Elephant Talks to God (7 page)

The elephant was stalking the lion.

He put his big foot (as delicately as he could) onto the jungle floor in front of him and then eased the other three forward. He believed that this slow (albeit ungainly) process captured the stealth needed to progress toward his quarry.

The smaller animals of the tangled underbrush believed that the only thing worse than a rampaging elephant was a cautious elephant, and they scurried to safety in all directions.

The lion believed, because he had a full belly and was feeling content, that he may as well give the big fellow his money's worth and continued on his way at a slow pace.

The cloud believed, as it eased itself across the sky, that a change was as good as a rest and followed closely.

Thus the elephant — now pursuer and pursued — plotted his course, while oblivious to what really was happening around him.

He tried to avoid the trees, the vines, and the bushes. He hoped that the extraneous noises he made were for his ears alone. But his huge ears magnified everything, and each grunt, each sigh, each snapped twig cascaded like thunder.

In spite of his patience and persistence, stealth was not really his forte. The smaller animals trembled (literally) at each heavy step, the lion wondered if he ever sounded so elephantine while on the chase, and the cloud veered abruptly to avoid a tree still reverberating from the elephant's passage.

The elephant hunched over and kept hiding whatever amount of his bulk could be hidden behind every convenient tree. He parted the dangling vines with his trunk and peered intently at the retreating tail of the lion. It waved like a furtive flag in the distance, and he watched it disappear into the undergrowth before he even advanced from his concealment.

He felt it was not yet time to be thinking of his charge — let alone his pounce — for there were still too many obstacles in his way to allow a running start. He would probably have to wait until they reached the grasslands.

He realized that his size precluded much manoeuvrability. The smaller animals realized that keeping one step in front, beside, or behind the elephant was not necessarily enough. The lion realized that he was tiring
of the game and might be feeling just a little hungry. The cloud realized that perhaps the prerogative of the Creator should be exercised.

“Ahem,” said the cloud.

“Thank God,” said the lion, who bounded away to follow the whiff of antelope on the air.

“SIGH,” sighed the smaller animals collectively.

“Snor — Ort!” trumpeted the elephant, who did not know where to look amidst all the noise around him, so he hurriedly looked everywhere. The tail of the lion was a blur in the distance, the ground foliage rustled with the dance of the smaller animals, and the cloud descended directly over his head.

“Snort,” repeated the elephant but this time very softly.

“You're at it again,” said the cloud.

“I was this close.” The elephant held the tip of his trunk a banana's length in front of his eyes.

“How close?”

“Well,” relented the elephant, “at least I was gaining on him.” He nodded his head vigorously. “Yes. I was just getting ready to pounce.”

“‘The wolf also shall dwell with the lamb, and the leopard shall lie down with the kid; and the calf and the young lion and the fatling together; and a child shall lead them.'” The cloud smiled as it moved away. “With all due respect, it doesn't say anything about elephants.”

The elephant was marching in the death procession. He had never done so before, and he was cautious. Nervous. He watched carefully the older elephants around him and tried to emulate their pace. And their bearing.

The methodical placement of their feet was not difficult to achieve as they moved through the jungle. Step. Pause. Step. Pause. Step. And then a longer pause. A pause which had no regulated time, for it was determined by the dying elephant.

During these longer stops, the elephant glanced at the sky, hoping for a glimpse of God and one of their companionable conversations. However, he as quickly returned to his chore, for the other elephants barely deviated from their prescribed progression. Their course was straight, their heads were lowered, their eyes were averted, and their trunks swung methodically.

They made no noise save the noise of moving through the jungle. Even their breathing was subdued. And the elephant, understanding the importance of his
duty, did his best to keep his eyes upon the legs of the elephant in front and just be a part of the greater whole. For they were on their way to the elephant graveyard, and this was as it should be.

Step. Pause. Step. Pause. They followed the route of the centuries, where all elephants would eventually take a last walk on this earth they so much loved. This earth of life and nourishment and joy. This earth of fear and hunger and death. This earth where the exhilarating mixture of all these things made their existence. And although they believed in the other world, where a wondrous jungle awaited them and none need be cautious in the night, they were sad to leave this earth they knew.

The elephant tentatively raised his head.

They had stopped for a very long time, and he wondered if something unplanned had happened. He had been told the dying elephants were sometimes so weak that the others virtually had to carry them. But it was also possible the destination had already been reached.

He wanted to look around for bones and tusks but decided he would know soon enough. The detritus of previous journeys was not as important as celebrating the life still present.

He restricted his curiosity to looking straight ahead and saw that the delay was caused by the very slow exchange of elephants flanking the dying one. All the members of the herd had the right to give support during part of the trek.

He was surprised to see that his turn was not far away. He was also gratified to see, as he raised his head just a bit higher, that a cloud was lowering right over him.

“Curiosity killed the cat,” said God.

“I was worried you wouldn't be here.”

“This is the end of that path which leads to me,” said God. “What better place for me to be?”

“And I'm too big to be a cat,” added the elephant.

“Don't let some of your jungle brethren hear that.” The cloud came even lower. “They have a high opinion of themselves. There is nothing to compare to the pride of lions.” God sounded slightly conspiratorial. “And, lest you forget many of our previous encounters, you do possess a curiosity equal to your girth.”

“Is that a complaint or a compliment?” asked the elephant.

“That depends upon how annoying you become.”

“I —”

“And how much travail you cause my earthly domain.” God paused. “You don't appreciate the entreaties I sometimes hear.”

“If you hadn't created such a host of nattering animals, who seem to know nothing beyond their own muzzles and snouts, there wouldn't be —”

“Spoken like a true trunkean.”

“At least I do something with my trunk.”

“Yes,” agreed the cloud. “You stick it into everyone's
business and anywhere else it was never intended to be. You have the most overactive muscular proboscis I have ever seen.” The cloud gave the slightest of sighs. “It is a relief to see you doing something you are actually supposed to be doing.”

“But …” The elephant raised his head suddenly. “Of course I am here. I'm needed.” He looked directly at the cloud. “I could never not be here. This is my place.”

“I know that,” agreed the cloud. “But your history sometimes begs the question as to whether or not you know it.”

“Hmpf,” grunted the elephant, who was doubly annoyed because everything God said was, of course, true. In another time and place, he might have told the cloud to blow it out his ear. But then, with due consideration, he might not. One never quite knew about God.

“Disgruntled thoughts?” queried the cloud.

“Mainly directed at your penchant for accuracy,” admitted the elephant. “It does not make life easy.”

“We are not today assembled to concern ourselves with life,” reminded the cloud.

“Oh, God,” said the elephant. “I'd almost forgotten. Sorry.”

“It will soon be your time to assist in the passing.”

“Is that why you're here?” asked the elephant hopefully. “To help me out so I won't do anything wrong?”

“I'm here,” said God, “because one of my children is about to join me. I am always present.”

“But there is death everywhere — all the time.”

“I am also at those places.”

“And having such a conversation?” asked the elephant.

“Perhaps not such a conversation.” The cloud eased slightly into the sky. “And since you are soon to be playing your supporting role, we should soon fall silent.”

“You're the boss,” said the elephant.

The cloud made a sound which the elephant could only describe as cloud noise and moved forward over the procession.

As they neared the clearing, the path became wider and the trees were spaced further apart. The formation of the elephants began to change from moving in single file to walking two abreast to finally advancing in groups of three. Their progress became accelerated, as if approaching this final spot quickened the pace of even the one near death.

Time became a matter for other places and other life. When the elephant realized it was his turn to help support the dying beast, he was neither surprised nor relieved. He manoeuvred into position with a
skill beyond his nature, and when his flank touched the dying elephant, he found he could be as gentle as if he were brushing the dust off his mate. And when the old, dying elephant stumbled and sagged against him, his support was as firm as it was tender.

Step. Pause. Step. Pause. Step. Pause.

The last flutter of haste had ceased, and the hesitation of the old animal now filled the jungle.

The elephant stood patiently, as if he were a rooted tree, counterbalancing the support of the elephant on the other side. There would be little distance to cover now, and soon the dying beast would just stop and that would be the time to ease the body onto the ground and wait until all breathing ended.

“I know you,” said the old, old elephant.

“Yes.” The elephant was both surprised and glad. “You helped my mother when she was ill. You looked after me a long time. You were a nurse to both of us.”

“That has been my job with many, many calves.” The dying animal continued to take her slow, precise steps. “And I've outlived even some of them.” She breathed with difficulty. “As I've outlived my own.” She gulped for air. “So very long ago, it now seems.”

“Yes,” said the elephant tentatively. He had not been expecting any conversation.

“But you were different,” she muttered.

“Well — I …” The elephant was gratified that she remembered him from all the others.

“You were foolish.” The old elephant snorted and made a noise which might have been a cracked laugh. “There was no making sense of you. No keeping up to you. I'd tell your mum that I wondered if she was sick because she couldn't deal with you.”

“That can't be true.” The elephant was peeved. “I never meant for any of —”

“No. You never meant harm.” The old elephant stopped moving and turned her head. “That's the way you were even then. You didn't take the time to let me finish what I was going to tell you.”

“Sorry,” said the elephant.

“Yes, that's familiar.” This time she did manage a distinct grunt of laughter. “Your mum and I both laughed at your antics. And also laughed as the rest of the herd shook their heads in dismay.” The old elephant started walking again. “The things you wanted to do and to see — too much for any elephant. Too much for any life. You never knew your place.”

“I never found my place,” corrected the elephant.

“Yes. That's familiar, too.” She tried to laugh again, but it turned into a coughing fit. “You always had to contradict whatever was said to you.”

“It always seemed to me,” said the elephant stubbornly, “that I was always told just part of the story.”

“Most of us only know part of the story. Most of us are content with that.” She slowly lifted her trunk and rubbed it against the elephant's ear. “But that was never
going to satisfy you — with more questions than there are monkeys in the trees — as you went out searching and pestering.”

“I didn't mean to be a pest.”

“The hyena doesn't mean to sound like an insane fool,” grunted the old elephant. “That doesn't stop it from waking you out of a peaceful sleep when it's feeding.”

“You're comparing me to a hyena?”

“If the mudhole is your size then you settle into it without flooding.”

“Now that does sound familiar.” The elephant smiled and cast a quick glance into the sky. “And even more familiar than you might think.”