The Three Dragons

There weren't always dragons in the Valley. My father said this as he stroked his greying beard. We were both gazing out at the golden hills below us. We were high above the ground in a wooden gazebo. This place was a sanctuary to our forefathers. The walls were lined with stone tablets with markings to remember our forefathers. A wooden bowl of fruit sat on the low table and a kettle was heating up above a charcoal grill.

“Before you were born your mother and I were brought to the brink. Constantly in fear for our future. We had little to our name but the hills you see before you. The dirt was bitter and red. It bore no fruit we planted.”

I nodded my head as I did every year my father my told the story. “First we tried tilling the land but our tools were too weak.” He snapped an imaginary shovel between his hands. Since I can remember he was missing his right ring finger. I liked to imagine it was when the aforementioned tool broke. I imagine blood rushing from his hand and my mother rushing to help.

“Your mother and I were very afraid.” he said, massaging the nub on his right hand. Perhaps we were rash choosing this place. Maybe we should have listened to our critics. Maybe we didn’t belong here.” His face turned pale. “We had all but given up.” I always felt his deep sadness when he said that part. You could see the fear in his memory.

“But we didn’t stop. Do you know what we did instead?” He asked for the 15th time in my life. I smile and pretend I don’t know what he’s about to say next. “We sang!” He proclaims and all the light shone from his face. Even now I can hear the angelic choruses singing in my head “We cried out to the spirits “Come Save us!”” He lifted both hands in the air with the last line.

“And then what happened?” I feigned ignorance.

“Then the Dragons came!” He motioned to a part on the wall where long etchings of dragons adorned the stone walls of our forefathers. “First it was just one. He was green and young. He sneezed fire and we were very afraid. But the fire burned the dead crops and prepared the earth for the next dragon.” I grinned, excited for the next part.

“His brother was a blue dragon who walked into our hills, more like a lizard. And his name was ANLONG!” We shouted together. “He also sneezed, but instead of fire he spat water. And it loosened the clay!” He ran his hands down through the air to imitate water running down a hill.

“We we’re so overwhelmed, I had to yell at your mother to stop plowing! Instead we planted seeds in the soft dirt.”

My father, who was now standing with excitement, then had to sit himself down. We breathed in deeply. It was easy for us to get carried away telling stories.

“After we planted our seeds there was a lul. Both dragons had left us but we were still anticipating a third. No one had told us anything about the dragons but we still anticipated a visit from a third dragon. There was water and the soil had it nutrients but without the sun … no seed grows.”

“It was midsummer and we were sweating in the heat and air was hot and humid. Then over those two hills” he pointed out from the pagoda at the mouth of the valley. “Between those two hills came flying the largest dragon I’ve ever seen. He was red and regal. His whiskers were bright orange and instead of a shadow he cast brilliant beams of golden sun. The seeds we planted absorbed this light and sprung out of the ground fully formed. You mother and I fell and wept as we praised the gods for this final blessing.” Saying this he reached to a small wooden bowl on the ground full of beautiful golden apples. He offered the fruit to me. I accept and he picked up a second apple. We prayed silently and then began eating. The skin was softy and inside it was sweet like a pear.

We wiped our mouths and looked back over the hills.

“There weren’t always dragons in the valley son.” Even as he said it, we observed dozens of small dragons floating throughout the valley and trees, shining light, watering and softening the dirt. “My son. One day this farm will all be yours. The dragons will likely leave the valley. You may lose everything. But I want you to remember that the dragons will always return, so long as you pray and so long as you work.”

The tea kettle started to whistle. We poured a drink, paid homage to the dragons and then descended the hill, not to return until next year.

The End.