The 8 year old and the dragon

Due Date: 21/2/23 

Beau’s Choice

Genre: TBC

The story of the dragon began as most stories did, on the lips of my grandfather as he smacked his thin lips, sliding his rather long pink tongue out and into the succulent flesh of the mango. He hadn’t taken his eyes off it. Working his way slowly from the tip to the fattened sides, first he took a large bite to rip it open, then he placed his mouth in a suction and sucked as lustfully and as hard as he could. This worked best with overripe mangoes. It saved him the trouble of having to bite into the mango and making a mess. He had told me when first I had brought him mama’s black dish filled to the brim with the first mangoes of the season. Mangoes were precious to grandfather and me. We would spend a long moment picking just the right one and as we worked through fruit after fruit grandfather would patiently answer my every question, something that would have been impossible anywhere else.

 Not in the early morning while he tended his chickens, a bucket filled with the wet mix of last night’s scapings. For then, he would be out of time. Running late as his friend Grandfather Ziki had been waiting at the kraal for a while now. Not in the late afternoon as he sat legs spread open a mound of pap in a large metal plate to his right and a brown gourd filled with sour milk to his left. His hands, fingers, mouth and lips making light work of the meal, grandmother had set before him. For then he would be out of time because the wood needed chopping.  

Now as he sat eyes greedily assessing each mango for ripeness and succour he would give me the time of day. For the day’s chores were done, the animals put away, friends waved off and supper tucked nicely into his bulging belly. Made worse now as he distended it for the incoming mango. His eyes shifted slowly, the bright orange mango in his hand, skin torn and juices dripping into his palm, then he began the tale of the dragon.

 “This tale is as old as the memory of man, for it is not known whether it is a tale of bravery or cowardice. For neither the dragon nor the boy exists in the tales of the elders any longer. They have faded.Gone as if the sun had pulsed hot and insistent on the mist that is our memories. It could have never happened, or it could have happened. I am certain it happened”

 Grandfather, if no one knows, how do you know? Did your Grandfather tell you?

 “Silence, this is how the great stories are - part legend, part dream. legends so fantastic that one should never seek to question whether they happened. One should merely accept the fact of their being and listen in silence once the story begins.

 This was how we were.

 With Grandfather starting a story that made no sense followed by my questioning its validity. Asking him the questions he did not have answers to. Questions have no place in story telling boy. He would go off on a rant.

“They limit the imagination, confining the mind to what is real. I tell you boy, if we only said that which was real and true we would never have adventure. Could never leave this hut night after night. For I could only tell you about my chickens, my goats and your Grandmother’s fine cooking. Listen now as I break through the confines of what I am chained to each morning as the sun rises and each evening as it makes its way back home! I will tell you the greatest story ever told."

 Looking back, I understand now what Grandfather was telling me. But, I was 8 years old and my life was a set of rules, put in place to make reality ever more real.

 

Once Upon a time in a land far away , where the mountains were so high and the valleys were so deep that no creature dared to scale the mountains or descend the valleys. For who dared climb so high? The wind! Winding itself slowly around each peak day in and day out. Causing large fluffy clouds to curl around the tips in one instant and in the next to disappear, reappearing moments later atop another peak. 

And who could go down valleys so deep? The wind! Sliding down the mountains in playful little surges that caused the leaves of the trees to rustle softly before falling gently to the ground below.

 Grandfather paused, thinking. he got this way when the story was so big that he needed to take a large bite of his mango (or any other food at hand). Resuming with a triumphant burp and nearly toothless grin.

On a sunny day, if you followed that same wind down the mountain side and into the valley you would be surprised to find that creatures abound on the valley floor. Large creatures, tiny creatures, fat creatures, skinny creatures, purple creatures, blue creatures and red creatures. All the colours you could dream of. All the shapes you could imagine. Your eyes would dance from creature to creature until finally they settled in wondrous awe on the most majestic of all the creatures. A purple and red dragon, its face red. Glowing as the midday sun seemed to light it up from within Its rounded belly speckled with yellow, its tail long with all kinds of shapes and colours all the way down its length. It was it’s eyes that held your attention. So clear and shiny they could have been diamonds .It was the most beautiful sight I had ever seen.

Grandfather, was that you in the story? Are you the boy? I burned with curiosity, anxious to know whether my grandfather had seen a real life dragon.

“Silence. Or off with you!” 

I smiled and settled back. Scared that Grandfather would send me away before telling me the rest of it.