What Do Elephants Do?

Not long ago, on a blustery day in the city where I live, a most extraordinary thing happened to me. After stepping out of a taxi-cab, I buttoned up my coat and opened my umbrella. Without warning a gust of wind snatched the umbrella from my grip and sent it twirling and bounding across the wet pavement and into a small park on the other side of the street.

Now I had always known the park was there, but I’m a grown-up person, you see, and grown-up persons often don’t have time for things like walking through parks. So when I chased my umbrella across the street and through the open iron gate, I entered for the very first time this tiny patch of green in the tall, gray city.

And what a surprise awaited me there!

My poor umbrella had flown over a clump of bushes, and I had now lost sight of it completely. I could not find an easy way around the bushes, so I pushed my way straight through. On the other side, I found myself in a wide, grassy glade. In the middle of the glade stood two little girls holding my black umbrella.

“Good day, sir,” said the first girl. “Is this your umbrella?” She wore overalls and her red curls seemed determined to leap off of her head.

“Why, yes, it is,” I said. “Thank you both for catching it for me.”

“You’re welcome,” said the second girl, who stood primly in a flowered yellow dress. “But why on earth are you carrying an umbrella on such a nice day?”

I looked around and was surprised to see that she was absolutely right. Soft white clouds floated by on a gentle breeze, and I could see no sign of the rain and wind I had just run through. But before I could answer, the two girls came up and each took one of my hands.

“My name is Franny Frangipani,” said the first girl, her eyes bright behind a sea of freckles. “And this is my best friend, Celia Bougainvillea. Let’s all go for a walk.”

“Yes! Oh, yes,” said Celia Bougainvillea. “Please do come for a walk with us!”

I was about to explain that I was a grown-up person, and that grown-up persons generally didn’t have time to take walks with little girls in parks, when I looked down and realized I was already walking. I decided that a walk seemed like a fine idea after all.

“Well, I am certainly pleased to make your acquaintance,” I said. “But how unfortunate that you both got stuck with such dull and ordinary names!”

The two girls laughed, and we all headed off up the path. With Franny Frangipani and Celia Bougainvillea skipping along at my side, I had to keep up a brisk pace.

 Presently the three of us came upon a stand of yellowish trees with wide flat tops. Beside the trees stood a tall animal with a long, long neck. Like most grown-up persons, I find it hard to resist quizzing little children about all sorts of things. So I pointed to the animal and said, “What in the world is that thing?”

“That’s a giraffe, silly!” said both of my new friends in unison.

“And what do giraffes do?” I asked innocently.

“Well, sir,” said Franny Frangipani. “Everybody knows that the main job of a giraffe is to predict the weather. He stretches his long neck up into the sky so he can see if clouds or rain or other nasty weather is coming. Oh, and I almost forgot. Another important job that giraffes do is to let monkeys slide down their necks if the monkeys’ tree is on fire or something.”

Franny Frangipani seemed pleased with her explanation. I looked over at Celia Bougainvillea, who stood with her arms crossed and a frown on her face.

“It is most certainly a giraffe, sir,” she said. “But that is definitely not what giraffes do! Giraffes really spend their time loping around the plains, and using their long, purple tongues to pluck nice, juicy leaves from tall thorn trees that other animals can’t reach.” She looked down her nose at Franny Frangipani.

“Maybe we should ask the grown-up, smarty,” huffed Franny Frangipani, her hands on her hips. They both turned and fixed me directly in their sights.

Now up until this moment I had been having a lovely time on our walk. And although as a grown-up person I was inclined to think that Celia Bougainvillea’s was the more accurate account of giraffe life, I was certainly not about to take sides. Instead I opted for a proven grown-up method of avoiding the issue at hand. I changed the subject.

“What was that?” I yelled, pointing toward a clump of bamboo at the edge of the clearing.

Franny Frangipani and Celia Bougainvillea whirled around and inspected the bamboo cluster. The three of us snuck up closer and peered between the green stalks. Inside, we saw what appeared to be a black and white ball of fur.

“A panda!” squealed both of my little companions.

“Ah,” I said. “And what is it that pandas do?”

“Well,” said Franny Frangipani. “On cold nights, four or five of them sneak into my room, climb onto my bed, curl up all around me, and keep me warm until morning.”

Celia Bougainvillea rolled her eyes. “That is not what pandas do. They really spend their time in bamboo forests just like this one, picking the most tender green shoots and eating to their hearts’ content. I don’t see why they would be the least bit interested in climbing into bed with your cold feet.”

The two girls stood glaring at each other. I could tell they were about to ask me again which of them was right, so I started walking briskly down a little gravel path. Franny Frangipani and Celia Bougainvillea scampered to catch up with me, and by the time they did we had all come out onto a wide, sandy beach. Gentle waves lapped against the shore, and the water was a sparkling blue.

Franny Frangipani said that crabs made fine letter openers. Celia Bougainvillea pointed out that they were more likely to pinch Franny Frangipani’s toes if she wasn’t careful.

And so our adventures in the park continued. Franny Frangipani cartwheeled through the grass. Celia Bougainvillea strolled along on the path. Franny Frangipani ate pistachio-blueberry swirl from a dripping cone; Celia Bougainvillea had plain vanilla in a cup and put enough napkins in her pocket for everyone.

We saw an orangutan sitting in the fork of a tree. Franny Frangipani told us that everything orange in the world was dyed using an orangutan’s bathwater. Celia Bougainvillea said that the big apes really just hung about in trees and scratched themselves. And when we found a chameleon on a branch, Franny Frangipani enlightened us with a story of how the government had bred chameleons as secret spies.

“See the way each of his eyes can look in a different direction? Perfect for spying!” she said. “And then he sends signals back to the president by changing his colors. It’s some sort of code, you know.”

But Celia Bougainvillea would have none of it. “Chameleons eat flies,” she said.

Finally, when we had explored almost the whole park, we came upon the most majestic of creatures. It moved slowly through the trees. Its huge head and long, graceful tusks swung gently from side to side. Its ears flapped lazily, and it had a very, very long nose.

“Oh, my!” I said. “What do we have here?”

“It’s an elephant!” whispered the two girls.

“And what do elephants do?”

“They put their tusks up in the air so I can play ring toss!” said Franny Frangipani.

“Actually, they use their tusks to strip bark from trees,” said Celia Bougainvillea.

“When I sneak out of my room, an elephant uses its long trunk to help me down from the window!” said Franny Frangipani.

“Actually, they use their trunks to suck up water for drinking and for spraying themselves,” said Celia Bougainvillea.

“When I need to keep the papers on my desk from flying away, I ask an elephant to come sit on them and hold them down!” said Franny Frangipani.

“Now that’s just silly,” said Celia Bougainvillea. The girls stood nose to nose.

“Let’s ask who’s right!” said Franny Frangipani. The two turned and looked up at me. “What do elephants do?” they asked together.

I held up my hands. “Anything that big does exactly as it pleases.”

My two friends were not the least bit satisfied with my answer. “What do elephants really do, mister?”

This time I could see there was just no getting out of it. I would have to tell them what I really thought. I would have to tell them that Celia Bougainvillea had been right every time. I drew myself up to a very grown-up height indeed and looked around.

The sky was blue; puffy clouds drifted by. I was still clutching my black umbrella, and a few raindrops still glistened on its surface. Butterflies flitted around us like gems that had been scattered off a jeweler’s table. Birds sang like tiny sopranos practicing their scales.

“Well?” said Franny Frangipani.

“Well?” said Celia Bougainvillea.

“You know,” I said finally, “I do believe that you have both been right all along. What would the world be without imagination, and what would fantasy be without the real world to compare it to? For that matter, what would one of you be without the other?”

At that moment a funny thing happened. Franny Frangipani and Celia Bougainvillea looked at each other slyly. I even thought I saw one of them give a little wink. Then they whirled around and skipped off down the path hand in hand. And as they passed out of my sight around a bend, I felt a fat raindrop hit my cheek.

I didn’t mind at all.

# # #