The Elephant Salesman (Part IV)

The flight to the Congo was uneventful. Except for the shadow. Had Mr. Pickles known we were to have such an ominous visitor on board, he’d never have gotten on the plane.

“What was that!” he said to me that night.

We had been resting comfortably in our hammocks - and were very close to sleep.

“What was what?” I said.

“I thought I saw a shadow pass under the light over there by the cargo door.”

I looked, but saw nothing. Which was no surprise to me. Mr. Pickles was always fidgeting about something. This was just another one of his fidgets.

“I’m certain it’s nothing,” I said. “Now go to sleep. We have a long flight ahead of us.”

“Charles?"

“Yes?"

“Do you know any bedtime stories?"

“Really?" I said.

“Yes," said Mr. Pickles. “I’ve never had the pleasure of having one read to me. I thought it might help me sleep."

“Well," I said. “There is a story that I used to tell Terence. He’s my son. Gosh, how I miss him. But if you’d like to hear a story, I wouldn’t mind telling it."

“Please!" said Mr. Pickles. “I’m all ears."

If there was anything I truly loved about dear old Pickles, it was his innocence. There was no pun intended in his comment, so I let it go and told him the following story:

“Once upon a time there lived a young crow named Sidney.

Sydney’s first assignment as a crow was to raid the corn field.

‘You go out in that cornfield and make a fool out of that scarecrow!’ said his father. ‘I want you to bring back six ears of the best corn. One for each member of the flock. Come back here with the corn and we’ll have a feast in you honor.’

It was a harrowing task to give young Sydney’s. He’d never been more than a few feet from the nest, and now he was asked to provide food for the whole family.

And what about that scarecrow? Sydney had never seen a scarecrow before, but he had heard all the horror stories from the elders: Savage! Murderous! Beastly! Ugly as the devil himself! Stuffs himself with the carcasses of dead crows!

Gulp was the only word Sydney could manage as he entered the moon lit cornfield.

‘Must not look at the scarecrow,’ thought Sydney. ‘Just grab a corn and flee.'

And grab and flee he did. One after the other until he had only one more to go.

‘This was easier than I thought,' said Sydney.

‘That’s got to be the laziest scarecrow in the world. He hasn’t shown himself all night.'

As Sydney was about to make off with the last ear of corn, he couldn’t help but take a peek at the scarecrow. He’d been avoiding it all night.

With the ear of corn in his beak, Sydney stood his ground and stared up into the scarecrow’s eyes. But the last thing Sydney expected was a scarecrow that cried.

Sydney was so taken with the scarecrow that he found the courage to ask, ‘Why are you crying?’

It was then he noticed the corn husks that were stuffed in the scarecrow’s mouth. As a matter of fact there were husks wrapped around his entire body.

‘No wonder you didn’t come after me,’ said Sydney.

Sydney’s instinct was to help the scarecrow out by unraveling the husks where they ended: at his feet. But it wasn’t until Sydney had unraveled the husks up to the scarecrow’s knees that he noticed the bird carcasses sticking out of his torn and tattered overalls--”

“Stop it right there!” said Mr. Pickles. “That’s a bedtime story?,” For who? The boogie man?”

“Well,” I said. “It’s the only one I know.”

“Save it,” said Mr. Pickles. “I’ll stick to counting zebra!”

It was then I fell fast asleep. In my dreams I saw it. The shadow. Looming larger and larger as it slunk its way along the cavernous wall of the cargo plane.

I screamed in terror as I saw it envelop Mr. Pickles hammock.

It was at this point that I woke myself up and heard the muffled cries of Mr. Pickles, wrapped in his hammock like a massive ear of corn, snug in its husk.

Acting quickly and with much effort, I un-twirled Mr. Pickles from his cocoon and watched helplessly as he tumbled to the floor.

“Next time,” said Mr. Pickles. “I’m taking the canoe!”