But even as the afternoon light faded to the glow of the early evening, Nala couldn’t help thinking there was something Simba was keeping from her. She couldn’t figure out what he was holding back, but every time they got too close, he would pull away. Every time she opened her mouth to even mention the Pride Lands, the smile would fade and his eyes would grow darker.
I just wish he would talk to me, Nala thought as they began to walk back along the small creek that led to the clearing. If he told me what was going on, I could help—I think.…
“Nala,” Simba said, breaking the comfortable silence they had fallen into. “Isn’t it great here? I want you to stay.”
She nodded. “It’s amazing,” she agreed. “There’s just something I don’t understand.” She paused, not sure if she should go on and ruin the moment. But then she shook her head. She needed to know. “If you’ve been alive all this time, why haven’t you come home? We’ve really needed you.”
“Nobody needs me,” Simba said, his voice so full of sadness that Nala felt her own heart break.
“You’re the king,” she said softly. Everybody needs you, she added silently.
“Scar is the king,” Simba corrected.
Anger suddenly flooded through Nala. Anger at Simba for not seeing what was in front of him. Anger at Scar. Anger at everything. “Simba, he’s decimated the Pride Lands,” she said, no longer bothering to hold back. “There’s no food, no water—”
“There’s nothing I can do,” Simba said, interrupting her. He turned from the water and began to stalk into the jungle. His shoulders were tense, and she could tell he was struggling with some emotion he didn’t want her to see.
A part of Nala, a new part she was still trying to figure out, wanted to go to Simba and comfort him. But another part, a bigger part, was too angry. “What about your mother, Simba?” she said, hoping the mention of Sarabi would get through whatever walls Simba had put up around his heart. “This is your responsibility. You need to challenge Scar!”
“No,” Simba said, shaking his head. “I can’t go back. Ever.”
“Why?” Nala pleaded. “Because of what happened in the gorge? Scar told us—”
“You wouldn’t understand,” Simba snapped. Then, shaking his head, he moved farther away. “None of it matters. Hakuna matata.”
Simba was right. She didn’t understand. Hakuna matata? What was he talking about? Why was he so bent on not returning and becoming king? Her face must have shown her confusion because Simba went on.
“It’s something I learned out here,” he explained. “You see, sometimes bad things happen and there’s nothing you can do about it. So why worry?”
“Why worry?” Nala repeated, shaking her head. She stared at Simba for a long moment, trying to see the cub she had known. But all she could see now was a stranger. A lion who was willing to turn his back on his family because he didn’t want to “worry.” An image of Simba, full of life, trailing after his father with adoration in his eyes flashed through Nala’s mind. That Simba would never have said no to a fight. Never. “What happened to you?” she finally said out loud. “You’re not the Simba I remember.”
Simba shrugged. “And I never will be!” he said. “Are you satisfied?”
“No,” Nala said sadly. “I’m disappointed.”
“Well, now you’re starting to sound like my father!” he said with a sudden fierceness in his voice that startled Nala.
She pressed on, not caring that she had struck a nerve. Simba had struck plenty in her. He deserved to hear what she said next. “Good—I’m glad one of us is.”
To her surprise, the words seemed to get through to Simba. His head rose. The tension that had been building between them grew thicker. “You have no idea what I’ve been through!” he said, his voice raw, his eyes brimming.
Nala sighed. She didn’t. Because he wouldn’t tell her! But if he chose to keep his secrets, there was nothing more she could do. “And you have no idea how hard this is to say. I’m leaving…at sunrise.” With one last look at Simba, she turned and began to walk away into the dense jungle beyond the shore of the creek. In moments, she was enveloped by the darkness. She paused, hoping that perhaps Simba would come after her. But after a few minutes, the jungle remained quiet.
With another sigh, Nala continued on. She had tried—and failed. And now she had to return to the Pride Lands and tell Sarabi she had found Simba, only to lose him all over again.
Night had come to the jungle. The animals were tucked in and the trees were quiet. Walking alone, his head hung low, Simba felt his throat close and his eyes well with tears. Why had Nala come back? What good had it done? All he could feel now was the sadness he had tried to keep at bay for so long.
He had heard everything she’d said, and while he had tried not to show it, hearing that the pride was suffering, that the Pride Lands were decimated, that his mother was in anguish, had slowly broken every bit of his heart there was left to break. But what good could he do? If he went back, it would only serve to make things worse. He had wanted to explain everything to Nala in the hopes that if she knew the truth, she might at least understand his decision. But every time he had started to say something, for some reason, he’d held back.
Angrily, he shook his head, hoping to dislodge the thoughts still swirling so violently inside. This was not the way Timon and Pumbaa had taught him to live. The past was in the past. He just needed to keep it there. But Nala had gone and dredged it all back up.
Suddenly, a strange noise came on the wind. It startled Simba and he stopped, looking up, his head cocked. He had heard the sound before. It was almost like a chant, or a song. Curious, he made his way to the edge of the clearing and looked into the trees beyond.
At first, Simba saw nothing. But as his eyes adjusted, he made out the silhouette of a tall, lean monkey, his shoulders hunched with age, sitting on the branches of a nearby tree. And he was singing to himself.
Following the sound of the monkey’s voice, Simba walked deeper into the jungle. But just as he got close to him, the monkey jumped to another tree. And then another. And another. Below, Simba chased after him, the sound of the monkey’s crazed—and oddly familiar—laughter echoing through the jungle.
And then, just like that, the laughter stopped and the monkey disappeared. It was as though he had simply vanished into thin air. Maybe I’m hallucinating, Simba thought, shaking his head. Maybe this is all a weird dream and I’m thinking about things from my old life because of Nala.… But as he turned around, he saw that the monkey was back, sitting in another branch of a tree.
“Would you cut it out?” Simba shouted in frustration.
The monkey just laughed. “If you cut it out, it just grows back,” he said mysteriously.
“Go away, creepy monkey!”
This time the monkey didn’t laugh. Instead, he bopped himself upside the head with a large wooden cane he held in one of his hands. “Going away will not answer the question!”
“What question?” Simba said. He was getting a bit tired of this. “Who are you?”
“I know exactly who I am,” the monkey said. “The question is—who are you?”
Simba shook his head. “I’m nobody!” he shouted. “So leave me alone!”
“Everybody is somebody,” the monkey answered, not fazed by the angry lion. “Even a nobody.”
“I think you’re confused,” Simba said. That could be the only explanation.
“I’m confused?” the monkey replied. Then he let out another crazy laugh. “You don’t even know who you are!”
“And I suppose you do!” Simba snapped, the last thread of his patience almost broken.
Jumping down from the tree, the old monkey walked forward, swinging his stick in front of him and humming. When he was right in front of Simba, he stopped—and smiled. “I held the son of Mufasa,” he said.
The words struck Simba harder than if the monkey had hit him with the stick. “You knew my father?” he said softly.
“Correction,” the monkey replied. “I know your father.”
The jungle grew quiet as Simba stared at the monkey in front of him. How could he know Simba’s father? That wasn’t possible. His father had died a long time ago. Who did this crazy creature think he was, coming here and saying something so obviously untrue?
Rafiki.
The name came to Simba like a sudden punch. Rafiki. His father’s friend and advisor. The mandrill who had introduced Simba to the Pride Lands and who had always fascinated him with his odd singing and strange way of talking. This monkey was Rafiki.
Seeing the recognition in Simba’s eyes, Rafiki nodded slowly. “He’s alive,” the monkey said. “And I can take you to him. Follow me, I’ll show!” He paused, a sly smile spreading across his wise face. “If you can keep up!”
Not waiting to see if Simba would follow, Rafiki took off. As he ran, his laughter bounced off the trees. Simba didn’t hesitate. His heart pounding, he chased after Rafiki. He barely felt the branches of the bushes slapping at his face as he flew through the jungle. All he could hear was Rafiki’s words bouncing through his head—his father was alive. Was it possible? Could it be? Doubt nagged at him, slowing his steps.
“Your father is waiting!” Rafiki shouted over his shoulder. “You better hurry!”
“Wait!” shouted Simba. But Rafiki kept going, swinging from tree to tree. For an old monkey, he was remarkably fast, and Simba struggled to keep up.
Finally, though, Rafiki came to a stop. Gasping for breath, Simba raised his head. Rafiki was standing in front of a small pond. He gestured to the still water. “Do you see him?”
Simba looked around, confused. He didn’t see anything. Besides the pond, Rafiki, and a few low shrubs, they were completely alone. He shook his head. “I don’t see anything.”
“Look closer,” Rafiki said, pointing his wooden staff at the pond.
Slowly, Simba walked over and looked down into the water. A breeze stirred the air and caused small ripples to move across the liquid surface. Simba’s eyes narrowed. He still didn’t see anything. But then, as the water settled, Simba saw his own reflection. Wavy at first, it grew clearer as the water stilled.
It had been years since Simba had looked down at his own reflection. Now, as he did so, his breath caught in his throat. The young cub he had been was gone. His mane had grown wild and long over the years and his head had become wider, his shoulders more powerful. Simba leaned down and his breath caught in his throat as he realized—he looked just like his father.
“You see,” Rafiki said from behind his shoulder, startling Simba. “He lives in you.”
Simba didn’t take his eyes off the water. While a part of him knew that it was just his own reflection, it was the closest he had come to seeing his father in a long, long time. His eyes welled and a single tear dropped into the water, disturbing the reflection.
“Simba.”
Hearing his name, Simba looked up. The voice was deep, familiar. It sent a shock through him and made him shiver. As he watched, the clouds in the sky began to shift and move, coming together and transforming from shapeless white into an image of his father. Mufasa looked down on his son, his eyes wise and kind.
“Father?” Simba said in disbelief. More clouds began to race over the sky, coming together as lightning flashed and thunder rumbled. The air felt electric and smelled like rain. It was a magical feeling, one that Simba had loved when he was a cub. It meant life-giving water. It meant change and hope and transformation. And now, somehow, it meant his father.
From up in the clouds, Mufasa smiled down on his son. “Simba,” he said, his voice as deep and rumbling as the thunder itself. “You must take your place in the Circle of Life.”
Simba shook his head. “I can’t,” he said softly. Admitting the words aloud to his father was harder than it had been to admit it to Rafiki or Nala. But nothing had changed. True, his father was there with him now. But he was still dead. And Simba knew it was his fault. He couldn’t disappoint his father—not again.
“You must remember who you are,” Mufasa said. “The one true king.”
“I’m sorry,” Simba said. “I don’t know how to be like you.”
“As king, I was most proud of one thing,” Mufasa said, his voice kind and full of nostalgia. “Having you as my son.”
Mufasa’s words broke Simba. A cry caught in his throat. He wanted to tell his father how desperately he had longed to hear those words. He wanted to run and jump on his back and snuggle into his mane and feel the safety and comfort he had when he was a child. He wanted so much to tell Mufasa everything and have his father forgive him and tell him it would be all right. But most of all, he wanted his father to be alive. “That was a long time ago,” he finally said softly.
To his surprise, Mufasa shook his head. “No, Simba,” he said. “That is forever.”
The clouds began to roll faster, moving past the moon. Mufasa’s image started to move with the clouds, fading. “Please!” Simba begged, running under the moving clouds. “Don’t leave me again.”
“I never left you,” Mufasa said. The clouds moved still farther away from the moon. The light the moon cast grew weaker, along with the vision of Mufasa. In moments, he had all but disappeared. “Remember…remember…” he said.
And then, just like that, Mufasa was gone. Simba stood under the blanket of stars—alone. Turning, he walked slowly back toward Rafiki.
“Strange weather, heh?” Rafiki said, looking up at the cloudless sky. “What did you see?”
Simba shrugged. He was flooded with too many emotions. His father had appeared to him and told him to remember who he was. The irony was he had never forgotten. He had just chosen to ignore it. Because who he had been was the reason his father was gone. What good would it do to remember? Shaking his head, he looked up at Rafiki. “Doesn’t matter,” he finally answered. “It’s in the past.”
WHACK!
Simba cried out as Rafiki smacked him—hard—across the head with his wooden cane. “OW!” he cried. “What was that for?”
Rafiki shrugged. “It doesn’t matter,” he said. “It’s in the past.”
Simba scowled. He knew what Rafiki was trying to do. But it wouldn’t work. “I can never be like him—” he started to say.
“And he could never be like you,” Rafiki countered.
For a long moment, Simba just stood there, his eyes lifted to the stars. His father had told him long ago that he was never alone, that he was part of something bigger than himself. Maybe there was a reason for all this. Maybe Nala and Rafiki and his father were right. Maybe it was time to take his place in the Circle of Life. He shook his head. But how? What was he supposed to do after all this time? How could he return to a life he had run away from?
“And so, I ask again,” Rafiki said, interrupting his thoughts, “who are you?”
Simba didn’t have the answers—not to all of his questions. But he was done pretending he didn’t know the answer to Rafiki’s. Walking over, he stopped in front of the monkey. Then, lifting his head, he nodded. “I am Simba,” he answered. “Son of Mufasa.”
The sun was rising, a red ball illuminating the sky and torching the ground. Simba raced toward it and the clearing where he knew Nala should be. As he burst into the grassy circle, he spotted her, her back to him. Smiling, he raced over toward Nala—and then right by her.
“Sun is up!” he shouted over his shoulder. “No time to waste!”
“Wait!” Nala called after him. “Where are you going?”
Simba didn’t stop as he shouted back over his shoulder. “To challenge Scar!” He hadn’t realized that was what he was doing until he said the words out loud. But every moment since Nala had shown up had been leading to this inevitable point. He had to go back home. He had to try—even if he didn’t succeed—to end Scar’s reign.
As Nala heard his answer, her face lit up with hope. That look only encouraged him to run faster. He had already waited far too long.
As they raced away from the jungle, the green, soft ground giving way to the hard-packed, rocky dirt of the desert, Simba tried to imagine what he was going to see. When he had fled the Pride Lands years before, he had been wrapped in misery. His sadness and fear had clouded everything, and even now he barely remembered the journey. But this time, he was all too aware of the changing landscape as they came closer and closer to the Pride Lands.
Climbing over the large sand dunes, he heard thunder in the distance. The air was growing thick with an impending storm and the clouds were dark now, blocking out the sun. It gave Simba an ominous feeling, and he felt his pace slow. But looking to his side, he saw the determination on Nala’s face. It spurred him on, his paws racing over the sand, up and down dunes until he saw the rise that marked the edge of the Pride Lands.
Taking a deep breath, Simba put on one last burst of speed and crested the rise. Then he stopped, looking at his home for the first time in years.
And what he saw horrified him.
Nala was right. The Pride Lands were devastated. The earth was parched, a sea of dried bones and death. Try as he might, he couldn’t see a single living thing. The land he remembered as lush and full of animals was completely unrecognizable. Scar and his hyenas had ravaged it, making it a shadow of what it had once been. As Simba lifted his eyes toward Pride Rock in the distance, he swallowed heavily. Even that seemed different. Under the dark clouds that hovered in the sky, Pride Rock seemed gray, lifeless, as though its soul had left.
“I didn’t want to believe you…” Simba said, his voice trailing off as he was overcome with emotion.
“Scar’s got an army, Simba,” Nala said. Her own eyes were hard, the sight of the Pride Lands all too familiar to her.
Simba shook his head. He didn’t care about an army. He couldn’t get past what he saw right at that moment. “I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I never imagined…”
Nala turned and looked at him. She nodded, her eyes tender. Then she spoke. “What are you going to do?”
The Lion King Live Action Novelization Page 11