Notes from Pride Rock

FROM THE JOURNAL OF NATURALIST RUTHERFORD P. SWAIN (1888 - 1950)

Day Five

Darling Melody:

After a long trek inland, I am here. I had a jolly time chatting with some of the locals who told me this land is one where humans rarely tread. I will do my best to stay camouflaged and low to the ground, the better to witness the lions in their natural habitat. I am establishing my base camp near a majestic rocky outcropping, one stone jutting straight toward the sky, the other at an angle, as though to present a stage to the heavens. My guide told me that this place is called "Lions' Rock." Given the majesty of the place and the double meaning of the word "Pride" in my own tongue, I thought it a great jest to make the English place name "Pride Rock." I explained this to my guide, and he seemed most amused.

A small pride seems to make this rock its home. At present, I am observing a majestic male lion, with a long flowing mane and a deep, sonorous roar. His mate is heavily pregnant, and he watches over her with such care. He is constantly bedeviled by a smaller, wiry lion who seems to have a preexisting relationship with him – perhaps a former lion leader who was deposed, then allowed to remain out of the graciousness of the new leader's heart? It would be most unusual, but beasts sometimes feel the grace of God, as do we all.

One other curious note: This majestic lion is followed constantly by a hornbill (a bird native to the area). At times, I imagine the bird and the lion to be chatting, as ridiculous as this notion must seem to you. Regardless, the lion makes no move to devour the bird, which I find most droll.

I will continue to make this journal out to you, my Melody, and dream of your own soft growl amid the rushes. I remain:

Your RPS

Day Twenty-Two

My Ever-Winsome Melody:

EXTRAORDINARY!!!!!

As I wrote several days ago, the lion cub, a male, was born. I stayed downwind and sneaked close enough to take a peek. The leader and his mate were both very careful and caring with the child, as one might expect. (For ease of understanding, I shall now refer to Leader, Mate, and Son.) Son sleeps often, though I see him gamboling about more and more.

Today, however, I paid witness to the most magnificent ceremony, one I do not believe meant for human eyes to observe. I woke to a strange rumbling across the savannah. When I peered over the small rise behind which I have made my camp, I witnessed all manner and make of beast crossing the grassy expanse. Zebra, giraffe, elephant, rhinoceros, gazelle, bird, ant – they were all present, gathering to stare up on Pride Rock with a solemnity I did not believe them capable of.

I was so focused on the near-religious fervor of this gathering that I almost missed what the animals gazed upon. High above, on Pride Rock, Leader and Mate had handed Son over to what appeared to be a mandrill monkey. (I was too far away to get a good look, but I thought I spotted the facial patterns customary to this species.) Just as I had begun to marvel at the thought of the wise and benevolent Leader entrusting a primate with his cub, the monkey thrust the tiny child into the air. It may sound as though I am "gilding the lily" with what I write next, but I swear upon all I consider holy that the clouds parted to admit a beam of sunlight that fell upon the child and marked him as (I believe) Leader's heir and successor. Is the child aware of this? Perhaps. Perhaps not.

Just as the sun broke upon the child's tiny form, a cacophony! All of the animals began to trumpet as one, the hoofed animals rearing up to show their great fervor and joy at the sight of their future ruler. Though many of these animals serve as prey for the lions, I believe them to understand that there is a natural order, with the king atop it, then the other lions, then all the way down the line to the tiny ant. It has given me further conviction and faith that the rule of our mighty, benevolent British Empire is right and correct. May our gracious king rule us all forever and ever, amen!

I anxiously await future events, but I do not know if my narrative will ever again reach an apex as high as what I witnessed this morning. I think, often, of your hair hanging about your face like mossy leaves. I long to touch that hair. I remain:

Your RPS

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Day One Hundred and Thirty-Three

Buxom Melody:

TRAGEDY!!!!!!!

Leader is dead, trampled by a herd of accursed wildebeest. I believe Son to be dead as well, lost in the same stampede. Mate remains alive, but greatly saddened, as I would hope you would be should I fall beneath the hooves of a great cataclysm of beasts. In the wake of Leader's death, the wiry lion I have observed seemingly needling and goading Leader has taken over the pride. Why such an obviously unfit figure has been chosen by God is a mystery to me, but His ways remain strange and unfathomable. After all, our own nation has on one or two occasions (in the distant past) been ruled by the unfit. Then, gloriously, those rulers were unseated, and God put His rightful choice upon the throne again.

I remain heartbroken at this turn of events. Bird is gone. Monkey has taken to the trees. I do not expect to see him again. Whatever peace Leader had brokered with the other species here, I will be curious to see if Usurper (may God curse him!) can maintain. I hope, perhaps in vain, that Son is not dead but merely gone, hiding in exile until such time is right to reclaim his birthright, like Joseph among the Egyptians in the holy book.

But this is a fool's hope. I wish you were here to hold me at night as I contemplated these dark and terrible events with great sorrow. I will forever be:

Your RPS

Day Five Hundred

Melody:

Usurper remains on the throne. His foul hyena comrades remain his enforcers, forcing the females to overhunt lands that have turned scorched and dark. His wickedness spreads outward from Pride Rock, everywhere the light touches. I myself am preparing to make my way back to a town a few days' hike from here. It has become more and more difficult to find food to eat, water to drink.

There is a saying in the local language: hakuna matata. Roughly translated, it means no worries – but whether in the moment or for the rest of your lifespan as granted to you by the Almighty is dependent upon context. For myself, I no longer find myself able to proclaim hakuna matata. All I have are worries; all I have are cares. My experience at Pride Rock has shaken me very badly. I find myself questioning the foremost underpinnings of my very beliefs.

If, for instance, the king is placed upon the throne by God, and if God might sometimes choose a king He finds disgraceful, then why does God hold it against an entire nation that the choice He made was unfit? Has He not caused this suffering? And if the mere choice of king is enough to cause such dark chaos, then what does that say of our own holy and awesome empire? Sometimes, I gaze upon the starving and trembling gazelles, and I think of those who live under our mighty crown in far-off lands, knowing, always, that they might be devoured in a fit of pique. Mightn't it be considered an abomination for a people to be ruled by those who are thousands of miles away, who know nothing of local customs and insist on foisting their own upon those whose necks they stand upon? If the rule you trust in can lead so easily to evil, then why would you trust in the rule to begin with?

For the longest time, I dismissed these heresies as utter nonsense, but as days have gone by, I have found myself ever more convinced that there is at least a nugget of truth in these new musings. Perhaps that is why God – or my own boots – placed me here. In observing the ways that Usurper has perverted the natural order according to his whims, I have come to better understand the darkness at the heart of the world we have built. Dear Melody, I think when I return, I will move us far away from London, perhaps to a windswept cottage in the country somewhere. There, we might build a family and a life. There, I might write pamphlets that tell of the evils so easily perpetrated in our own names. There, I might begin to fight back with the greatest weapon I have: this pen.

As a naturalist, I must accept that there is something altogether unprecedented in the symbiotic relationship formed between lion and hyena. I have taken detailed notes for the Royal Society (those pompous windbags). But deep in my heart, I miss Leader. I miss Bird. I miss Monkey. I hope you will forgive me my arrogance. I hope to leave in a few days' time, but I must find a way to exit without the hyenas spotting me. Easier said than done! I will see you, in this life or the next.

RPS

Day Six Hundred and Eleven

Joyful, beautiful Melody, with the voice of an angel:

God is in his Heaven; all is right with the world!

I feel such a failure to have doubted His provenance, to have questioned the order of things. He issues us tests to make sure we are worthy of His love. In this case, I found my own faith lacking, and so He kept me from escape, blocking all exits from this place, forcing me to subsist on grubs. I now know, however, that this was because He wanted me to see and understand that all things are good just as they are.

You see, Usurper has been deposed! I believe the new king to be Son, based on certain markings around the face, the similarity of his mane to his father's, the kindness in his eyes. Yet the most key evidence that this is Son is how he came to occupy the throne. I managed to witness much of the battle between Usurper and this rightful heir, and when it was time to deliver the death blow, Son could not. I imagined him returning from exile to send Usurper into exile himself. Instead, Usurper found himself devoured by the hyenas he had worked alongside for so long. This is an important lesson for us, Melody: You cannot trust anyone in this life, except those who are above you. They want what is best for you, even if it seems, sometimes, as though they have lost all sense and reason. Bird is back! Monkey is back! God is in control!

I plan to stay at least a few months longer to observe how these events shake out. Already, Son seems to have chosen his own mate. He also has as his constant companions Meerkat and Warthog. I do not understand his thinking in this, but I am pleased to see God continue to surprise me.

I will be home soon, to take you in my arms and whisper to you of His glories. Until then, I hope you remember: Hakuna matata. I will forever be:

Your RPS

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