Elephant Talks to God

by Dale Estey

  “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.

  Dancing With the Wind

  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.

  Humble Neither in

  Might Nor Main

  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.”

  How Close?

  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 Death Procession

  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 wi
der 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 —”