An Antarctic Miracle, Part 3

The crowd of Emperor penguins made their way back to the rookery, lacking at least a dozen other mothers besides Lovely, whose babies would never see their dear faces.

At the rookery, the males had already become fathers! The eggs had hatched into beautiful baby penguins, covered in gray fuzz all over their plump little bodies. Each had already heard and knew its father’s call, and would soon memorize its mother’s. Goodlooking was happy as he could be, waiting faithfully for the day when his mate would come home with fresh food for their little one. But Hobble was sorrowfully pecking at the egg he had found frozen solid. No sounds or movements came from it, but he stayed faithfully at the miniature grave, head bowed with sorrow, eyes constantly fixated on the lifeless egg. Other such scenes could be observed in different locations around the rookery.

Finally, the females were back. They arrived early one morning, sleek chests jutting out with anticipation and happiness. Each one rushed in the direction of her mate’s call, eagerly greeting her new family member. Many mouths were opened, mothers’ and babies’ alike, and many chicks were fed with fish remainders regurgitated from their mothers’ full stomachs.

But some signs of sadness hovered around this beautiful sight. One female finally found her crippled mate standing sadly a little away from the rest of the crowd. He was still staring forlornly at the egg frozen in the ground, not really caring about anything else, even his mate. She called to him as she approached, but he not so much as lifted his head at the sound. She was confused, but soon found out why he was acting in such a strange way when she neared and saw the strangely shaped lump of ice.

Sudden realization dawned upon her and she pecked at it a few times to make sure she was correct in her assumption; yes, she found out, she was. She pecked at the ice and finally, after a moment or two, with the help of her mate, got the egg out of its icy prison. But the dead chick stayed silent inside the round, cream-colored shell, and even their mournful calls would not reverse its lack of even the smallest sign of life. The female Emperor penguin turned and rubbed her head against her mate’s shoulder, too sad to do anything else.

A few other such situations could be observed amongst the crowd of penguins. But also were found lone males standing with their chicks, their eyes yet searching the horizon for any sign of the missing mates. But none came, for all females still alive were already in the rookery feeding their babes. Goodlooking was currently in such a predicament. He was still craning his neck as far as it would go, gazing into the distance, virtually ignoring his penguin chick, who was impatiently watching all the other chicks being fed by their mamas.

But no mother penguin came for him. The sole parent slowly realized that his hope was in vain. He would never see Lovely’s face again. He would never see her delight at the new chick, never see her lower her head and cough out nourishing food for her new little one. His head bowed deep in despair, he ignored the hungry chick chattering angrily beside him. He had no doubt that the little one would soon be silent, lying lifeless on the ground.

Suddenly, the penguin chick scampered away from him and was lost in the crowd. Goodlooking waddled off quickly to find him, knowing that he had a duty to fulfill till the end.

Meanwhile, the grieving couple walked quietly through the crowd waiting until all the penguins decided to go home, back to the sea. Their eyes glanced about dully, pausing at each sight of infinitely happier penguin couples with children. No such joy would be theirs until next year; who knew if it would be theirs at all? If, as is usual for Emperor penguins, they returned to the same mate next breeding season, who knew if the male would have enough strength and stability to hold an egg through the long summer again without dropping it?

Suddenly, a little gray fuzzball rushed toward them, anticipation glowing in his eyes. He came up to them, his clumsy little feet sliding on the slippery ice, and stopped right in between them. He looked up at them eagerly. Hobble didn’t understand. What in the world was this little one doing; where was his mother, father; what did he want?

But Itchy started to understand, and motherly instincts rose up in her. She could tell that this penguin chick hadn’t been fed yet, and if not yet, then probably never, for his mother was dead and wouldn’t come; and his father, well, he was probably mourning the loss of his mate and didn’t even notice the little one run off.

She looked around, then at her mate, hope shining in her eyes. He at once started to understand what this little chick was here for and what he wanted. He wanted a mother.

The little penguin made a whimpering sound and looked up at them impatiently. Can you be my mother? he seemed to be asking. With one more glance at Hobble, Itchy affirmed that he felt the same way as she did. Without further hesitation, she bent down towards the little chick. He opened his mouth, and she coughed up fish remainders from her stomach into his mouth. He swallowed the delicious food happily and opened up for more.

All of a sudden, a large male penguin broke out of the teeming black-and-white crowd and waddled closer. When Goodlooking realized what they were doing, he stopped short and looked at them curiously. The little penguin ran to him and snuggled up to his warm belly. But although he loved the little one, he knew that the chick should stay with the childless couple; that would be his only hope of survival. He stroked the baby with his beak for a few minutes, and then nudged him over to his new parents, who received him gladly. Gratitude shone in the widower’s eyes as he turned away from his son and disappeared into the crowd.

An Antarctic Miracle, Part 2

The time came for the female Emperor penguins to journey far to the ocean’s icy shores, where the food they had been deprived of for so long was ready to be caught.

The two couples resigned themselves to the inevitable departure. With heavy heart each lady penguin gave the caretaking of her precious egg over to her mate. Each clumsily delivered her yet unhatched baby into the soft pouch of skin and feathers provided by her male partner, where the egg would be steadied by its father’s careful feet over the long period of time before hatching.

Our first penguin couple had no difficulties in completing this task. Lovely raised her flap of skin, and with the help of its mother and father, the egg willingly rolled into Goodlooking’s pouch.

But this same act proved very difficult for our less popular couple, namely because, as we said before, Hobble had a deformed foot.

He clumsily hopped toward Itchy, and they got as close to each other as they possibly could, their sleek, shiny white stomachs touching, their beaks both pointing down, their eyes squinting in concentration. Itchy carefully nudged the egg out of her own pouch, directing its course with the help of her thick, gnarly toes, which she kept pointing toward her mate’s toes. The egg lazily rolled toward its father’s feet, not at all anxious to get there quickly. He helped it along as best he could with his good foot, putting his full body weight on his bad foot for the first time in his life.

Even with their greatest concentration and most careful movements, it took much longer than usual to finally get the egg on Hobble’s feet. Next, he took a deep breath and lifted his flap of skin as high as he could. Meanwhile he concentrated all his weight on the unused crippled foot and tried to help the egg into the hollow he made right over his feet. Twice the egg almost fell onto the ice, and once it actually did! Instinctively knowing the danger of the chick freezing, the doting mother rushed over and scooped up the egg back into her safe pouch, and they had to start the long process all over again.

Finally, they achieved their goal: the little egg was safe in the pouch of its father, and the couple had to say their adieus. It would have been a very tearful parting if these two had been human. As it was, they caressed each other momentarily, after which Itchy turned and, without a glance back, started tobogganing away with her female companions. After a few seconds, she was nothing but a speck in the flowing black wave against the never-ending white landscape.

The females were going back to the sea to refresh themselves for up to nine weeks, gorging on the nourishing food that they would later cough up and feed to their babies.

But for the males, then began the long wait. For many weeks the long, cold summer would pass its course. The males would prove to be some of the most persevering animals alive, for while their mates filled their empty bellies with fresh fish from the ocean, these Emperor penguins would huddle together in a huge crowd, braving the wind and snow and ice, protecting the priceless treasures hidden in their bosoms, enduring anything and everything so that their offspring might survive.

During this hard time, the male penguins grew very thin and weak, having to stand against the harsh cold which threatened to freeze them to death, meanwhile suffering the pain which cramped their empty stomachs. Only one thing mattered: never, never drop the egg.

At the same time, the females were happily tobogganing around the icy slopes at the ocean’s shores. They were eating a full meal every day, and their fish diet was supplemented by krill found farther out and deeper down, as well as the occasional squid. Their bellies soon grew fat and sleek, and they always went to sleep content.

But, back at the rookery, things were not so bright and happy. Our poor lame Hobble was having much trouble with walking and even moving around. His right foot was sore from balancing his egg for so long while bearing the full body weight of himself and the unhatched chick. He limped around even more clumsily than before, always worrying that the egg might fall out of his pouch and freeze into a lifeless snowball, never to hatch; the dead chick never to begin life out of its protective shell.

One cold, dark night, as he shifted his feet to get into a better position in the males’ huddle against the merciless wind, his foot slipped. Though he was steadied by the sure shoulders of his neighbors, the egg had no such solid foundation.

It rolled through the maze of snow-covered feet and burst out of the huddle into the open wintry summer’s harsh, unforgiving conditions. The wind buffeted and battered, the snow swiftly covered; Hobble rushed out of the crowd of penguins, but his egg, his chick, was nowhere to be seen. It was gone forever, frozen into a solid chunk of snow and ice.

The females had nothing to worry about for the moment, for ignorance is bliss. They were about ready to retrace their route back to the rookery, where they would welcome their newly hatched penguin chicks. They dove into the sea for a last meal before the long trek home.

Unknown to them, a clever leopard seal was waiting in the deep, dark ocean, hungry for penguin meat. It patiently swam back and forth under the overhang of floating ice. It knew that, sooner or later, the female penguins would be diving into the water for a fish feast. As soon as an unknowing penguin ventured nearer to the seal’s hiding place, it would rush out, grab the unlucky female from behind, and swim away with its squirming prize.

And so it happened. Our beautiful Emperor female who had her large flame-breasted mate waiting for her at the breeding place eagerly jumped in along with her penguin sisters. Lovely darted here and there, gulping down all different kinds of fish. When she suddenly smelled a suspicious odor wafting over to her from behind, it was already too late. She heard a roar, felt teeth closing over the lower part of her delicate body, and saw a last glimpse of the other females swimming away, deserting her, saving their own skins, before she closed her eyes and knew no more.

The next installation will be up October 10.

The Verdict

by Grace Richardson

Someone stands there. Hands outstretched, he beckons. His call is fervent, sincere. I look. He is not tall. Nor is he handsome. Nothing speaks of wealth, status, talent, or importance in his homely garb, his plain, normal features, his calloused hands. Only what he has done. Who he is. I do not know. Or do I only choose not to? His father is great, but none seems to recognize him. The man still calls me—why should I come? What has he to offer…..?

*****

An Antarctic Miracle, Part 1

Emperor Penguins in Ross Sea, Antarctica (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

By Elisabeth Wilk

The mating season had begun in Antarctica. Somehow, as it is every year, each Emperor penguin living on that frozen land mass at the southernmost point of planet Earth knew that the time had come to journey to the middle of the continent, long and far to the rookeries, and join together with another animal like itself to create another small feathered being.

A Prayer for Mercy

{Looking to the Cross – Rome I, by Alicia Constant}

By Anonymous

Corruption is a mill stone to my hopes;
All noble goals fly like a thousand sparks
Upward. Incontinence with iron ropes
Binds me, eyes darting back and forth, in dark.
One chain, it seems, keeps me from all virtues.
One sin begets a brood, foremost despair.
Cold sweat of indecision cries out “Choose!”
My weakling courage cries, “I do not dare!”
Some spark of courage I would glad receive
If precious mercy broke confusion’s gloom.
For I have studied, God I would believe,
My chains were broken by the empty tomb.
Despite my learning every spark flies on
And grace alone will let me grasp at one.

Appeared in Vessel, Vol. 1, Issue 1, September 2013

 

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