| So I lived my life alone, without anyone that I could really talk to, until I hadan accident with my plane in the Desert of Sahara, six years ago. Somethingwas broken in my engine. And as I had with me neither a mechanic nor anypassengers, I set myself to attempt the difficult repairs all alone. It was aquestion of life or death for me: I had scarcely enough drinking water to last aweek. The first night, then, I went to sleep on the sand, a thousand miles fromany human habitation. I was more isolated than a shipwrecked sailor on a raftin the middle of the ocean. Thus you can imagine my amazement, at sunrise,when I was awakened by an odd little voice. It said:“If you please– draw me a sheep!”“What!”“Draw me a sheep!”I jumped to my feet, completely thunderstruck. I blinked my eyes hard. Ilooked carefully all around me. And I saw a most extraordinary small person,who stood there examining me with great seriousness. Here you may see thebest portrait that, later, I was able to make of him. But my drawing is certainlyvery much less charming than its model.That, however, is not my fault. The grown-ups discouraged me in mypainter’s career when I was six years old, and I never learned to draw anything,except boas from the outside and boas from the inside.Now I stared at this sudden apparition with my eyes fairly starting out ofmy head in astonishment. Remember, I had crashed in the desert a thousand56 CHAPTER 2.miles from any inhabited region. And yet my little man seemed neither to bestraying uncertainly among the sands, nor to be fainting from fatigue or hungeror thirst or fear. Nothing about him gave any suggestion of a child lost in themiddle of the desert, a thousand miles from any human habitation. When atlast I was able to speak, I said to him:“But– what are you doing here?”And in answer he repeated, very slowly, as if he were speaking of a matterof great consequence:“If you please– draw me a sheep. . . ”When a mystery is too overpowering, one dare not disobey. Absurd as itmight seem to me, a thousand miles from any human habitation and in danger ofdeath, I took out of my pocket a sheet of paper and my fountain-pen. But thenI remembered how my studies had been concentrated on geography, history,arithmetic, and grammar, and I told the little chap (a little crossly, too) that Idid not know how to draw. He answered me:“That doesn’t matter. Draw me a sheep. . . ”But I had never drawn a sheep. So I drew for him one of the two pictures Ihad drawn so often. It was that of the boa constrictor from the outside. And Iwas astounded to hear the little fellow greet it with,“No, no, no! I do not want an elephant inside a boa constrictor. A boaconstrictor is a very dangerous creature, and an elephant is very cumbersome.Where I live, everything is very small. What I need is a sheep. Draw me asheep.”So then I made a drawing.He looked at it carefully, then he said:“No. This sheep is already very sickly. Make me another.”So I made another drawing.7My friend smiled gently and indulgently.“You see yourself,” he said, “that this is not a sheep. This is a ram. It hashorns.”So then I did my drawing over once more.But it was rejected too, just like the others.“This one is too old. I want a sheep that will live a long time.”By this time my patience was exhausted, because I was in a hurry to starttaking my engine apart. So I tossed off this drawing.And I threw out an explanation with it.“This is only his box. The sheep you asked for is inside.”I was very surprised to see a light break over the face of my young judge:“That is exactly the way I wanted it! Do you think that this sheep will haveto have a great deal of grass?”“Why?”“Because where I live everything is very small. . . ”“There will surely be enough grass for him,” I said. “It is a very small sheepthat I have given you.”He bent his head over the drawing:8 CHAPTER 2.“Not so small that– Look! He has gone to sleep. . . ”And that is how I made the acquaintance of the little prince |
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