The Honey Elephant Read online

The Honey Elephant

  a quite unusual tale from

  The Lost Forest

  by Rachael Long

  © 2012 Rachael Long

  All rights reserved

  What is the Lost Forest?

  Once, on the African savannah

  a group of trees decided to join together and form a wood.

  Over many years the wood grew into a forest and even got itself a name...

  However, the forest’s name soon became forgotten

  and instead everyone called the forest,

  The Lost Forest.

  Inside the forest lived many different animals ~

  this is the quite unusual tale of just one..

  .

  The Quite Unusual Tale of

  The Honey Elephant

  Contents

  Part One

  Being the Beginning

  In which two tree monkeys sit in a tree

  until one falls out...

  the stork goes on holiday...

  then discovers badgers at the pole...

  Part Two

  Being not quite near the Middle

  Involving in order of appearance:

  a desert, a group of walking condors,

  some unusual sharks, an oasis

  and back in the Lost Forest,

  a tree crocodile and a brief sighting of

  the honey elephant....

  Part Three

  Being the part

  sometime after the middle

  but before

  The Ending

  In which lots of different things happen

  in lots of different ways...

  sort of...

  and we learn a bit

  about the honey elephant...

  Part Four

  Being the bit that

  eventually leads to

  The Ending

  Badgers, singing springbok-goats, honey,

  condors, more badgers, chaos

  and everything gets tied up

  in a loose sort of way...

  The Honey Elephant

  Long before tomorrow when today had not quite become yesterday and somewhere in-between lunch and dinner or dinner and tea if you prefer, two monkeys were sat in a tree...

  “Have you ever noticed,” said one tree monkey to the other, “we are always monkeys, never monkies...” The second agreed and added, “nor are we ever monkees.”

  The first nodded thoughtfully. “Yes, The Monkees were actually humans...it's true! Apparently they liked to monkey around...” The second tree monkey yawned, complained that the day, so far, was a bit dull, stretched out both his arms and legs at the same time and...fell out of the tree!

  Later, when the second tree monkey had managed to climb back up to where the first tree monkey was sitting he said, “I just had a look around while I was picking myself up from the ground; lots of animals seem to be gathering together and standing around waiting for something to happen.”

  “Something to happen?” queried the first tree monkey...He thought for a moment then mumbled, “I'd completely forgotten – quick, pass me that piece of bark.”

  The second tree monkey pulled a piece of bark from a shelf made in a hollowed out part of the tree. “I say,” he exclaimed, “it's covered in writing! Lots of crossing out. I can just about read, let me see, 'Toby or not Toby’?”

  The first tree monkey nodded, “yes, if only I had a typewriter...look on the other side.”

  “Oh, it's a calendar! There's a date ringed...and a little bit of scribble. It says, 'STORK, 5?' Well, I should say the stork, unless he's a crane in disguise, is a lot older than five!”

  “Don't you remember?” the first tree monkey asked. “About five years ago or perhaps even longer, depending on whether or not storks count in dog, cat, aardvark or elephant years; the stork arrived in the Lost Forest.”

  The second tree monkey stroked his chin thoughtfully then said, “so?”

  “Hmm...that fall didn't do much for you, did it? Look, however long ago it was, the stork was flying over the Lost Forest with a package when either the package started to wriggle or he lost his grip and...”

  “It was a worm...a snake! A mongoose!” suggested the second tree monkey.

  “No, no. It was a baby of some sort. Well, to be truthful, no one actually knows what it really was. But you see, the stork was in such a hurry, he didn't want to land and re-tie the package, so kept going. It seems he flew into some bumpy air...the package came apart and the baby or whatever it was, fell into the Lost Forest and was erm, lost! Ever since, the stork has been here; acting like some sort of unpaid caretaker and still looking for that lost package – bit hard when he didn't know just what it was in the first place!”

 

  “Of course!” said the second tree monkey slapping his forehead. “It's the annual, 'Do you look like you may have fallen from the sky' contest. Who won last year?”

  “Oh, that odd looking bald eagle. Now he really did fall out the sky! Still does! But only because he constantly forgets to flap his wings!” The first tree monkey smiled.

  “By-the-by,” said the second tree monkey, “just where is the stork?”

  “Oh, he gets terribly grumpy around this time of year. Who wouldn't; must be the only stork in the history of the Stork Delivery Service to ever have lost a delivery. He usually goes on holiday.”

  ~~~~~

  Several thousand miles away on the wrong side of a mountain, in a country that was really an island, the stork was standing in knee high grass...lush, green savannah grass...He looked around; the lush greenness extended out in front of him and to the sides. “This is all wrong,” he tutted, “wrong, wrong, wrong!” He strode through the lush green grass and suddenly stopped...

  Stretching away in front of him was snow! Ice and snow and more snow! Puzzled, he turned around; green savannah grass. He turned back; frozen landscape... The stork pulled off his flying helmet and scratched his head. For a moment or two he stood looking back and forth between the lush green savannah grass and the snowy landscape. He then took out a map and tried to compare what was on the map with what he could see. “Makes no sense, no sense at all,” he said as he looked around again.

  Then he spotted a small wooden hut with steam coming from a chimney. Deciding whoever was inside the hut may just have some answers; he strode over the icy snow and knocked at the door. Music was playing inside, a strange rhythmic, swinging beat. The stork slowly opened the door and stepped into a steam filled room.

  “Close the door, Daddio.” a voice called out.

  The stork blinked and wiped his eyes; “this is steam, isn't it?” he asked, concerned that if it was smoke he'd much rather be outside! There was no reply, instead the hidden voice called out,

  “Pull up a towel, Daddio...mellow out, enjoy...”

  “I'd rather prefer it if you didn't call me Daddio.” said the stork feeling his way around the wall and wondering just who would want to live in a steam filled hut. Gradually the steam cleared and the stork found himself standing in front of three towel-wrapped badgers.

  “Wel-come, Daddy-daddio,” said the middle one. “You like jazz?”

  The stork shrugged. “Jazz?” he queried, not quite knowing what to make of it all.

  “Mmm...jazz; J-A-double Zzz... Pull up a towel, unleash some sweat and dig the cool rhythms and yeah...welcome to the only beatnik jazz sauna in the Antarctic.”

  The stork wiped his eyes again. He was dripping all over and this steam was doing nothing at all for his feathers. He showed his map to the badgers. “Look,” he said, “I'm trying to get to this place. I have my holiday there every year. Only, it all seems so different this time...”

  The badgers nodded, t
ook the map and disappeared behind a cloud of steam. “Wow, Daddio, your map is crazy, see, it has North at the bottom and South at the top and the east-side faces west! Far out! Now, make like the badger bro's here, take a towel and ch-ch-chill...”

  The stork reached into the steam and took the map back. “I'm not really the sauna type, you know,” he said, “I'm just going to step outside, I may be gone quite some time...”

  Outside the stork bumped into another badger...a female badger with a dirty face, a bright yellow hat and tatty overalls. She thrust a yellow safety hat at the stork, “This is a construction site – hard hat area!” she tapped her own hat. The stork put on the hat and looked at her. “Can you tell me just what is going on here?”

  The female badger smiled, “I guess you've met the Jazz Brothers...they are enough to confuse anyone! They got the idea for the sauna from some crazy Swedish hare they bumped into and...”

  “But,” interrupted the stork, “what is it you are doing here and why is there grass and snow and snow and grass and..?”

  The female badger sighed, “long story,” she said, “but I'll give you the short version.”

  She explained her name was Dabbie and that with her cousins, the Jazz Brothers, she had escaped a badger cull. For a time they lived rough like foxes until they eventually made contact with the Mole Underground Movement. “They helped us escape to the Lost Forest,” she explained, “and then we came across a pipeline...”

  The stork nodded, “You know what, that pipeline runs all through the Lost Forest and everyone comes across it eventually...one way or another.”

  “Anyway,” continued Dabbie, “the pipeline gave us an idea; we thought it looked more like a long pole that had been lain down.” She smiled and playfully poked the stork in the ribs, “we used it as a homograph; you know, from one pole to another! Same word but different meaning! And that was when we decided to re-brand ourselves as Arctic Badgers! But to be truly recognised as Arctic Badgers we needed to actually live in the Arctic...except we didn't fancy all the pack ice and polar bears you get at the North Pole, so we came to the Antarctic instead. But we still kept the Arctic name bit. Makes us sound quite rare, don't you think? Southern Arctic Badgers!” She gave a little laugh then continued:

  “We tunnelled here from the Lost Forest and used the warm air from the forest to heat the ground and grow grass! The warm air comes up through the tunnel. We think we could even send cold air back to cool the forest in the summer!”

  Very good mused the stork looking around and starting to feel a little chilly, “I usually come here for my holiday. But the Jazz Brothers told me my map was erm...'far out'? Does that mean I've completely gone off track?”

  Dabbie-the-Arctic-Badger looked at the map the stork was still holding. “Looks like you've been reading it upside down! Came south instead of going north!”

  The stork tutted and rolled his eyes then carefully folded and put the now quite stiff, almost frozen map back into a pocket. “I think I'll just go home now,” he said, “mind if I keep this safety hat? The way some birds fly these days...well, you really need some sort of head cover! Plus, the sauna steam made my flying helmet go a bit limp, now it is all iced up.” Dabbie-the-Arctic-Badger nodded then stood back and watched as the stork took a short run and leapt into the air.

  Unfortunately the stork forgot the Antarctic air was thinner and that his sauna-steamed feathers had started to freeze. He didn't flap nearly hard enough and fell to the ground in a heap! “I'll walk home instead,” he said, grumpily picking himself up and trudging away, off the grass onto the snow and into the distance.

  Dabbie-the-Artic-Badger waved the stork goodbye then pulled a postcard out of her pocket and began scribbling on it;

  Dear Sis, found a lovely new place. Ideal sett(ing), ha, ha.

  You should come. Bring the cubs.

  Lets get the old clan back together!

  Love Dabbs

  ~~~~~

  In a very hot and sandy desert, quite some distance away from the Arctic-Badgers and grumpy stork but only about half a day's walk from an oasis, a group of condors known as the Sisters of the Sacred Brethren were slowly trudging their way to the top of yet another sand dune.

  Sister Dor, their leader, suddenly stopped and pointed out across the sand; “Sisters,” she cried, “we will soon be at the oasis!”

  “Hold on,” said one of the Sisters; “what's that, there. Down there between us and the oasis?”

  The Sisters squinted out across the heat-hazed desert... “Hard to make out, bit blurred,” said Sister Dor. “Sand devils?”

  “No, I bet that's one of them militant meerkat training camps, they're everywhere these days. All over the place,” said one of the younger Sisters.

  “How do you know that then?” asked another.

  “I saw an advert in 'Meerkat Watcher' magazine only last week...I erm get it for the interviews...” her voice trailed off and she sat down on the sand.

  The other Sisters shrugged and watched the shapes shimmer and dance and swim across the sand, slowly getting closer.

  As the Sisters stared at the strange shapes, the sun climbed high into the sky and dried up the last remaining shallow puddle of water in a nearby wadi channel, upsetting a stranded fish. The sun then hid behind a cloud and watched the upset fish wriggle its way under the mud at the bottom of the now waterless puddle. Not feeling particularly helpful that day, the sun came out from the cloud and baked the mud around the fish hard and brick-like.

  Inside the mud-brick, the fish quietly moaned, “Here we go again, same thing every time. I find a bit of water, out he comes and dries it up....”

  The seconds slowly ticked into minutes and the minutes grew into hours as the sand on nearby dunes shifted and drifted as the day wore on...the mud-brick fish fell asleep, after all what else is there to do inside a mud-brick? The Sisters stared at the approaching shapes and then stared some more and then stared again. Meanwhile, the sun tried to reflect itself off the bleached fossil of a very large dinosaur bone that jutted from the ground...and still the day continued to wear on...and on...

  Eventually Sister Dor said, “You know what; I think those shapes look like fish...or maybe even sharks..? Small ones, of course. Or perhaps they are some strange unknown desert creature? Oh look, now they are standing up and one has just pulled its head off!”

  For an instant everything seemed to slow down. One after another the strange creatures stood up, pulled off their heads, tucked them under their fins or arms or limbs or whatever they were and continued advancing all the time until finally, they stood before the Sisters of the Sacred Brethren.

  “You do seem a bit small for sharks!” remarked Sister Dor looking over the headless creatures, “and I'm not quite sure if you are even fish!” She thought for a moment... “What could you be? Are you perhaps, convergent sand dune cats?”

  The headless creatures shook their heads from side-to-side and smiled in a hideously, headless way.

  “Polecats?” suggested Sister Dor.

  “European or American?” asked one of the head-holding, headless creatures in a grisly toothy, I've just pulled-my-own-head-off sort of way.

  “Oh, erm European!” replied Sister Dor trying to sound as if she knew what she was talking about, instead of just guessing.

  Another shake of the heads.

  “American..?”

  “Nope.” The creatures shook their headless heads from side-to-side.

  “Prairie Dogs?” More head shaking. “Black Foot Ferrets? Ornamental Otters? Militant Meerkats; Meerdogs, Mere-Peccadilloes? Hah, Dachshund Puppies!”

  The headless creatures smiled as only headless creatures can, shook their heads from side to side and formed a circle around the Sisters. All except one, that is, who really was a dachshund albeit a miniature one. She smiled, mouthed, 'sorry', and scampered off into the desert.

  “What are you then!” demanded an exasperated Sister Dor.

  “Oh, you were
right first time...Headless Sharks! For obvious reasons we had to leave the sea...” The headless sharks continued, “and you, what are you then,” they hissed in a strange, hissing laugh; “turkeys? Vultures? Perhaps you are Turkey Vultures!”

  “We, are Condors who have taken a vow of flightless-ness,” explained Sister Dor.

  “Flightless condors? Hmm...African or South American?” the headless sharks hissed.

  “Almost but not quite. We are Walking Condors...on a pilgrimage to the Lost Forest” replied Sister Dor.

  “Flightless, walking condors.” the headless sharks hissed, “Yes, pollution is like hot air, it rises. Is that why you have forsaken flight?”

  This time it was Sister Dor who did the head shaking. “We choose not to fly as we are the Sisters of the Sacred Brethren of the Keepers of the myth of the Honey Elephant. We walk in honour of the Honey Elephant.”

  The headless sharks let out long, slow hisses; “Nuns? Is that what you are? Nuns! But surely you should be the Sisters of the Sacred Sisterhood?”

  Sister Dor smiled. “Our founding father was a brother – we welcome all. However, it is now time for us to move on...”

  “Leave?” queried the headless sharks. “You cannot leave, you must follow us.”

  “But we were hoping to make our way to the oasis over there.”