Most Poignant: Sean Yang

written by Sean Yang (Year 12)

Most Poignant

WHAT I AM TO SHEEP, WHAT MAN IS TO ME Soul of a Lion

Died 1968, Botswana

— b —

Perhaps that is what it means to be a father – to teach your child to live without you. – Nicole Krauss, THE HISTORY OF LOVE

I am not afraid of an army of lions led by a sheep; I am afraid of an army of sheep led by a lion. – Alexander the Great

— b —

Its written in the stars. My… our father would always say. When we were cubs, my brother and I would often lie at the feet of our father, as the cool breeze of the Savanna during the hours of darkness drifted through our fur, as the stars and sky blanketed the barren night. Peace and serenity surrounded us. His dark, thick mane, indicative of his wisdom, gently swayed. His noble eyes, cursed with survivor’s guilt, casted his vision towards the stars, as he proudly retold the legendary stories of our distant ancestors. The legend of the Nemean Lion who had golden fur, impenetrable and impervious to weapons of mortal beings, claws sharper than humans’ swords, which could cut through any armour, was the Lion that every cub idolised. ‘There’s the head of Leo, the Nemean Lion, the king of all kings. He died an honourable death and that is why he is now with the stars.’

I have always been told that life is about survival, but if your death is glorious, if you die defending your family, then your soul will leave earth for the sky and that’s where you’ll spend the rest of your days, as stars to inspire the cubs below. At least that’s what our father had told us.

‘Family is the heart, but the king of the pride is the brain. One of you boys will be the next king after me. Like Romulus and Remus, only one will take the throne… you are too young for this… but one day you’ll understand.’

My brother and I both wanted to be the Nemean Lion, the beast with supreme control and power, we would often practice our roars, attempting to mimic the grand, imposing stature of Leo, arguing passionately about who would have the darker and thicker mane, who would have the sharper claws, and often seeking our father’s approval. Yet we were too young and naïve to understand that only one of us could be Leo.

I remember tailing our mother and the other lionesses from afar, as we watched them hunt, observing their ruthless ways of catching pray. The zebras’ and antelopes’ lives had ended as soon as their eyes met the fierce, fiery eyes of my mothers’ and the other lionesses’. How helpless. I was glad I never had to feel that way. I reminisce the days of my youth and innocence.

While my mother was the one who provided food most of the time, I thoroughly enjoyed the times I spent spectating the incredible hunts of my father. I watched as he laid hidden in the tall grass, as still as a desert tree, as quiet as a desert night, yet as minacious as Leo himself. I greatly admired his patience, his methodical ways, unlike my mother’s unrelenting pursuits. He would wait. The antelope stepping cluelessly closer. And wait. As the prey inched neared to death. Then pounce. Those were the meals that tasted best.

One day after a hunt with our father in Serondela, the Northeast area of Chobe national park, my brother asked our father to tell us a story.

‘Let me tell you a story about survival. First let me say one thing, we are not predators or hunters, we’re survivors. We keep balance. We don’t hunt for leisure. We don’t kill for fun. We hunt to survive… now for the story. A long time ago in Tanzania, humans had eradicated all available prey in an effort to stop the spread of rinderpest among their livestock herds. ‘A pride of Lions worked together to devour more than a thousand people. These lions were called the man-eaters of Njombe. A frightening name, yes, but the truth is more saddening than terrifying. You see man only care about two things: other people and money. For the benefit of their own species they left nothing left for us. Cubs were starving, dying at the feet of their parents. The king didn’t know what to do, but his soul told him he had to do something. So in order to survive they looked towards other mammalian prey – humans. The roamed the lands in search of human prey, not hungry for man, but hungry to survive. Yet man is the one and only creature across all the lands and seven seas, with a gun in his hand, does not fear us. The tiny, puny mammals, whose strength comes from their weapons, not their heart. Soon after, those lions in that pride were killed by a game warden. Their souls are now in the stars.’

At that moment my heart ached with fear, stabbed with the knife of truth, as my youth and innocence bled out of me. I realised why myths are myths. No lion could truly become the Nemean Lion they dream to be, the best we could do is survive and protect our family, die a glorious death and be remembered in the night sky, that is the greatest honour, yet these man-eaters of Njombe, in trying to survive had been defeated by their own prey. How?

‘My job as your father, and as king is to protect my pride. That is my one and only desire. If you two live to see tomorrow, then I am contempt. Once you become fathers you’ll understand.’

We walked towards the floodplains, stopping to take sips of refreshing water. The sun dipping below the horizon in the distance, a beautiful and alluring orange hue splattered across the darkening sky, and patches of grey clouds overlayed the scenery. Everything felt calm again. Everything felt normal, as if that wound in my heart had be stitched up.

My brother and I played in the water, swimming and splashing around. I missed playing with my brother. After some leisure time I went to take another sip of water. Before taking a sip I looked at my own reflection. I saw a lion… an older lion… a dark, thick mane went around my neck, golden fur covered my body.

I noticed that the giraffes, elephants and buffalos watched as we walked past them, but the antelopes, zebras, impalas and kudu startled by the sight of a us jumped in fear, some stayed and watched, some sprinted away. It’s almost magical, at the same time terrifying how much power we had.

As we edged nearer to our home of Linyanti Marsh I broke the silence that had spread into our prolonged, exhausting journey. ‘Father, you always tells us of Leo, the Nemean Lion and how great and powerful he was, how he died an honourable death and went to the stars, but how did he die?’

My father slowed his pace, almost to a halt. Hesitantly he began to say, ‘there was once a demigod named Heracles, son of the god of sky and thunder Zeus and human Alcmene. Heracles embarked on many adventures. One cycle of these adventures became canonical as the “Twelve Labours”, the first of these labours was to slay the Nemean Lion. ‘Heracles had been sent by his cousin King Eurystheus to slay Leo. Heracles had come to the town of Cleonae. They say Leo would roam the hills of Nemea killing people and their livestock, terrorising Cleonae. Yet it was the only way for him to survive. In Cleonae Heracles met a boy who said that if Heracles slew the Nemean lion and returned alive within 30 days, the town would sacrifice a lion to Zeus; but if he did not return within 30 days or he died, the boy would sacrifice himself to Zeus. ‘While searching for the lion, Heracles fetched some arrows to use against it, not knowing that its golden fur was impenetrable. When he found the lion and shot at it with his bow, he discovered the fur’s protective property when the arrow bounced harmlessly off the his thigh. ‘After some time, Heracles made the lion return to his cave. However, the cave had two entrances, one of which Heracles blocked, so he then entered the other. In those dark and close quarters, Heracles stunned the beast with his club. He eventually killed the lion by strangling

it with his bare hands. Heracles wore the Nemean lion’s coat after killing it, as it was impervious to the elements and all but the most powerful weapons.’

It was my first time seeing my father look so defeated. So ashamed. ‘Leo was killed with Heracles’ bare hands?’ I asked.

‘With his bare hands son. But death is not something to worship now that you are nearly adults. It is the province only of the very young to want things to work out badly.’

It took a demigod to kill Leo. Yet demigods are still half human. Are there really creatures more powerful than us? All these stories, were they all a lie? How can Leo be defeated? I pondered all the way back home.

— b —

It was time for my first hunt. Nearly two years old and my mane had begun to grow. I was nervous. This was my test. My initiation. After my first hunt I would no longer be a cub. My brother and I followed our father out towards Serondela. My heart was trying to burst out of my chest with every pulse. With stealth we entered a patch of tall grass. A dazzle of zebras, unbeknownst to their imminent death, stood idly amongst a cluster of trees a few feet away.

‘Remember everything your mother and I have taught you. Soon you’ll become lions.’ My father’s words soothed the aching pain in my chest, my weary body was beginning to pump with adrenaline. I glanced towards my brother, simultaneously he turned his head towards me. Then we were off.

We bolted. My legs never having been pushed beyond the acts of running. This was not running, this was hunting. This was surviving. As we ran towards the dazzle, they flurried in every direction. I kept my eyes on one zebra and I chased. They were surprisingly fast. Yet they couldn’t outrun fate. Once I was close enough I leaped, propelling myself off the ground towards my prey. Landing on top of the zebra, I dug my claws into his body. No escape now. Yet he was still struggling, trying to burst away. I didn’t know if I was strong enough for this. Suddenly my brother arrived to assist my first hunt, latching onto the zebra, biting at his legs. I bit into the prey’s neck. After a while the striped creature was lifeless, now it was just another meal. My mother and other lionesses had arrived, ready to congratulate us and share the quarry.

‘I’m proud of you. Both of you.’ And with those words, I now knew I had become a lion, ready to one day become Leo. The care-free life as a cub had now been expended, I knew now that I was responsible, I was powerful, I would soon be the king of the desert and maybe someday be seen among the stars.

Guns grant mortals enormous power, transforming them into demigods, and demigods are the only beings that Lions cannot conquer. We are just mere sheep to demigods. Even Leo cannot survive sometimes. I learnt all this when my father died. My heart shattered. A part of me faded away. My open eyes could now see the truth and lies within the legends and stories my father told us. I didn’t know what to believe. The burden of survivor’s guilt now plagued my soul.

With cubs of our own, we were the ones who retold them the stories our father had told us. We watched as they entered their own little worlds, morphing into the Nemean lion and the lion of Cithaeron, their innocence clouded the truth and we as parents had to create that cloud. They were still not old enough to know the truth, to be told the stories of Leo’s death and of the man-eaters, but one day, they will be ready.

The pride had to decide on a new king. Everyone agreed it was only right that either my brother or I take on the throne, but that meant we had to fight. I dreaded this day, the day our play fighting turned to a real battle, the day where only one of this will become Leo. The pride had made a circle around us. The cubs standing by their mothers. Their eyes eager to feast on a fight to the death. I stood a few feet away from my brother. Suddenly we were off. I ran and lunged, clawing at my own kin. It felt wrong… it felt unprincipled…yet this was tradition… it was written in the stars.

— b —

The fight was moving around, growling and roaring, slashing and tackling. The lionesses swaying closer and further as the fight went on. Then I hacked at his face. Blood covered his face and mane. While he was struggling, I pinned him down and went for his neck. It was over. Just like that. I knew it was over, but I couldn’t bring myself to end my own brother’s life. His cubs and their mother slowly stumbled towards him. Embracing him one last time before he was exiled from the pride. As a cub I never expected to experience so much heartbreak. I never knew the kings with their golden fur and dark manes and iron claws had to suffer such emotional distress, but I knew my job…my only job as king, as father was to protect my pride and hide my pain.

As my cubs slept at night, I’d often look to the sky. Not to find the stars of Leo, the man-eaters of Njombe, the lion of Cithaeron or the god Maahes, but I searched for the stars of my father. I wondered if my brother had taken over another pride or had also found his ways to the sky. I wondered.

— b —

One day my cubs asked for another story. I wandered and traced through my memory. The words of my father echoed in my mind and I bestowed those words onto my children.

‘Let me tell you the story of the beloved Cecil. Cecil was a resident of Hwange national park in Zimbabwe. He was renowned and adored by humans all around the world for his

distinguishable, black-edged mane and lack of fear of human visitors, allowing them to come close to him. Cecil was an outcast amongst the other lions, so he found comfort through human love. He felt accepted among them.

‘Yet humans are still humans. They only care about two things, other humans and money. That you should always remember. And so the humans had selected Cecil to become a trophy. One day he was reputedly lured away from the safety of the park, shot with an arrow, then tracked and killed with a rifle by American Walter Palmer. While you may feel like you rule the desert, the humans rule the world, it has always been that way and it always will be… that’s the sad truth.’

A sharp pain stabbed my heart as I uttered these words to my dear children. I could see the fear in their unscathed eyes, the same fear that diluted my firm belief in Leo when my father told me the story of his death.

Suddenly I heard a roar. I turned around, stupefied by the sight of my brother.

‘My beloved brother.’

‘what are you doing her…’

‘It’s been some time now I know, but I’m not here for formalities or to reconcile. I’m here to take your throne.’

‘You don’t have to…’

‘Yes, I do. There can only be one Leo brother and it’s going to be me.’

I was reluctant to fight my brother again, but roared and engaged into battle, into war. This was all too familiar, but I felt weak, or maybe my brother had become stronger. He was quicker. He lacerated the side of my leg. I roared in pain, but before I could get back up, he slashed my face. This felt like the end. Maybe this was my time, to be with the stars, to be with my father. At the corner of my eye, I looked towards my cubs.

Then there was a loud sound. A sound I had heard before. My heart sunk. The thump of my brother’s body resounded in my ears.

I casted my eyes towards the source of the sound. Humans. They were not locals, but familiar. They sat in their shiny, metal castle that could run faster than us. Brimmed hats atop their heads, tanned skin, their shapes and sizes ranged dramatically, one of them was the largest of man I have ever seen. Are these the hunters that my species had always feared? The ones that killed Cecil? The ones that eradicated the man-eaters of Njombe? They laughed, chuckled and celebrated the collapse of my kin. I could see carcasses of other animals on their vehicle.

Was I going to be another trophy on their wall? I dug through the trenches of my most unpleasant memories and found the same men living deep in my mind. The same American hunters who slaughtered my father. My survivor’s guilt turned into raging fury and I only had one thing on my mind. I roared. With the spirit of Leo I lifted myself and shouted at my pride.

‘Run!’

Then I saw the large obese figure raise his gun, almost instinctively as my family ran for safety. He peered into his scope, focusing his aim. My own skin cannot withstand a bullet, but the golden fur that covered my soul can never be penetrated. In my dying moments I recollected the story my father had told me once, written by Roman historian, Pliny the elder: It is a remarkable fact, that pards, panthers, lions, and other animals of this kind, walk with the points of their nails concealed in a sheath in the body, lest they should be broken or blunted; and that, when they run, their hooked claws are turned backwards, and are never extended, except in the act of seizing their prey. The noble appearance of the lion is more especially to be seen in that species which has the neck and shoulders covered with a mane, which is always acquired at the proper age by those produced from a lion.

This reminded me of my strength. This reminded me that those beings on that truck will never die an honourable death. The soul of the Nemean Lion now etched inside my heart.

I let out my last roar. My fur turned golden, my mane had darkened, my claws sharpened. Death could not scare me. Then another bullet left the man’s rifle. I fell again. Lying beside my brother, our souls leaving for the stars, as I heard my father’s voice say, ‘the souls in the sky live only as long as we remember their stories. Beyond that there is nothing, not for them nor for us.’ I knew my father would be proud. I knew my job here was done. A tear slowly fell down my face as I took my last breath, capturing the sight of my brother for the last time, recalling the times we’d play at the floodplains of Serondela. I came to final realisation: every lion could be Leo; every lion can ascend to the stars. —•