I sit still, staring into the darkness. Something big is about to happen. Big and dangerous.
The darkness lifts. I can see the shapes and shadows of trees, rocky terrain. Something brushes against my arm. I bite down on my terror, remembering where I am. To draw attention to myself now is asking for trouble.
Thud. Thud. Thud. That infernal sound! Will it never cease? I clap my palms to my ears and shut my eyes. The sudden sound of silence is deafening. I look up; ready to bolt if I didn’t like what I see. Trouble be damned!
Nothing stirs. I let out my breath with a gasp and instantly realize my error. Someone, or worse, something, shrieks. A blood curdling sound that chills my marrow. Just as I decide to gather up my trembling limbs and make a run for it, the sun reaches its pinnacle. Like a spotlight in a prison breakout, it hovers above me, seeking. I quiver, wipe the sweaty beads of fear off my forehead, and hunker down. My courage fails.
It is a glorious sight. The sun in all its splendor reveals a riot of colors, colors that, I rub my eyes in disbelief, look like living creatures gathered at the bottom of a massive rock. Weak with the strong; prey with predator. Two legged and four; they gather in silent submission. Sacrifice? Or homage? It is definitely a ritual of some sort. I can still run. All eyes are on that rock. And yet, the perverse in me prompts me to stay. To witness the magnificent? Or the gory?
The shriek again, followed by an eerie chattering, which slowly turns into a clucking chant of some sort. I strain to see where this sound comes from. And finally I see Him. Or Her. Or It!
A squat hairy creature wearing a grass skirt and several beaded amulets around its neck. It limps; one hand clutches a crooked cane, the other a bundle of wriggling rags close to its chest.
As it slowly weaves through the crowd with that curious shuffling gait towards the rock, the other creatures sway and bow, thumping their feet. A unified rhythm. I watch with bated breath, as the creature makes its way up the rock followed by two others. Feline grace. A flash of burnished gold as the ragged bundle is slowly opened for all below to see. Pulsating silence.
And then, the air is rent by roars of triumph, screams of adoration. A feeling of camaraderie washes over me as I witness the birth of Glory, of Power. The birth of a King.
As I crouch there in my cramped space of excitement, my eyes wander to the distant hills. My blood freezes. Glittering eyes watch us; they watch the Rock. Eyes filled with fear. And bloodlust hate. I shiver. This isn’t finished.
I stay on to watch the second act of The Lion King at the famed Lyceum Theatre, London.