said God.

It is a stone which has grown
In a zone all alone
.

“Would that I were — alone, and away from the voices.”

“I'm expressing myself,” said the elephant.

“That is a statement of truth,” said God, “which does not contain the whole truth.”

It is a thrill to have free will,
That is until others say ‘nil'
.

“To be fair,” God stifled a chuckle, “you seem to have grasped the concept of rhyme, although your reach sometimes exceeds it.”

“But that's what heaven's for,” pointed out the elephant.

“You'll get,” said God, “no Browning points from me.”

That's not my last, don't be so fast
My muse to cast into the past
.

“You've heard about too much of a good thing?” asked the boulder, giving a nudge of its own.

“Yes,” said the elephant.

“Well, this isn't it.”

“You don't like the way I make the words dance?”

“I'd rather sit this one out.”

In the misty morn, he sat forlorn;
He wouldn't adorn, the dance floor well-worn
.

“Oh boy,” said God.

“As you can see,” said the elephant. “I provide a lot of bon mot for each and every occasion.”

“Such a threat is enough to make a boulder crumble,” said the boulder.

The rock of ages dissolved in stages
And proved the sages' noblesse obliges
.

“Oy veh,” said God. “I've become a straight man for a stand-up elephant.”

“I could pack a hall,” said the elephant.

“You could pachyderm,” pointed out God.

It's just a guess. I do confess
That more is less in the wilderness
.

“This could go on forever,” said God.

“You're the expert there,” pointed out the elephant.

“Then I think I'll repair to the forest,” said the boulder.

He stood, in the wood,
Where he could do most good
.

The boulder rumbled with a voice which filled the jungle.

Poems are made by fools like thee,
But only I can make a tree
.

The elephant was lost to the wind.

He stood four-square against the tumult, head lowered as if ready to charge. It wrapped his body in its flags and banners and then as quickly ripped them away. He had to close his eyes in some of the gusts, and occasionally his tail stuck straight out behind.

Many of the other animals found shelter, and even the monkeys came down to the lower branches of their trees. But the elephant flapped his ears in ecstasy as the wind battered against him and trumpeted as loudly as the rowdydow would permit.

“I hear you,” said a frolicking cloud as it whipped past his head. It turned a somersault over the elephant's back and positioned itself with much dexterity in the elephant's line of vision. “And I hazard the guess I'm the only one who can.”

“It's like flying.”

“Now, now. You've tried that before.”

“But I'm staying on the ground, this time.”

“Well,” conceded God. “You're standing on the ground. And it's probable you will be staying on the ground. But, as you know, nothing in life is certain.”

“It certainly isn't,” agreed the elephant who then attempted to nod his head in agreement. But the wind took a particular bend and not only could he not nod his head, but his trunk got thrown back into his face, hitting him in the eye.

“Ouch,” said the elephant.

“A cautionary God,” said God, “would go ‘tsk tsk' and tell you to come in out of the wind.”

“And is that what you're going to tell me?” shouted the elephant over the roar.

“God, no,” said God. “This is great stuff.”

“You're a reckless God then?” asked the elephant.

“Reckless. And cautious. There is a time for both. There is a need for both. Life demands that you run with it. And sometimes you run scared, and sometimes you run joyful.” The cloud was now tangled in the elephant's tusks. “And sometimes you get so caught up in it all that you can't tell the difference.” The cloud shouted, “And sometimes you get hit in the eye. And sometimes you don't.”

“And sometimes both,” suggested the elephant.

“You're catching on.”

“But to you,” protested the elephant “it is all so simple.”

“But …” The cloud sounded perplexed. “It is as
simple as it sounds. Everything is everything. What you seem to do is pay too much attention to the individual parts. Concentrate on the whole.”

“I can hardly think of everything when I'm in the middle of this.”

“This is the perfect place.” The cloud played tag with the elephant's ears. “Race with it. Race with it. Race with it. You will never dance a better dance than here. With me.”

And the elephant watched the cloud tumble around his head and bounce against his back and twist around his tail.

And the elephant laughed. He laughed so loud that it broke through even the racing wind and made the other animals peek from their shelters to watch.

And the elephant bobbed and weaved with the cloud, and the cloud held the elephant in a wispy embrace, and the wind turned to music.

The elephant was standing in the rain enjoying the rivulets which streamed along the creases of his skin.

It was cleansing and refreshing, and he occasionally flapped his huge ears, causing a small waterfall. The birds and monkeys kept a safe distance.

“You'll be creating your own weather system,” said the cloud, which was part of the larger cloud covering the whole sky. “Trunk squalls and violent ear showers.”

“Just a portion of your abilities,” said the elephant.

“Part of something is part of everything,” said the cloud. “I don't do my works on my own.”

“A humble part,” said the elephant.

“Humble neither in might nor main,” said God. “That would be the estimation of most of my species — both animal and plant.”

“I feel humble.”

“You are humble,” said God. “But I don't want you to feel humble.”

“Excuse me?”

“I want you to realize how wonderful, how exciting, how important — how equal — everything around you is. The blade of grass you eat, the stream from which you drink, the ants under your feet who keep the earth healthy, the butterflies who make the plants grow.”

“The butterflies are beautiful.”

“They're all beautiful.”

“I'm not so sure about the ants,” said the elephant.

“Beauty is in the eye of the beholder,” said God. “And I behold everything.”