So The Ant Said To The Elephant

(2,640 words)

SO THE ANT SAID TO THE ELEPHANT

Max Duncan’s hesitation showed in his uncertain approach to the reception desk and the perspiration glowing on his face. A 60 year old college student with a dream to become a professional writer. College meant a course in creative writing, but it was nearly forty years since he had last been part of such a community. He had just arrived for the first week of school in a course advertised as “Creative Writing—A Challenge To Produce Your Best.”

‘I must be crazy,’ he thought to himself. ‘This is no place for an old fogey like me.’

How things have changed was brought home to him with shock and awe when he fronted reception. Max had expected, unreasonably perhaps, an older woman, conservatively dressed with her hair in a gray bun and with a rather forbidding demeanour. Instead, the vision that confronted him seemed to Max to have originated in some alien galaxy.

Her face contained several studs and piercings, including one through her tongue, and tattoos along both arms. Her hair, dyed in several different colours, stood up all around like a demented flue brush. Her ears must have been in a perpetual state of trauma, the lobes being pierced with metal objects the size of a twenty cent piece. Her language appeared to have originated in some bizarre parallel universe, but all of this was redeemed by a warm smile and a genuine desire to help. Max’s cynical side suggested that this was due to his age, but he would accept any help available.

The receptionist—her name tag proclaimed “Missy” to the world—gave Max the information he needed to take the plunge into his creative writing course and, with his head in a whirl, he negotiated his way to the first class on the far side of the campus.

The instructor was starting a well practised opening address about his expectations and the rules of engagement, his delivery bored and apathetic.

‘Great,’ thought Max. ‘I knew I was crazy to take this on, and this guy isn’t helping.’

Max glanced round at the other twenty or so people he would be taking this class with. There were around a dozen kids in their late teens or early twenties, no doubt seeing themselves writing the next international blockbuster. Then half that number of very serious looking women, probably in their mid thirties, who, Max thought, believed they already had.

His causal inspection was brought to an abrupt halt at the sight of someone else trying to hide in a corner. She was close to Max’s age, maybe a little younger, with curly brown hair showing a few silver streaks, a round, soft face, big eyes and an expression suggestive of the boredom Max felt. Max knew he had to become acquainted with this vision and discover if she was as charming as she looked.

The instructor droned on. “My name is Jeff Fry, and this course is essentially a practical one. You will be asked to produce pieces of work which will be graded by me and also subjected to peer critiques. Any questions?”

The whole group seemed either struck dumb or asleep.

“Okay, I’d like each of you to introduce yourselves and tell us why you’re here. We’ll do this alphabetically.”

There were four students before Max, each of whom emphasised a desire to make money from writing. ‘Interesting,’ he thought, and when his turn came, he was quite clear. “I want to write as a method of expressing myself. I believe that an author’s first responsibility is to himself—or herself,” he continued, glancing in the direction of the woman who had seized his imagination. “If you’re lucky and do a good enough job, you may find a readership, but, again, in my opinion, if you want to write for money, get yourself as job as a copywriter at an advertising agency.”

His comments were greeted with murmurs of dissent from the rest of the class, but Max couldn’t have cared less. He was clear about his own objectives and meant to hold to them.

Eventually “Annabelle Parkins” was called to introduce herself, and Max noted her name carefully. She was a little hesitant, but he was delighted to hear that her reasons for attending closely matched his own.

“Thank you, ladies and gentlemen,” the instructor continued, “Your first assignment is due in two days time. I want each of you to write a 1,000 word story around the prompt, ‘So the ant said to the elephant.’ I’ll accept plus or minus ten percent on the word count. This will be graded as an initial benchmark for your subsequent work, and a few of you will be invited to read your story to the group.”

Further murmurs of dissent were heard and several students approached the instructor after the class ended. However, Max headed for the door with a smile on his face; he had already mapped out the story in his mind. As he did so, a soft, warm voice enquired, “It’s good to see someone smiling. Care to share the joke?”

He turned, his smile broadening as she joined him in leaving the room. “I’m already planning my story, but I’d also planned to talk to you, Ms Parkins.”

“Oh, Annabelle, please. But my friends call me Belle.”

“Would I be too presumptuous if I call you Belle?”

“I don’t think so.” Max would have sworn she fluttered her eyelashes.

“Belle,” just her name sounded delicious, “I don’t know about you, but I’d kill for a decent cup of coffee. I suspect that’s a contradiction in terms in the canteen here, but there’s a burger joint just down the road where the brew may not be totally lethal.”

She laughed. “I’m with you but I will pay my share.”

“Oh go on, please let me be traditional and sexist and pay for both of us. Tell you what, you can pay next time.”

“Next time, hey? You seem very sure of yourself. I’m a bit gun-shy when it comes to relationships, and …”

Max jumped straight in. “I don’t recall anything about relationships. Just two classmates enjoying coffee together. And maybe doing it again later.”

“Okay, you win,” she laughed and they headed to the burger joint in companionable silence.

They exchanged some basic personal information, and he discovered she was twice divorced after bad marriages. “I seemed to attract real losers,” she told him.

His inevitable comment, “Third time lucky,” was greeted with a flick of Belle’s left eyebrow but nothing more substantial.

“Okay, so tell me about your wonderful story, Max.”

“Well, I see it as a male ant trying to seduce a female elephant, and the conversation between them about the possibility or impossibility of this happening.”

Belle’s snort almost blew coffee down her nose as she burst out laughing.

“You can laugh all you like, but if we can suspend disbelief to the extent of an ant and an elephant talking to each other, anything should be possible.”

“I suppose so, but still …”

“Just you wait, oh ye of little faith—and I’ve got a punch-line that will either get me an A double plus or thrown out of the class.”

“Ooh goody, tell me.”

“No, no, you’ll just have to wait for the finished product.”

Belle pouted, but he wasn’t going to be caught that way, and they both made ready to leave.

“Max, my car is in dock and I need to go back to the campus to catch my bus, so …”

“Hey, please let me give you a lift. It’ll be good to have charming company on the drive, then I can find out where you live so I can stalk you.”

The laughter in his voice reassured Belle of any hesitation, but she still made a token refusal.

“Okay, Belle, which suburb do you live in?”

When she told him, he was even more persuasive. “Even better, right in the middle of my journey. No deviation at all, so I won’t take no for an answer.”

“How can I say ‘No’ to a man who believes an ant can seduce an elephant? Lead the way to your chariot.”

Max had found her unexpectedly easy to talk to, and she reacted in kind to his gentle banter. Arriving at her house, he could sense Belle’s uncertainty as to whether she should invite him in. He forestalled any difficulty by saying, “Belle, I need to get going, but if you’d like a lift in on Wednesday, I will call round at 8.30 in the morning.”

“Thank you so much, Max but I don’t want to put you to any trouble.”

“It’s no trouble, and I’ll be here at 8.30 on the dot. Don’t be late,” he grinned.

She wrinkled her nose at him just before he drove away.

Wednesday arrived and Max’s enthusiasm knew no bounds, particularly after Belle joined him and immediately started to push him for the punch-line of his story. He kept his silence, however, even after she offered, “I’ll buy you a coffee and a burger for lunch if you tell me.”

“I’m neither easy nor cheap,” Max laughed, “tell you what, you show me yours and I’ll show you mine.”

“Oh no, Mr Duncan, you can’t get round me like that.”

They arrived in class, still laughing at each other.

“I hope you’ve all completed your assignments,” Jeff started. “Bearing in mind that one volunteer is worth ten pressed persons…”

‘Very politically correct,’ thought Max.

“… I will accept volunteers to read their piece to the class.”

There was no great rush to do so, so Max indicated his willingness to put himself to the test. He had never had problems with public speaking and became absorbed in the story he had so carefully crafted. The idea of an ant seducing an elephant raised a few laughs—and a few eyebrows among the group, until he reached the grand finale.

“Oh Mr Ant, I just can’t believe you could achieve the slightest pleasure from seducing me.” The elephant flapped her ears flirtatiously.

“Of course I can, my dear. It will give me the greatest possible pleasure to be with a lady as well proportioned as you.”

“But sir,” the elephant continued, “the Supreme Council of Elephants would never agree to such miscegenation.”

“There you are wrong, my dear. The supreme council is founded on just that idea, and your name gives it away. Why, surely you realise why you are called an eleph –ANT.”

A mixture of groans and a little laughter greeted this revelation, and Max saw Belle’s eyebrows soaring towards the ceiling.

“Very Interesting, Mr Duncan,” the instructor’s voice offered no great hope.

Encouraged by Max’s example, Belle read her story, a political tale of conservative elephants and radical ants. Max applauded, but the rest of the reaction was lukewarm, including the instructor’s bland, “Thank you, Ms Parkins.”

A week later, their stories were returned; Max achieved a B- and Belle a C but without any helpful feedback.

Max joined Belle after the class, and they again headed for the burger joint for coffee and commiseration.

“I’m not at all sure I did the right thing in enrolling for this class,” Belle started.

“You read my mind. I’m seriously thinking about pulling out; I don’t have a lot of confidence in Jeff Fry, we don’t seem to be getting anything useful out of it, and it seems to me like a waste of time.”

“Okay, let’s go one more session, then we can decide.”

Max and Belle were present for the next class, but, interestingly, the numbers had dwindled from twenty to fourteen. This class was almost entirely taken up with a debate between the instructor and a core group of young students intent on pushing their views about the social and political importance of writing. Max could see Belle gazing out of the window and he had great difficulty staying awake.

“I think that’s enough, don’t you,” Max grumbled as they left the class.

“Mmm, but I don’t want to lose touch with you.”

“Me either. How about we go out for dinner on Saturday,” and before Belle could reply, Max emphasised, “my treat—this time.”

Belle smiled. “Okay. Give me a call later and we’ll sort out the details.”

“Done.” And they went their separate ways.

Max’s phone rang on the Friday afternoon, and he was mildly surprised but entirely delighted to hear Belle on the other end.

“Max, can I talk to you?”

“I can think of few things I’d rather do.”

“Great—I’ve got something to show you.”

“Even better. Like I’ve said before, you show me yours, I’ll show you mine.”

“Behave yourself, Mr Duncan. I think you’ll find this interesting.”

“Ain’t that what I just said? Okay, look, what are you doing this evening?”

“Nothing that can’t be put off.”

“So why don’t you take a big, big chance and come round here with your exciting news. Give me a couple of hours and I’ll throw together something vaguely edible. Which do you prefer, spaghetti, fettuccine, tortellini or penne?”

“I love tortellini; are you going to tell me you have a secret recipe for pasta sauce handed down through generations?”

“Not quite, but I think you’ll like it.”

“I’ll be there.”

“I’ll be waiting.”

Max opened the door and his jaw almost hit the floor. Belle was enchanting and she’d clearly gone out of her way to make an impression. She was dressed in a soft pastel blue blouse with big buttons down the front, cream coloured linen slacks and open work sandals with about a two inch heel. She’d obviously washed her hair and brushed it until it glowed, her make-up was understated but captivating. Max thought she looked gorgeous, and she blushed when he told her so.

“Well thank you; I wanted to make a good impression the first time I visited you.”

“I hope it won’t be the last”

She blushed again.

“Let’s eat first, then we can talk,” Max suggested. Belle declared herself impressed by his culinary prowess, and they talked as if they’d known each other for years.

After the meal, they settled in comfort in the lounge and Belle took out her laptop. “I’ve been doing some research into writing support sites, and I’ve come across one called Writing.com. This looks really good—you can post stories, poems, any written work, and people will review it and provide you with feedback. Of course, you’re expected to review other people’s work, but that’s half the fun. There seem to be all sorts of groups and contests you can join; you can start as a free member and move up to paid memberships where the benefits are greater.”

Belle logged on to Writing.com and they both spent some time looking around the site. Three hours later, Writing.com had two new members.

“I think this is the answer to my dream, Belle. I reckon I can get some feedback for my efforts, and contribute to other people’s writing goals.”

“Me too … oh my goodness, look at the time. It’s way past my bed time, so …”

Max looked into her eyes, and he could see the question growing there through her intense look and the nervousness that surrounded it.

“Belle—would you … would you stay the night. With me,” he added to make sure there was no mistake.

“Can I trust you?”

“Can a duck swim? Is the Pope Catholic?”

“Then I guess I’d better trust you,” she giggled. “Max, I think I’m less gun-shy about relationships right now.” So saying, Belle linked her arms around his neck and they kissed. Not for the first time, it’s true, but for the first time in which their kiss foreshadowed a long, lasting and loving relationship.