AN: the German expression when Markos runs out of the cave means "I'm going to puke my guts out." Whatever it was he saw, it didn't sit well with him.

DREIβIG

Ein Neuankömmling

Hermann knew his days in Africa were now numbered, and he wasn't looking forward to that inevitable night when he would have to say his goodbyes to Kopa and board a plane back to Germany. He hoped against hope that some bizarre set of circumstances might allow Kopa to accompany him aboard the airliner; he imagined spending many blissful hours explaining what a plane was and how it flew through the air, giving a private tour of the Stuttgart concert hall and the university library filled floor to ceiling with books, be he knew that the chances of such a thing actually taking place were almost zero: Kopa belonged in Africa, and Hermann in Germany. At least, this was what the maxims of common logic seemed to dictate. Nevertheless, despite the encroaching departure date, leaving for Berlin International Airport was the last thing on Hermann's mind. He still had work to do: a concert to give, and an honor to be bestowed upon him and Markos. Morning, noon, and evening found Hermann and Kopa outside together without fail, teacher and student at the world's smallest music conservatory. In Germany, Hermann's voice teacher had frequently described his job as being one half musician and one half drill sergeant. Hermann hadn't thought much of it until now…and then he realized what he sounded like in the position of the teacher instead of the student:

"Front legs together! Back legs square! Stomach in! Chest out! Head held high! Breaths into the back of the lungs!"

He had always been an exacting learner, and saw no reason to not be a similarly demanding teacher, within reason, of course. He could tell from the start that Kopa didn't mind repeating the same section over and over or rearticulating the finer points of a musical line; Kopa was so engrossed, in fact, that by the time his much-awaited performance with Hermann rolled around, he had become not only proficient in the music, but also in the frequent use of the same correction phrases Hermann used, German accent and all ("Wait, wait, wait, would you mind telling me exactly what that was supposed to be?"quickly became his favorite). The day before he and Hermann were set to finally perform, concert practice was on as soon as the sun came up. About ten minutes into their typical morning warm-up exercises, Hermann and Kopa were unexpectedly interrupted. Neither of them realized that the interruption would cause their audience for the following day's performance to increase by one.

"Herr Sterlitz, a word, please." Hermann was right in the middle of his D scale when Simba stopped him. "Up a bit early, are we, Simba?" he said.

"Yes, along with everyone else!" Simba replied. "You didn't leave anyone asleep with that last high note."

"Then I think I've done my job. What's going on?"

"I thought I'd ask your advice about something. You see, for some time now, Adila has had…a new family member scheduled to arrive."

"Travel delays, eh? I can sympathize; just last year, my father got stuck at the airport in London for more than a day and half. By the time he finally got on the flight back to Germany—

"I think you misunderstand," Simba said with a laugh. "How should I put it…he's scheduled to arrive, but not quite in the way you're thinking of."

"Well, just tell me where he's coming from and I'll drive out to find him."

"You won't find him with that car. And he won't be riding in one of your airplanes, for that matter."

"Damned no-fly list…"

"Hermann!" Kopa whispered, tapping at his underbelly with his right paw, "he's coming from in here!"

"Oh. Oh, I see! Cub on the way, got it. So when's the big day?"

"That's what I wanted to ask you about," Simba said. "I don't have the training you do, but I think…"

"You think what?" Hermann and Kopa asked at the same time.

"I think the 'big day' started an hour or so ago!"

"Wow, congratulations! You're going to have another cub in the pride!" Simba didn't seem to share Hermann's sense of exuberance, even though he was as excited as everyone else. "You look worried. Are you?"

"Worried, not yet; concerned, yes. After all she did to help us, and seeing as she's Vitani's closest relative, I just don't want anything to go wrong, you understand? She's never done this before."

"Sure, I understand. But I doubt that any of those worries are warranted in truth; if the learning curve were really that steep for childbirth, nobody would ever survive!" Hermann saw his attempt to be jocular wasn't very helpful. "I'll see what I can do. Where's Markos? Schreiber, wo bist?"

"Right here," Markos answered from behind him, soaked from head to toe.

"What have you done this time? Why are you all wet?"

"Is it against the law now to bathe? I thought you'd appreciate me taking the time out to make sure I don't smell."

"Fair enough. And yes, I do appreciate that, very much in fact."

"So what's going on? It better not involve shooting anything; I've used up my one lifetime lucky shot already."

"No, no rifles needed, thankfully." Hermann quickly filled Markos in on Adila.

"Well to be honest, I'm not at all surprised," Markos said after Hermann had finished speaking. "I always thought she looked a little bigger through the midsection than the rest. And when I—

"Wait a second," Hermann interrupted, "so you're saying that you knew about this the entire time, and yet you didn't ever ask her if she was carrying a cub? Markos, you're killing me here; if I'd know ahead of time, we might have been able to make a few preparations!"

"'Ask her if she had a cub', what makes you think I'd ask her that? Is that a serious question?"

"Yes, of course I'm being serious! Why wouldn't you be able to ask?"

"You never, ever, ever ask a lady if she's with child unless you're absolutely sure of it!"

"Why not? What could possibly be the harm in asking?"

"Munich, October 15th of last year, that's the harm in asking. Or do you not remember what happened?"

"Please, enlighten me for old times' sake."

"I ran into my former girlfriend there with her new boyfriend and saw she had…a bit of a stomach. So I told her congratulations, thinking she had a kid coming in a few months. No such luck."

"How did she react?"

"Two policemen and a passing nun couldn't restore order."

"Ah, dear, I forgot how hard life must be when you're the bedroom ambassador of Dresden."

"Boys!" Simba interrupted, choosing to ignore the fact that the people he was addressing were in fact older than he was, "I don't think you two arguing out here is going to help things!"

"You heard the boss," Hermann said, "get in there and see to Adila."

"I…you're going to have to handle this one," Markos replied weakly. "I don't do well with this sort of thing."

"How can you 'not do well' with it? You're a physician for God's sake, it's your job!"

"Yes, I am a physician; an internist, the same as you are! Not a delivery man!"

"OK, I'm only going to explain this to you once: the delivery man is the guy who brings you Chinese take-away at 3am on Saturday night because you're too drunk to microwave a hot pocket. An obstetrician is a person who specializes in childbirth. You of all people should know the difference between the two."

"I don't care what you call it! I took care of Zira, so this one's on you!"

"Come on now, what's so awful about it? We all studied obstetrics in school…does blood bother you?"

"Of course it doesn't. How could I be a doctor if I were afraid of seeing blood?"

"OK then, what about guts? Any problems there?"

"Nope. I've seen more than enough of those, and never thought twice about it."

"So what you're saying is, you'd have no difficulty looking at a dismembered corpse, but you can't stand to watch a child be born. And you were saying I'm the one who needs the shrink?"

"Correct and correct."

"Just for the record, I think I'll have them replace my leg before they start working on my head."

"Yeah, good point. At least the leg might be salvageable."

"Look, if it's bothering you, just think of it this way instead." Hermann could see out of the corner of his eye that Simba was getting even more nervous and impatient. "You're the 'delivery man', as you so eloquently described the job, and you've got to deliver the food to the customer. But instead of food, it's a cub, and instead of a customer waiting on the phone, it's someone screaming their lungs out and in desperate need of an epidural… know what, this metaphor just isn't going to work."

"You realize I'm never going to be able to order Chinese again because of that little speech just now, right?"

"Get in there…" With a forceful shove, Hermann sent Markos backpedaling into the cave. "What's his problem?" he asked Simba, who was similarly confused. "I don't understand how you can go through medical school and see all there is to see, and still not—

"Ach, nein! Nein, nein, nein, mir ist speiübel!" The German interjection cut Hermann's pontification short. Only seconds after going inside, Markos came running back out, clutching his stomach and covering his mouth with the other hand.

"Gonna be sick, gonna be sick…"

"I guess he's never done this kind of thing either?" Simba asked worriedly as Markos went sprinting off behind a bush.

"How about some Chinese food?" Hermann called out, still amazed that a doctor literally couldn't stomach the scene unfolding inside. "Oh well. You know how it goes, 'if you want something done right…"

"Yes?" Simba asked.

"'If you want something done right, then you have to do it yourself'. You've never heard that expression before?"

"No, I haven't."

"I don't believe it; it's a miracle!"

"What's a miracle?"

"I actually know an expression in English that you don't!"

Hermann had never gone anywhere near a maternity ward, even though he worked in a hospital and often had children as his patients. The closest he had ever come had been through humorous word-of-mouth from the doctors and nurses, as well as from a few coworkers who already had kids of their own. Even though he always laughed when he remembered, Hermann thought it would be best not to retell the stories of how one expectant mother had grabbed the attending physician by his necktie and demanded all the morphine in the hospital, and how another had described the entire experience as akin to 'angry prisoners playing full contact rugby in your stomach'. He figured he could always tap into that lighter side of the ordeal once all was said and done with (and once Markos had finally stopped being sick in the bushes). Much more pressing on his mind was the question of how, exactly, one spoke to someone else in this particular condition without getting exceedingly awkward. The best he could do when he went inside was a feeble, "So, um, how's…you know…what are you…you need anything?" to Adila.

"How many questions were in that sentence?" Adila asked between breaths, lying on her side.

"Three, I think," Hermann answered.

"I counted four. Is it supposed to be like this?"

"Is what?"

"You know, it! I've never had a—

She stopped speaking and gritted her teeth, letting the air out in a sharp exhalation a few seconds later. "What was that…is that supposed to happen?"

"I'm pretty sure you're supposed to breathe deeply when it happens as opposed to holding your breath," Hermann suggested. "And if the stories I've heard are true, copious bouts of loud swearing has medicinal value as well." Like his earlier joke with Simba, Hermann's quip didn't have much of an effect on Adila. "What's the matter, is there anything wrong?" he asked her, sensing that something or other wasn't quite right. He could imagine that anyone in Adila's situation would have concerns or questions, but even so, he wasn't expecting the answer that she gave him.

"I'm…sort of scared."

Hermann was quite surprised, to the extent that he even felt a bit embarrassed for not picking up on the signs earlier and doing something to be helpful in response. He knew that for Adila—or any of the Outlanders for that matter, all of whom had been in an emotion-verboten environment for years until only days ago—to admit that much, the word 'scared' had to be an exponential understatement, more on par with needing a clean pair of pants than having a simple fright spell. Still, he knew that he of all people had an advantage in this particular case.

"You haven't got anything to worry about," he said, "like I told Simba, if the learning curve were so steep—

"Easy for you to say…"

"I know, it is rather easy for me to say. But I can also say that with more confidence than most because I happen to have lots of training in this field. Training which, when properly used and applied, makes me an absolute nightmare for anything that even thinks about going wrong. Isn't that right, Kopa?" He had forgotten that Kopa was still outside with his father, and had no way of hearing the question.

When no reply came, for obvious reasons, Hermann did his best to redirect. "Actually, speaking of Kopa," he continued, "he always liked it when I talked to him; it gave him something else to think about for the time being. And I'm not surprised, actually; it's been proven more than once that hearing spoken voice or music has positive effects on patients." Dispense with the prologue and get to the point already, Sterlitz, he said to himself. "I could do the same for you, if you like, tell some stories and such…if that's something you think would help. I'd be just as happy sitting here and keeping my big mouth shut."

"I guess that would be OK," Adila said. "You could tell a few of your stories."

"We'd all like to hear one," Nala said. "Why don't you tell us something about your life before you went into school? What was it like growing up in Germany?"

"I'm not sure I remember anything well enough from that time…what about something from my university years, or—

"Nothing about medical school. I don't think she needs any more reminders of what's going on than need be, don't you?"

"Point taken." Hermann took a seat and stretched his legs out. "Let's see…OK, got it. This would have been almost twenty years ago, when I went with my family to a football match in Berlin. Germany was playing Brazil in an international exhibition, and all of us won tickets to go see them play. When we got up for the halftime break, I accidentally got separated from my parents; I think I was distracted by someone selling food…you know how it is with little kids."

Adila seemed intrigued. "Where was the— ow…it's coming back…"

"You can't tense up when that happens," Nala said. "I wonder if…Hermann, give her your hand," She thinking back to when her son had been in a similar situation not so long ago. "Let her squeeze it whenever the pain starts, that might help." Hermann thought about objecting, as Kopa was not nearly as strong, but he knew the look Nala was giving him perfectly: stop talking and just nod your head yes. He stuck his hand out, silently praying to get it back with all five fingers in one piece, and went on with his soccer tale.

"So I'm running all over the place looking for my mom and dad, and I run smack into the legs of this very tall man wearing a Brazilian football team shirt. I didn't know who he was, but I showed him my ticket with my seat number on it, and he was able to take me back. We couldn't really talk to each other—I didn't speak any English at the time, being only nine years old, and he didn't speak German—but still, the whole time we were walking back together, all these people were stopping and staring, snapping pictures…even my parents stood there open-mouthed for a few seconds before thanking the man for bringing me back. Of course, I didn't put it all together until the next day, when a picture of the two of us appeared in the newspaper, with the caption 'The luckiest football fan in Germany'."

"Who was it?" Nala asked.

"Pelé. Arguably the greatest player in the history of the world to ever play the game. He was there watching the Brazilian team, and I of all people literally ran into him in the stadium. I still have the newspaper clipping with our picture in it, the 'King of Football' leading this tiny German kid—me—around by the hand."

Hermann suddenly stopped, not because he had reached the end, but because his hand was quickly becoming squashed. The grip around it was getting steadily stronger by the second, to the point that he became more than a little concerned. "OK, that's enough!" he said. "We don't want to break any of my—

Snap

"Gaah! Es schmerzt wie verückt!"

"What was that?" Vitani asked. "A tree branch breaking outside? I thought I just heard something crack."

"Do me a favor," Hermann said, his hand still inextricable from Adila's paw, "next time, just break the other four at once and be done with it!"

Late afternoon

"Can I get a substitution? Nala, take over for just a bit, will you? I need to get some air."

"'A substitution'? I think your mind's stuck playing football."

"I can't help it. I've been talking about football already today, and Markos has been outside kicking our own ball around for hours. I'm probably going to be dreaming to that kicking noise for the next three weeks."

"Go ahead," Nala said, taking up Hermann's spot next to Adila. "I'll wait for you. Simba's out there as well; you should bring him up to date."

Hermann hadn't ever intended asking for a break, but he hadn't eaten or drunk anything all day, and he hadn't intended to spend so much time inside either. Five minutes, he told himself, just five minutes to stretch the legs, have a look at this finger of mine in the sunlight, and scarf some pretzels, then it's back to business. Outside, Markos was still kicking a ball against a wall, trying his best to forget that the morning's events had ever taken place, while Simba stood nearby watching the one-man soccer match. The constant kick, kick, kick sound would have proven incredibly annoying in any other situation, but for the time being, Hermann had much more pressing matters on his mind.

"It's been hours, Simba; the sun's starting to make a run for it. Does it normally take this long?"

"Does what?"

"You know…it!"

"Not usually. Is there anything at all you can do?"

"Something to make it go faster, you mean? I'm afraid not; we might have gone past the point of normalcy, but even still, she's got to just wait it out. Sure, I wish there was something I could do, but without a sterile operating theater, a surgical team, whiskey…"

"What's the whiskey for?"

"To settle the nerves a bit before I attempt an operation I've never done before, that's what. And it might take the edge off of this broken finger as well."

"Did she really break it?"

Hermann held up his hand and gingerly extended his index finger, which had ballooned to twice its normal size. "You tell me."

"Wow. That looks—

"Forget it, it's not important. How quickly do you think you can make it to the pond and back?"

"Five minutes each way, if I run."

"Then it's close enough. Markos, give me your shirt."

"What do you need my shirt for?" Markos asked, picking up the soccer ball.

"Just give it to me, will you? I'll explain in a minute," Hermann replied as he pulled his own shirt off and handed it to Simba along with Markos's. "Take these down to the pond," he said. "Get them completely wet, and try to avoid picking up any mud or sand. Once you've done that, come back as quickly as you can."

Simba picked up the two shirts in his mouth and was about to run off, but he did a double-take when he caught sight of Hermann's chest.

"I thought you told me humans don't have manes," he said, trying to keep his mouth closed. "What's that, then?"

"There's a big difference between a mane and chest hair. We're wasting time; go, while it's still light enough to see. And one more thing."

"Yes?"

"Don't let Roberto eat those."

Simba hurried off to the pond, both shirts flapping behind him.

"What are the shirts for?" Markos asked.

"To hold water. We can't afford to waste the purified water in the canteens, so the shirts will have to serve as sponges."

"I thought that was an old wives' tale, that whole bit about boiling water."

"Duh. I know that. We're not going to boil it."

Kick, kick, kick

"Do you ever get tired of batting that football around?"

"Nope. Have a go yourself; I want to see what Hermann Sterlitz looked like in his prime."

"You're kidding, right? There's a reason I have the letters "MD" after my name, as opposed to my last name on the back of a jersey." Hermann pointed down to his right leg. "I can't play anymore, you know that, and I should be getting back inside regardless."

"You've never even tried since you hurt yourself! Kick it with your good foot and see what happens."

"I'm not left-footed; I haven't even kicked one of these for years. I'll probably put the ball in the next country."

"Really? I'll bet you five Euros you can still play."

"Show it to me."

Markos pulled a small, gray banknote out of his pocket and put it on top of a rock. "You hit the wall within the limits of a standard goal, and the cash is yours to keep."

Hermann couldn't pass up the chance at becoming five Euros richer. He placed the ball twelve yards from the rock wall and stepped back behind it, deliberately to the wrong side so that he would have to deliver the kick with his non-dominant foot. Here goes nothing, he thought, thinking he might even miss the ball completely or trip over his feet on the run-up, but none of that happened. Two measured steps and one mighty swing of the leg later, the soccer ball went flying straight ahead into the wall as if shot from a cannon, and ricocheted directly back at Markos, who caught it on the fly with his hands.

"Red card," Hermann said, his left foot still hanging in the air. "Handball in the penalty area."

"I don't believe it," Markos said aghast, "that was incredible! You just kicked it harder than I ever could, and that's with two good feet to stand on and the choice of legs to kick with! You know what this means, don't you? All this time you've been going on about never playing football again, and it turns out you're just as good as ever!"

"From a standing start, with nobody defending against me, right in front of the net," Hermann objected. "But who knows, maybe Stuttgart will sign me on as a designated free kick taker." Just then, he heard at least two voices, perhaps three, shout for him from inside. "Uh-oh," he said, "I think it's halftime."

"What does that mean?" Markos asked. "And no more metaphors! Speak like a normal person."

"Fine, you want it in plain old German? It is my professional medical opinion that the size of this pride of lions is about to increase by one, sometime in the next sixty to one hundred and twenty seconds."

"Ugh, never mind, go back to the metaphors. They made you sound like slightly less of a nerd."

Unbeknownst to both men, however, there would be no need to wait "sixty to one hundred and twenty seconds" for anything, metaphorical in nature or otherwise. When Hermann got inside, the first thing he saw was a new cub, next to an exhausted but smiling Adila and her family—Vitani and the other ten Outlanders, with the one addition of Nala. He also saw that he would be flipping a coin with Markos once again for possession of the one other bed that night—a practice he had come to detest, as he almost always lost the coin toss—but in truth, he didn't care in the slightest. All he felt was pride, accomplishment for having played a part, small as it was, in the tiny cub's journey into the world. "What are you going to call him?" Hermann finally asked. "It is a 'him', isn't it?"

"Yes, it's a 'him'. He hasn't got a name yet," Nala said, assuming (correctly) that Adila might appreciate not having to do too much talking. "How's your finger?"

"Any worse, and I'd be chopping it, thanks for asking. Markos, the coast is clear," he called out in German. "You can come in now."

"No tricks?"

"No tricks, I promise." He heard Markos start to walk inside with Simba, who had just come back from the pond."See, what did I tell you?" Hermann said to Adila. "You did fine." He picked up one of the wet shirts, carefully toweled off the newborn cub, and placed him next to his mother under a blanket. "He's absolutely adorable. Any ideas on what you're going to call him?"

"I don't know yet." Adila yawned and blinked her eyes heavily. "Thanks…Hermann…maybe you can help me decide…" Hermann didn't even have a second to speak in return before mother and cub were both asleep.

"That's got to win the award for the cutest thing I've seen all year," Markos whispered. I hope she wasn't too offended by my, uh, stomach problems."

"I doubt she even remembers; she's probably got more important things to think about that you losing your lunch. I, on the other hand, found it extremely entertaining and don't have any plans to ever forget about it."

Seeing that all had ended well, the rest of the pride started to retire for the night; Hermann ran his hand through his hair and sighed. "Whew…I think I'm as glad as Adila is that all that's over." It was more of a general statement than a declaration to anyone in particular.

"So am I," Simba said, stepping forward to look at the new arrival. "A new cub, and just in time for your induction."

"Careful, not too close," Hermann cautioned. "When's that induction going to be, anyway?"

"Tomorrow afternoon."

"Tomorrow?"

"Yes, that's what I said."

"But I haven't had any time to prepare any remarks! Markos needs to learn some basic phrases in English, I need to write a statement of acceptance—

Simba looked over at Hermann's notebook, open to a page containing scribbling legible only to the person who had written them. "That won't be necessary, but I know better than to try and convince you to give up on things you've already decided to do. As such, the best advice I can give you," he said with a grin, "is that you pick up your pen and paper, and start writing."