The following Christmas story was written by H. Palmer and I am posting it for him here.
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"The Lioness, the Lamb and the Stork"
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Summer was coming to Botswana. And the rains swept across the veldt. The smallest children: baby ellies, tiny impala, wildebeest calves, vervets hanging on to their mothers’ backs, small baboons, lion cubs, all were on their best behavior. But there is always one and this one happened to be a Nile crocodile that all the other animals called Fatty. He had been particularly vicious lately, wolfing down terrapins and waterfowl and trying his best to capture a baby impala or two; so, all the mothers were extra careful that their babies not slip into the water as baby elephants seem to have a penchant for doing.
Silhouetted in the full moon glowing during this shortest evening of the northern hemisphere and longest at the pond, a lioness roared into the late evening skies of Mashatu, “The child is soon to be born! Let us call a truce until the moon wanes and the days begin to grow shorter.” But the roaring, the deep rumbles, frightened the impala and they scattered as they are wont to do when lions roar. “It is Christmas at Mashatu!” the lioness roared, “and it is also Hanukkah and Eid! All the great religions celebrate a time of peace. They say the lion will lie down with the lamb and peace will come, but we have no lambs. What am I to do?!!!” Her rumbles echoed across the veldt and roiled the waters of the pond.
That dark night, no star appeared in the eastern sky, no wise men rode camels across the Limpopo River. No angels appeared to those who tried to herd eland into small wooden corrals. Everything was the same as it had always been and the lioness worried that she would not be able to do her part and the child would not be born.
What can a hungry lioness do?’ she wondered. ‘My mother is ill, my children must be fed and yet the child must come. We must have peace.’ She knew that even if an impala walked within a few feet of her, she must not make a kill. Too much depended on her. A strange weight fell upon her shoulders.
The now scrawny lioness slowly walked out onto a rocky point jutting into the pond and myrred softly, coughing deep down in her throat. She bent her head down and lapped at the water. She saw the reflection of the full moon in the rippling waters and looked up, her face glowing a bright gold in the pale light. She roared, “What am I to do? I have never seen a lamb and have no idea of how to find one to lie down beside.”
Her stomach rumbled and she licked her lips. She had seen impala eating the now thick grass growing in what had once been arid land and pulled at a clump. She tried to chew it, but spat it out. “Impala! How can they be so tasty when they eat this?” She snorted, turned away from the green grass.
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The sun rose, painted the veldt in vivid hues of red, orange and yellow. Two geese waddled by and the scrawny, but no less fierce, lioness salivated, a low groan traveling from her empty belly and out of her mouth. The geese honked loudly as if to wake up all of Mashatu. Everywhere she looked, the lioness saw food: grey herons, cattle egrets, a trembling impala nervously stretching its neck to lap the water. She did not attack, though her muscles tensed.
Lying down on the point, she whined, “Lamb, lamb, where in all of the earth will I find whatever a lamb happens to be.”
A yellow-billed stork, standing on one leg, jerked his head, and then jabbed his whole head down into the clear water. The stork trawled through the shallow water, dipping down to feed, but wading closer and closer to the lioness. Finally, he walked right onto the point and, his joints seeming to bend backwards, knelt before the lioness. “If you were serious last night…I mean about the truce…then I might be able to help you,” he told the lioness. “But you are so skinny and your family is hungry.”
The lioness looked at the stork, all her muscles quivering, the instinct to pounce almost overcoming her. She saw her cubs feeding, her mother cracking bones. She settled back on her haunches, let her head fall to her front paws and stared into the stork’s eyes with her own golden eyes. Her stomach rumbled loudly. The stork, seeing her tongue slide over her sharp teeth, almost fainted and backed toward the water. The lioness crouched quickly, then leaped and the stork closed his eyes, waiting for sharp teeth to rend him. He heard a splashing sound and with his wings almost covering his eyes, peered around him.
Fatty the crocodile tried to swim away, but the lioness held onto his strong tail and dragged him by her jaws back onto the point. ‘You taste strange, crocodile,” said the lioness. “But I am hungry and so are my cubs. Why should I not eat you?”
“B-b-becausssse,” hissed the fat crocodile. “L-l-lassssst night…you c-c-called for a t-trucccce and you are a lion of her word.”
“And yet,” roared the lioness very loudly. “You attack my friend the stork?”
“Attack? Oh, no, no, no,” replied the crocodile. “I wassss merely sssstopping by to ssssay hello.”
“You will obey the truce,” roared the lioness. “The child must come.”
The yellow-billed stork listened carefully and whispered into the lioness’s ear. “I will help if it is within my powers.” Without another word, the stork turned and flew into the African sky.
The yellow-billed stork flew high into the morning sky, the sun making his wings glow a brilliant white and his bill an almost golden yellow. His flight took him far over the ocean. And, not until evening, did he let himself sink down onto the mast of a passing ship. He bent his head under his wing and slept, exhausted.
The next morning, before any of the men on the ship could see him, he spread his wings and heaved himself into the sky. From a boat on the water, he would have looked like a small speck in the sky as he beat his wings and sometimes glided on air currents. At length, he came to a large island and saw animals that looked similar to the oxen he had seen in Botswana. They were grazing near a lake and were very large. They had horns that curved inwards before coming to sharp points. The stork plopped on the ground, too tired for a graceful landing, in front of the largest of them all. “I am in need of help, good master ox” he said. “I have flown for a day and a half searching for an animal known as ‘lamb’ and have no idea of what kind of beast it is. I assume it is huge and ferocious for it is to lie down next to lioness and yet no harm will come to it.”
The ox laughed and in a deep voice, said, “Ferocious and huge indeed! And why are you seeking this creature. For do you not know that it lives near the abode of men and dogs guard it carefully?”
“No, I did not know that,” said the stork, “for I have never seen one of these creatures. But the child that we have long waited for cannot come until I find a lamb and take him back to the lioness though I am very tired.”
“Then fly,” said the ox, “as high as you can fly even if you are exhausted…and look for smoke rising into the sky. There you will find men and there you will also find dogs and sheep with their lambs.”
The stork sighed and breathing deeply spread his wing and lunged back into the sky. “Thank you,” he yelled down to the ox as the ground grew more and more distant beneath him. He spiraled slowly upwards until, at length, he saw small streams of black smoke rising up from the ground. He flew as swiftly as he could toward the source of the smoke and let himself glide slowly down to the ground.
The now very skinny yellow-billed stork landed on a soft, warm cushion, then squawked as he felt it move under him. He tumbled, tail feathers first to the ground, his twig-like legs sticking up. He focused his eyes and saw a black face surrounded by what appeared to be cotton balls staring down at him. “Who are you?” the black-faced animal asked.
“I am a yellow-billed stork and have flown hundreds of miles looking for a near-mythical beast called a ‘lamb.’ Can you help me?”
“Well, I do know where to find a number of lambs, but first, you must tell me why you seek one. For I am a sheep and lambs are precious to sheep. I would not see one come to harm.”
Words fell from the stork’s mouth, one after another, in a fairly jumbled manner, but at length, he finished,”…and the child cannot come until a lamb lies down with the lioness.”
“That requires much thought,” said the sheep. “I have heard of lionesses and they are said to be ferocious creatures, meat-eaters. I am not certain a lamb would be safe with such a being.”
“The lion has declared a truce, friend sheep. In fact, I walked almost into her mouth and she did not eat me. And when a crocodile called ‘Fatty’ by all around our pond tried to eat me, the lioness stopped him and made him promise to observe the truce. The child we have long awaited cannot come until this is done. I do not know how I can get this ferocious creature called “lamb” back, but I must try.”
The sheep turned and walked away. “Follow me,” she said. “I will show you the fierce beast.” And the stork followed her. The sheep walked into a green meadowland and a small version of herself rushed to her and began to suckle. “This is my own child,” she said. “And she is called ‘lamb.’ As you can see, she is not a ferocious beast, but is extremely gentle and trusting. We, too, have awaited the arrival of the child. If you will guarantee her safety, she may accompany you, but I do not see how you can transport her there if you have, in truth, flown hundreds of miles.”
“There must be a way,” said the stork. And he thought. He walked around a bit, peering into this and that. Finally, very careful that the dogs did not catch his scent or spot him, he found, outside an old barn, a long piece of white cloth knotted at both ends. He put the knotted end in his bill and asked the sheep to nudge the lamb into the cushier bottom. “It is a long way,” he said, “but I will carry her and I will not let her fall unless I should myself perish.”
The sheep licked the lamb’s face and a tear fell from her eye. “Bring her back safely,” she said, “and may you, too, sink safely to the ground in your own land.”
The stork had to run along the ground but finally, his wings swept up and down and he slowly rose into the sky, the cloth secure in his bill, the lamb hanging beneath him. Just as he cleared the ground, three ferocious dogs jumped into the air and he lost one of his longest tail feathers. But he beat his wings and gradually rose high enough that he could soar and rest his muscles for a moment.
Long flew the stork without resting and when the sun began to set, he flew over the coast of Africa and afraid that he could not rise again if he stopped to rest, beat on with the wind behind him until, at last, he saw the small pond that he called home. He drew a deep breath and, gasping, landed hard on the rocky point. Only then, ground beneath his feet, did the lamb bleat.
The yellow-billed stork lay there, hungry, exhausted, his *** feathers rising and falling quickly. “I am afraid, baby lamb, that I can go no farther.” His white feathers had turned a pale, sickly yellow and his breathing slowed down until the lamb could barely detect it. “Where, where, is the lioness?” He closed his eyes, struggling for breath and lay sprawled across the very tip of the point. “Find her,” he gasped.
He heard a low rumbling and felt a large pawpad brush his chest feathers. “There is no need, my friend, for I am here. And what is this?” The lioness sniffed the lamb while the small white animal trembled. “Do not fear me,” she said. “Our friend the stork is not well. Come, let us sit beside him and help him recover.”
And the three of them, lioness, lamb and stork, huddled at the tip of the small peninsula jutting out into the pond. After a while, they fell asleep.
And that very night a full moon rose over the small pond and all the stars shone more brightly than ever. A family of elephants walked out onto the point. The smallest stroked the lamb with its trunk and whispered, “so soft and small.” A giraffe waded to the point and leaned its head down over the stork. “He barely breathes,” she said. Warthogs splashed into the water and an ibis screamed, but none of the noise woke the sleepers and none of the animals, not even Fatty, bothered any of the others.
The sun rose and bright rays streaked through the scattering clouds. A thousand birds swooped over the lioness and the lamb and the slowly awakening stork and sang. Vervet monkeys and baboons shrieked with joy on the shore. And they all sang, every animal and bird in Mashatu. For the child had come and the air was fresh and the new dawn woke them all to joy. It seemed, almost, that the world grew young that day and the sun warmed them all with a special warmth and when they drank, the pond’s water tasted sweeter. Even Fatty, opened an eye and his narrow mouth seemed to form a smile.
Finally, the lioness woke, her stomach growling. She nuzzled the stork and licked his face until his eyes cracked open. And she licked the lamb. “Meat,” she rumbled. “But no. The truce holds and I have lain down with the lamb. The child has come and everything has changed. I will not harm him, not today. But while I slept, I dreamed a dream and in that dream I heard a voice that said ‘Lions should be lions and sheep should be sheep and antelope should graze on the veldt and monkeys eat grubs and berries and that is how it will be except this one night each year will be a night of peace and truce to commemorate the flight of the stork and the coming of the lamb to Mashatu.” Having said that, the lioness roared loudly and all the assembled animals trembled.
The lioness looked down at the yellow-billed stork and blinked. For his feathers glistened in the morning light and a golden light glimmered in his eyes. He soared into the sky and circled the pond three times singing loudly that the child had come ten returned to the rocky point and settled lightly on the lioness’s back. He stood up between her shoulders and sang of the child and of all children born innocently into a violent world, then fluttered to the ground next to the lamb where he fell into a deep and healing sleep.
The lioness coughed three times, then walked with dignity back to her pride as a whole flock of cattle egrets settled next to the stork. “Tell us the way and we will take her back to her mother.” The lamb licked the stork’s face and nuzzled him and then settled back into the sling as the egrets flew up into the cool air and rocked in the sling as they took him home.
The End