She makes a happy, lilting sound, an elephant laugh. It’s like the song of a bird I recall from long ago, a tiny yellow bird with a voice like dancing water.
Strange. I’d forgotten all about that bird, how she’d wake me every morning at dawn, when I was still curled safely in my mother’s nest.
It’s a good feeling, making Ruby laugh, so I draw another picture, and another, along the edges of the paper: an orange, a candy bar, a carrot.
“What are you two up to?” Stella asks, moaning as she tries to move her sore foot.
“How are you this morning?” I ask.
“Just feeling my age,” Stella says. “I’m fine.”
“Ivan is making me pictures,” Ruby says. “And he told me a joke. I really like Ivan, Aunt Stella.”
Stella winks at me. “Me too,” she says.
“Ivan? Want to hear my favorite joke?” Ruby asks. “I heard it from Maggie. She was one of the giraffes in my old circus.”
“Sure,” I say.
“It goes like this.” Ruby clears her throat. “What do elephants have that nothing else has?”
Trunks, I think, but I don’t answer because I don’t want to ruin Ruby’s fun.
“I don’t know, Ruby,” I reply. “What do elephants have that nothing else has?”
“Baby elephants,” Ruby says.
“Good one, Ruby,” I say, watching Stella stroke Ruby’s back with her trunk.
“Good one,” Stella says softly.
children
Once I asked Stella if she’d ever had any babies.
She shook her head. “I never had the opportunity.”
“You would have made a great mother,” I told her.
“Thank you, Ivan,” Stella said, clearly pleased. “I like to think so. Having young ones is a big responsibility. You have to teach them how to take mud baths, of course, and emphasize the importance of fiber in their diet.” She looked away, contemplating.
Elephants are excellent at contemplating.
“I think the hardest part of being a parent,” Stella added after a while, “would be keeping your babies safe from harm. Protecting them.”
“The way silverbacks do in the jungle,” I said.
“Exactly.” Stella nodded.
“You would have been good at protecting, too,” I said confidently.
“I’m not so sure,” Stella said, gazing at the iron bars surrounding her. “I’m not sure at all.”
the parking lot
Mack and George are chatting while George cleans one of my windows.
“George,” Mack says, frowning, “there’s something wrong with the parking lot.”
George sighs. “I’ll take a look as soon as I’m done with this window. What’s the problem?”
“There are cars in it, that’s what’s wrong. Cars, George!” Mack breaks into a grin. “I think things are actually starting to pick up a bit. It’s gotta be the billboard. People see that baby elephant and they just have to stop and spend their hard-earned cash.”
“I hope so,” George says. “We sure could use the business.”
Mack’s right. I have noticed more visitors coming since he and George added the picture of Ruby to the sign. People crowd around Ruby and Stella’s domain, oohing and ahhing at the sight of a such a tiny elephant.
I gaze out at the huge sign that makes humans stop and spend their hard-earned cash. I have to admit that the picture of Ruby is rather cute, even if she doesn’t look like a real elephant.
I wonder if Mack could add a little red hat and a curly tail to the picture of me. Maybe then more visitors would stop by my domain.
I could use a few oohs and ahhs myself.
ruby’s story
“Ivan, tell me another joke, please!” Ruby begs after the two-o’clock show.
“I think I may have run out of jokes,” I admit.
“A story, then,” Ruby says. “Aunt Stella’s sleeping. And there’s nothing to do.”
I tap my chin. I’m trying hard to think. But when I gaze up at the food court skylight, I’m mesmerized by the elephant-colored clouds galloping past.
Ruby taps her foot impatiently. “I know! I’ll tell you a story,” she says. “A real live true one.”
“Good idea,” I say. “What’s it about?”
“It’s about me.” Ruby lowers her voice. “It’s about me and how I fell into a hole. A big hole. Humans dug it.”
Bob pricks his ears and joins me by the window. “I always enjoy a good digging story,” he says.
“It was a big hole full of water near a village,” Ruby says. “I don’t know why humans made it.”
“Sometimes you just need to dig for the sake of digging,” Bob reflects.
“We were looking for food,” Ruby says, “my family and I. But I wandered off and got lost and went too close to the village.” Ruby looks at me, eyes wide. “I was so scared when I fell into that hole.”
“Of course you were,” I say. “I would have been scared too.”
“Me too,” Bob admits. “And I like holes.”
“The hole was huge.” Ruby pokes her trunk between the bars and makes a circle in the air. “And guess what?” She doesn’t wait for an answer. “The water was all the way up to my neck and I was sure I was going to die.”
I shudder. “What happened then?” I ask.
“I’ll tell you what happened,” Bob says darkly. “They captured her and put her in a box and shipped her off and here she is. Just like they did with Stella.” He pauses to scratch an ear. “Humans. Rats have bigger hearts. Roaches have kinder souls. Flies have—”
“No, Bob!” Ruby interrupts. “You’re wrong. These humans helped me. When they saw I was trapped, they grabbed ropes and they made loops around my neck and my tummy. The whole entire village helped, even little kids and grandmas and grandpas, and they all pulled and pulled and…”
Ruby stops. Her lashes are wet, and I know she must be remembering all the terrible feelings from that day.
“… and they saved me,” she finishes in a whisper.
Bob blinks. “They saved you?” he repeats.
“When I was finally out, everyone cheered,” Ruby says. “And the children fed me fruit. And then all those humans led me back to my family. It took the whole day to find them.”
“No way,” Bob says, still doubtful.
“It’s true,” Ruby says. “Every word.”
“Of course it’s true,” I say.