The Penguin and the Polar Bear
Once upon a time, there was a penguin. She was, as penguins go, rather pretty. Her flippers were slender, her form sleek. Her feathers were dark and sleek and shone like the sun on a bright arctic morning. She was tall and proud. Even her gait was regal, unlike the customary penguin waddle, and when she swam, she became one with the water, coursing through it with grace and ease. And how she loved to swim.
One afternoon, the other penguins of her waddle (that being the traditionally accepted term for a large group of the creatures) began to leave the water and head up onto the icy shore with some haste. The penguin quickly scanned the depths for whatever it was that could have been causing such a kerfuffle and, finding no predators in the area or, really, any other reason for the exodus, chalked it all up to the overly curious nature of her fellow fowl.
While she was admittedly prone to such things herself, she made it a point not to follow the crowd, when at all possible, and chose instead to wait awhile before heading out to investigate. So she swam and swam, enjoying the warm (relatively speaking) summer water. Finally, when she needed to surface for air, and to have a quick peek, she shot out and landed gracefully on the snowy bank.
What she found there took her by surprise. While she’d expected all sorts of strange and wondrous things, many of them fantastical, what she did not expect was to find, far off on the horizon, all the other penguins, marching away. Startled, unsure of what was going on, she began to chase after them, thankful for the full belly of shrimp and anchovies that she’d brought along.
As the day wore on, she began to grow worried that she wouldn’t catch up and eventually became too tired to go on. Though she was sure the rest of her waddle must be as well, they didn’t seem to want to stop. Try as she might, though, she couldn’t make herself walk or slide any further without a quick nap. So down she went, secure in the knowledge that she knew the direction in which they were traveling and that she would, of course, catch up with them in no time, once she was refreshed.
* * * * *
When she awoke, her belly warmed by the sun, it took a moment for her to realize that she could no longer hear the other penguins off in the distance, calling to one another. Getting to her feet, she began to follow in what she was certain was their wake. Unfortunately, though there are any number of exceptional things about penguins, their sense of direction is not among them and, very quickly, she found herself lost and wandering the open white world all alone. Worse still, it was beginning to get colder.
And, as the days passed, and the penguin became more and more despondent, it grew colder still. Each time she laid her beak beneath her wing to rest, she shivered a little more and thought more longingly of the warmth of her friends all pressing against one another to keep out the wind. What she tried not to think about was what her mother and father warned her became of penguins separated from the waddle come the frigid winter. That prospect chilled her more deeply than the stiffening gales, but only a little.
* * * * *
On the fourth day, she began to call out to the other penguins, hoping that, should they hear her, they would wait and allow her to catch up. Louder and louder she called as she walked toward the horizon, but to no avail. It seemed she was well and truly lost. As the day wore on, it began to snow, big, fat flakes, at first, then smaller, more multitudinous ones until, eventually, she could barely see.
Stumbling through the blizzard, blinded by the icy storm, she tried to find somewhere to take shelter. All around were hollows, but none that would offer any real protection from what was shaping up to be a whopper of a storm. She began to call again, this time in despair.
Then, just as she was losing hope, she heard someone calling back. A deep and decidedly unpenguin-like bass cut through the roar of the storm, calling for her to follow. Though she was unsure as to what was guiding her steps, she decided that it couldn’t be much worse than the predicament in which she currently found herself, so she followed it to a nearby cave.
As she stepped into the cave and saw its sole other occupant, she found herself suddenly re-evaluating her notion of relative safety. For, sitting on giant haunches at the far end of the hollow, was a massive polar bear. And he was grinning.
“Hello,” he said, waving a furry paw roughly the size of her torso.
Some latent instinct kicked in, burrowing out from deep within her little penguin hind brain, and she let out a blood-curdling screech, preparing to bolt and take her chances in the elements. When she let loose the ear-shattering burst, the polar bear’s eyes widened to the size of…very wide eyes, indeed, and he held up his paws, letting out what he would later swear was a hugely virile, extremely masculine roar but what sounded, in point of fact, much more like a girlish howl.
At the sound of it, the penguin’s own shriek quickly devolved into a laugh which, given the shock of the encounter coupled with the stress of the few preceding days, had more than a little touch of hysteria. Even as she did so, though, she made a break for the mouth of the cave.
“Wait, wait,” the bear rumbled, “you can’t go back out there. You’ll catch your death in that kind of weather.”
She turned and looked him squarely in the eye and replied, “And if I stay in this cave with a polar bear, you won’t have to catch your next meal.”
The bear raised a bushy eyebrow. “I am not that sort of bear.”
The penguin snorted, crossing her flippers and taking not a single step further into the cave.
“Honestly,” he said, “I’m not. I’m fish only. Well, and the occasional slow-moving seal,” he added, licking his chops a little. “Anyway, if I were that kind of bear, wouldn’t I have pounced the moment you walked in?”
“Hm,” she clucked, obviously not buying it. Despite her every penguiny instinct telling her otherwise, she found the bear a little disarming, sincere even. She was beginning to think that he may just be a very clever bear when she happened to glace over to see him batting happily at the errant snowflakes that made their way in on the breeze.
“Say I do believe you,” she began, holding up a wary flipper, “and I’m not saying that I do, mind you, but if I did, I’m not sure why you brought me in here, if not to devour me whole.”
The old bear shrugged his shaggy shoulders and replied matter-of-factly, “You seemed like you were lost and alone out there. I don’t think anyone deserves to be lost and alone.”
The words were so simple, spoken so honestly, that they very nearly brought down the walls the penguin had, without realizing it, constructed around her tiny penguin heart to keep out all the fear and loneliness that had begun to slowly fill it since she awoke that first morning, away from everything and everyone she’d ever known. She began to cry.
Before she could stop him, the bear reached out and scooped her up into his giant arms. She knew she should be terrified, but they were warm and fuzzy and welcoming, so much so that she burrowed down into them until she could hear nothing but the thump-thump-thump of his big bear heart. And it was that rhythm, when the tears finally stopped, that carried her off to sleep.
* * * * *
The little penguin who had fallen asleep to a heartbeat woke up to a most unfamiliar, but somehow soothing, rumbling. She squirmed her way out from beneath what seemed like a small mountain of warm, white fur to find the bright sun streaming into the cave, no hint of the storm left except in the blanket of fresh, powdery snow on the world outside, though it took the eye of one who’d lived in the arctic to recognize the difference.
As she waddled over to the mouth of the cave to look out on the world, hoping a little that she would see her waddle somewhere out there, the bear turned onto his back with a huff.
Turning back to him, she said, cheerfully, “Good morning.”
He pried open one dark eye, glaring a bit, then shut it again before giving a yawn for the books and sitting up. “And to you.”
“Do you live in this cave?” she asked conversationally.
“I do for the moment.” He leaned against the cool cavern wall, yawning again. “We polar bears tend not to stay in one place for too long, except during the colder months, which we prefer to simply sleep through. Hence,” he gestured, “my new home.”
At the mention of the cold times, the little penguin’s heart seized up a bit. She didn’t know what she would do out there, especially if there was another storm. Penguins who didn’t have their waddles to keep them warm…She shivered.
“What’s wrong?” the old bear asked.
The penguin swallowed, her tummy in knots. “I wasn’t just lost in a storm when you found me,” she said, “I’ve been separated from my waddle.”
The bear’s huge brow came together, confusion in his eyes. The penguin sighed.
“That’s what we’re called, we penguins, when we’re all together. A waddle.”
“Ah,” said the bear, obviously incredulous but willing to go along with it, anyway. “But you’ve lost yours?”
The penguin, a lump in her throat, just nodded a little.
“And you’re worried that you won’t be able to make it out there without them?”
She nodded again.
“Well,” he broached, “perhaps we can help one another out.”
She cocked her head to the side, not following.
“I’m about to seal myself up in the cave here, to sleep away the cold times. Maybe, if you like, you can stay here with me? I admit that I’m no substitute for a…waddle of penguins, but I keep plenty warm and I’m sure I wouldn’t mind sharing some of that.”
The penguin shook her head. “That’s a very generous offer, very generous, but I couldn’t possibly put you out like that.”
“Oh, you wouldn’t be, not at all!” the bear grinned. “I haven’t mentioned your part of the bargain.”
The penguin looked at him skeptically.
“When I wake up from my long naps, I’m generally quite ravenous…” he began before being interrupted by an appalled penguin squeak. “No, no! I’m not suggesting…”
“What exactly did you mean by that, then?” she squawked indignantly, her sleek feathers ruffling. “I won’t be your breakfast!”
“Of course not!” the bear said quickly. “I told you I was a strictly anti-penguin eating bear. I just thought that maybe, when the world starts to warm again, you could just start stockpiling a few fish for me. That’s all. Besides,” he added with another bearish chuckle, “you’d barely be a snack.”
“That,” she said, smacking him with a flipper, “is not funny.” But she smiled, all the same, suddenly feeling a little less alone in the big white world.
* * * * *
And so it went that the polar bear sealed up the cave, save for a tiny, penguin-sized hole in the door, so she could go outside, should she have the urge, and another in the ice at the far end, so she could go for a swim and fish through the winter. Then, with very little ceremony and little more than a good night, he laid down to sleep.
In all her life, the penguin had never seen anyone sleep so soundly. He rarely moved, except to shift position, and made no sound save for little chuffs and snores now and then. And she swam, catching fish and passing the day watching for her waddle. At the end of each day, she would make her way back into the cave and curl up beside the big old bear, who would, very gently, wrap his big paws around her, making a nice, comfy bed.
Time passed and each day she would wake, swim for a while, then head back out to watch the horizon. The days grew shorter and shorter, colder and colder, until, eventually, the sun stopped coming at all.
And then it got colder, so much so that, eventually, she didn’t leave the bear’s side except to fish. She’d heard about the long night, but never experienced it before. The world without the sun made her little heart heavy and she was afraid she might, in the darkness, miss them, if they came back by. Being with the bear, though, kept the cold at bay, both in the cave and in her heart.
Then, just when she thought the night would never end, it did. She opened her eyes and saw the first rays of the morning sun peeking through her doorway. She jumped to her feet and ran out to greet it, dancing merrily in the warming rays. Then she remembered her part of the bargain she’d made with the polar bear and got to work.
Every day, when she returned from getting her breakfast, she would put aside a fish or two for him until, when he finally began to stir, yawning fitfully with a smacking sound, there was quite the pile indeed. His nose seemed to wake first, sniffing at the air before he opened one eye, focusing first, very briefly, on the fish, then on her.
“Good morning,” she said with a smile.
“Good morning to you, too, miss penguin,” he said.
“Did you sleep well?” she asked, knowing that he had, but being polite, all the same.
“I did,” he said, somewhat impatiently, his gaze travelling inexorably towards the fish with growing frequency. The penguin giggled.
“Go ahead.”
“Thank you,” he grunted, getting to his feet and making his way over to the pile where he proceeded to gorge himself happily.
When he finished, he leaned back with his big paws on a slightly distended belly and gave her a satisfied grin.
“That was wonderful,” he told her with a little hiccup.
“I’m glad you enjoyed it,” she replied sincerely, waddling over to sit beside him, enjoying his warmth, as, while the sun may be it out, it was still awfully chilly.
They sat that way for a long time before either of them spoke, simply enjoying one another’s company. Then they began to talk. She told him all about the long night and then her family and friends. He told her about his own family, who had been lost long ago. When he spoke of them, of his mother, father and brother, there was a sadness in his voice that very nearly broke her heart, so she cuddled up a little closer. It seemed to help.
More time passed, and the world grew warmer as they got to know one another. The bear unpacked the door and they went out wandering, the little penguin riding on his broad back so that she wouldn’t get lost again and could always find her way home.
Finally, one morning, she awoke to find him already awake, standing in the mouth of the cave, staring off at something she couldn’t see off in the distance. Just as she began to ask what it was that had him so rapt, she heard it, the distant but unmistakable voices of other penguins.
Jumping up, she raced to the door and saw, not very far off, a huge line of penguins walking back in the direction from which she’d come. Her heart leapt up into her throat and she gave an excited squeal, calling out to them. She looked over at the bear, who’d said nothing.
“I was just about to wake you,” he said. “I heard them early this morning.” He turned his head toward her. “Are they yours?” he asked.
She nodded, finding her throat suddenly unable to squeeze out any words. Inexplicably, her heart was torn. She wanted to run to the other penguins, to rejoin the waddle, but, at the same time, she didn’t want to leave the bear behind.
Then, because she was never one to willingly give up someone she loved, and she did love the big old bear, she said to him, softly, “I love you, bear. Come back with me. I’m sure that you could be one of us.”
He looked at her for a long time, and she saw all sorts of things cross his furry face, from sadness to hope to a tiny touch of fear. “But what if they don’t want me?” he said.
She nuzzled him with her beak, speaking into his thick white coat. “How could they not? Silly bear.”
And that, as they say, was that.
* * * * *
So the penguin and the polar bear, whose long strides could more than outdistance those of even the swiftest penguin, caught up on the very next day with the waddle. After a bit of initial hysterics, for which penguins are, among all the artic creatures, notorious, she began to sell them on the idea of their newest, hairiest member. After all, how many waddles can say that they have one of nature’s most perfect predators on their side? And besides, he was, when it came down to it, very much like a penguin, wasn’t he? He was white and black and loved both fish and swimming. What more could you ask for? She was very persuasive and they agreed, on a trial basis.
As they all walked back to the shore, the other penguins, being even more good-natured than they were prone to hysterics, if that were possible, warmed to the idea and, by the time they got to the ocean, had officially adopted the polar bear, especially the brand new little ones, who seemed to take great joy in clambering all over him and cuddling beneath his chubby mounds of soft, warm fur.
So they spent a warm, wonderful season together, the penguin and the polar bear and, when the days began to grow shorter and the other penguins began to leave, they made a decision that, while it saddened the others, was eventually deemed very prudent and wise.
They followed the waddle as far as their cave, where they decided they would stay for the cold months, as they had the year before, just in case any other penguins were accidentally left behind and needed a bit of rescuing, as she had.
They did the same the next year, and the year after. And, as time passed, they did rescue a penguin or two who, for whatever reason, had missed the proverbial boat. And those penguins would, every once in a while, decide to do the same until, many years later, there was a whole network of penguins who elected to stay behind and watch the road, just in case. And each of them, down the years, would tell anyone they spent the cold months with the story of that first penguin and her polar bear, who, of course, lived happily ever after.
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