Because there was no other way .....


..... the lion went into the garden.

Otherwise he would never have ventured, but the gate was open, and so he walked into the garden.
There were gravel paths in the garden, and the lion took great care not to step outside them, fearing the consequences might be unpredictable.

From all the trees in the garden long wild leaves and flowers were hanging, and when the lion had reached the end of the gravel path, he stepped very carefully out on to the grass, up to the largest of the trees, and picked a flower.
Under normal circumstances such an audacity would not have been possible at all.
But the lion thought no more of that, and walked on through the garden.
On the grass this time.

The garden was full of birds of all colours and sizes imaginable, but none of them said anything.

And there were many other wild animals, and the lion wanted to talk with them; he walked over to them and started to say something, but the other animals did not even look at him, they only looked at each other, terrified, and ran away so that the lion could not see them any more.

The lion stopped and lay down under a tree with large azure and red blooms, thinking of the strange garden he had walked into.
He thought of the silent birds, and got the idea that maybe he could teach them how to sing, and then they might like to sing to him afterwards.

Hopefully, the lion looked up at the birds, and began singing.
A cheerful and quiet song it was, hardly more than a humming.
It made him so happy to hear his own song that he sang another song and then another, and when he had sung all the songs he knew, he rolled over on his side, humming, no song at all, just happy sounds.

And so the lion was lying there in the garden, singing himself to sleep.

A long time later he woke up, and evening had come.
He got up, quickly, because he was afraid that someone might have closed the gate so that he could never get out, and he thought this might cause him great misery even though he found the garden beautiful.

Towards the gate the lion walked, quick, quick, and saw to his unspeakable relief that it was still open.

He slowed his pace and looked back over his shoulder.
In the trees and in the bushes he saw the beautiful silent birds sitting huddled and sleeping.

The lion thought that in case he would not again find the gate open, and thus might never more have the chance to go into the garden, he would at least go and say goodbye to the birds.

Quietly, quite quietly not to disturb the birds, he walked over to them.

He lifted his nose toward a little white and yellow bird, saying gently goodbye, very low and quiet so that it should not wake up and be alarmed or maybe laugh at him.

But the little bird suddenly left its twig and fell down, lifeless, before his paws.
The white and yellow feathers were lying in a ruffled heap on the ground.
The lion breathed on them, gently.
His bird was dead, why?

Somehow the lion felt strangely responsible for the bird’s death.
Was it because he had dared to sing to it?
Because he had touched the infinitely pure little bird with his ugly filthy nose?
or why?

The gate was still open, and the lion walked slowly out of the garden, he sat down outside of the long, long garden wall.
He tried to think of the garden and he tried to sing again, but he could only cry.

The lion sat outside the latticed gate and wept.
Perhaps he should never have gone into that garden.

- - - - - - - - - - - -

In the control room in the big white house at the back of the 'garden', the two operators, known as the Preacher and the Cleric, were finishing their day’s work. With gloating contempt they watched the sobbing lion on the surveillance screen. "There we really scored off that self-conceited beast," the Cleric said.

In the same moment one of the junior operators came in; he looked at the screen and grinned. "So you’ve fixed a whole lion already? My, you are efficient, aren’t you!"

The Preacher eyed him sternly. "We must all work hard to fulfil the Plan. What do you think the world would look like if we did not take responsibility for keeping everybody in their place?" He pointed at the screen. "That lion was getting a bit too wilful and a lot too nosey for his own good. Precisely the kind of behaviour that leads to loss of Faith in Authorities. Insubordination. Anarchy. Chaos."

The Preacher raised his hand with a significant gesture, as in benediction, and turned off the hypnosis projector. "Now we have eliminated the risk that he will overstep his limits."

In silence they watched the lion, who had got up and was walking away, slowly, heavy paws, tail dragging. When the lion was out of sight, the Cleric reached for the computer and switched off the virtual garden. The trees, the lawn, the flowers and the birds flickered for a brief moment and were gone.

The Preacher held the junior operator with a masterful gaze.
"Always be on guard, and take care that everyone follows The Right Way. Because there is no other way."


¤

WOW! Jane, you take that fantastic imagination ofyours from whimsical little poems, to an intriguing short story! I never expected such an ending! I wanted to be in that garden with the lion...I loved this part:

"Hopefully, the lion looked up at the birds, and began singing.
A cheerful and quiet song it was, hardly more than a humming.
It made him so happy to hear his own song that he sang another song and then another, and when he had sung all the songs he knew, he rolled over on his side, humming, no song at all, just happy sounds."

Thanks for sharing more of your wonderful imagination and talent~~

~~flutter~~

I agree with flutterbug. WOW! A most excellent tale indeed, Jane!

Your fertile imagination is matched only by your ability to paint beautiful, vivid, pictures with your words.

You have many areas of talent, dont' you Jane?

I am glad you posted this tale. It is good to know that talented people such as yourself also write fiction.

Poor lion. Maybe one day he'll revolt against the Powers That Be. I remember hearing the tale (and the song that goes along with it) of a lion named Lambert...Lambert the Sheepish Lion. Of course, he didn't have fiends in a control booth flipping switches.

Okay. I'm ready for the next one.

Ken

Jane, this would make a great TV play. I wonder could you be on to something; or on something, if you are keep it up.

Jack

Flutter - Wow to you too! And thanks a lot!
Yes, the ending was rather nasty, wasn't it? But without it the story would have been merely sad. I don't know which is worst, really. But I'm very glad you enjoyed it.

Ken - Showers of thanks to you!
It's always reassuring to see a skilled fiction artist (hey, that's you I'm talking about) compliment my attempts at the Craft.
Poor lion indeed. But I am planning a follow-up on this one, where a hideous hyena will savage the clergy, clear the premises and save the world.

Jack - Thank you! A TV play? now that hadn't crossed my mind; but of course you may have a point there ... I'll go have a chat with Spielberg about it.
On to something, into something, out from under something, on something? I wonder too, sometimes.


Jane

This one was awesome too.
Kat