Anderson's Prize

Winston lay weeping like so many times before. The toddler loved the woods so much his passion got ahead of him: he was alone. He looked this way and that - craving the sight of the mother he just left, and wept face down in the leaves. In the never-ending forest, nothing else mattered but mommy. Not the sunlight beaming upon his face, not the perfect October afternoon, not even the brilliant color fall held around the curled little boy. He shook, a helpless baby sobbing in a wild, foreign world. Yet, the pitiful sound was carried by the breeze, and heard by the most unlikely creature imaginable.

Not far away, the distress was heard by every creature in the wood, most of which turned and ran. But as if on a mission, a small herd made its way to the sound. More than curiosity propelled them, as if God ordered comfort to a boy who needed it; as if comfort could be given man by creatures that ought to fear it. Dangerously close they broke the leaves, watching the tormented, fetal form.

A snap shattered his focus, and the toddler looked up. Hooves, legs, and a commanding frame, the doe gazed down at the human in utmost curiosity; her fawns behind sniffing the situation. It is as if all creatures are given the knowledge of innocence; the heart to recognize a harmless babe in whatever specie it may come. ‘Don’t harm it,’ the creatures of the wood come to know, ‘it will not harm you.’ The unlikely family studied the tiny human who had sat up; and in a few minutes, she didn’t bother to stop the fawns who had their way with him. Noses plucked the bald head and the tears disappeared. The young danced about, like all fawns do, and saw the world like a child. Time slowed. The emerald green forest somehow altered, and colors became brilliant. The gloom gave way to shocking, unearthly beauty like God Himself changed reality. A small hand reached out and touched the white spots, and any agony the boy had was replaced with joy as only silent animals can give.

Not high above, the shrill caught her attention. The innocent cry hearkened a soul in agony, and the beast dove into the thick forest sure it had found the helpless dragonet. Frantically snapping off twigs with a twenty-foot wingspan, the cry grew closer and a heart raced faster. Wide eyes searched speechless in anticipation, ‘Here I am, love! All will be well.’

Then the peace was shattered with a huge black frame descending from above. The mother and fawns took off and the sunlight dimmed on the happy little boy. In terror, the beast shattered the perfect moment thinking the deer were attacking her lost dragonet. Her eyes widened and she howled hard. In the direction of the deer in flight, the dragon landed with a thump. The massive wings had their effect; the threat was gone.

The dragon turned and jumped back like being shocked at a common snake. The cry emanated not from her dragonet, but a creature that sounded just like it. The strange thing had her complete attention. The toddler was happily cooing like it was a game. His friends were instantly replaced by another he was very excited to meet. His guest was brilliant blue and jet black, an oddly warm combination for an otherwise terrifying creature. It’s great, pointed mouth was covered in fluff which followed the chest down. Fluff like his black cat. The big glossy eyes met the two horrible blue-ones. Somehow she knew, like all creatures know, that this one was young and not to be feared. This one was a babe, and just like her lost babe, it deserved mercy.

With unparalleled grace, the strange one reached out and wanted to touch her. It was impossible not to smell the little one, which she did, and impossible not to take advantage of the situation by circling it on foot. So used to seeing everything from far up, she marked the fat legs, and the round, sticky face. It was not covered up like the bigger ones. It was not scary like the bigger ones. It was smooth and smaller without anything in its hands, and most of all, it seemed to have no fear. When the youngling advanced, the beast backed up. It moved closer, and she grew vulnerable. One massive adult, and a young, curious thing kept on. She knew it wanted something when her backside hit a tree. Maybe it needed something. Maybe it knew where her youngling was. It was small like hers, sounded like hers, and looked nothing like hers. And in the smell when her beak was close, it touched her; and she didn’t mind.

Private Anderson of the Fifth New York Infantry could scarce believe what he was seeing. He had stalked the deer deep into the Georgian forest and was about to take his shot when something spooked it. A hundred yards out, something blotted out the sun over his prize and crashed through the branches. His eyes betrayed him, and he moved forward to get a closer look. A shadow? Impossible. An eagle? Too big. A bear? Maybe. The huge black thing was moving. He advanced from tree to tree when he saw it move; focused on something fleshy next to it. And whatever it was, it was also moving and much smaller.

The black dragon had no fear save the hollow in her gut that her babe was still out there. Minutes passed in silence and cooing, even something like joy when the human grabbed a stick and swung it around. Instinctively the beast puffed and spread her wings which pleased the little one. Laughter broke the tiny frame which the dragon did not get, but the eyes of it were bright and true. What a strange creature! And as curious as each were, a peace like the Garden of Eden kept any apprehension to be anything but themselves. Time slowed. The brilliant colors struck the scene like being in someplace magical. A place without fear where time, sorrow, and survival have no meaning. A place where there is nothing but spirit.

Then the air snapped and the beast roared. The little one jolted and watched open-mouthed at the huge frame take flight. The colors plunged and the world returned to a babe who immediately cried in terror. Up into the canopy the dragon caught flight - hitting branches all the way. Safety was nearly reached when her wings failed. Her energy escaped to the light and her frame tumbled. Down below the little one uttered the familiar song of distress, and her last thought was that she found him at last! In her mind’s eye she saw him take flight. ‘Get out of here, child! Get out of sight!’

Voices filled the wood and the toddler was frantic: a soul in shock cast out of paradise. Large hands clutched his naked frame and he screamed louder. “I’ve got him!” The young voice of a union soldier broke the chaos. Anderson, and a half dozen men beat a path straight for the downed creature. The little one clung instinctively to the wool uniform. “You’re safe now, wee-one, I’ve gotchya.”

“What in God’s name is it?” Another private looked in horror at the twenty-foot wingspan. There was a horrid silence as Anderson jabbed it with a bayonet. Dead. The eyes of the soldiers were fixed upon it, and each other. Open mouths, whispers, and hands observed the strange skin and oily fur like it was a dragon of old; a beast of the ancient world. The vacant eyes made one remark that it was “straight from hell.” Yes. It must be from hell. “Let’s take it in.” Soon all took turns dragging “Anderson’s prize” into camp.

There was no small stir in camp that day. Six men with a hideous creature and a half-naked baby had a lot of explaining to do. The story of the dragon brought soldiers and civilians from all around. Hundreds soon encompassed “the seed of evil, or “the hell-dragon” and the soldiers who brought it in. Anderson was fast becoming a celebrity.

Out of the camp cried a voice. “Winston! Winston!” The crowd parted and the long lost mother appeared. “Oh, thank God,” she broke into tears and grabbed the boy. “How on earth did you find….” She lost her voice as she looked at the beast. “Mother of God…”

The occasion demanded a picture, and Anderson sent for a photographer. In two days after thousands had seen the dragon, a photographer from Atlanta was paid a $10 gold eagle, almost a full months’ pay for a union private, to take the famous photo. Anderson, too became famous not only for shooting it down, but for rescuing the child from certain death. He was at the top of the world until the Major approached him with an order: “Burn it, the officer demanded, it has no part in man.” Not before many souvenirs were snipped off, the carcass was burned on a pyre. Up in flames went the greatest discovery of the age, and over time, fact turned to fiction, rumor turned to legend, and for many generations all knowledge of Anderson and his prize disappeared.

One hundred and fifty years later, an old photo was found in an attic trunk. The fresh eyes could scarce believe what they saw as they handed it off to a historian, who handed it to a photographer, who took it to a paleontologist. It’s not a fake or altered picture, said the photographer. “It’s accurate up to 1880,” the historian said. “It’s a Pteranodon,” the paleontologist said, “even if it’s a fake Pteranodon, it’s a damn good one.” All agreed that in the mid-19th century, a Pteranodon had not been discovered yet. No one knew what it was much less what it looked like, so how could it be faked?

Yet, much later a Pteranodon was discovered fossilized and matched exactly the one that was photographed between 1866-1880. Though all have their opinion, all agree it’s a damn good picture of characters in an age-old mystery: do dragons really exist?

“There are more things in Heaven and Earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.”

-William Shakespeare, Hamlet, 1600 AD