The Elephant Tree -Part 10

The Political Party's Snipers, the CIA, the FBI, the White house spies the Pentagon and all the foreign government spies could not locate the town of Elephant Tree nor the subversive bastards they were looking for...
..but..Ichaposi the photographer could...


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In Washington both party chairmen were greatly concerned over the mascot issue.  What if they were found out?  Both parties were sure they needed to find their mascots, the ugly democratic donkey and the less than smart republican elephant before the news media did.  If they didn't, there was sure to be another Watergate type scandal.

Neither party was aware that the other party had also been cooking the polls so they spared no effort in trying to locate the subversive beasts.

Both parties received the information on the where a bouts of the animals from their ‘inside’ sources at the CIA, FBI, Pentagon, Israeli intelligence, and the White House staff. 

However, the CIA, the FBI and the Pentagon, Israeli Intelligence and the White House staff  had no idea where the terrorists were.  They would never admit that they had lost track of the subversive group so they just sent out reports pinpointing the group living in the small red neck town of “Elephant Tree”

Both parties were in a panic.  They had to retrieve the animals before the CIA or the FBI or the Pentagon or the White staff did or their nasty little secret would be set free upon the world which would set loose a chain of events that could or would reveal hundreds or thousands or maybe millions of nasty little secrets that both parties had been hiding from the voters for decades.

Both parties hired big game hunters and sent them to the town of “Elephant Tree” where they could begin tracking them.  Their instructions were very explicit in political terms.  ‘Locate the beasts and take them out’.

The hunters were given First Class tickets on the first plane available.  They were seated directly behind the editor and the well endowed ‘ghostwriter’.

The CIA’s finest were seated directly in front of editor and the well endowed ‘ghost writer’.  Their directive was to seek and destroy a group of subversives that were seeking to kill the president. Their second directive was not to inform those sneaky bastards over at the FBI.

The FBI agents were seated across from the editor and the well endowed ‘ghost writer’.  There directive was to seek and destroy a group of subversives that were seeking to kill the president. Their second directive was not to inform those sneaky bastards over at the CIA.


The White House and the Pentagon only sent spies to make sure they were kept up to date on the entire operation.  The spies were seated directly behind the FBI agents.

Every agent, every spy and the editor knew of the other spies and agents and the editor and all were equally sure that no one was aware of who they were except of the course the editor who introduced his ‘ghost writer’ to all the spies and agents with a wink and an explanation that they were on their way to write a Pulitzer prize winning story about some breaking news that he wasn’t allowed to divulge at the moment.  No one heard a word he was saying because they were all concentrating on the cleavage being exposed by the ‘ghost writer’.

Every agent and every spy had the same thoughts about the ‘ghost writer’; you can write my story any night you want.

Also, every agent and every spy had their maps out trying to locate the town of “Elephant Tree.  No one had the nerve or the sense to ask any of the others where the small town might be located.



*****



The photographer that looked like Ichabod Crane and sounded like Nancy Pelosi left the writer in search of the elephant, the donkey and the retired undertaker.  However, his primary thought was not on the three escapees.  His primary thought was on making money and the easiest and quickest way for him to make money was to sell his pictures.

It didn’t matter to him that the photos really belonged to the newspaper that he was working for; he was going to sell copies of them to the sleaze papers.  The sleaze papers had no qualms about the legality of photos.  They could claim that they sent their own photographer to take the pictures.

When Ichaposi resumed his search, his subjects were not hard to follow.  Elephant tracks, donkey tracks and an undertaker tracks are not hidden very easily, especially if the track makers are not trying to hide them.

Why would they hide them?  They were not aware that anyone would actually want to track them as if they were being hunted by real hunters.  They were only aware of the writer and photographer, but they were merely nuisances and offered no danger to them.

The photographer caught up with them as they were knocking on the farm house door.

He called the writer and started taking telephoto shots.

The farmer opened the door and gasped in surprise.  “What are you doing here?” He said to the elephant and the donkey.  Then in almost the same breath he turned to the undertaker and said, “Who are you?”

The donkey and the elephant gasped in surprise and replied to him but not in unison.  The donkey was one word ahead of the elephant so it sounded like someone speaking into a canyon with an instant echo.

“What...what ..are…are …you…you …doing…doing …here?…here?”

“I asked you first,” the farmer said.

“So what,” the donkey said.  “We asked you second and last, so you need to answer first.”

The farmer just stared.  He had no answer for that kind of logic, so he gave in.

“I live here.”

“Why?” the elephant said.

I was tired of their strange talk so I butted in.

“They need a place to hide from a writer and a photographer.”

“Not here!”  The farmer replied.

“Why not?”  All three visitors replied in unison.

“Because this is my hiding place.”

Now the meeting on the farmer’s porch became more of an inquisition than an introduction.  The visitors fired questions at the farmer in turns.

First the elephant, then the donkey.

“Why do you need a hiding place?”

“None of your business.”

“Who are you hiding from?”

“None of your business.”

“What do you farm on this land?”

“Nothing, it’s just a hiding place.”

“Why are you hiding?”

“None of your business.”

“Who are you hiding from?”

“None of your business.”

“You could grow peanuts,” the elephant offered

“I don’t want to grow peanuts or anything else.  Now just go away and leave me alone.”

I was frustrated.

“Look, we’re just talking in circles and an elephant and a donkey standing in your front yard is going to cause people to start asking questions.  Why don’t we go into your barn and have our talking circle there?”

“OK,” the farmer said.

“It’s my turn to ask a question,” the donkey said.

“Do you think your wife would make me some peanut butter and jelly sandwiches?”  The elephant said.

“You were just complaining about eating too much,” I said.

They took their circle of talk to the barn and once inside the donkey said, “Where were we?  Or, rather, where was I?  Oh yes, it’s my turn to ask a question.  Um, let’s see now.  What would be a good question?”


I interrupted him, “Why don’t we begin by someone telling me how you know each other?”

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