Tsang Tzu

I have been rifling through my desk and file drawers lately and came upon a manuscript from some years ago. I always have manuscripts here and there. Some are complete but desperately in need of revision that I can’t or don’t want to get to, others I am trying to polish a bit, and still others are works-in-progress. The one I came across today actually won First Place in the Children’s Story Division of the Byliners of Corpus Christi’s Texas-Wide Writers’ Competition in the 90’s. It’s a bit dusty, but I thought I’d share it anyway. So here goes.

TSANG TZU

by Brenda Ethridge Ferguson

A golden scoop of moon rose above the bamboo stalks on the Chinese mountainside where Tsang Tzu sat. The little panda shivered in the cold air and watched the shadows of evening grow upon the snowy ground. He had never been out this late before. His mother would be angry if she knew.

Tsang Tzu reached above his head and snapped off some bamboo shoots. He stretched back against the almost flat boulder beneath him and admired the frosty moon. As he tossed a couple of the shoots with his back feet, he nibbled at the others. There was no need for his mother to tell him don’t all the time. He weighed almost twenty pounds and ate bamboo instead of milk. He was no longer a baby.

Suddenly Tsang Tzu heard the crunch, crunch of footsteps in the snow. The little panda shook with fear.

“Tsang Tzu!” came the sharp voice of his mother. Tsang Tzu threw down his bamboo and jumped up.

“What are you doing out here?” she demanded. “Don’t you know you should not be out here alone at night? Leopards and wild dogs in these mountains would love to pounce on a little panda.”

“Yes, Honorable Mother,” said Tsang Tzu.

“Furthermore,” said his mother, “how many times have I told you not to eat lying down? You could get choked.”

“I am sorry,” said Tsang Tzu.

‘“And food is not a plaything. You remember that, Tsang Tzu.”

“Yes.” The little panda sighed. She was right, he knew. She was always right.

Mother was big and soft and warm. She had the cuddliest lap when he was tired. She had the strongest arms when he was scared. She had the warmest heart when he was sad, but she was no fun at all. Her favorite word was don’t. “Don’t slump, Tsang Tzu, it is not good for your back,” she’d say. “Don’t talk with your mouth full, Tsang Tzu. It is very rude.”

For days on end, Tsang Tzu was a very proper panda. He chewed with his mouth closed. He sat up straight. He did not go out alone at night. He did not play with his food nor eat lying down. For fun, he rolled in the snow and did somersaults in front of the old hollow tree that was his den. His mother stood watch. “Don’t roll too close to that rock,” she called every few minutes. “Don’t somersault too fast. It will make you dizzy.”

One morning, Mother Panda rose very early. She wanted some special vines and roots that should be just right for gathering. She patted Tsang Tzu’s sleepy head. “Stay in the warm den until I come back,” she said. Tsang Tzu nodded and mumbled and drifted back to sleep.

When the sun began to shine through the opening in the old hollow tree, Tsang Tzu rolled over and stretched big and long. He crawled out into the bright sunshine. A fresh wind whipped his fur about. “Grrrrrr,” went his stomach. Tsang Tzu looked around. The sun shone high in the morning sky. Shouldn’t his mother be back by now? The little panda padded around the hollow tree until he spotted deep tracks trailing off toward a distant hill. He kicked up a bit of snow. It swirled wildly into the air.

“Mother!” Tsang Tzu yelled. The wind swept his words away. Tsang Tzu trotted around and around the den until he began to ponder. Surely his mother would not want him to stay by himself all day. He should go find her. Yes, that would be the thing to do, he thought.

Tsang Tzu began following the tracks that led upward toward the big hill. He walked and walked. Before long, he came to a deep, dense forest. He padded on. Through trees and bamboo stalks he went. Limbs snatched at his fur. Brushy growths tripped him. Bamboo scratched him from every side.

“Mother!” he called. No one answered.

The little panda climbed higher and higher until he lost sight of the heavy tracks of his mother in the dense undergrowth. Still, he kept moving. Sometimes he thought he saw smaller, oddly rounded prints in the snow on the forest floor, and a chill ran through his body.

Tsang Tzu glanced behind himself once, twice, and then again. He lifted his nose into the air. Shadows loomed on every side. Something was wrong. He wanted his mother.

Finally, Tsang Tzu saw a clearing above him. He breathed deeply and struggled on. At long last, he flopped down into the snow at the tip top of the hill. Beside him lay some tracks. They were small. They were almost round with sharp points at one end. They were fresh and were not his mother’s.

Tsang Tzu heard a rustling sound in the thicket behind him. He stood up, his body shaking, turned around and…froze.

Narrow, green eyes glared at the little panda. The black fur of a fearsome Chinese leopard rippled in the wind. It’s fangs flashed white in the sunlight that poured into the clearing. Low and deep, the cat growled as she crept toward Tsang Tzu..

The little panda’s legs wobbled and his teeth chattered. Gradually, he backed away from the fearsome leopard. But the leopard moved forward, matching her prey step for step. Tsang Tzu’s heart beat rapidly. Then, out of nowhere, he felt a great surge of energy, made a sharp turn, and galloped away from the leopard, stumbling through snow and boulders as he went, the heavy breath of the leopard on his neck. Tsang Tzu ran and ran despite his notion that the cat was playing with him. He rushed on until he had to stop on a ledge at the end of the world, or so it seemed to the little panda.

Tsang Tzu stared down from the snow-covered ledge to its frightening white slopes. Then he turned and faced his enemy. The leopard screamed in triumph, the sound echoing through the forest and out over the ledge.

Tsang Tzu squeezed his eyes shut, turned, and ducked his head. The leopard crouched, took a final look at the young panda and sprang into the air. Tsang Tzu jumped.

Down, down, Tsang Tzu fell, hitting the soft snow below, sliding down the slope, and forming a deep gulley as he went. The surprised leopard caught only air in her teeth and came pounding down upon the icy ledge where the young panda had stood. She screeched in pain and limped away.

Tsang Tzu, shaken but unhurt, crept back to his old hollow tree where a worried Mother Panda wrapped him in her warm arms and hugged him until he could barely breathe. Then she cuddled him in her soft lap and hummed his favorite lullabies until he slept.

The next day Tsang Tzu rolled in the snow and did somersaults in front of the old hollow tree. The sun shone and a heavy breeze eddied around his feet.

”Don’t roll too close to that rock,” his mother called every few minutes. “Don’t somersault too fast. It will make you dizzy.”

”Yes, Honorable Mother,” he called back. He somersaulted more slowly. He was careful of jagged rocks. He tumbled and rolled while Mother Panda watched.