CHAPTER 47:  SEFU

	Pumbaa and Timon were walking through the forest with Simba 
tagging along at their heels.  Every day for a lion cub is full of new 
discoveries, but Simba's friends were especially prone to throw him a 
curve just when it seemed like he had them figured out.
	The day was going slowly, however, and other than a few extra 
things to eat, there was not much worth staying awake to see.  Simba 
yawned and started to flop down, when suddenly a tall bird stepped out 
of the brush.  "Can you dig it??  The gruesome twosome!"
	"Sefu!" Timon cried with obvious pleasure.  "Hey, what's shakin!  
Good to see you!"
	"Good to be seen!"  Sefu oggled Simba.  "Who's the cat, cat?"
	"That's Simba, no lion!"
	"Oooh, good comeback!"
	Sefu timidly patted Simba on the head, then took Timon aside.  
None too discretely, he said, "Hey cat, he's the deluxe model.  Comes 
with large protective devices called `folks' that eat Meerkats for less 
than this, you dig?"
	"The little guy's in trouble.  We found him on the desert."
	"What's the story?"
	"I don't know.  I don't think he wants to talk about it."
	"If it's cool with him, it's cool with me."
	Smiling broadly, Sefu stalked over to Simba on his lanky legs.  
"Yo, cubby!  I've always wanted to be this close to a lion and live to 
tell about it.  So have you always been this small?"
	Simba thought for a moment, then he saw the mischievous look in 
Sefu's eyes.  "Oh, I get it!"
	Timon said, "This is one hip hawk.  One ravin raptor.  One absurd 
bird!  You ought to hear him groove."
	"What's groove?" Simba asked.
	"Show him, Sefu!"
	Sefu waved his wings.  "Just like that?  Before the good 
vibrations?"
	"Good vibrations?"  Simba was confused.
	"Yeah.  Cloud nine.  Seventh heaven.  Peace, love and the distinct 
absence of major irritation."
	"Oh!  In the groove!"
	"Yeah."
	Simba thought.  "How do you start good vibrations?"
	"You think about your favorite things.  When the dog bites, when 
the bee stings, when I'm feeling sad.  I simply remember my favorite 
things, and then I don't feel so bad!"
	"Just don't sing it," Timon said quickly.  "Once was more than 
enough!"  The meerkat thought a moment.  "What you're saying is that you 
CAN'T do a groove from a cold start."
	"Oh yeah??"
	"Oh yeah!"
	"Well give me room!  I need space!"
	Sefu stood atop a log that acted as an impromptu podium.  He 
looked into the sky and began to sway slightly.  "Oh, I can feel it 
coming, cats!  It's coming!"
	Simba looked with fascination as the bird began to recite.  Softly 
at first, but later with more volume and confidence:

			In the dark heart of the forest
			Where the apes and leopards roam
			Is a bright spot that's like paradise
			And it's there I make my home.

			Kick back on a fern bed and listen
			And I'll tell you of subjects and kings,
			Elephant nights and antelope days
			And legions of magical things!

	Simba was fascinated.  Sefu stopped, and Simba asked, "How does it 
end?"
	"The story is being written.  It comes from the top of your head, 
from the depths of your heart.  You just open your mind and listen to 
the voices in your head.  Listen to the wordless chatter of the leaves.  
Jump right in when you can.  Timon, you add some to it."
	Timon stepped forward and threw out his arms.  "Give me space to 
live, and dig it."

			In the dark swirls by the riverbank
			Rides a leaf that's swept in thrall
			It came from places dark and drear
			And answered to the call!

	Sefu listened carefully, and looked thoughtful.  "Profound and 
very....very....uh....depressing.  Let's hear from the boy."
	Pumbaa pushed the reluctant Simba forward.  "You can do it!  Just 
make your mind a complete blank!"
	"That's easy for you to say," Timon griped.  "You've had plenty of 
practice."
	"Now hush!" Sefu said.  "Let him have at it."
	Simba looked awkwardly at his paws and cleared his throat.

			There's a lizard on the baobab
			There's a snake upon the grass

	He thought a few moments, and making the supreme effort, burst out 
with:

			There's a danger in the jungle
			But I'm not afraid to pass

			There's a loud cry in the silence
			There's a strange scent in the winds
			I'd be scared and yet I'm really not
			All because I have my friends

	"Groovy!" Sefu said.  "Dig the chubby cubby--he's a natural!  What 
he ain't got ain't hot!"
	Sefu gathered Simba under his wing.  "Look here.  You keep working 
on it, and some day you're going to go places.  There's a spot out there 
for you.  A spot for good lyricists.  You do the words, and I do the 
little black dots."
	"Little black dots?"
	"The music!"
	"Do you really think I could?"
	"Think?  THINK??  You got IT, kid!  I could make you a star!"
	"A star?  Me??"  Simba's ears flattened in fear.  "I'm too young 
to die!"
	"What?!"  Sefu blinked.  "No, kid: WE'LL be killin' THEM.  With an 
act like ours, we'll SLAY `em!"
	"Now hold on a minute here!" Pumbaa said.  "That's OUR boy!"
	"Are you holding out on me, Pumbaa?  You want to be his manager?"
	"Not his manager!" Pumbaa said gruffly.  "His father!  I'm going 
to make sure he's taken care of."
	"Okay, okay."  Sefu tapped a foot thoughtfully.  "How does a flat 
rate followed by residuals grab you?"
	"I don't mean that kind of care.  I mean love!"  Pumbaa looked a 
little embarrased.  "Hey, I love the kid.  I don't want him to write 
songs unless it's what he wants to do."
	Simba looked at Pumbaa.  Then he looked back at Sefu.  He stalked 
back to the warthog.  "Maybe later, huh?"
	"Sure, kid.  Whatever floats your boat.  I still think we could 
have made an awesome team."
	Sefu disappeared as quickly as he showed up.  Simba looked at 
Timon with puzzlement.  "Is he real?"
	"That's just him.  Part philosopher, part musician, all mental 
case.  But he's really an all right guy when you get to know him."
	"So are you, Uncle Timon.  You too, Pumbaa."
	Pumbaa smiled broadly.  "Thanks!"


CHAPTER 48:  THE CRISIS

	Often a flood began with a few drops of rain, and a fire began 
with a few small sparks.  The first few times Simba felt discomfort 
after a meal, he thought nothing of it.  But finally as days passed into 
weeks, eating became an exercise in frustration for him.  It finally got 
to the point where he had to be nagged by Pumbaa to eat enough to get 
by.
	He was growing thin.  Pumbaa looked at his ribs and said, "Hey, 
it's not right for a young fellow not to be hungry like that."  He took 
Timon aside.  "I'm worried about him."
	Finally even Timon became worried.  He felt of Simba's forehead 
and asked him to stick out his tongue.  Everything looked fine, even 
when he peered at the whites of Simba's eyes.  Though he was no healer, 
Timon decided that it was probably nothing to worry about-just a 
childhood disease.
	In fact Simba's appetite kicked in when Pumbaa uncovered a whole 
nest of Cleoptrid Beetles.  They were large, crunchy, and actually had a 
taste that appealed to Simba.  While Pumbaa and Timon were very hungry, 
they were so glad to see their friend actually eating like his old self 
that they let him have his fill, even though he ate every last one.
	It wasn't very long until the nausea came back.  "Maybe I 
overate," Simba said.  "I need some water to wash this down.  Or I need 
something."
	"There's a stream not far from here.  Come on."
	"No, Timon.  I don't think I can make it."
	"Do you want to up chuck?  Hey, we won't watch, will we Pumbaa?"
	"Just let me...."  Simba's face was a picture of suffering.  He 
coughed, then wretched.  "Oh no," he stammered.  Another great heave 
nearly bent him in two.  His meal came up, mixed with a few spots of 
blood.  "Help me!  Oh gods, help me!"
	"What can I do?"  Pumbaa was in despair.  "Can I get you 
anything?"
	"No!"
	Simba fell on his side and curled up.  He wretched repeatedly, 
splattering the ground with the rest of his meal.  But the contractions 
did not stop.  
	"Is it gas?"
	"Pumbaa, with you, everything is...."  Timon looked at the pain in 
Simba's eyes.  "We have to do something!"
	"Let's pray," Pumbaa said.
	"It's been so long.  I wonder if God still knows I'm here."
	"There's one way to find out."
	Timon put both of his small hands on one of Simba's paws.  "Don't 
you leave me, pal!  God, give the little guy a break.  He's had a hard 
time of it, and he needs something Pumbaa and I can't give him.  Give us 
a clue.  I mean, even if I could help, I don't know how."  He started as 
Simba's paw quivered in his hands, the cub's muscles flexing with the 
force of his exertions.
	Pumbaa began to cry.  "Look at the little boy, God!  He's hurting.  
Make him stop hurting, please?"
	Simba broke out in a sweat.  He still retched, though nothing came 
up but a yellowish drool.
	Timon looked up at the sky.  "Look, God, I don't mean to rush you 
or anything, but if you don't do something quick, it's going to be too 
late!  Geez, he's only a little kid!  He deserves a fighting chance."
	A rustling in the underbrush startled them, and they turned to see 
two hyenas step out slowly, scenting the air.  The bigger female stepped 
forward and spoke, stumbling slightly in the common language.  "We take 
care of him."  
	"Hey, you'll have to kill us first!"
	"You're Timon, are you not?"  The male saw by his startled 
expression that he must be right.  "We here-"  He shook his head and 
tried again.  "We are here to help you with the sick child.  You were 
the one that asked God to give the child a fighting chance, aren't you?"
	"You could have overheard us.  That's not a miracle."  Timon did 
not trust them.  "Get lost before my buddy here stomps you flat."
	The male fixed Timon with his gaze, stilling the meerkat as he 
stared into the deep set eyes of the hyena.  Sparkles winked on and off 
in there, a dancing firelight of silver as the hyena spoke softly.  
"There is nothing whatever to fear from us."  
	Timon answered back, "I'm not afraid."
	"We trust we will have your full cooperation."
	Timon nodded.  "If there's anything I can do for you, just let me 
know."  
	The male said, "You will introduce me to the child."
	"Sure.  Simba, these are two good friends of mine.  They have come 
here to help you."
	"Who are they?" Simba asked, cringing from another spasm.
	"I don't know," Timon said, looking puzzled.  "I must have 
forgotten their names."
	Simba cringed away from the huge hyenas as they moved closer.  "I 
am Gur'bruk, and this is my bak'ret Kambra.  We are--how you say--
healers.  We were sent by Minshasa, the lioness of white hair.  You know 
her, don't you?"
	Simba's eyes flickered for a moment, but another spasm of pain 
wrenched at him, and he simply moaned.
	"I don't know any white lionesses," Timon said, puzzled.  "But 
hey, I'm glad she sent you."
	Kambra sniffed of the spots on the ground.  "This is bad.  We must 
act now."
	"I could have told you that."
	Gur'bruk frowned at Timon, and the meerkat silenced.  Then 
Gur'bruk had Simba lay on his side.  "Look at my eyes, son.  Can you 
tell me what color they are?"
	"Sure.  They're brown."
	"Are you sure?  Are you very sure?"
	"Well I--no, they're green.  No wait, they're blue.  Hey, how did 
you do that?"
	"I will tell you in a minute.  But right now, what color are 
they?"
	"They're still blue but there are little white things--oh, it's 
the sky!  I can see the clouds move!"
	"Very good.  If you look at the clouds, some of them are shaped 
like things you know."
	Kambra was feeling over Simba's body with a paw.  Though she was 
barely touching him, it was clear from her face that she was 
concentrating very hard.
	"Look past the clouds," Gur'bruk asked.  "Are there birds in the 
sky?"
	"Yes.  Lots of them."
	Kambra's roving ceased as she stared intently at a spot on Simba's 
side.  Nodding, she glanced up at Timon and winked.  Then she looked at 
Gur'bruk oddly for a moment, and turned back to Simba.
	"Are all of the birds the same?"
	"Yes."
	"Every one?"  Gur'bruk cocked an ear slightly.  "How about the one 
in front?"
	"I see it now.  Most of them are black, but the one in front is 
red."
	"That is your pain, Simba.  See it fly away?  He takes your pain 
with him.  He is going far away, and he is not coming back.  Do you feel 
the pain smaller?"
	Simba's tense features softened.  He had a relaxed smile.  "Oh 
yeah.  Oh that feels better!  Make the bird stay away."
	"I promise you we will.  I had a little ban'ret like you in the 
past.  When he hurted, I play the bird game with him.  It made him feel 
better."
	"Where is your boy now?  All grown up?"
	"He go to died," Gur'bruk said.
	"That's so sad.  Gur'bruk, there are dark clouds in the sky now.  
It looks like a storm coming."
	"Yes, I feel it"  Gur'bruk's eyes misted up and a quiet tear 
trickled down his cheek.  "His name was Gur'mekh.  Simba is a pretty 
name.  What does it mean?"
	"Lion."
	"I think it fits you maybe."
	Timon moved forward as Kambra nosed Simba's side again, her tongue 
flicking out for a second.  "Hey!  What're you DOING--"  He stared, 
gaping in astonishment as Kambra drew back and then plunged her muzzle 
inside Simba, her nose disappearing into him as if she were penetrating 
her reflection at a water hole.
	"Oh my gods!"  Timon wavered drunkenly and sat down hard, head 
swimming as he watched the impromptu operation in progress.  There was 
no blood, and Simba certainly gave no sign of pain as he continued to 
stare into Gur'bruk's eyes.  Kambra pulled suddenly, and out came a pink 
growth which she discarded in the brush.  Sitting back, she sighed 
satisfactorily.  "All done."
	Timon glared at her suspiciously and ran over to Simba.  Gritting 
his teeth, he felt around gingerly under the fur, expecting to find the 
matted wetness of blood and the ragged edge of a wound in his side.
	Instead, he found nothing.  he began combing through the soft fur, 
poking at the firm hide of the cub. "Where'd ya hide it?!"
	Simba giggled slightly at the touch, and Gur'bruk smiled.  "The 
game is over now.  How do you feel, young ban'ret?"
	Simba got up and shook off.  "I feel hungry!"
	Gurbruk nuzzled him, as did Kambra.
	Timon breathed a sigh of relief and grinned at Kambra. "I could 
just kiss you if you didn't eat carrion."  
	"I could just kiss you back if you did not eat the grubs."
	"Good point."  He patted her and pecked her cheek.  "We owe you 
one."
	"Owe me one what?"  She thought for a moment.  "Oh it's a 
figuresque of speech."  She looked at Timon closely.  "Now listen, old 
ban'ret.  Fate the path goes--if you--how you say `ta'kher ohvi 
gabrukh....'"  She stopped, putting her paw on his face and 
concentrating.  "Your charge will find a glorious destiny," she said in 
flawless Suricati.
	Stunned, he dropped back into his native tongue.  "I'd believe it.  
He's a great kid."  Timon scratched behind his ear and shifted uneasily.  
"Tell me the truth: will the problem come back?"
	"What is he eating?"
	"Grubs and beetles, mainly."
	"Oh gods!  That's what caused it.  You have to teach him how to 
hunt.  Or at least how to scavenge."
	"Scavenging we can do, but I'm no carnivore."
	"Bugs are not what Roh'kash meant for lions to eat.  You must 
change his lifestyle, at least a little.  There are some herbs you can 
try to stall the problem, but someday you'll have to let him be what he 
was born to be, a hunter."
	"I guess so.  But hey, where did you guys come from?  I mean, 
you're not from around here, are you?"
	"No."  Kambra closed her eyes and sighed.  "But where we came 
from, we cannot go."
	Timon fell silent as he looked at her, recognizing a kindred soul 
of one who has been cast out.  Yet he knew somehow that this was much 
more than a simple outcast before him.  Gur'bruk came to stand beside  
Kambra, kissing her face and nuzzling her neck.  Timon regarded them 
soberly, seeing the comfort they took from one another, but there was an 
evident look of sadness on their faces that was at once noble and 
poignant.
	Reverting to common speech he said, "Look, why don't you guys 
stick with us?  I mean, we don't have a home either.  Not really."
	"We go where Roh'kash sends us, like the restless wind."
	"In a way, so do we."
	Pumbaa looked at them wonderingly.  "Will we ever see you again?"
	"If you need us once more, you will see us."  Without explanation, 
he looked up and said, "Yolanda, we paid the debt."
	The two vanished back into the undergrowth in a quiet rustle of 
leaves.  Timon and Pumbaa stared after them for a long moment, until 
they were distracted by a cough behind them.  They turned to see Simba 
rising unsteadily on all four legs, a look of disgust on his face as he 
spat into the dust.
	"Yech!  My mouth tastes like five day old pond scum!"
	"Must've been something you ate," Timon said dryly.  "C'mon, kid, 
let's go get some water."
	"Yeah!"
	From the concealment of the lush undergrowth, Gur'bruk and Kambra 
watched the trio meander away, the cub leaning against Pumbaa's shoulder 
as Timon perched on his head, directing the way to the water hole.  
Gur'bruk blinked as his thoughts raced unspoken to his mate.  "Do you 
think they'll be all right?"
	"They'll be fine."  She smiled at him.  "Have faith, love."
	"I trust Roh'kash implicitly.  THOSE two..."
	"...are fulfilling their destiny.  Just as the cub will one day, 
with their help."  She looked after the odd trio, her smile fading.  
Gur'bruk felt an odd feeling emenating from her, something akin to awe. 
He looked at her curiously, and she met his gaze, her eyes shining. "I 
told the meerkat the child was destined for great things, and he is.  
When I removed the growth, I was caught up in his Ka.  He's the one true 
king!  And he is the annointed."
	"The annointed?  What are you saying??"
	"He bears the mark of Duhbrek.  Roh'kash had chosen him from his 
birth to bring freedom to the captives and mercy to the oppressed."
	"And we were sent to save his life!"  Gur'bruk closed his eyes and 
muttered, "Thank you, Lord!"
	She fell quiet, trembling.  "Yes.  We have paid the price.  
Husband, he has set us free!"
	"I think so, dear.  But we must wait on the Lord.  Roh'kash will 
send us a sign."
	"What kind of sign?"
	"I don't know.  But when it happens, we'll know."
	Just then they heard a rustling in the undergrowth.  "Muti?  
Maleh?"
	Gur'bruk gasped.  "My gods, it's the sign!"
	Kambra cared nothing for signs.  She shrieked, running to 
Gur'mekh's ka.  As tears streamed from her eyes, she rubbed him and 
smothered him with kisses, yipping a string of wordless utterances that 
were wrongly called "hyena laughter" by those who did not understand.   
Raising up on her back legs, she wrapped her forearms around his neck, 
pushing him to the ground and nuzzling him desperately.  "My precious 
little boy!" she finally choked out between her sobs.  "Gur'bruk, it's 
him!"

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