by Ralph Helfer
As the emergency lessened and mopping-up operations took over, I felt worse and worse. The shakes set in, and I developed a high fever. The doctors said it was walking pneumonia, and that rest, good food, and warmth were in order. But there were still too many things to do, and now was not the time to stop.
I did, however, need to find a place to sit down and relax. I found a log in a quiet spot, away from the main cleanup efforts. As soon as I sat down and allowed myself to stop, my body began to tremble with shock, as well as illness. The combination of pneumonia, emotional pain, and sheer physical exhaustion spelled overload. I just couldn’t handle any more. I had no more tears. I was numb. I sat in the middle of the chaos with an old blanket wrapped around me, unmoving, unable to give any more orders.
I had closed my eyes and was drifting off to sleep when something warm and wet on my face woke me up. I opened my eyes and saw Ben’s big wise face right next to mine. Gentle Ben had come home!! I hugged him and cried like a baby.
I turned to get up to tell everyone, but I didn’t have to. They were all there. Toni and a big group of the others had brought him to me. He’d been found two miles down the canyon, mud-covered and a few pounds lighter, but safe! Tears were in everybody’s eyes—it even seemed that old Ben’s eyes were glistening.
Toni saw the state I was in and suggested that we take a little walk together up to our favorite ridge above the railroad track. It was a short walk uphill, on a winding trail that led up to a glorious meadow scattered with sycamore and cottonwood trees. From there you could see forever. We had gone there many times in the evening to wish the sun good night and sometimes to give a welcome to a new moon. As we approached the hill, we could see that the rain had brought out a million different kinds of flowers, which blanketed the hills for miles around.
A prism in the sky caught my eye, arching across the ravaged countryside. I practically laughed out loud. This had been a time in my life when I felt I had reached the end of the rainbow. I had touched the pot of gold, had dug my hand deep into happiness and prosperity. But it was fool’s gold, a fleeting pleasure. Suddenly, all that I had created was gone. I hadn’t realized how vulnerable the world is, how delicate the balance of forces that sustain our existence.
A slight breeze carried the many animal sounds from the ranch below up to us.
Then, very faintly, I heard a noise I’d recognize anywhere.
“Augh!”
It was the greeting sound of a lion.
“Did you hear that?” I asked Toni.
“I did,” she said. “Oh! My God, I did.” Tears were welling up in her eyes.
Again, the “augh!” Following the sound, we broke into a run. And when we got to the top of the hill, a sight greeted us that neither one of us will ever forget. Nestled under those cottonwood trees was a vision of the Peaceable Kingdom.
Lying together in the sun were camels, a llama, a baby hippo, an eland, a few deer, a swarm of ducks and geese, a few tigers and cougars. We stood awestruck. It was truly an incredible sight; both of us felt we were witnessing a miracle, living a moment in history. The animals, tattered and bedraggled, were grooming and grazing and acting as if nothing at all was out of the ordinary. It was a totally impossible scene, one out of a movie, or a children’s storybook. Animals that should have been enemies sharing turf without strife! Mammals were lying down unconcernedly with carnivores. It was like the Garden of Eden must have been. Affection training had taken a far greater leap than I could have ever imagined. These animals must have fought their way clear of the treacherous waters and, one by one, climbed the hill, slept, and dried off together in the morning sun. They hadn’t run away, or fought among themselves. In fact, they seemed to be waiting for us. The lamb could truly lie down with the lion, without fear
And, right in the center, the most beautiful lion in the whole world.
ZAMBA! My Zamba.
Zamba met us halfway, and we smothered each other with hugs and kisses. He was limping, and I immediately saw the problem: a deep slash on his right front leg. I tried to look at the cut but he turned away, and I felt sure that the injury was deep.
“It’s okay, boy—we’ll attend to that when we get home.”
I felt proud and humble among the animal dignitaries, and, for the first time, self-conscious in front of Zamba. He really was a god of nature; his mane was a crown, one given only to those worthy to carry it.
Toni and I descended to the ranch below, with Zamba limping at my side. Behind him came a long line of animals: camels, a llama, hippo, eland, cougars—all wound their way down the trail to the ranch below. I periodically checked behind me, staggered by what I was seeing. It was a phenomenal, biblical vision: they had been waiting for us to take them home.
In the distance I could see the sky clearing, and I thought that someday there would be another rainbow, its treasure waiting for me. Until then, we had a job to do. We needed to start all over again.
29
It was the eighteenth anniversary of the day Brini and Jack had left that burlap-covered cage with me, years after the storm that had almost taken Zamba away from me. And, as we had done many, many times before, Zamba and I were going up the trail to visit the Old Lady.
The summer showers had turned the forest and canyons into a sea of waving emerald. The rich scent of sage and pungent pine in the valley’s thick undergrowth wafted up to us as Zamba and I climbed our way along the narrow twisting trail. He was off his leash, walking freely, with my hand resting gently on his shoulders. His mane lay soft and thick underneath my hand. Any light breeze would blow it across his forehead, like a schoolboy who has forgotten to comb his hair. Streaks of silver hair were now intertwined with the red and gold.
The early morning mist hung along the fringe of the thicket, disturbed only by the occasional flutter of wings above us. Zamba’s huge, soft pads, so quiet, seemed to barely touch the earth. The breezes at the top of the pines, the mountain springs bubbling down into the valley, and the various bird songs made the forest seem loud.
As we walked together, I talked to him. He stared straight ahead, sometimes answering me with a groan. I teased him: “Why don’t lions like people who are chatterboxes?” and he bumped up against my leg but kept going. He was a good listener. If I ever got a little philosophical, he would just stop, give me his full attention for a long minute, and then keep walking. I don’t know how he could separate my nonsense chatter from other, more creative thoughts—probably my intonation. It did make him a good audience, though, better than most of the humans I know.
Zamba seemed tired. His breathing was labored, and when we stopped at one of the switchbacks to rest a bit, he settled down, leaning his body against my leg. Maybe we should have driven, I thought, but the way of the trail was a far more precious experience.
This was the trail on which as a cub, Zam had raced ahead, then peered around the bend to see if I was still coming. Sometimes I hid behind a tree until he came looking for me. The noise he made then was the same noise a lion would make when calling for his kin. I would wait until he was almost upon me, and then I’d leap out at him. He would jump away, faking fear and surprise, racing around in circles and leaping into the air with such exuberance that the birds and squirrels would scatter.
But the animals no longer ran from him. Even the deer stopped foraging the green grass and stood motionless as he passed, as though they knew him. Maybe some of them remembered being chased by him as a cub.
I stroked his head gently. His eyes closed at the touch. “It’s better to go slow, old man,” I said. “You get to see more.” So we rested every so often, picking the best spots to take in the view below.
We reached the Old Lady just before dusk. She stood as proud and beautiful as ever, although some of her outer branches had fallen and turned brown, reminding me of someone whose temples have turned gray.
Zamba and I went to our rock, a giant piece of granite that lay at the edge of a precipice looking out at the quiet forest b
elow. We heard the caw of ravens and the shrieks of a red-tailed hawk. Was it the same hawk that I had seen when we first met? I wondered.
Zamba was sitting sphinxlike on the rock overlooking the forest, but his eyes were closed. Where was he? I wondered. Visiting his youth? Was he remembering Africa? Or was he just getting old and tired? I felt a pang—had he come on this journey just to please me? It would be like him. So many times in our lives together, he had thought of me first.
The sun began to set, always spectacular from this vantage point, the colors like those in Zamba’s mane. So we sat together, with my arm wrapped around his shoulders, and I found tears streaming down my face. My life with Zamba had been an even greater experience than I had dared to imagine it would be. He had given me such happiness, and he had been such a good teacher, allowing me into his world and showing me the ways of nature. I ached with love for him.
The colors of the sunset were changing rapidly, scarlet meshing with dark violet, and the hint of an evening chill drifted up from the valley below. I wiggled my fingers deeper into his fur, each of us comforted by the other’s warmth. As the purple changed to bright orange, and the sun’s orb disappeared over Henderson Peak, we headed down the trail, letting the twilight illuminate our way.
That night, Zamba didn’t eat. I offered him all his favorite treats, but he just wasn’t interested. The next morning, I noticed he had drunk quite a bit of water. I checked his temperature and found that he had a fever, and called the vet over to take a look.
“I can’t see anything off the bat, but it’s best to give him a complete checkup. Let me stop by a little later and we’ll give him a more thorough exam.”
By early afternoon, we were hard at work checking him out. I took his temperature again. It was still quite high. We gave him a shot of antibiotic, took a blood sample, and caught some urine for testing. We also gave him a shot of saline solution, to hydrate him and give him a little energy. The vet washed his hands and rolled down his sleeves.
“Let him rest awhile, and we’ll check these out in the lab.”
It took two days for the lab report to come back. His white blood count suggested that there was an infection somewhere in his body. I spoke to the vet.
“It’s too dangerous to do an exploratory operation on him at his age. And there’s always the possibility that we wouldn’t find anything.” He hesitated for a moment. “Ralph, it could just be old age.”
“So what can we do?” I asked, not wanting to hear what he’d said.
“How old is he now?”
“Eighteen.”
“That’s pretty old for a lion, Ralph. In the wild, they’re doing well if they see seven.” He put his hand on my shoulder as I walked him to the door. “We’ll take another look in the morning.”
Zamba, a little bit wobbly, got up and moved to the sofa in the living room. It was quite large and comfortable, and his favorite place to watch television. When he was on it, there was little room for anyone else except little Tana, who came down to say good night.
“What’s wrong with Zamba?” she asked.
“He’s sick, honey.”
I could see her confusion. Tana had always looked at Zamba as the protector of the other animals. How could he get sick? When she was very young, and afraid of the dark, I had sat on the edge of the bed and promised her that Zamba would watch over her as she slept, intercepting any nightmares. “Nothing can hurt you while he is watching, okay?”
She had worried about him getting enough sleep himself. “Don’t worry, baby. He’s Zamba, right?” She went to sleep, and never had a nightmare after that.
But now her protector was sick. We kissed good night, and she went to the couch, leaned over, and gave Zamba a good night kiss.
“Good night, brother. I’ll see you later.”
Zamba licked the back of her hand and tried to put his paw over her, but the effort was too much for him. He gave a low moan as he settled deep into the soft cushions.
After putting Tana to bed, Toni came downstairs. In many ways, she was more attuned to the ways of nature than I was. She gathered some blankets and covered Zamba, and we curled up and cuddled on a bit of sofa well into the night, quietly talking about Zamba’s escapades and our lives together.
At about three o’clock in the morning, I noticed that Zamba was sweating, and seemed uncomfortable. He got up and moved into the kitchen, where he lay on the cool linoleum floor.
“Toni, you go on to bed now. I’ll keep watch until morning.”
She looked at me and understood that I wanted to be alone with him. I answered her thought.
“I’ll be all right,” I said.
We hugged each other, and I could feel her shaking with grief, an emotional tidal wave held just at bay.
“Don’t worry,” she said.
I kissed her good night and watched as she went upstairs. Even through my sadness, I knew how lucky I was.
I turned the kitchen light off, but left the oven door open so we had a bit of light. I got down on the floor with Zamba. He seemed more comfortable there, although his breathing was heavy and his body was soaked in sweat. He must have been chasing something in his dreams, because his legs moved most of the night.
I spread some extra blankets on the kitchen floor around him and put another one over him, and put my own body up against his to give him warmth. By four, his breathing had become more labored, and his pulse was faint and uneven.
I must have dozed off for a few minutes around five because I awoke at first light to find him looking at me. Dawn had broken pale and clear. His mane was soaked from sweat, and his ears lay wet against his head. He seemed exhausted, but those wonderful golden eyes looked at me with a steady gaze. We looked long at each other, saying all those things that cannot be said with words. I kissed his big nose. He licked where I had kissed him, and gave me a small lick on my face. He cuddled his great head into me, and together we drifted off into a peaceful sleep.
Early morning light shone through the window, and the house was quiet when I woke up. I reached out and touched Zamba’s nose. It was cold and dry. His eyes were still open; he had never stopped looking at me. But God had left them.
I said his name and stroked his mane and rested my head on his silent chest. I buried my head into his mane and sobbed; I thought my own heart would break from the pain. At that moment, Toni came down and hugged me, and together we sat with him, with his massive head cradled in my lap. We sat and cried together, and told each other the stories of his many happy years.
When Tana came down we told her.
“Who’s going to protect me tonight?” she cried.
“Zamba will always be there for you, baby.”
Together Toni and I rolled Zamba onto a beautifully colored carpet and slid the carpet to the back door. I backed the station wagon up to the door, and with all our might we lifted him into the station wagon. We loaded the car with some tools and drove to the far end of the ranch, then up the hill to the Old Lady.
I pulled up as close as I could to the hidden entrance around the back. Opening the back hatch, we carefully slid Zamba’s body down into the center clearing around the tree. Together we dug for hours down deep into the earth, careful not to disturb the roots. I sweated and cried as I dug, my stomach in a huge knot. The sun had come up, but the great Old Lady kept the heat away.
I looked over at Zamba’s still body, tricking myself into thinking that he was just teasing, waiting for me to come over there so he could nuzzle me. But he was gone. I couldn’t see for the tears as we dragged the blanket with him on it into the hole. It was deep; I didn’t want him to ever be uncovered. I spread the blanket under him and smoothed it out. Then I put another on top of him, tucking him in as I had done so many times in bed.
“Well, old man—this is where we get off. I know you’re not here, but be with my Snow Lion, and he’ll take good care of you. Be part of the universe, my friend, and some day we’ll meet again. You rest now, and I’ll see you o
n the other side. I’ll look forward to that.”
I took off a medallion I had worn for years, an silver snake amulet with emerald eyes, and laid it on his neck. I stayed with him a moment, giving him a final hug and a kiss, and then filled the hole with fresh earth.
An enormous thunderstorm hit our ranch soon after Zamba died, and a bolt of lightning hit the Old Lady, splitting her in half. She had led a good life, and it was time for her to go. I like to think that she had been waiting for Zamba to show her the way.
TRIBUTE TO ZAMBA
It is with a humble presence that I write of a time past
when once there
lived a lion of great magnitude.
Born of a shared spirit between human and feline,
he existed in a world of
complex beings.
All who have had the privilege of knowing him felt his gift of love.
He possessed all of the true essence a lion can have—
His love of life, as well as the patience, understanding, and respect
that he
showed for
his human and animal family were his crowning achievements.
In his relationship with humans
He was the gentlest and most respected lion.
So, to my Lion,
ZAMBA
I offer a toast
To the happiness he so unselfishly gave
To his ability to see the good in others
And to see all things as positive.
You taught me well
I am so very proud to call you
My Lion
I will always love you,
ZAM
RDH
Acknowledgments
I wish to thank Rebecca St. John, my West Coast editor, for having the tenacity to stick with me through the early stages of the book. She understands the way I look at nature and its animals. Her feelings for animals parallel mine, and she provided the guidance necessary to put the book on the right path.