Where the Elephant meets God on Christmas Day. Praised by Orson Scott Card. The author guarantees it makes a wonderful gift.
(sweet baby Kafka)
03 July is Kafka’s birthday and – I forgot.
I could say (without any honesty) that I am distracted by COVID-19 and all the changes (some of them fundamental) which are happening around me. {I had my own two week self-isolation to deal with}. BUT Kafka not only lived through the Spanish Flu Pandemic of 1918, he contracted the disease. And he survived, even though he already had the tuberculosis that would eventually kill him six years later.
But, this morning, a Twitter respondent from across the Atlantic reminded me. I have already thanked her. So, I will repost my Kafka Birthday blog.
First, is the letter I have written to him (as yet, unanswered).
Second, is the diary entry I gave him for his birthday, from my novel, Kafka In The Castle.
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My Present / Your Future
Still in this World
A Life Away
Dear F:
You would find it perverse to be wished a “Happy” birthday, but your response would be gracious. Such is the reality you understand, and how you deal with it. I have found that your reality is actually real.
Although it will give you no pleasure – well, ‘little’ pleasure – you are correct in all your observations.
Governments become the tools of the bureaucracies which run them. It doesn’t matter what type of Government, from the monarchy under which you lived, to the right wing horror of fascists that called themselves socialists, to the inept socialism pretending to be ‘for the people’. All three governments held their sway over the city where you spent your life. All three oppressed the people they ruled. All three looked after themselves first.
Writers are either writers or they aren’t. The urge to write encircles one like a snake around its prey. Feed it and it won’t quite squeeze you to death. You can not ignore it – even at your peril. It is with you every hour of every day, ever inquisitive and (sadly) always looking for something better.
Love is a see-saw of extremes. Every high guarantees a low. Every low reaches for a high. Every high reaches for a high. When these hills and valleys are eventually levelled, they are still desired.
Sex is highly over rated. The thing of it is, even rated fairly ’tis a consummation devoutly to be had. Yes – I know – you appreciate Shakespeare. On a par with Goethe, even if you can’t bring yourself to say the words.
People are just one damned thing after another. Of course, so many people have brought you blessings, you throw up you hands to ward off the snake. And sometimes – some few times – it loosens its grip.
There is no castle with walls thick enough to hide against the perils of being human. Which is why you never tried.
Except the grave, of course.
Except the grave.
Yours,
D
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03 July 1918
The anniversary of my birth.
In celebration of the day, I did not make it my last.
He is not a man for grand gestures.
The gift came as a surprise, the kiss a shock. He was embarrassed by the first and aroused by the second. Time, always a constant worry – not the futile minutes, hours, days, the whirlwind passage of months, but the disappearance of the now into the past -had again taken a bite out of his life before he had realized it was gone.
“I thought you would like it.” she said, a gift somehow made more important because it was not planned, an obvious display of spontaneity. A chance meeting in a store on a Saturday afternoon. “I’m leaving soon, in two weeks I’ll be in France.” Eyes taking in his every reaction, her voice tinged with reproach. “Do you like it?”
And of course he did, but there were too many memories laced with half smiles jamming into his head, not painful in themselves but adding now to finality. The party where he met her, surely that was just last week, at the most a month ago. Surely it did not stretch back to soft Autumn nights.
“Well, here,” she writes something. “It’s for you, you know.”
A look of puzzlement crosses her face as the gift changes hands, the too brief touch of her fingers. he clutches it carefully, looks back to her eyes and imagines he sees a twinge of that nonexistent past. or does she only reflect what is in his own face?
And then the kiss. So unexpected that he almost jumps back.
The touch of lips and warm breath, the smell of fresh, soft hair against his cheek. His own mouth open in surprise, her farewell brush of lips turned partially into passion. And then she is out the door, onto the street, and he is standing by a counter feeling very old, his heart an icy moon of Jupiter.
Ah, Christiane. Salut.
(image) https://apod.nasa.gov/apod/image/9805/callistoplus_gal.jpg
From: The Elephant Talks To God
The Elephant was not oblivious to the Christmas season, and wanted to pay his respects.
He travelled to the special clearing where a cloud waited for him.
“It’s your Son’s birthday. I want to congratulate him.”
“Thank you.” The cloud descended. “It is a grand time.”
“I’d like to …” the elephant hesitated.
“Yes.”
“You sent your Son for us to see, so we would believe.”
“Yes.”
“Well, I want to …”
“Spit it out,” said God. “You’re fired up.”
“I want to see you.” The elephant spoke quickly. “I don’t have to see you, you know that. I believed even before you talked to me. But I want to see you; it would mean so much. I wasn’t around for the Baby, but cows and sheep and things got to see Him. I can’t explain, but …”
“Go home,” said the cloud.
“You’re not angry with me?” said the elephant.
“No.” The cloud started moving away. “It’s an honest request.”
“Thank you for coming to see me,” said the elephant.
“Sing some carols.” The voice was distant. “I like them.”
The elephant turned and started through the woods. He ignored the tasty leaves within easy reach and the rich grass near the brook. He wanted to get home as quickly as possible so he could join the singing at the Mission he knew was happening later in the evening.
He trotted along the trail, snapping a branch here and there in his haste, when he noted the stillness, the hush which had overtaken the forest. He slowed down and then stopped in his tracks. He turned his head, his small eyes squinting into the brush.
There was movement coming toward him, and when the trees parted, he went to his knees with a gasp.
Tears rolled from his eyes, and the golden trunk touched his own, and gently
wiped them away.
wiped them away.
This is an abridged version of a story from “The Elephant Talks To God”.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The Elephant was not oblivious to the Christmas season, and wanted to pay his respects. He travelled to the special clearing where a cloud waited for him.
“It’s your Son’s birthday and I want to congratulate him.”
“Thank you.” The cloud descended further. “It is a grand time.”
“I’d like to …” the elephant hesitated.
“Yes.”
“You sent your son for us to see, so we would believe.”
“Yes.”
“Well, I want to …”
“Spit it out,” said God. “You’re fired up.”
“I want to see you.” The elephant spoke quickly. “I don’t have to see you, you know that. I believed even before you talked to me. But I want to see you; it would mean so much. I wasn’t around for the Baby, but cows and sheep and things got to see Him. I can’t explain, but …”
“Go home,” said the cloud.
“You’re not angry with me?” said the elephant.
“No.” The cloud started moving away. “It’s an honest request.”
“Thank you for coming to see me,” said the elephant.
“Sing some carols.” The voice was distant. “I like them.”
The elephant turned and started through the woods. He ignored the tasty leaves within easy reach, and the rich grass near the brook. He wanted to get home as quickly as possible, so he could join the singing at the Mission he knew was happening later in the evening.
He trotted along the trail, snapping a branch here and there in his haste, when he noted the stillness, the hush which had overtaken the forest. He slowed down and then stopped in his tracks.
He turned his head, his small eyes squinting into the brush. There was movement coming toward him, and when the trees parted, he went to his knees with a gasp. Tears rolled from his eyes, and the golden trunk touched his own, and gently
wiped them away.
wiped them away.
DE
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