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.”
“You mean Himself.” The old cow also turned her head toward the clouds but as quickly dropped it again. “Just between us, I think He got a lot of His ideas from me. I’ve been around a long time.”
“Do you … ?” The elephant was very surprised. “I didn’t know that you had conversations with —”
“Soon we’ll be talking face to face.”
She stumbled slightly, but then, with a movement that had all of her weight on top of her, she crashed to her knees, pulling the elephant off balance and nearly down.
“Are you all right?” he asked in a panic.
“You can be quite daft with your questions.” She took ragged breaths and was staring straight ahead. “Yes. That is familiar.” She moved her trunk in the grass. “Come closer.”
“What is it?”
“You’re going to have to push me onto my side. I can’t do it by myself.”
“Perhaps we can help you up.”
“That wouldn’t be …,” the old elephant did manage a rough laugh, “… much help. It’s my time which is up.”
“Gotcha.” The elephant rubbed his trunk over her head. Her eyes didn’t blink as he stroked her, and he guessed that she was blind. “I’ll come around and help the others.”
The elephant moved to the far side and positioned his tusks in line with three of the other elephants. Together they inched forward, their broad brows against the bulk of the dying animal and their tusks levering under the body. In a matter of moments they had shifted the old elephant off her knees, and she sprawled onto the ground with a great noise. The elephant stood by her head and bent over.
“Sorry,” he said into her big ear.
The old body twitched, and the feet kicked spasmodically in the air. She tried to raise her head, but it quickly fell back into the grass. She did, however, manage to speak loudly enough for him to hear. “You didn’t have much of an option.”
“I want for nothing,” said the old, old elephant, gasping for breath. “Finally.”
The rest of the elephants now moved forward and formed a circle around the dying beast. They stood and watched while the sun moved across the sky and the shadows in the clearing changed direction.
The old elephant could hear and feel their breath as her own became more laboured. The members of the herd took turns to periodically rub her with their trunks, and she occasionally acknowledged their touch.
There was very little noise, for the surrounding jungle held only the most distant of animal calls. Often the only break in the silence came from the old elephant as she seemed to gag on the very air itself. Her whole body would shudder, and her head would shake erratically. Then she would lie quietly again. And eventually, one of the elephants rubbing her with his trunk discovered there was no breath at all.
The herd stepped a few paces back as the senior bull tugged at her trunk. He also jabbed his tusks against her neck and into her mouth. He sniffed the length of her body then abruptly turned and started walking away. The others followed.
The herd returned at its usual pace, which was much faster than their earlier progression. The elephant guessed that he was halfway home. He tried to make a more accurate estimation from the stars, and it was while he glanced at the sky that he noticed the night shadows thickening above his head.
“You were noticeably absent,” accused the elephant.
“It wasn’t you I was talking to,” said God.
“Oh.”
The elephant lowered his head to the path and trundled on through the darkness. He did not have to concentrate on much more than keeping behind the elephant in front of him. Which was fortunate, for his thoughts were troubled.
“You may as well say it,” pointed out the cloud.
“What?” The elephant was startled.
“Your mind is full of more than that elephant’s backside.”
“It was a mean death.”
“It was an earned death.”
“She made me remember so much.” The elephant looked right at the cloud. “And I haven’t had anything to do with her for so long. I would sometimes see her in the herd —”
“Doing what?”
“Looking after calves.” His voice was exasperated. “Helping other elephants. Even foraging food for them. All the things which I remember she did for us.”
“Living her life?” asked God.
“Yes.”
“A fulfilling life?”
“The life she wanted?” asked God.
“Yes, I suppose. All those things.”
“Then why are you troubled?”
“Because I wasn’t grateful enough.” The elephant snorted, and his voice rose. “Because I didn’t pay her enough attention. When I saw her in the herd, I didn’t go over and give her my greetings.”
“She probably wouldn’t have found time for you.”
“What?”
“She was too busy,” said God. “Living.”
The cloud began to move away and the stars became clearer.
“But I —”
“Remember her,” said God. “And learn from her. Accept her gifts, even those as yet unopened. But slough off that guilt of yours just as she did her body. It is fair to neither of you.”
“I’ll do my best,” said the elephant.
“She says,” the cloud actually laughed, “‘that sounds familiar.’”