Ellen's Lion (4 page)

In the middle of their dance the General and the Admiral stopped abruptly and, with a final sagging shrug, they became motionless and silent.

“What were you thinking about?” Ellen asked the lion.

For a few moments before he spoke the lion stared at the tall thin Admiral who was a statue of General Jones and at the short fat General who was a statue of Admiral Smith.

“If they are statues of each other why don't they look like their statues?”

“Why don't their statues look like them, you mean,” Ellen said, wiping clay from her hands.

“Well, yes,” the lion agreed.

“Because I'm not a very good modeler,” said Ellen.

“Oh,” said the lion.

T
he lion lay stretched out on the soft arm of the big chair. Ellen sat on the footstool and stared at him silently for several minutes before she spoke, in her saddest voice.

“You poor thing.”

“Me?” said the lion.

“Yes,” Ellen said to him, and she gently stroked his imitation fur. “From now on I'm going to be very kind to you.”

“Are you?” the lion said. “Why?”

“Because you're a poor sad old lion.”

“I'm not old,” said the lion.

“You're not new, either,” said Ellen, looking at two places where the lion's seams were coming apart and at the stain, that never quite had washed out, from the time he fell off Ellen's head into her plate of tomato soup.

“And I certainly am not sad,” said the lion.

“You don't look happy,” Ellen said.

“I'm not,” said the lion.

“Don't you have to be one or the other?” said Ellen. “I do. Right now I'm being very sad, in case you didn't notice.”

“You've made it plain,” the lion said.

“I'm sympathizing with you. Because you looked so sad—”

“I'm not sad!” said the lion.

“You're angry,” Ellen said. “I've upset you—”

“I am never angry,” said the lion. “I am never upset. For that matter, I am never in a good humor either. All this talk of sympathy for my feelings is silly, Ellen. I'm a stuffed animal.”

“I know,” said Ellen, sighing. “That's the saddest part of all.”

“Sentimental nonsense!” said the lion, and as Ellen stared at him with eyes that were filling with tears, he went on rapidly. “I'm never sad and never happy, never hungry or never full, never foolish or clever, or good or bad, or this or that, or anything else you imagine me to be—”

“You poor thing,” Ellen said, slowly shaking her head. “You haven't any mother, either, have you?”

“What has that got to do with it?” said the lion.

“It just occurred to me,” said Ellen, with a sob.

“Now you are being ridiculous,” the lion said. “You know stuffed animals don't have mothers. We don't need them.”

“You're so brave about everything,” Ellen said, dabbing at her tears with her handkerchief. “I'm neither brave nor cowardly,” said the lion.

“Your admiration is as foolish as your pity—”

“All right,” said Ellen, wiping away the last of her tears and opening a picture book. “I won't sympathize with you any more if you don't like it.”

“I neither like it nor dislike it—”

“Oh, be quiet,” Ellen said, without looking up from her book.

She was reading a very sad story about a little tree that was lost in the woods. She read it right to the end without saying another word.

O
nce, twice, and thrice the beautiful fairy waved her wand and, before she spoke, she took another bite of muffin covered with raspberry jam.

“There,” she said. “Now the evil charm the wicked witch put on you can be broken. When the princess gets here you won't have to be a beast any more.”

“What did you say?” said the lion. “Don't talk with your mouth full, Ellen.”

“Who's Ellen?” said the beautiful fairy. “I'm your fairy godmother.”

“I thought you were Ellen pretending to be an Indian,” said the lion. “I saw that arrow in your hand—”

“It's a magic wand,” said the fairy, putting the feathered shaft on the floor in front of the lion for him to see it plainly. “I have to disappear now. Good-bye.”

“Good-bye,” said the lion.

The beautiful fairy disappeared.

“Look!” said the invincible knight. “An arrow!”

“It's a magic wand,” said the lion.

“Don't you know an arrow when you see one?” said the invincible knight, picking it up, tasting its rubber tip and finding it poisoned, and then rushing to the window. “Infidels! Infidels are attacking the castle!”

“Oh?” said the lion.

“The wicked witch is leading them,” the knight reported, eating jam and muffin as she surveyed the besieging army across the wide moat. “But I'll save the castle. Don't worry, prince.”

“Prince?” said the lion.

“You're the king's son the witch put the charm on,” the knight explained. “And I'm the invincible knight. I'm on your side.”

“Good,” said the lion.

The arrow sailed out of the window, like a spear. And then, with no warning or explanation of any kind, the invincible knight clutched at her throat and fell back dying.

“The wicked witch is dead,” she gasped. “The arrow I threw at her went right through her mean old heart and the infidels all ran away. The castle is saved.”

Stuffing the last of the muffin and raspberry jam in her mouth, the knight sprawled out flat on her back and died.

“But what happened to you?” said the lion.

“Don't you remember anything?” said the dead knight, rolling onto her stomach and frowning at the lion. “Don't you remember when I tasted the arrow to see if it was poisoned?”

“Oh, yes, of course,” said the lion. “But I'm glad you recovered.”

“The invincible knight died,” said the lovely princess, clambering to her feet. “I'm the princess. You know, the one who is going to break the evil charm and change you from a beast into a handsome prince.”

“How?” said the lion.

“By kissing you, of course,” said the lovely princess, picking up the lion from the floor and holding him out at arm's length.

“You have jam on your face,” said the lion.

“That won't matter,” the princess said, and she kissed the lion and held him tight against her. “Now you're a handsome prince and we can be wed and live happily ever after.”

But when the lovely princess released the handsome prince from her embrace he changed right back into a stuffed beast and fell to the playroom floor, bouncing under a red fire truck.

“I have to go down to the back yard and get that arrow I threw out of the window,” said Ellen.

“A
re you by any chance a mountain lion?” Ellen asked.

“No,” said the lion.

“How do you know?” said Ellen. “Have you ever tried climbing a mountain?”

“No,” said the lion.

“Wouldn't you like to be the first lion to climb the highest mountain in the world?” said Ellen, dragging a skipping rope out from under a pile of toys.

“No,” said the lion.

“The trouble with you is you have no ambition,” Ellen said. “You just lie there on the floor, not even moving. You don't even move your mouth when you talk. Don't you want to be famous?”

Before the lion could say “no” again, she wrapped one end of the rope around his stomach and the other end around her waist.

“Mountain climbers always tie themselves together in case one of them falls,” she explained. “Anything you want to know about mountain climbing, just ask me. Have you any more questions?”

“No,” said the lion.

So he and Ellen set off for the highest mountain in the world. They arrived at the foot of it and Ellen pointed up toward the summit.