As a consequence of all this, sex, to Melissa, had taken on the form of a terrifying hurdle over which she must scramble before she could ever hope to enjoy herself. She was not so hardened that sex with just anybody would suffice; but Bob Beresford was lean, attractive, and very manly. She could quite easily visualize herself going to bed with him.
She felt suddenly ashamed by the openness of her own thoughts and she blushed, glancing around nervously, as though afraid that somebody might be observing her. She moved back to her desk, sat down again, and picked up the hand mirror. She was pretty, there was no doubt of that … but Bob did not seem to be very forthright. It might be up to her to make the first move.…
“Melissa? Aren’t you coming out again? It’s beautiful out here.” Her mother’s voice shrilled from the garden.
“Coming,” she replied wearily. She put the mirror down on the desk and stood up; but the mirror, dangerously close to the edge of the wood, overbalanced, and fell with a crash onto the tiled floor. With an exclamation of anger, Melissa stooped and retrieved it. There was a wide diagonal crack running across its surface. When Melissa examined her reflection, the two halfs of her face did not fit together properly, giving the unfortunate impression that she was horribly deformed.
“Just what I needed,” she muttered darkly. “Seven years’ bad luck.”
She dropped the mirror into the litter bin on her way out of the room.
* * *
HAJI HUGGED the darkness to him like a second skin as he advanced cautiously on the sleeping kampong. He was wise enough to know that what had worked before would work again. He was also clever enough to realize that he must not strike in the same place. So, through the early evening, he had haunted the roads and secondary jungle nearer to Kampong Wau, and as the hours passed by he had moved progressively nearer to the buildings, taking breaks to listen and watch. Now, the very last lamps had been extinguished for over an hour and the only movements came from within a flimsy wooden stockade, where several skinny cows had been herded for the night. They were quite settled at the moment, but occasionally one would stamp a foot or rub an irritating itch against the stockade and at such times Haji would freeze, hugging the ground and gazing all around to ensure that no Upright had come out of his home to investigate.
The moon was full and he could see quite plainly every detail of the village before him. Somewhere, hidden from his view, a dog yapped briefly and Haji licked his lips, for he had eaten dogs on several occasions and knew what tender morsels they were. But tonight he had fixed his sights on one of the occupants of the stockade, and nothing would dissuade him from his choice at this late stage. He crept nearer, placing his feet with delicate precision. His wounded forepaw had passed the point of pain and had lapsed into a semi-numbness, which he found even more irritating because it might cause him to act clumsily at a critical moment. Earlier that same day, it had caused him to stumble as he began a run at an unsuspecting wild pig. Haji had recovered quickly, but the mistake cost him precious moments and the pig had escaped by a hair’s breadth, plunging into the jungle with nothing more than a few claw marks across its rump. Luckily, Haji was beginning to get used to the numbness.
It was necessary now to cross a stretch of open ground flanked by houses, and he moved over it as fleet and silent as a shadow, until he was no more than a few yards from the stockade. Abruptly, the cows became aware that something was wrong. They snorted, began to mill around uncertainly in the centre of the small pen. There was little room for them to move and certainly nowhere for them to run to. Haji closed the final distance and took the five-foot fence in a single bound, coming over the top of it like a terrible striped shadow. He came down in the midst of the cattle and then all hell broke loose. Their eyes bulging in fear and lowing at the tops of their voices, the cows reeled away from him, their combined weight connecting with the flimsy fencing and shattering the roughly nailed wood. In the same instant, Haji selected his kill, a large leggy calf that was bawling frantically for its mother and with one, well-aimed spring, he had dragged the luckless infant into the dirt and was tearing at its throat. In a confusion of dust and legs and noise, the calf was slaughtered and then Haji was dragging it to the breach in the wall that the other cows were now spilling out of. In the kampong, oil lamps were being lit and the voices of nearby Uprights were shouting out in anger and surprise. For some reason, the cows’ panicked senses made them whirl around and come thundering back at Haji, whereupon he relinquished his hold on the calf’s throat and let out a blood-chilling roar that halted them in their tracks. They milled about again and lit out in another direction. Haji grabbed the still-quivering calf, jerked it around the edge of the stockade, but its legs became entangled in some lengths of fallen wood and wire and he was stuck for the moment. He became aware of Uprights emerging into the night, jabbering excitedly. With a snarl of rage, he took a firmer grip on the calf and heaved it with all his strength, tearing the carcass away and leaving one of its rear legs behind, neatly torn off at the knee. Then with a prodigious effort, he hefted the creature just clear of the ground and raced across the clearing over which he had lately passed.
The kampong was now in pandemonium, shouts and curses spilling from every house. But to the bleary eyes of people stumbling from their beds, Haji was little more than a shadow, disappearing into the secondary jungle that bordered the village. The man who owned the calf quickly discovered his loss and began to exhort his friends into forming a rescue party. Hardly surprisingly, nobody seemed very keen on the idea of following the tiger into the jungle and anyway, they were more concerned with rounding up the other cattle and repairing the stockade. By the time anybody was organized enough to think of doing anything, Haji was half a mile away in the deepest jungle, enjoying a late but very satisfactory supper.
CHAPTER 9
ON WEDNESDAYS, it was Harry’s custom to meet up with Dennis at the Officer’s Mess for a lunchtime drink. The ever-faithful trishaw driver would turn up at Harry’s doorstep around twelve o’clock and whisk him over to the barracks. No spoken agreement had ever been made about this. Harry was just grateful that he was saved the inconvenience of arranging transport on a weekly basis and he was careful to ensure that the old man was kept in a steady supply of cigars, which he evidently prized much more than extra money.
On this particular morning, however, the trishaw was uncharacteristically late. It was twelve-thirty and Harry was just beginning to think about walking out in search of a cab, when he saw the old man pedalling wearily up to the garden gate. Harry hurried out of the house and was concerned to see that the driver looked rather ill. His thin face was more haggard than ever, his eyes were ringed with redness, and there was an overall weariness about him that suggested he was far from healthy.
“Sorry for lateness, Tuan,” he croaked.
“Sorry nothing! You look terrible. Are you ill?”
The old man shrugged.
“It is nothing, Tuan … come, climb in. You are late.…”
Harry shook his head.
“Don’t be ridiculous!” he retorted. “You can’t drive me anywhere in that condition.” He stepped forward and put his hand on the old man’s forehead. “Good lord, you’ve got a fever. You should be in bed.”
“No, Tuan, I must work. Please, we go now, yes?”
Harry frowned, thought for a moment. Then a solution occurred to him.
“Here, come along, off the bike.” He grasped the driver by the elbow and helped him down. “Now, you climb in,” he insisted.
“But Tuan … what…? Surely, you cannot…?” Harry pushed him firmly but gently into the passenger seat and then climbed astride the bicycle.
“Let me see now,” he murmured. “There can’t be all that much to it.…”
“Tuan, you cannot do this! It is not proper,” protested the driver, but Harry waved him to silence.
“Nonsense,” he replied. “You go pedalling this thing in your condition and you’re liable to collapse. Now th
en…” He applied his own feet to the pedals and the trishaw began to move slowly along the road. “There, nothing to it. We’ll soon have you home. Your kampong is near the Mess anyway, isn’t it? I can walk from there.”
“But how you get home?”
“I’ll take a cab. And I don’t expect to see you again until you’re recovered, understand?”
The driver was clearly not happy, but it was plain that protesting would do no good. He slumped back in his seat, trying to keep as much out of sight as possible. Meanwhile, Harry was really rather enjoying the experience. The weight of the trishaw was considerable and it was harder going than he would have imagined, but for all that, there was a certain exhilaration involved and he soon had the vehicle speeding along the coast road. He overtook a couple of coolies strolling along the verge who became quite excited when they saw what was going on. They shouted and gesticulated loudly and Harry gave them a brief, but dignified wave as he sped by.
“You know,” he observed to his old companion, “I could see myself doing this for a living. Here…” He handed the old man a couple of cigars and his lighter.
“Thank you, Tuan.” He took them, lit both and handed one back to Harry. “You are very good man. Very kind.”
Harry shrugged.
“I don’t know about that, but I’m beginning to think I’d make a damned good trishaw driver.” Harry noticed a familiar grey Ford saloon heading towards him from the other direction and he waved gaily. For an instant, he had a most satisfying vision of Doctor Kalim’s staring face, looking as though the owner of it were about to have a coronary of his own and then the car was gone. Harry laughed uproariously.
“Something is funny, Tuan?”
“Oh, yes, perfect, absolutely perfect! I am enjoying myself today!”
They travelled onwards at a good rate and had reached the old driver’s village within quarter of an hour. Once there, Harry pressed a twenty-dollar bill into his hand, presented him with a couple more cigars, and insisted that he go straight home to bed. “If you call for me in such a state again,” he warned, “I shall be very angry.” And with that, he bundled the poor fellow in the direction of his home, ignoring the barrage of profuse thanks which were directed at him. Without further hesitation, he set off at a brisk pace to walk the remaining half-mile to the Mess.
He arrived there a little after one o’clock and found Dennis waiting for him at the bar.
“Hello old chap. Thought you’d deserted me!”
“Had a bit of trouble on the way in.” Harry recounted what had happened, much to Dennis’ delight.
“God, I’d have given anything to see that,” he laughed. “I bet Kalim’s face was a picture.” He ordered drinks. The Tiger beer was very refreshing to Harry’s somewhat parched throat and he drained the first one almost in one swallow, ordered up another round. “Steady on,” murmured Dennis. “What’s the hurry?”
“Well, we trishaw drivers can work up a big thirst, you know. What’s new at the barracks?”
“Same old thing. Mind you, I’ve had my marching orders.”
“Oh? When?”
“Three months time. Little camp in Suffolk. Curiously enough, it’s actually the place I requested.… I don’t mind telling you, I’m looking forward to it. The girls are over the moon, too. Well, you can’t blame ’em, there’s nothing for them here.…”
Harry sipped thoughtfully at his beer.
“So that’s it then. I kept hoping for a change of plan.…” It was said with such heartfelt sadness that Dennis felt momentarily at a loss to reply. There was a brief silence, before he came back with the usual reassurances.
“Well, look here old man, we’ll be able to write to each other … and you know, don’t you, that if you should ever fancy a holiday over there— Well, I don’t have to tell you, I’m sure. Here, Trimani! Another round, please!”
“We haven’t finished this one yet,” observed Harry.
“Ah well, who’s counting?” Dennis made an attempt to swing the conversation around to something else. “I hear there was another cow killed last night, over in Kampong Wau. Apparently, the cattle were all penned up in the middle of the village and the tiger came in and took a calf just the same. I … uh … also hear that your friend, Bob Beresford, has appointed himself Great White Sahib for the area. He’s been riding round in his Land Rover all day, mobilizing the villagers into action. He’s intending to finish off that tiger’s career very shortly.”
Harry grunted.
“When does he find the time to fulfill his duties?” he muttered sarcastically.
Dennis shrugged.
“Like a lot of other people around here, Mr. Beresford finds himself with a lot of free time on his hands. At least he’s putting it to some use.…”
“Use? Shooting some poor old bugger who’s become so desperate for food, he has to pilfer from the kampongs? Listen Dennis, Beresford told me exactly why he wanted that tiger. A trophy to display to the world, nothing more.”
“Melissa told me that he was asking you for some help the other night.”
Harry sneered.
“As I recall, he did offer me the chance of being his tracker, or some such thing. Doubtless a great honour, but one that I felt obliged to refuse.”
“You know, Harry, nobody knows more about hunting tigers, around here, than you. Don’t you feel you could give him a little help?”
“For God’s sake, Dennis! I refuse to get drawn into this business. For one thing, I fail to see what real harm the poor brute has done. The death of a couple of skinny cows doesn’t constitute a crisis, surely?”
“But once a cat starts killing…”
“Not necessarily, Dennis. Perhaps, if he’s old or injured, he might begin to make a regular nuisance of himself, in which case I’d be more willing to accept the necessity of killing him. But let’s face it, Dennis, there are plenty of cussed old devils around here who haven’t changed their habits in years.” He concluded this sentence with a sly wink, leaving Dennis in no doubt as to which particular tiger Harry was referring.
* * *
IN THE late afternoon, Haji returned to the place where he had left the carcass of the calf; but as he neared the area, his keen ears picked up the sound of Upright voices and he went into cover, creeping slowly forward through the undergrowth, until he could observe what was going on. A short distance to the right of the kill, a couple of dusky Uprights were standing at the base of a tall Kapok tree, staring up into its branches as they hauled a curious wooden thing into position. Meanwhile, a third Upright, paler than his two companions, strutted about barking authoritatively and pointing up into the foliage. Everything about their actions suggested that they were in a hurry, and Haji, curious about their presence, settled down to wait.
After a little while, the pale Upright clambered awkwardly up the tree and a black stick was handed up to him. He seated himself precariously on the wooden contraption that had previously been hoisted skyward and remained there, looking most out of place, his long thin legs dangling some eight feet from the ground. At this point, the two dusky Uprights shouted their farewells and hurried away into the jungle.
Haji was puzzled. He could smell the appetizing aroma of decaying meat wafting across the clearing, but he certainly wasn’t foolish enough to go and eat while an Upright kept watch over the proceedings, especially one that was armed with a black stick. Still, it was early yet and the brief tropical twilight was less than half an hour away. Perhaps if Haji waited long enough, the Upright would abandon his mysterious game. So Haji simply stretched out in the soft grass and had a catnap, waking every so often to assure himself that the Upright was still in position. The twilight came and went, with a hypnotic chirping of insects and then the night sky deepened and filled with stars, but the Upright did not budge, although he had begun to fidget on his uncomfortable seat. Haji stretched himself lazily and then took a long slow stroll around the area, moving silently amidst the trees and ferns. At one point, he came v
ery close to the kill. The smell was overpoweringly delicious and for a moment, his willpower weakened, he was on the verge of attempting to sneak out to it; but then the memory of the black stick returned. He thought of the terrible power he himself had seen unleashed and he backed away again, into cover. Now he circled back behind the tree in which the Upright sat, and going down flat against the ground, he cautiously crept up to it. Gazing up, he could see the Upright’s strange leathery feet dangling enticingly six feet above his head. What a simple matter it would have been to rear up and snatch the silly fellow off his perch! But Haji’s old fear of the Uprights still persisted and instead he lay where he was, listening intently. From time to time, there would be a sharp slapping noise and a muttered curse, which suggested that this particular Upright was having problems with the mosquitos that swarmed amongst the trees at night. Moreover, the wooden seat creaked loudly every time he shifted position. His presence must have been known to every inhabitant of the jungle who passed nearby.
Tiger, Tiger Page 10
