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How could I drop down? I thought back on this over and over, and I was still at a loss. At the time, it seemed I had come to the end of the tunnel, for I saw a vast expanse of white. I couldn’t grasp whether I had emerged from the ground or whether I was still underground. Much less could I figure out where “up” and “down” were ahead of me. By then, even the earthworm had vanished without a trace. Turning back had become even more impossible. I’ve already said that this tunnel was so narrow that it was really lucky it could accommodate my body, so there was no way I could turn around at the cave entrance. This was really dangerous, almost the same as finding a pretense to “drop down.” Of course, after a long trip, I reached my goal. Was this place really my goal? Where was the lion? Now, even the lion didn’t appear on the ocean. It had become a dead sea.
Time kept passing, and I was still in the same place. But how could I stay in the same place forever? I couldn’t eat the earth here, for it had a very strong limestone odor. I had never fasted for such a long time. Now, utterly weakened, I was about to faint. Maybe it was in that moment that I made up my mind that I was in for a penny, in for a pound, and I might as well drop down. Just as I was falling, the lion appeared. So large, and yet so agile, he filled my entire field of vision. His mane — ah, his mane. Whatever happened afterward, I don’t remember. I seemed to be in a murky, rocky hole. Something was swaying in the air — sometimes a foot, sometimes a skull. That was my last memory. Maybe I just couldn’t bear to look back at what was happening, and so I forgot it. Sometimes I think that maybe what happened was truly death? Could that rocky hole have been Grandfather’s tomb? What could be so unbearable to remember?
Anyhow, when I woke up, I was in my own field. There were earthworms above me and earthworms below me, earthworms to my left and earthworms to my right. They weren’t tilling the land; they were quietly waiting for me to wake up. When I woke up and let out a sound, they slowly began their activity. I heard their excitement: their supple bodies were knocking the earth, making a tili, tili, tili sound, just like the falling rain. In that instant, I was intoxicated with the sound of rain purifying the soul. I really wanted to break through the layer of earth that separated us and embrace these viscous companions. I wouldn’t care if their sticky fluid flowed all over my body. But I didn’t, because I knew that neither they nor I were accustomed to expressing ourselves this way. We were introverted creatures, used to communicating our enthusiasm in solitude. How softly and comfortably the earth was clinging to my body! I roused myself to till more than ten meters away from here. My companions were following me. It was as if we were swimming freely in the ocean (naturally, I have to admit that I’ve never been to the ocean)! Ah, let me till deeper; I wanted to double the size of my field! I tilled vertically again, and my companions kept following me. Some also tilled in front of me. Just as we were tilling enthusiastically, we heard the lion’s roar. My companions and I all stopped. It seemed that the sound was coming from a grotto. It shook the soil until it wobbled a little. Had the lion gone underground? I recalled all the scenery I had glimpsed in the moment that I fell down from the entrance of the tunnel. Could it be that the lion had been underground then, and that the lion atop the wasteland had been merely a shadow — one of his many shadows? In the midst of the roaring, we were all silent. We wanted to understand what the roar meant. But after roaring several times, he stopped: we hadn’t had time to figure it out. We could only try our best to recall it. As we tried, our brains went blank. This kind of reasoning led to no outcome at all. Then, as if we had made an agreement, we began tilling the land together again. We were dead tired from our work. As I tilled the land, I dreamed about the lion in the grotto. Always, it was that incomparably large head, the silvery mane giving off light like the sun — so dazzling that I couldn’t open my eyes. Someone whimpered in my ear: “I can’t move.” Who? Could it be the lion? Why couldn’t the lion move? It was only my grandfather who couldn’t move! Then was the lion my grandfather? Ah, my thinking was all mixed up. I couldn’t go on thinking, but I still had my feelings and I sensed that he was there, underground, holding his breath, about to explode. I dreamed for a really long time. In my dream, I ate a lot of earth. The tili, tili, tili sound enveloped me again. They were knocking again, and I was so moved that I thought I would cry.
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When I emerged from the ground again, all the fireflies were dead, moonlight was spread across Mother Earth, and there was a strong funereal odor. I climbed to a limb of the old poplar tree and looked over at the plains. The whole area was deserted, except for the shadow of an occasional bird skimming past. Had the realm of lions lost its master? No. He was still present. It looked as if he were fused with the rock: he was absolutely still. His mane no longer shone; his entire body was tarnished. Had he died? The sound of thunder was gradually rolling closer, and the moon was hidden behind dark clouds. The lion’s image was a little blurred. Suddenly, he melted into a bolt of lightning and shot out from behind the rock, breaking through the blackened night air. He illuminated heaven and earth, but he lost his own form. This made me doubt whether his body had ever been real. After the explosive thunder ended, there was another bolt of lightning. and another! Both shot out from the rock. Now there wasn’t even the sound of thunder. These bolts of lightning turned the sky snow-bright; the moon that now and then showed its face had lost its rays of light and was about to turn almost completely dark. How presumptuous this was. I couldn’t bear to go on watching. I went under the ground. The snow-bright lightning jolted the earth. Really. It was willfully tossing the rocks on the earth, as well as the trees and hills, back and forth. I didn’t dare look at it, for if I looked again, I would faint. I closed my eyes and felt my way home. Even though I was underground, I still faintly heard the turmoil on the ground.