STARALIS AND THE GOLDEN GORSE

Sun (Auckland), Volume IV, Issue 1079, 17 September 1930, Page 14

STARALIS AND THE GOLDEN GORSE

FIRST-PRIZE STORY

Once upon a time a meteor with a silver tail flashed across the glowing Milky Way and dropped in a brilliant streak on the horizon. What happened to its fiery head no one knows, but its silver tail fell into a quiet little pool—and Staralis was born. Only the birds and the trees, the wee creeping things and, of course, Gorse, ever saw Staralis. Perhaps it was best, for only they could have j understood and loved her. Staralis was a pale, slender maiden with silvery hair and eyes of misty purple, and she grew up in that tiny mirror of tho sky that also reflected tho glowing glory of Gorse, who dropped cradles of gold into its shimmering blue. Gorse was Staralis’s closest friend. She loved Gorse for his sturdiness, his green, protecting spikes and his fragrantly perfumed blossoms. Flower-bedecked summers passed, red-leafed, mellow autumns, crisp winters, through which Staralis slept, and gay, pastel-petalled springs; and Staralis lived on in the placid pool. To all who knew her, she seemed contented—to all but Gorse. Golden Gorse, alone, knew how she dreamed and pined for the starry world above. Golden Gorse had been growing there when the meteor trailed across the sky and Staralis was born. And Golden Gorse knew that on every birthday of Staralis a shooting star sped out of the Milky Way and flew with impetuous speed to earth; that evex*y year the blazing point fell nearer and nearer the pool of Staralis; and Gorse guessed that before many more birthdays had passed, Staralis would receive a messenger from her natural home. Spring had come again, and Staralis sat on the daisied banks of the pool, wrapped in her almond-tinted robe of lace-weeds, dreaming of the Morning Star who had smiled at her before he was hidden by the salmon-suffused clouds of dawn. Behind her grew Gorse; a pale-green willow drooped on the opposite bank, a group of stately aspens were thrown into relief by a background of dark pines; wild briar and white rambling roses grew together in scented masses, and late violets grew under the shelter of the gorse. On all this Staralis gazed, but with unseeing eyes. She sighed faintly; so did Gorse. She did not know that the time had come for her to leave the earth. Gorse knew, and was sad. lie wished ho could tell her, but the words would not come, and so they both sat there in silence. But that evening, when the sunset sky faded from pink to mauve, from orange to green, and baby stars peeked about, Gorse told Staralis of his love, and she loved him for doing so; and half-way through the cool dark night they whispered together, Staralis for once forgetting her beloved stars. The next evening they sat up again together, Staralis happy because it was her birthday, Gorse sadly silent, waiting for the silver flash that would bring freedom to Staralis, but eternal loneliness to himself.

The orescent moon sank lower, the Milky Way grew broader and whiter, while a million diamond points twinkled in the rest of the sky. Then, with a faint singing noise, a large star flew—straight down into the pool, making a silver pathway through the air, though none but Staralis and Golden Gorse saw it. Up the pathway sped Staralis . . . up to the heavens ... to the stars, for she was a Star Child. And Golden Gorse was left, not alone, as ho had thought, but with a companion in a small rainbow trout — a fish that was once a star. —Gold-tipped Feather (Kathleen Neely) . SECOXD-PRIZE STORY OASIS Soft velvet skies; warm perfumeladen air; a golden moon; all these make an Arabian night. And on just such a night let us journey to an oasis, not very many miles from whitely gleaming city walls. Let us lie under slim date palms, and listen intently, j for they are sure to be telling tales I to each other. | Listen, the tree you are under is ; whispering! Can you hear it? “Why does that tall palm lean so tenderly over the lakelet, brother?” “Have you not heard their story? Listen, and 1 will tell you. Many hundreds of years ago, a young and beautiful girl lived in the city, not so very many miles from here. Her name was Benna. She had been named after her father, Beni, because she was his only child, and he loved her with a deep and lasting love. But in some ways it was a selfish love, fpr he kept her from the society of other people, so much he feared she might come to care for anyone as much as, or more than she cared for him. “One day, however, when he was away on a journey, Benna called her slave to her. ‘I am tired of being shut up here alone,’ she said, ‘so I am going out to the market place. You must come, too. Help me to get ready.’ Tho slave girl dared not protest, so a little while later they were mingling with the crowd in the market place. “Before they had been there long, however, a tall, thin Arab, attracted, by Benna’s jewellery, forced a way through to them, and made a wild snatch. The slave promptly screamed. Things would have gone badly with them had not a young man, striding through the place, heard the shrill scream.

“Pushing with his shoulder a way for himself, he took in the whole situation at a glance. Springing in front of the girls he drew his sabre with a flourish, shouting as he did so, ‘Son of a jackal! Begone, before I separate your miserable head from your still more miserable body.’ “The Arab slunk off quickly and the crowd dispersed as Omar glared fiercely round. Then he turned to the girls, and bowed low. Benna, , in a rather shaky voice, started to express her gratitude, but he begged her not to thank him, and asked if he might escort her back to her home. She accepted his offer, and reached home without mishap. “Of course, aftqy that, Omar came almost every day on some pretext or other. And so things went on, until one day he asked her to share his home with him as his wife. Benna gave a glad little cry, and then sighed. ‘My father,’ she wept, ‘lie always said I should not be allowed to marry. Let m© fly with you, Omar. Ah, please!’ And so ardently did she plead that he agreed, and that night they fled into the desert. But alas! Not so very far from the white city walls, her father, who had returned unexpectedly, caught up with them. Furious, he slew them both. “Immediately, in Omar’s place sprang up that palm tree, and a silver lakelet rippled in Benna’s stead. That’s why the tree leans so tenderly over the lakelet, brother.” —Maid of the Pines (Beryl Cranston).