December 30, 2013
I've traveled to South Africa to attend the funeral of Nelson Mandela. I'm staying at a palatial compound high in the hills above Johannesburg. [Are there hills above Johannesburg? I have no idea.]
There is an infinity pool, and it is mesmerizing to gaze out over the horizon as the pool seems to meet the lush valley below. I notice on the edge of the pool a small statue of blue giraffe. I walk to the far side of the pool to retrieve it. It's smooth and shiny, made of porcelain or perhaps a dyed ivory. It is the most exquisite thing I have ever seen, or so I tell a man who seems to be in charge of the compound.
"Can I have it?" I ask the man.
He tells me the giraffe is part of the estate, and no, I may not have it.
"What about the gift shop? Could I find one in the gift shop? I'm not going to the funeral until I get one of those giraffes."
I'd like to think that in my waking life I would not skip a state funeral over a giraffe. An elephant or a lion maybe, but not a giraffe.
