Katherina Minardo, Sculptor

Then one morning while Sarah was looking after the eggs she heard peculiar noises coming from them. One seemed to have a split in the shell. Suddenly the sound from inside became louder, then the shell cracked. Sarah watched, fascinated, as a little beak emerged. Next came a foot and a leg. In a few moments, a wet, grey little bundle of downy feathers had emerged and all of this was peering at her.

She bent down and caressed the little gosling. Then, one after another the remaining three emerged. Naturally they assumed that Sarah was their mother. She was excited and rather confused. She tried, unsuccessfully, to communicate and to tell them that mother was going to be there soon. 

At that moment, Gwendolyn flew in — all out of breath and feathers ruffled. She had been trying to separate two bickering geese, and by the time thjat was over she knew she was going to be terribly late. For she knew her eggs would be ready at any moment.

By the time she arrived the goslings had hatched and were hiding under Sarah’s dress. It took all of Gwendolyn’s patience and mother’s love to convince her four offspring that she was actually their mother. Sarah, Gwendolyn said, was an older sister.

Well, all things explained, they all settled in for the summer, in preparation for the long flight back to warm Florida.

Now the marshes were alive with hundreds and hundreds of newborn geese. Sarah had always loved excitement, so she now found it a wonderful place. Her new wings had not grown in yet. Just as the baby wings had fallen off suddenly without notice, so would the new ones grow in suddenly. In fact, they grow slowly but imperceptibly, and only when they are completely ready do they appear in full view. 

Far away over the clouds the older angel in charge of Sarah had not noticed yet that she was missing. As everyone knows, time passes differently in Heaven than on Earth. The few months Sarah had been with the geese was just a minute or two in the life of angels. So no one was worried and life went on.

The long summer days filled by play with her adopted family brought Sarah all the joy and excitement that she loved. The goslings grew big and strong, and as the days became shorter they would spend less and less time playing with her and rather more exercising their wings. They had to become strong to be able to fly with the flock. Then one day they began to make trial flights over the marshes. Higher and higher they would fly. And finally they were ready.

Early one misty morning great excitement swept over the flock. Gwendolyn had readied herself to guide them back south. Sarah, caught up in the preparations, would run from one goose to the next, clapping her hands and jumping up and down. Obviously she could not fly, so Gwendolyn would carry Sarah on her back once again. She was going with them to Florida of course.

Being high in the air again was a wonderful sensation. The landscape was different now. Patches of red and yellow mingled with various shades of green. It was crisp up in the sky, and the sun no longer had much warmth in its rays.

The four goslings, now big and strong, flew right behind their mother and Sarah. They kept the same routine, flying during the day and resting at night. On the third day Sarah sensed something new in Gwendolyn. And since she had never known fear nor evil she did not know what to make of it. She stroked Gwendolyn’s long neck and gave her a big hug.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

What was that terrible sound? They were flying over a big field of corn. There Sarah noticed someone. It was a man surrounded by yapping dogs.

It all happened in a lightning flash. One instant they were in the air, the next Gwendolyn let out a heartbreaking shriek, her wings collapsed. Sarah and Gwendolyn plunged toward Earth. It occurred so fast that Sarah could not understand what was happening. She was still holding on to the goose as the cornfield came closer and closer.

And then, just as suddenly, they hovered in mid-air. Two lovely new wings had sprouted on Sarah’s back and she was flapping them wildly, still unused to flying after so much time. Gwendolyn, heavy in the little angel’s arms, lay limp. She had fainted from pain and fright. Blood from the gunshot that had grazed her left wing started to flow, covering Sarah’s hand.

Far above them, another goose had taken the injured leader’s place. Only four little geese left the flock and flew around Gwendolyn.

On the cornfield one lonely hunter stood awestruck. He dropped his rifle. What he saw he could not believe. He had seen the goose falling like a stone from the sky, her wings limp. Then suddenly just before touching the ground the goose — her wings still folded — was flying in the most peculiar fashion. Of course to him Sarah was invisible. The goose looked dead but was actually flying, with four others fussing around her. If that was a sign from Heaven for him to stop hunting he did not know. But he swore never to use his rifle again!

Sarah, still holding Gwendolyn in her arms, steadied her flight. The new wings were strong, but each flap was more difficult to control. She still did not comprehend what had happened, but it was something bad, and Gwendolyn did not wake up. The four goslings knew better. Gwendolyn had told them about hunters. So they explained as much as they could to Sarah. This only made the little angel worry. What would they do now?

Gwendolyn must be taken to a safe place. One of the goslings remembered they had flown over a farmhouse near a pond not long before the event. “Let’s take Mom there.”

So, guided by the four, Sarah turned and carried Gwendolyn back to the pond. She still had not woken up. Sarah put her down gently on the grass and took the injured wing in her hands. She did not know what to do, but she understood that the blood flowing out of the deep cut must be stopped.

Sarah had nothing to put on the wound. Then she looked down at her pink dress. Yes, that was something. She tore a strip off along the hem and put it around the wing. Next she walked to the pond and scooped up water in her cupped hands.

The sudden splash of cold water on her head brought Gwendolyn back to her senses. She was confused and did not know what had happened. She tried to flap her wings but quickly stopped from the pain. The goslings squealed joyfully at seeing her awake. Honking all at once they told her about the hunter, and about Sarah saving her life. There was excitement when they showed Gwendolyn Sarah’s beautiful new wings.

Unfortunately, the wings meant that Sarah could no longer stay with them. It was time to fly home. But how could she leave her dear injured Gwendolyn?

Just then they saw someone approach from the farmhouse. As the figure came closer they saw it was a woman, the farmer’s wife. She had heard the honking of the geese and came out to investigate. She approached carefully so as not to scare the birds off, and what she saw was an incredible sight. Four small geese, their wings protectively outstretched over a large goose, obviously injured. She started talking in a gentle, non-threatening voice, and came closer.

The four, reassured by her manner, lowered their wings and let her approach Gwendolyn. She bent down talking gently and took Gwendolyn’s injured wing in her hands. What she saw left her totally perplexed: neatly wrapped around the wound was a strip of pink cloth. It was not just the idea that someone had aided the goose by covering the wound that so surprised her, but also the quality of the material itself. It felt indescribable to the touch. It shimmered in the evening sun like stars. It seemed pink, but she had never in her entire life seen anything like this pink. She was a kind woman who had often taken in injured wild animals. She knew she could help this time too.

The goose would probably have to spend the winter months in the barn to heal completely. It had happened before. But this group of geese were somehow different. They seemed to be communicating with something beside Gwendolyn, as if there were someone she could not see.

Sarah was standing near Gwendolyn, stroking her head and telling her that she was in good hands now. But she had to take her leave. Now her wings kept pulling her upwards. Even if she had wanted to stay, it was no longer up to her. She gave the goose a great angel hug, then went around and hugged and kissed the other four.

However, what the farmer’s wife saw was a strange leg and head movement! And she saw wings moving as if to stroke something not visible to her. She felt that something extraordinary was happening, and stood in silence. Then (when Sarah flew off into the autumn sky) she saw the five geese stretch their necks upwards. And then it was over.

The woman returned to the house in order to fetch a small barrow to carry the heavy goose back to the barn. She expected the other four to fly off, but they would not hear of that. Instead, like bodyguards, they followed their mother into the barn. Well, there was plenty of room, and feeding four small geese was not going to be a problem.

High up in the sky, Sarah looked down on her friends and waved one last time before entering a cloud. She was home.

“Oh, good, you have your new wings!” 

The older angel in charge of Sarah had just come round a fluffy peak. He had never even noticed her absence, and now was pleased to see that with new wings she no longer needed his care.

And so it was that Sarah kept her adventure with the geese her little secret. And far below her, on Earth, the story of Sarah — the little wingless angel — became the favourite autumn tale every mother goose told her young ones.

The old woman carefully removed the pink bandage from Gwendolyn’s wing and replaced it with a new one. Then she washed the strange piece of cloth. It was truly the most extraordinary material. Just holding it in her hand gave her a wonderful feeling of lightness and happiness. She carefully cut it in three equal pieces and gave each of her grandchildren one to keep.

The pink cloth fragments became family heirlooms, handed down from one generation to the next. And the story of their discovery became legend, to be recounted to children on winter nights around the fireplace.

It was getting late. Deep in thought the old man had closed his eyes, the pipe still in his hands. His wife had dozed off. It was now snowing softly. Only the children were still bright eyed and they wanted more. After all it was Christmas Eve and this was their present. So if they could they would spend all night listening to stories.
“Please, tell another story.” The shy little voice broke the silence.

The old man opened his eyes and looked at the little girl. She was the shyest of the group, and her boldness made him smile.

“Does everybody want another story?”

The question brought such a loud chorus of voices that the old woman woke up, startled.

“Yes, yes, another story please!”

Cyril, too, could he be heard, would have asked for more. He had listened just as intently to the story as the children. It was the most wonderful story he had ever heard, and he yearned for more.

“Be quiet, children. You woke up Grandma.”

The old woman smiled at the children and fell back into sleep.

Once more there was silence, and the children shifted around in expectation. What would the old man tell next?

He took the pipe and played with it for a few seconds, put it once in his mouth as if to savour it, then took it back in his hands.

“Once upon a time…”

Oh, those magic words again!

To be continued…