July, 1999: Morning Has Broken

August, 1999: The Hero's Mask Note: this Navajo-Dineh story has been purchased. In fairness to the magazine that purchased it, I am deleting it from this small site.

September, 1999: Flutterby

October, 1999:Cat's Cradle

this story has been sold and is no longer here November 1999: In memory to discrimination against the handicapped, no story
December, 1999: Midwinter's Star

OM DK 2300 K�benhavn S �1998, Bent Lorentzen DANMARK 1025 words [email protected]

During their years of dating while working through college, the pair often debated a world bent on self-destruction. Should they or shouldn't they bring a child into the world? One crisis after another, in the world at large and next door, seemed to explode without sense. Finally, they agreed to have one child, hoping that if the child were raised with compassion, he or she would be part of a more functional generation with solutions to the future.

"To find happiness," said the priest who married them, "you must each give up something of yourselves."

Soon they had a son who, when old enough, looked upon a star and wished for happiness after praying with his parents. That's how they ended most nights with their son: helping him resolve the hurt of the world seen on TV or from the school bus that went cross-town.

The pair slipped out of the room after tucking him in and she said, "Let's go to the caf� across the street. I'd love some cappuccino."

This was an almost nightly ritual for them. Outside, an icy blast met them. Crossing the street, they paid little heed to the old Chevy slowly driving by. One of its rear windows opened and a boy no older than their son pulled the trigger to the small gun held in his sweaty, pudgy hands. This was his rite of passage into a gang.

The boy upstairs saw the flashes and heard the explosions and the oh-so-familiar voices that briefly screamed. He closed his ears and eyes, said a prayer, and sank deep beneath the blanket. Sobbing, he slowly fell asleep. *

"Child!"

An eye fluttered open but quickly shut.

"Child... " This time the voice seemed very real.

The boy lowered the blanket from his face and saw an unusual radiance by the window.

Rubbing his eyes, he asked, "Who are you?"

"Come, my child. I wish to show you something."

"But I can't see you." The child sat up in his bed but he still could only see a brilliance. "Who are you?" he asked again.

"Didn't you wish upon a star?"

"Oh," the boy said, thinking he'd just woken up from a nightmare. "No wonder I can't really see you. What are you doing here?"

"Well, if you'll get out of bed and walk over here, I'll show you."

The boy walked over to the window sill and just like magic, he disappeared from the room.

The child became like the radiance--a faint wisp of nothing. He could see quite well, and hear and feel. A frosty breeze rustled his hair. He looked around and saw a few hills in the distance, rosy from a setting sun. The terrain reminded him of the desert mountains of California he'd seen on National Geographic. In a valley several very old-fashioned homes glowed from surrounding campfires. Tendrils of flute music snaked in the wind.

Before him, dark and stark, stood a rickety shack. Four crooked posts held up a leafy roof. Inside, two cows lazily munched hay. A mix of musty scents evoked pleasant thoughts.

He heard the crunching of footsteps upon frosty grass. A young couple came into view from behind some thin, weathered trees. Exhausted, they stumbled into the dusty shack. The child looked on in wonder, for the woman groaned a little as she stooped under a beam.

"Is it soon?" asked the bearded young man. He appeared poor from the looks of his ragged clothes.

"Very," she replied softly.

The young man moved a cow away from one corner and carefully made a bed of hay upon which he unfurled a patchy blanket.

"Thank you, love," said the woman. They briefly embraced before she delicately lay down.

"Come, please hold me," she asked, grimacing with pain.

The man became nervous. "Shouldn't I find some water?"

"There's really no time. Please, just hold me."

The woman breathed harder and harder while the young man nervously but gently held her. Suddenly a pink and wrinkled baby was born. When the man brought the newborn to his wife, the watching boy experienced an unexpected rush of emotions.

The mother had turned to him, had pierced him with the unmistakable look of someone who had already lost someone dear to her, and had then held up her son as if for him to see more clearly. In that brief interlude, the newborn had opened his eyes and had looked to him with compassion. A deep wound from distant city streets seemed to vanish in that moment.

"Praise be!" exclaimed the man beside the cr�che. "It is as we were told it would be."

"Thank you for having believed in me," said the happy woman as she nursed the infant.

*

An eye flickers open and he sees a glow. He closes his eye in fear but quickly changes his mind--it is just the morning light streaming in through the dusty window. The apartment is strangely silent. He jumps off his bed and looks out the window to the busy streets below. A police car sits ominously at the curb next to the caf�. Cars and busses and people are everywhere.

Down the avenue on the snow-covered yard in front of the church sits a life size nativity scene. The boy, clad only in an old T-shirt and shorts, dashes down two flights of stairs and out into the cold morning. Paying no heed to the people staring, he madly runs barefoot to the church's frozen front lawn.

A small crowd gathers by the church as the boy kneels before the cr�che. With great reverence he gently picks up the child. His face glistens with tears as he tries to bring to life an infant so solidly frozen as to be a statue. Many of those who have gathered feel fear, or confusion. The boy is untouched by them for his tears are jewels of joy.

So strong a moment it becomes--the young boy of ten hugging the cold Christ Child--that those who were witness will forever wonder how the statue of the shepherd boy warming the Infant within the embrace of the Mother suddenly appeared.

2300 K�benhavn S �1998 Bent Lorentzen

Danmark

(This story first appeared in FOOD FOR THOUGHT. The author holds its copyright)

Gracefully, yet also with the freedom of a wind-blown leaf, the butterfly flutters from flower to flower. Finally settling on a brilliant blossom, it stretches its long, coiled mouth to feast on the nectar. Almost forgotten is the harsh winter it spent under the snow. Even further from its tiny mind is the season it spent as a hungry caterpillar, afraid of every dark shadow.

A dark shadow suddenly fills the sky. The colorful insect takes flight toward the protective foliage of a towering oak tree. Already, a cool breeze has begun, bearing the cleansing scent of rain.

Skillfully, the butterfly lands on a small stem beneath a broad leaf. A drop thunders upon that leaf, splashing down to the butterfly's stem and showering cool liquid upon its body. As though performing an ancient ritual, the butterfly begins to wash each of its six legs. It then lightly combs its feathery antennae, enjoying the cool refreshing water. All the while, the large raindrops drum loudly upon the many leaves and branches of the tree.

Suddenly, a quiver of fear and awe stirs in the butterfly as it sees through its insect eyes, a flash of lightning descend from the black clouds. A deep rumbling follows. In that instant, the wind-swept insect loses its mind and gains an ancient memory. For less than a moment, the frail creature looks within itself and sees something it cannot understand.

Sadly, the butterfly senses the return of its instinctual hunger --wishing, against hope, that it weren't so.

The sun above explodes with warmth and brilliance, and through the receding, splattering din, a prayer from the butterfly soars heaven-ward. Suddenly, a wide arc of colors splashes across the horizon. Again it forgets its mind, and like a released leaf, falls freely to the ground.

Without guilt, a young swallow catches the tumbling butterfly in its narrow bill. As the bird wings upward, about to eat the insect, it too sees the rainbow. It closes its eyes for a moment, to absorb a beauty that cuts through all thoughts of hunger.

Yet another darkness swiftly approaches. The sharp talons and curved beak of a sparrow hawk pierces the swallow's body, killing it. But it is not an evil act; it is very natural. And like lightning leaving a cloud, the swallow finds itself suddenly flying in a new world, having forgotten the old one as if it were a dream.

The sparrow hawk stretches its wings to fly high up. Strangely, the butterfly is still alive inside the beak of the dead swallow. It is unhurt but fear fills the butterfly's heart. The brilliance above and the faraway shadows below have lost all familiarity. The heavenly rainbow is its only comfort. Once more, a prayer flies from the insect's tiny heart.

Suddenly, the hawk becomes afraid. The rainbow has begun to transform itself into something rare but familiar. The butterfly also meditates on this spirit through its compound eyes. But the hawk, being so strong, is the more frightened one. Power can be misleading; Peace cannot. The proud bird lets go of the swallow and dives like a rock.

The mother of all life smiles at the bird's needless retreat, and extends a magical hand to gently bring the stunned butterfly to her bosom. In the form of a vast and radiant butterfly, she embraces the homeward-bound creature.

"Past pains are ashes, future fear is an illusion, and the present peace is forever yours," whispers the mother to her butterfly, while life on the planet below quietly notices the rainbow's fading.

For a brief instant not a creature below stirs--so reverent is the moment. But soon, the homage becomes a forgotten memory for yet another creature to discover, as if by chance.

This Navajo-Dineh story has been purchased; hence can no longer be viewed here. Please e-mail author or more information.

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