The elephant sighed, looked around, and felt that not enough notice was being taken. So he pointedly, loudly, sighed again, ruffling the water in which he sat.
“If you knew the sighs I’ve heard,” said the boulder, patiently waiting in the river.
“An elephant’s sighs are as good as any.”
“Yes, of course,” said God as the boulder was nudged by the elephant’s shoulder. “Uniquely laced with peanut but heartfelt nevertheless.”
“You don’t like peanuts?” asked the elephant accusingly.
“I like everything I made or else they wouldn’t exist.” The boulder settled more profoundly. “I can’t, however, be held responsible for your reactions to things. I made other elephants, and you fall in love.”
“Not anymore.” The elephant slapped his trunk on the water.
“Don’t interrupt your God,” said God. “You fall in love, and that’s your own doing. My job is making elephant number one and elephant number two. From then on it’s up to your own designs and devices.”
“She’s a bitch,” said the elephant.
“Wrong species,” pointed out God. “You know what I mean.”
“I don’t like inaccurate talk,” said God. “I never have. I look upon speech as one of my greatest gifts.”
“I’m sorry,” said the elephant, who really was sorry but especially for himself. “Things were going so well; we were even hosing each other’s backs in the evening. And then she took it into her head to go and forage by herself, to leave me as she explored other mudholes.” The elephant’s voice became very indignant. “And I even saw her flapping her ears at other elephants. She has no right to do something like that.”
“No right?” The boulder rumbled. “Birth gave her rights, and you rights, and everything else on this earth rights.”
“I’m sorry,” said the elephant.
“Possessiveness,” snapped God. “I meant possessiveness to be guided by affection, not power.”
“It works both ways,” said the elephant. “I’ll just ignore her; that’s what I’ll do.”
“Even if she happens to come this way?” asked God.
“Why?”
“I feel waves against me,” said the boulder. “She’s entered the river above.”
“I don’t care,” said the elephant, but he turned his head. “Upstream, did you say?”
“Well,” the elephant lumbered to his feet. “I suppose I …,” he looked at the boulder and smiled, “… I have as much right to be there as she does.”
“Definitely,” agreed God. “The river belongs to everyone.”
As the elephant splashed his way up river, a toucan bird settled comfortably upon the boulder.
“You want to know something?” asked God.
The toucan cocked an attentive ear.
“If we stay here, we’re going to get swamped.”