AN: dihydrogen monoxide is the chemical name for water (H2O).

DREIUNDDREIβIG

Letzter Tag

"Never shall I forget the days I spent with you. Continue to be my friend, as you will always find me yours."

~Ludwig van Beethoven

An old enemy dead, a victim recovered, a peace restored. With Zira gone forever and Kopa back to his old self, the services of Hermann Wolfgang Sterlitz, MD and his colleague were no longer of urgent need. Both men were set to leave for Berlin early the next morning, long before Kopa and Vitani would be awake for the day. On the one hand, they were anxious to see their homes and families again, but on the other, Hermann couldn't shake the feeling that "home" didn't necessarily mean the city of Stuttgart any more. When he thought about how Kopa would feel after he left—alone, longing for somebody to talk to about soccer, music, or that far-off country known as Deutschland—it took almost all his strength to not crack up right then and there.

In saving Kopa from death and helping him get back on his feet, Hermann had done something which his late mentor had warned him against from the very beginning: he had taken a case personally, and bonded with a patient. "Never take anything too much to heart," Hermann could remember Friedrich Ross saying to him the first day of his residency. "As soon as you start blaming yourself for when things beyond your control go wrong and thinking of patients as friends and family, you go down a very dangerous road." And yet, for once, Hermann couldn't see the logic in this bit of advice. He knew quite well that there would always be certain things beyond any doctor's influence, and that even the best clinicians had and will always have patient deaths on their records, but as far as never considering a patient as a good friend, he could see no problem with this. All the days he had spent here, first saving Kopa's life and then helping him through a long and arduous recovery, he had considered Kopa a friend, and thought himself better off for doing so. Maybe Herr Friedrich got it wrong, he thought. He couldn't see how his German lessons, his surrendering his sleeping bag and using his gift of song could have taken place between two strangers, nor could it have been indicative of that "dangerous road" he was warned about. There was, however, one thing Hermann could not deny in the least: when strangers part ways, neither gives the parting a second thought. Farewells between two good friends, however—even those farewells of the temporary sort—are never easy.

Kopa was trying his best to keep Hermann from packing his things up that day. "You can't go," he kept saying with tears in his eyes as he pulled already-packed items out of Hermann's suitcase, "not now. Why do you have to go?"

"I wish I could stay, but right now, I have to go back," Hermann replied. "For the time being, they'll need me in Stuttgart."

"Can't I come with you then? I speak enough German…why couldn't I stay at your apartment? How small can it be?"

"It's practically a prison cell. But even if I had a mansion, I just don't think it would be feasible to do. You and I, we belong in different places; you'd get bored in Stuttgart in record time, and what's more, you'd miss your family."

"But you're my family too! I was standing right there; my dad said that you're a part of the pride!" Hermann had forgotten that minor detail. "You can't go now, it isn't fair…you only just got here." Kopa hid his face in his paws and sobbed. Hermann walked over next to him and sat down, figuring that if nothing else, it would do some good to give the bad leg a brief rest.

"Kopa, listen to me. I know neither of us wants this to happen, but it's not permanent. I promise I will be back, as soon as I can figure it out. Maybe they're looking for a clinician around here, and if so, I'll be the first to sign up for the job. If not, I'll buy airline tickets; I'll take a train, a bus…whatever it takes. But I will come back, no matter what. And Hermann Wolfgang Sterlitz doesn't break his promises." Kopa nodded his head and sniffed as Hermann fished his old songbook out of his suitcase. "Remember this?"

"Sure, I remember; we used it yesterday. It's your songbook."

"It was mine. Now it's yours."

"You're really giving this to me? But you said you've had that book for almost fifteen years! It's got all your notes in it."

"All the better for you to learn from, then."

"But what if I don't understand everything you wrote? Like here, what's that word?"

"That says 'Nach und nach, langsamer und langsamer'. 'Gradually slowing down'. It wasn't in the original manuscript, but I penciled it in. And come to think of it, there's something else that I should write in as well. In pen. Can I borrow that book back for just a second?" Hermann removed a black ballpoint pen from his back pocket and double-checked the date on his watch. On the book's front cover, just under the slightly faded title words Schumann und Schubert: Ausgewählte Lieder, Hermann wrote in some words of his own:

25 August

Für mein Freund Kopa, mit Lieb und Seele.

~H

"There, it's officially yours," Hermann said. "Use it well and learn lots; hopefully all my scribbling will prove helpful, but you'll have to figure out my handwriting first. As the pharmacy people who fill my patients' prescriptions will tell you, my penmanship could use improvement."

"I'll figure it out," Kopa said, excited about his present but still rather gloomy. "I guess I should let you go back to packing…"

"Actually, the packing can wait. Why don't the two of us go do something together? Anything you want."

"Really?" Kopa's expression immediately brightened. "Can we go swim? Just one more time?"

"I don't see why not; stay here for a moment, and I'll go tell Markos where we're going. Is he still outside?"

"Uh-huh. He's watching Lied while Adila's out hunting."

"I hope the poor kid hasn't been irreversibly corrupted yet." Hermann suddenly thought of something. "Hey, wait a minute, who's going to be watching out for us?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, have you forgotten who else lives in that pond?"

"Have you forgotten whose side he's on? Come on, find Markos, and then let's go!"

Hermann had assumed that this latest venture into the water would be another surprise encounter with the pond's principal occupant, but he was at least slightly relieved when he and Kopa arrived at the bank, and saw immediately that at least the element of surprise wouldn't be in play. Kopa, of course, had been totally unconcerned from the beginning, while Hermann, true to form, was ever-cautious. He still hadn't forgotten Simba's story about Zira getting her ear turned into Swiss cheese, as remote as the possibility was of the same thing happening to him.

"Well, look who's here," Hermann said. "The unsung hero of the battle for Pride Rock. He must be sunning himself. Roberto, wake up, it's us," he shouted out in his best Spanish.

Roberto blinked his eyes open and immediately slipped into the water. It wasn't the result Hermann had been hoping for; the only thing in Africa that he feared more than a crocodile out of the water was a crocodile under the water and invisible. Like so many times before, his concerns proved unwarranted when a leathery nose calmly broke the surface, followed by two eyes and a broad, scaly back, the last of which Kopa quickly decided to use as a landing platform.

"Kids," Hermann said. "There's no stopping them, is there?"

"I suppose not. Then again, I never have any of my own," Roberto admitted. "And Kopa, look at you, all healed up! Your parents, they must be so proud of you, as am I…"

"Hey, how can you see me?" Kopa asked. "I'm standing on your back!"

"Eyes on the top of the head, hijo mío. They're not just good for hunting. Are you here to swim?"

"Yes, we are," Hermann said. "Could we borrow your pond for a few minutes?

"Yeah, can we?" Kopa added. "Please?"

"Claro que sí, of course. My pond is your pond. Enjoy yourself." Roberto slowly sunk back under the water, leaving Kopa paddling on the surface and Hermann watching intently for air bubbles.

"Come on in!" Kopa shouted, swimming around in little circles. "What're you waiting for?"

I hate it when he does that, Hermann thought, hiding underwater so I can't see him. Resignedly he removed his shoes, socks, shirt and trousers and slowly stepped in, feeling around with his feet to avoid the possibility of treading on a crocodile tail. He did a few slow stokes forward, and then turned over and started floating. Kopa had never seen anyone, except for Roberto, float like this before.

"How do you do that? You're staying on top of the water, like a leaf!"

"It's simple; just flip onto your back and take in a deep breath, and the laws of physics will do the rest. You'll float without even trying."

Kopa tried to follow Hermann's instructions, but he didn't realize—and Hermann had forgotten to specify—that the ability to float lasted only as long as the floater held his breath in. As soon as he turned over, Kopa let all of his air out, and promptly sank like a stone. He resurfaced a second or two later, sputtering and giving Hermann evil eyes; Hermann quickly grabbed him up in his arms, just to avoid another unexpected demonstration of negative buoyancy. "You OK?" he asked. "You dropped like the Titanic there."

"You said I would float!" Kopa retorted, still spitting out water. "Why didn't it work? Was that one of your jokes?"

"No tricks," Hermann said, "you just have to hold your breath, or you sink."

"And you didn't tell me this why?"

Hermann admitted he didn't have a good answer. And he was punished accordingly, courtesy of Kopa, with a well aimed tsunami to the face.

"Oh, no, tell me you just didn't do that. I would not want to be you right now," Hermann smirked.

"Why not?" Kopa answered cockily.

"For starters? This," Hermann replied before sending his own wall of water in the opposite direction. Then a new wave came his way, followed by one towards Kopa, then another, and yet another until Roberto, watching from the other bank, wondered if any water would be left in his pond at the end of the day. He could hear Hermann and Kopa shouting at each other as they splashed:

"Yeah! Taste it! Ich bin der allebest!"

"Hah! You missed! Come and get me, Doctor House!"

"Don't call me that! Eat dihydrogen monoxide!"

"Nyah, nyah, missed again!"

Before long, both had completely exhausted their strength from making tidal waves, and they could do nothing but stand still and catch their breath, pausing occasionally to wipe any stray water droplets off their faces. Hermann in particular was feeling the effects, not used to physical activity much greater than the effort needed to walk and support himself.

"Well, that was different," Hermann said, resting his hands on his knees and realizing how un-like his normal, serious self he had just been. "You started it, of course…"

"Did not!"

"Did so."

"Nein!"

"Ja!"

"Want a drink?" Kopa said with a gleam in his eye.

"Huh? OK, sure, I suppose I could do with one." He didn't even have time to think his words over before being subjected to another rinse and spin cycle. "I think you and Markos have more in common than I originally thought," Hermann said. "All this time I thought he and Vitani were kindred spirits, but you're just as bad as the both of them!"

"Not quite," Kopa said. "There's one thing he'll never have on me."

"What's that?"

"Markos can't sing without sounding like he's trying for first prize in a hawk calling contest."

"Touché."

Later on

"Roberto?"

"Yes?"

"I never said this before; I don't think I got a chance. Thank you…for everything. I don't know how we could have pulled off that victory without your help."

"Please, don't thank me; I haven't had that much fun in years! Seeing Zira's face when she saw me again, it was priceless!"

"Well then I'm pleased that you enjoyed yourself. And I'm sorry I've always been so jumpy around you; it's hard to understand, I'm sure, but—

"You're a human, I'm a crocodile. It happens."

"So there's no hard feelings then?"

"No, none. Nada. By any chance do you happen to watch Spanish football?"

"Uh…yes, I do. Why do you ask?"

"Do me a favor. The next time you are here, let me know how Real Madrid is doing."

"It's the least I can do. Goodbye, Roberto, and take care of yourself."

"Hasta luego, señor Hermann. Nos veremos."

Hermann gave a friendly nod of the head and walked away. With this last item of unfinished business taken care of, he and Kopa were sprawled out side by side on the grass in short order, looking up at the bright blue sky as the sun and wind slowly dried away the water.

"What do you think is up there?" Kopa said, gazing at a flock of birds flying by.

"At the moment, those birds, an airplane here and there…"

"No, I meant past all those.

"Water molecules?"

"What about the white lights?"

"White lights? You mean stars, die Sterne. You know that word by know."

"That's just what you call them."

"And you don't?"

"Well, Dad doesn't. He says that whenever one of us dies, that's where we go, forever and ever, and we turn into one of those little white dots in the sky. He says that all our past rulers are up there, from as long as this pride has been here."

"But those are just stars," Hermann said. "They're gigantic balls of searing hot gas, burning so brightly that the light still reaches us from hundreds of millions of kilometers away. You'd see if you got close to one that they're enormous in size; they only look small because they're so far away. But," he hurriedly added, seeing that he had just done the equivalent of telling a little kid that Santa Claus doesn't exist, "that doesn't mean your parents are wrong. Having stars in the sky doesn't mean there's nothing else there with them."

"I don't know; I've never told this to dad, but I think it all sounds kind of weird." Kopa could tell that Hermann felt exactly the same way; Hermann was just relieved that he hadn't stepped too far over the line. "Still, it would be nice if it were true, don't you think?"

On this matter, Hermann and Kopa saw exactly eye to eye. "Indeed it would be, mein Sohn," Hermann said. He closed his eyes for a moment and took in a deep breath, making silent note of all the different scents in the fresh air—grass, earth, flowers—as if he were tasting a fine wine. By God, I love this place, he thought. I've been so blind, all this time thinking there was no greater spot to be than Germany…but there is; there has been all along. And it's right here where I'm—

"Hermann? Where do cubs come from?" The tranquil silence was suddenly broken.

"What makes you want to know that?"

"Just curious. You're a doctor, so I thought you'd know. You do know, right?"

"Of course I know," Hermann said, desperately racking his brain for a plausible explanation that wasn't rated-X. "Are you sure you want to talk about this? There are so many other interesting things to talk about…" He knew that there would be no persuading Kopa otherwise, but he needed the extra time to stall.

"Yeah, I'm sure," Kopa answered as expected. "Come on, tell me…what's the big deal?"

"OK, I'll tell you. Cubs come from, uh, the biological result of cellular division originating from a fertilized ovum."

"So mom and dad and Vitani and Wolfie and I are 'biological results of cellular division'?" It took Kopa a long time to get all the syllables out intact.

"Yes, that's the long and short of it." To Hermann's dismay, and despite his best hopes that the dialog would quickly steer itself elsewhere, Kopa still wasn't satisfied.

"But how do you make the whole thing start? What do you do?"

Isn't this something you should be taking up with your parents instead of with me? Hermann thought, before giving an answer that would have caused the powers that be at Universität Stuttgart to consider revoking his medical diploma: "You sing the G flat major scale in descending thirds while facing Mecca and standing on your head."

"Really? 'Cause that's…not what Vitani told me. Hermann? Are you listening?"

"Busted."