Tiger, Tiger

by Philip Caveney

  “So, playing a nasty trick on your poor old grandmother are you?” shrieked Pawn. “I’ll teach you better manners!” And she struck him again and again, while he scrambled this way and that, trying to evade her.

  “No, mercy, Grandmother, mercy! It was only a joke.…”

  “A joke is it? Well let me see you laugh this off, you little devil!”

  Another powerful swing sprawled him down onto the road, where he lay with his hands cupped protectively over his head, while Pawn administered some more energetic thumps.

  “Stop, Grandmother, you’ll kill me!” cried Ché in desperation.

  Pawn grinned.

  “I doubt it,” she chuckled and aimed one last blow at his unprotected rear. Then she stepped back and viewed his crumpled form triumphantly.

  “A fine thing to do to your poor ancient grandmother,” she observed. “You could have given me a heart attack!”

  “Not you, you’re as strong as an ox,” observed Ché, grinning ruefully and rubbing his backside as he clambered to his feet. Pawn made a threatening move toward him, and he skipped away a few steps.

  “What are you doing here anyway?” she demanded.

  “Mother was worried about you so she sent me to…”

  “Scare me to death?” finished Pawn, with a glare of accusation. But then she smiled, to show she wasn’t really angry. “Come along then, little lizard, or the family will be thinking something’s happened to us.” She reached out and took his hand and the pair of them continued on their way to Kampong Panjang. “I’m glad you’re here,” said Pawn. “I wanted to have a little talk with you.”

  “What about, Grandmother?”

  “About the Tuan.”

  “Oh…” Ché glanced guiltily at his feet.

  “You may well look down like that,” cried Pawn. “If you could have seen him tonight, Ché! Never have I seen such a poor sad old man.”

  Ché feigned innocence over the matter.

  “What is that to do with me, Grandmother?” he asked.

  “I think you know! You must be aware of how the Tuan likes you … how he looks forward to your visits. When I arrived without you this morning, he could not hide his sadness, it was written in the lines of his face. And you promised to come along later but you did not.”

  “But I saw him, Grandmother! He came to Kampong Machis to see the great tiger that Tuan Beresford had shot. He said then that he did not mind me not coming to visit with him.…”

  “You believed that?” cried Pawn scornfully. “And what makes you so careless with your words now? Don’t you know that you will turn the wrath of the striped one upon yourself?”

  Ché laughed.

  “But Tuan Beresford has killed the man-eater!” he reasoned.

  “So? Do you think he was the only one of his kind in the jungle? The people of Kandong Balok never sleep. Old Dato Uban, he keeps his ears open for foolish little boys like you; and when one of his warriors falls, he sends another to take his place … so watch your step!” She glanced at him slyly. “He also notices naughty boys who misbehave themselves and play terrible tricks on their grandmothers … boys who don’t do what they are told.…”

  Ché swallowed nervously, but maintained an air of unconcern.

  “Oh, I don’t really believe those old stories any more!” he murmured, but he glanced quickly around at the moonlit road and the dark foreboding silhouette of the jungle trees against the sky.

  “That’s as it may be,” conceded Pawn. “Anyhow, I think you’d better come to work with me tomorrow, so you can say sorry to the Tuan.”

  “Sorry for what?”

  “For not going to see him, of course!”

  “But, Grandmother, I told you, I did see him. Besides, I’m not sure I should say sorry to him.”

  “What’s that?” Pawn turned and raised her shopping bag threateningly. “Why, you ungrateful puppy, I ought to tell your father to give you a good thrashing!”

  But Grandmother! The Tuan himself was ungrateful … he attacked Tuan Beresford— He struck him, and all because he was jealous.”

  “I don’t believe that for one moment.” Pawn lowered the bag and walked on again. “The Tuan is a good man. I have known him for many years now. He would not let such a silly thing rule his heart. Besides, I heard differently. He came home with Tuan and Missy Tremayne afterwards and Missy Tremayne, she told me what happened. She said that the Tuan believed that the man-eater was still alive, and that your precious Tuan Beresford killed the wrong animal.”

  “But how can that be when we all saw the man-eater lying there dead?”

  Pawn raised her eyes heavenward.

  “Foolish boy! Did anybody cut open the creature’s stomach and look inside? How can anyone know if it was the right beast?”

  “Tuan Beresford would know,” said Ché with great conviction. “He is a hunter.”

  “And are hunters not men, like all others?”

  “They are special men. One day, I shall be such a man.”

  “Pah! If I have any say in it, you won’t!”

  They walked on for some distance without speaking. From the jungle to their left came the strange sonorous croaking of vast numbers of tiny green tree frogs, filling the night with an unearthly clamour. A bank of tumbling white clouds passed across the face of the moon, sending a great scudding shadow sliding across their path. They moved into the shadow and abruptly the visibility dropped to half of what it had been. It was a most unsettling effect. Ché glanced nervously at his grandmother.

  “Does Dato Uban really send another t— another striped one to replace each fallen warrior?” he murmured fearfully.

  “You can be sure of it! So you’d better start behaving yourself, my lad! You can start by accompanying me to work tomorrow and by telling the Tuan how sorry you are for letting him down yesterday.”

  “But I can’t!”

  “And why not, may I ask?”

  Ché pouted defiantly.

  “Because tomorrow, Majid and I are going tracking together.…”

  Pawn gave another exclamation of disgust.

  “There you go again, such ungratefulness. Tell me something, who was it gave you those fine English books that got you interested in the subject? And who explained to you all the little parts that you could not understand? And whose stories, in the very first place, made you interested in knowing all about the creatures of the jungle?”

  Ché did not deign to answer these questions. Instead, he changed the subject.

  “Majid and I, we have decided to practise the craft every day, so that we get better and better at it. Then, if we do well enough at it, perhaps Tuan Beresford will take us hunting with him!”

  Pawn gave a derisive laugh.

  “Oh, you children and your shifting affections,” she lamented. “Two days ago, you thought nothing of that man. Indeed, I remember you complaining that he was a young usurper, come to take the Tuan’s territory away from him. Now, simply because he has killed the man-eater.…”

  “Not ‘simply,’ Grandmother! It was a fine and noble thing to do. The Tuan had a chance of it, but he let it pass him by. It makes me wonder if any of the Tuan’s fine tales are true—”

  He broke off as Pawn shot him a look of pure venom.

  “When will you children realize?” she intoned coldly, “that the greatest of men must one day grow old. It comes to us all in the end, just as in turn, death must also come.… Oh, but age is more terrible, more unspeakable than death, for while at the end of life you can sleep in darkness and forget your pains and worries, in age you must carry them around with you on aching, breaking legs. You must go through life doing all those things that are so familiar to you, but at half the speed, with twice the effort. And worst, Ché, the very worst of all, is that you must watch with tired and failing eyes as the youngsters go bounding past you and you realize that try as you might, you can never catch up with them. When I was your age, I could climb to the top of a tall Kapok tree in a few moments.
I was as agile as a berok! Now, it’s all I can do to climb a flight of stairs without getting out of breath. Think, boy. One day it will be you that is old and weary, long after my bones have turned to dust in the earth. And when you tell the stories of your youth to the kampong children, do you think for one moment, that they will really believe you were ever capable of such things?”

  They strolled on again in silence for some distance. Ché stared thoughtfully at the ground, humbled by his grandmother’s words. When at last he spoke, it was only to say, “Let me carry your shopping bag, Grandmother.”

  She let him take it from her hand and she couldn’t help but smile at the glum expression on his face. “You will come to the Tuan’s tomorrow?” she asked again.

  “I can’t tomorrow, Grandmother,” he replied meekly. “I promised Majid that I would meet him and I never break a promise. But I will come to the Tuan’s another time, soon.”

  “Good.” She reached out and stroked his head affectionately. “You see that you keep your word now.”

  And they strolled on in silence again. They could see the twinkling of kerosene lamps in the near distance, and it was a comforting feeling to know that they were almost home.

  CHAPTER 16

  AS SOON AS Bob arrived back at Kampong Machis, he knew that something was wrong. In the glare of the headlights, he could see that the open area of grass in the centre of the kampong was now deserted. The oil lamps that had been left beside the tiger for lighting-up time were still not in use and there was no sign of the man that Bob had paid to stand guard over his property. He brought the Land Rover to an abrupt halt and clambered out, gazing this way and that, but it seemed that everybody had retired to their homes for the night. Bob hurried over to the place where he had left the tiger, suspecting for a moment that it had been stolen. He breathed a sigh of relief when he perceived the dim shape of its long striped carcass stretched out on the grass. Cursing the uselessness of the guard who had wandered off, he took a box of matches from his shirt pocket and squatting down, he lit one of the lanterns. He still had to organize somebody to do the skinning, and this would probably necessitate a trip into Kuala Trengganu, the only place where he knew for sure that he could get the job done properly. He still had to decide whether he wanted a head-trophy, a rug, or a fully stuffed and mounted animal.

  He moved over to the carcass and held the lantern above it. The smile of triumph on his face turned abruptly to an expression of horrified amazement. He stood for several long moments looking down at the tiger, not wanting to believe what he saw. His eyes widened, then narrowed down to slits of anger.

  The carcass had been decimated. Bob had not realized the attraction that tiger charms and talismans held for the villagers. During his absence and no doubt with the full cooperation of the “guard,” there had been a massive free-for-all of souvenir-taking which must have escalated to ridiculous dimensions. First of all, they had wrenched out the teeth, leaving nothing but one or two deep-set molars; likewise, they had pulled out the creature’s claws. Either of these artifacts, worn as an amulet or talisman, would protect the bearer from attack whenever he ventured into the jungle. The less superstitious villagers would find a ready market for the items amongst the Chinese merchants in Kuala Trengganu. Mounted in silver and hung from chains or earrings, they would fetch a pretty price when transported over to England or America. The whiskers had been snipped away and these would find their way into the potions and balms of the Chinese herbalists, who were always interested in buying anything remotely tigerish. Even the ground-up bones of its skeleton were sought after for their supposed healing qualities, and a wine made from the substance could cure rheumatic ailments. The tail had been crudely lopped off, and because the ashes of burned tiger hair were also a highly prized ingredient in “magic charms,” large patches of the tiger’s beautiful hide had been hacked away with knives. The resulting mutilation ensured that the carcass would be of no use whatsoever to a taxidermist.

  Bob gave a low moan and sank to his knees beside the carcass. He saw that one enterprising villagers had even gouged out the beast’s eyes and twin trails of redness had trickled from the empty sockets. He kneeled there for several minutes while he moved the lantern to and fro over the tiger’s still form, as though hoping that some magical transformation might take place, that his ruined prize might somehow be made whole again. But each successive glance appalled his horrified gaze and a deep, cold rage settled in his heart. He turned away from the tiger and stared up at the dwellings around him in silent accusation. Now he could perceive faces peering fearfully from the windows. Emotion welled up like a great heat in his chest and his vision blurred. He threw back his head and screamed.

  “Bastards!” He felt cheated, betrayed. The cat was his, it was he who had taken the trouble to seek it out, he who had tracked, connived, paid off natives by the dozen for their paltry help. Now they had robbed him at the moment of his triumph. How could they do such a thing? How could they even envisage such a vile, despicable trick? He stood up, the lantern swaying precariously in his grasp. He strode toward the nearest building, where he thought he saw the faces of children peering from the windows. “Come out of there!” he shrieked. “Come out, you bloody little thieves, and see what you’ve done. The tiger was mine! He belonged to me, I took him.…” He aimed a kick at one of the thick supporting poles on which the building stood, and the rickety construction shuddered visibly for a moment. The children’s heads vanished from the windows and shouts of alarm sounded from within, but still nobody came out. Raging impotently, Bob moved across to the next building and directed a few well-chosen curses in that direction, but the natives, perhaps wisely, chose to stay put inside the sanctuary of their homes.

  “Gutless bastards!” screamed Bob. “I should have let the fucking tiger go on killing you all!” A sudden wild impulse took him and he ran to the Land Rover, snatched out his rifle. Ramming a cartridge into the chamber, he sighted up on the first object that caught his attention, an innocent goatskin gourd full of water that was hanging from the side of a house. He squeezed the trigger and the gourd jerked convulsively, its contents streaming out through the rent in its side.

  Abruptly, the windows were crammed with pale staring faces. Bob laughed almost hysterically, pumped the rifle bolt and took playful aim at the windows nearest to him. He could hear quite plainly the shouts of alarm from within, and he grinned with malicious intent. But at the last moment, he jerked the rifle upwards and fired at a clay chimney pot on the roof. It shattered and came down in a shower of broken bits, bouncing noisily off the corrugated iron roof. Lights were going on all through the village and shouting people were running out of doorways, then just as quickly ducking back in again, when they were greeted by the sight of an angry white man with a loaded rifle.

  “Yeah, run and hide!” yelled Bob. He began to stride through the village, cracking off shots in every direction, channelling his aggression into an excess of sheer delinquency, making a target of any paltry possession that caught his eye. It was a pathetic little revenge for the trick that had been played on him, but for the moment he was totally immersed in it.

  “Stop this!” The command came from behind him with unexpected force. Bob whipped instinctively around and for a moment, he was on the very verge of shooting the man who stood before him. It was the penghulu from Kampong Panjang. The little man stood with his arms spread out and an expression of alarm on his face. He kept his eyes fixed unwaveringly on the threatening barrel of the rifle that pointed straight at his chest.

  “The … Tuan is … angry?” he asked cautiously in a voice that was barely more than a croak.

  Bob glared at him for a moment and then, he slowly lowered the rifle. The penghulu gave an audible sigh of relief.

  “Yes, I’m angry,” snarled Bob. “Bloody angry. Anyway, what are you doing here?”

  “I come today to see Si-Pudong.… I stay with my cousin, here.” The penghulu gestured vaguely at the buildings behind him. “
But Tuan, why do you do this? We all thought you were a good man.…”

  “A good man! A mug you mean! Have you seen what they’ve done to my tiger? Here, look for yourself.” He grasped the penghulu roughly by his skinny elbow and frog-marched him over to the mutilated carcass. “There, look at that!” Bob took the lantern and held it over the corpse. “You see what the thieving bastards have done to my tiger.…”

  “Yours, Tuan?” The penghulu glanced at Bob slyly. “Forgive me, Tuan, but surely this was a creature of the jungle. Who can say that it belonged to anyone?”

  “Don’t give me that! A tiger belongs to the bloke who went out and got him. That’s me, in case you don’t remember. Now, I paid one of these monkeys to look after the carcass and when I returned, he’d buggered off and this had happened. When I catch up with him…”

  “Oh, never fear, Tuan, the man shall be caught and punished just as soon as I tell this to the Kampong Machis penghulu … er— That is, as soon as he plucks up the courage to come out here himself. But this man you leave on guard. What is his name?”

  Bob shrugged.

  “Well, I don’t know.”

  “And what does he look like?”

  “Well, er … he was … small … and dark.…” Bob slapped his own leg in exasperation. “Anyway, what the hell does it matter? The point is, this should never have happened! I went out into that jungle and risked my neck for this village, and this is how they repay me. I mean, where’s the fairness in that?”

  The penghulu frowned, shook his head. He clearly did not know the answer to that one.

  “The Tuan must remember,” he said. “These people who live in the kampongs. To them, Si-Pudong is a great and magical beast. To own a part of him is everyone’s wish.”

  “Well, then why don’t they go out and shoot one themselves?” snapped Bob bitterly.

  The penghulu gave a little laugh.

  “To say such a thing, you do not know Malays very well,” he observed. “A Malay has a special outlook on life, Tuan. Things are done only when they must be done. A man’s roof leaks, water falls on him … then he fixes roof, not before. You understand?”