Tiger, Tiger

by Philip Caveney

  “Between the two of us, we’ll get the bugger sooner or later,” he reckoned. He had also come up with an interesting explanation for the sudden spell of man-killing. The Game Department had, he told Bob, discovered that the local wild-pig population had been decimated by a virulent disease in the last few months, a malady rather like domestic swine-fever. The result was that the tigers’ main food source had been drastically reduced and this might account for the spate of attacks by the area’s resident tiger. Kirby had a good knowledge of the animals, but he surprised Bob by asking if “old Harry Sullivan” was still in the area. He went on to explain that in his estimation there was nobody in the area who knew more about them than Harry did.

  “I’ve only been on this job a few years,” he continued. “It takes a lifetime to learn about an animal as secretive as a tiger. You need any help, Bob, mark my words, Harry Sullivan’s the feller to see. Get the experience of an old hand behind you.” Bob had simply gritted his teeth and said nothing. And so the last couple of months had passed and still the tiger was at large. Now it was not simply a question of getting him eventually. The hunt had developed into a race against time. In a few weeks, Bob’s assignment here would come to an end, as his last batch of pupils headed home. He had sworn to himself that he would not quit Malaya without taking the beast’s head away with him.

  Lim bustled into the room from the direction of the kitchen.

  “Food ready soon,” she announced brightly. She had a duster in her hand and she began to busy herself with unnecessary cleaning, lifting the few ornaments that Bob had acquired and dusting underneath them. After a few moments, she came across to the table where Bob was working and began to tidy up his jumble of cleaning apparatus.

  “Leave that be!” he snapped irritably and she moved quickly away, as though he had slapped her. Her pretty face collapsed into an expression of misery and she attempted to hide the fact that she was crying by turning her back on him.

  “For Christ’s sake, what’s the matter now?” he shouted. For the last few days, Lim had been acting rather strangely, crying at the least little thing and Bob was rapidly beginning to lose patience with her. She did not answer him but simply ran back into the kitchen, slamming the door after her.

  Bob swore beneath his breath. After a few moments, he could quite clearly hear the sounds of her frenzied sobbing from the bare, echoing kitchen. He sighed. He was well aware that his inability to bag the tiger was making him more irritable than usual, but he did think that she was overdoing it a bit. But then, he reflected, Lim was all too aware that soon the “Tuan” would be heading back home and that she had absolutely no chance of going with him. What would happen to the amahs in general was anybody’s guess. It was obvious that they would have to find themselves an alternative line of work, or simply remain at home with their families, tending to a series of depressingly menial chores. The job she had now might be menial in itself, but at least it gave Lim independence.

  He suddenly felt ashamed of his snappiness and getting up, he went to the kitchen door, opened it, and peered in. Lim was standing by the sink, directing her sorrows into a large white handkerchief. She glanced up as he came in.

  “Hey, listen, Lim, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bawl you out like that.…” He slipped an arm protectively around her, a rare gesture on his part. He never extended any affection towards her, unless it was in the form of foreplay before sex. She hugged him gratefully, putting her head on his chest and he stroked her dark hair gently.

  “Now what’s it all about, eh?” he asked her gruffly.

  She sniffed softly.

  “I … I just wish you could kill that tiger, Tuan. Then perhaps you not be so angry with me.” She gazed up at him earnestly through eyes that were brimming with tears.

  “I’m not angry with you,” he assured her. “I’m angry with myself, that’s all. You wait and see, I’ll get him before much longer. Anyway, how come you aren’t afraid to say ‘tiger’? Most of the people up at the kampong wouldn’t say it for a hundred dollars.”

  She shrugged.

  “I not like them, Bob Tuan. They believe old tales.… I think like Western woman. I know better.” She dabbed at her eyes with the handkerchief, then glanced at him slyly. “Soon, Bob Tuan go home, yes?”

  “Er … yeah…” Bob turned quickly away from her. “I haven’t heard anything definite about that yet, Lim. When I do, you’ll be the first to know.” He changed the subject quickly. “Hey, how about a nice cup of coffee? I could use that!”

  She brightened a little, forced a smile.

  “Of course, Bob. If that’s what you want…”

  “Sure thing. And look, no more tears now, okay?” He tousled her hair briefly and then went back into the sitting room, closing the door after him. He resumed his former seat, swigged down the last of his beer, and then picking up the rifle, he sighted on an imaginary target, beyond the open doorway. Leaving would be difficult, he realized that now. Perhaps he should have thought twice before getting involved with the girl, but it was already far too late.

  “Tuan!” The shouting of a distant but familiar voice roused him from his thoughts. He stood up and hurried to the door, still carrying the rifle in his right hand. He stood on the verandah, shielding his eyes with the flat of his left. A battered bicycle was clattering towards him and seated on the perilous vehicle was the penghulu from Kampong Panjang. His little monkey face was shining with sweat and as he slowed the bike to a spectacular, shuddering halt, he shouted, “Another one, Tuan! Kampong Panjang again!”

  Bob did not waste any more time on useless conversation, for by now, this had become a well-drilled operation. While the penghulu loaded his bicycle into the back of the Land Rover, Bob rushed back into the house to grab the one or two bits of equipment that were not stored permanently in his vehicle. Reemerging a few moments later, he dashed straight to the Land Rover and scrambled into the driver’s seat.

  “How long ago?” he demanded tersely as the penghulu climbed in beside him.

  “Maybe half hour at most. I come soon as I hear.”

  “Good. Let’s get after the bugger!” Bob hit the ignition, threw the Land Rover into gear and accelerated away. The dust of its passing hung on the air in a great brownish cloud for several moments, before sinking slowly back to earth.

  The house was silent again, except for the rhythmic clinking of crockery in the kitchen. Lim was feeling better now and she hummed some half-remembered pop song as she poured out two large cups of coffee. Then placing them carefully on a small silver tray, she went to the sitting room door and opened it.

  “Coffee ready, Bob!” she called out. She stood in the doorway a few moments, gazing around. She frowned, noticing that his rifle was no longer lying on the table. She set down the tray and walked slowly to the open front door. She stood on the verandah for a moment, her hands hanging limply by her side, her face impassive. The Land Rover was gone and the streets beyond the gate were quite empty. Across the road, another young amah in a brightly patterned trouser suit waved briefly as she toted a heavy bucket of water onto the yard to wash it down. Lim returned the wave, but it was a slight, half-hearted affair.

  She went back into the empty sitting room, sat down at Bob’s worktable and began to drink her own cup of coffee, sipping at it mechanically, because it did not seem to taste of anything. She glanced down at the leopard skin rug. The head had been badly stuffed, the expression manipulated into something intended to represent the creature in mid-roar. Instead, it simply looked comical, as though the head had been inflated with a bicycle pump. It was a desecration of the animal’s own natural beauty and in no way suggested that the creature could ever have been alive. The blind glass eyes stared dully at Lim and she returned the gaze for a few moments. She had never had cause to think much about the beasts of the jungle but now she hated them, for they were constantly taking the Tuan away from her. He was never around when she needed to talk to him and now, more than ever, she needed to do jus
t that. She both loved and feared the Tuan at the same time; feared his quick hard words, his fierce temper, his heartless mocking laughter. Sometimes, lying in bed at night while he lay asleep beside her, Lim would begin to wonder if she herself were not some kind of trophy to him, an animal that he had trapped and mastered. Soon he would be going back to his own country and no doubt he would be taking his animal trophies along with him to show off to all his Australian friends … but not little Suzy Lim, oh no, she would be nothing more than a fond memory, something to boast to those same friends about. She could almost hear Bob’s strident voice, as she lay in the darkness, weary but far from sleep.

  “Had me a nice little servant girl out there … Chinese, eighteen years old, attended to all my needs, if you know what I mean! Well hell, you don’t have to marry a girl like that, fer Chrissakes! Where’s the sense in buying a sweet shop just so you can have a lick of the lollipop!” And then Lim could imagine the raucous laughter of Bob’s drinking friends as they clustered around him, slapping him on the back. The hollow mocking echoes of it rang in her ears until she had to bury her head in the pillows in a vain attempt to block it out. But it refused to go away, and even her dreams were filled with terrible images of fear and rejection.

  The time was quickly running out and there was something that she had to tell the Tuan before he left her forever; but Lim doubted that she had the necessary strength to raise her tiny voice so that he might hear her. And meanwhile, the tigers and the leopards, whether they lived and prowled the jungle or lay still and silent on the living room floor, were taking him away from her, were ruining the last few weeks that she might share with him.

  She could never forgive them for doing such a terrible thing. If all the tigers in Malaya were to vanish overnight, it would be enough to make her dance with joy. For perhaps then, the Tuan would stay in one place long enough for Lim to tell him all the things she felt in her heart. As it was, she was alone and her coffee tasted of nothing. With a sigh, she set her cup back down on the tray, picked this up and getting to her feet, she went back into the kitchen, closing the door behind her.

  * * *

  MELISSA ROLLED slowly onto her back, in order to allow the sun to scorch the stretched out front of her swimsuited body. With just a few weeks left before her return to England, she was doing what everybody else was occupied with—deepening her tan to the necessary “going-home” shade of dark brown, one that would make the “moonies” back home suitably envious. At any rate, there was certainly nothing else to do. For her too, the last couple of months had been frustrating to say the least. Over that time she had encountered Bob Beresford on only three occasions, all of them chance encounters, during which he had been polite, civil, and quite indifferent to her charms. The subject of their previous assignation had not even been mentioned and it was painfully clear to Melissa that Bob equated the loss of his tigerskin trophy with her. She had thought that the discovery of the continued existence of the man-eater would have in many ways, lessened the blow to his pride but this did not seem to be the case, and now Melissa was faced with the uninviting prospect of eating humble pie and presenting the hideous Victoria with her twenty dollars. The mere thought of it made her blood boil, but there really seemed to be no alternative.

  Melissa sighed. She stared up at a vast expanse of lapis-blue sky above her, darkened slightly by the twin frames of polarized glass before her eyes. A couple of fishing eagles were performing slow, lazy gliding patterns at an incredible height and she watched them intently for some time, until their repeated circular flight took them away to her left and out of her vision. Suntan oil tickled her shoulders and the sun was so fierce, it was an effort simply to lie motionless beneath it. From the kitchen behind her came the sounds of her mother preparing a meal in the small kitchen. The day was absolutely still with not the slightest breath of wind to provide relief. The ball of flame suspended in the sky above Melissa seemed to be sapping every ounce of energy from her body and it was all she could do to simply turn her head to one side.

  “If only he’d shoot that bloody tiger,” she found herself thinking. “Then maybe he’d be approachable. His ego would be boosted. Men are easier to get when they’re feeling good.…”

  Her thoughts were interrupted by the creaking of the metal gate. She glanced up hopefully, as she always did at such times, but was dismayed to see Victoria Lumly advancing up the path with a smug grin on her face.

  “Oh shit,” murmured Melissa beneath her breath. She made no effort to get up, indeed, she gave no indication that she had noticed the other girl’s arrival.

  “Hello, Melissa,” ventured Victoria hopefully. “Mind if I sit down?” She got no reply to this question, but sat down anyway on the sun-dried grass beside Melissa’s lounger.

  “That’s a fantastic suntan you’re getting,” she murmured patronizingly. “I wish I could get one, but it just turns into freckles. Waste of time really…”

  Melissa cringed involuntarily, knowing that Victoria only handed out compliments as a preamble to delivering less friendly overtures.

  “Where’s the bride of Dracula?” murmured Melissa at last, referring to Victoria’s more usual companion.

  “Allison? Oh, she went into Kuala Trengganu with her parents. Panic souvenir buying for the folks back home.” She grimaced. “I don’t expect I shall bother to take much back. How about you?”

  Melissa shrugged, kept her gaze fixed firmly on the sky.

  “Haven’t thought about it,” she said.

  “My mother’s going berserk. She’s buying a collection of the most frightful odds and ends to take back to aunts and uncles from Land’s End to John O’Groats. I had no idea we had so many of them.”

  Again Melissa said nothing. She was waiting, waiting for Victoria to turn the one-sided conversation around to her favourite subject. There was a long pregnant pause, interrupted only by the distant barking of a dog.

  “Any luck with Bob Beresford?” asked Victoria at last.

  “You know the answer to that well enough,” snapped Melissa icily.

  Victoria simply smiled. She was so thick-skinned it was unbelievable.

  “Only it is getting late,” she continued. “I know we didn’t actually set a date for you paying up.…”

  “We bloody well did!” retorted Melissa. “Three days before I leave, that was the deal as I remember it!”

  “Oh, was it?” Victoria gestured vaguely. “Yes, well, whenever it was … surely now that there’s no chance of you bringing it off, you wouldn’t mind paying up a bit earlier; I could really do with the money at the moment.…”

  Melissa’s temper flared, bringing out the obstinate creature that always lurked below her more rational exterior.

  “Who said there’s no chance?” she retaliated crossly.

  Victoria glanced nervously towards the house as though afraid of being overheard.

  “Well, it certainly looks as if…”

  “If you must know, I’m not doing badly at all, thank you very much! The fact is I’ve just been playing him along up till now.”

  “Playing him along?” Victoria raised her eyebrows mockingly. “From where I’m sitting, it seems like he’s doing all the playing. Besides, I’ve just heard something about your precious Mr. Beresford that puts an entirely different complexion on things. If you must know, he—”

  “Oh, stuff your silly gossip!” cried Melissa. She was impassioned enough to sit up on the sun-bed and lean towards her tormentor. “Why don’t you mind your own business and leave this to me?”

  “You’re just trying to get out of the bet,” whined Victoria bitterly.

  “No I’m not. In fact … I was thinking of raising it!” said Melissa, in a sudden rush of bravado.

  “You wouldn’t dare!” sneered Victoria.

  “How does fifty dollars sound?”

  “Fifty!” Victoria gazed at Melissa for a moment, her eyes narrowing to suspicious slits. “You’d be throwing your money away,” she announced
flatly. “If what I just heard is anything more than a rumour…”

  “Oh, stuff the rumours! I told you, I don’t want to listen to them. The fact is Bob Beresford is crazy about me and I could have him any time I wanted. It’s just a question of snapping my fingers, that’s all.”

  Victoria put her hands on her stout hips and shook her head knowingly.

  “If he’s crazy about you, he certainly knows how to hide it,” she chuckled. “And if that is the case, why didn’t you exercise your uncanny powers some time ago?”

  Melissa thrust her jaw forward.

  “Two reasons,” she snapped. “One, so I could make more money out of it. Two, just to make you sweat!”

  The two girls squared up to each other in silent defiance for several moments.

  “You’re lying,” murmured Victoria, at last.

  Melissa extended her hand.

  “Fifty dollars,” she said coolly.

  Victoria gazed at the hand thoughtfully for a few moments.

  “You’re going to lose,” she whispered.

  “Fifty dollars,” repeated Melissa.

  Victoria glanced nervously at the house again.