The Lesson

The lesson-giver’s elbow wasn’t working. Whenever he thrust his finger into the air to accentuate a point, the elbow gesticulated, swung like a pendulum and struck him in the cheek. His audience was a morass of taxidermists imitating ornery, cigar-smoking bullfrogs.

Nearby a tree shook its leaves. Everybody pretended it wasn’t there ...

The lesson-giver grew more careful. He thrust his finger softly, gently, and his elbow began to kiss him on the cheek. A taxidermist acknowledged the feat of acclimatization with a powerful ribbit! The tree acknowledged it by shaking its leaves harder.

Overhead the silhouette of a king-fu fighter sailed across the night sky. His karate chops were as fluid and true as a child’s mother-love ...

The finger stopped thrusting, the elbow stopped kissing. The taxidermists swallowed their cigars and stood up as the elbow blackened, withered, died. It fell off of his arm and swam to the earth like a leaf.

The lesson-giver pushed out his lips. “Let that be a lesson to you,” he croaked . . .