Harry’s hand closed, not around the stock of the hunting rifle but around the container of cold meats that was already being investigated by several soldier ants. He lifted the container slowly, keeping it in view all the time. Again, the tiger growled and there was such pent-up power in the sound, the ground seemed to vibrate with the force of it. Harry swallowed hard. What he was about to do might easily be misconstrued and it was a simple enough task for the tiger to reach him, one easy leap across the short distance that separated them. Nevertheless, Harry raised his hand suddenly and threw the meat across the clearing, straight at the cat’s feet. The tiger recoiled with a roar of warning, seemed on the point of running away, but then the scent of the meat reached his nostrils and lowering his head, he sniffed at the spilled contents of the container. In an instant, he had lapped the meagre contents up with his great rasping tongue. He glanced up at Harry again, as though hopeful for something else, but Harry could only shrug.
“That’s all there is, old fellow,” he murmured. “I’m sorry.”
He watched as the tiger sniffed vainly at the empty container, lapped up a couple of spilled crumbs on the ground. It would be such an easy task now to put the creature out of his misery.… Harry’s hand strayed in the direction of the rifle, but as if realizing that this was the hunter’s intention, the cat wheeled about and limped away into the darkness.
Harry sighed. “Tomorrow then,” he mused. “We’ll finish it tomorrow.”
He leaned back against the tree and closed his eyes again. He felt quite secure, convinced that the tiger would not return that night. He fell quickly back into a deep sleep, and this time there were no nightmares to trouble him.
* * *
HAJI CREPT silently into the small cave. He had not been here since the time he had found Seti’s body, but the recollection had dimmed in his mind now and he only associated the place with shelter. The various scavengers of the jungle had picked the place clean of any evidence, there was not so much as a bone left to mark the incident. Haji paced restlessly up and down for a moment in the narrow confines of the cave and then flopped down to lap at his wounds for a moment. The pain was a constant torment to him, more terrible than the misery he had endured with his leg, for this was something that clawed at his guts from deep inside, he could not even reach the source of the agony. He felt weak now and closer to death than he had ever been before, yet he would not give in to it readily. He had gone to look at the old Upright earlier with the object of making a kill but for some reason, he had been unable to follow through. It was because the Upright had looked at him, had gazed deeply into his eyes and no other of these strange intelligent creatures had ever done that to Haji before. The same thing had happened when he had begun an attack in the bamboo thicket that day. At the last moment those eyes had looked into his and the look had not been that of a stricken creature about to die. It had been the look of a brother, the calm peaceful gaze that one tiger gives another upon a chance meeting. The shock had been so great that Haji had veered away in surprise, had been unable to continue the attack. The same feelings had communicated themselves tonight. It was not that the Upright wasn’t afraid; the strange lonely smell of terror had been on him on both occasions … but that look, that calm, accepting … almost welcoming look … that was what Haji could not understand. And like any animal, he feared that which was inexplicable to him.
He gave up the vain task of lapping at his wounds and stretched out on the reassuring hardness of the cave floor, closing his eyes and giving out a low formless moan of misery. He was exhausted and despite his discomfort, he soon drifted into a shallow, fitful doze.
He dreamed that he was a tiny puling cub again, nestling blindly up against the great reassuring warmth of his mother, in a time when his only needs were a belly full of milk and the cruel dictates of survival had not even occurred to him. He woke once just before dawn, with the firm conviction that the strange old Upright would come after him again at first light. With a growl of annoyance, he settled down again but the dream was lost to him now and he could do nothing but lie, wide-awake and wracked with pain, till the first rays of light illuminated the eastern sky.
* * *
SHIVERING in the first light of dawn, Harry stamped the ashes of his campfire away and resumed the hunt, casting about until he picked up the trail that the cat had left the previous night. The tiger’s wounds were slowing him down, and Harry felt sure that he could not have travelled too far.
After a couple of miles, he found a small cave, where the cat had obviously rested for the night. There were dried bloodstains on the floor where he had stretched out to sleep. From the cave mouth, the pugs led upwards to higher, rockier ground, where tracking was difficult, but luckily the cat’s exertions had set the bullet wound bleeding again. The fact that the splashes were barely congealed suggested that the quarry could not be too far ahead. Harry climbed steadily upwards, stopping occasionally to catch his breath. Soon he was able to gaze down into the lushly vegetated valley, spread out some distance below him. The hours went steadily by. A little after eight o’clock, his gaze was caught by a signal flare soaring up into the sky from down in the valley. Listening intently, he thought he could just about make out the sounds of distant shouting. Clearly a search party had been mounted on his behalf. He felt rather flattered that anyone should take such trouble on his account but nevertheless, he did not check his pace.
He moved into an area of deep granite gulleys and large strewn boulders, where there was scant vegetation, but ample opportunity for a predator to take cover. The sun was growing in strength by the minute and there was not a single streak of cloud in the sky. Harry could not have asked for a more magnificent day. He found himself thinking about what he would be doing if he were at home now. Not a great deal, he decided. Reading the paper perhaps or eating a little breakfast. He wondered how Beresford was feeling right now, with the weight of Ché’s death squarely on his shoulders. For the first time, he actually found himself feeling sorry for the Australian, though he could surely never forgive him for his irresponsible actions.
“But I’ve been irresponsible too,” he reasoned. “Perhaps if I’d swallowed my dislike of the man and agreed to help him earlier.…”
The trail led into a steep gulley, the site of a dry river bed. Granite walls rose sheer on either side to obscured boulder-littered ledges. Harry advanced cautiously forward. Everything was as quiet as the grave here and he had, once again, the distinct impression that the tiger was not far away. This suspicion was amplified when he could no longer spot any traces of blood directly ahead of him. It seemed likely that the cat had climbed up one of the slopes to take up a position on one of the ledges. Harry didn’t much fancy the idea of staying on the river bed where the tiger might just drop onto him at any moment, so after casting hastily around for signs of blood on the inclines with no success, he decided to follow suit and climb up to the ledge himself, hoping to get a better view of the possible hiding places. He could only hope that he wasn’t heading directly for the place where the tiger was concealed.
He began to move slowly upwards, his boots slipping awkwardly on the steep granite surface. It was hard going and after a few minutes, he was bathed with sweat. He was about three quarters of the way to the ledge when he abruptly realized that his luck was out. The tiger appeared from behind a large boulder directly ahead of him and came charging down the decline with a bellow of rage. Harry fumbled the rifle from his shoulder and began to swing it up into a firing position but he was slow and badly out of balance on the steep ground. The tiger’s great paws struck him before he could even fire a shot, knocking him to the ground and sending him sprawling over and over, back down to the river bed. The tiger struck ground badly too, landing squarely on his injured leg and with a howl of pain, he went spinning too, to land with a heavy crash some ten yards from the place where Harry was stretched out. For a moment, neither of them moved.
Harry gave a slight groan. He had landed awkwardl
y on one leg and was unable to move it. Glancing up, he saw the tiger was momentarily stunned by the impact of the fall. Harry began to look desperately around for his rifle and then he spotted it, lying on the slope, some ten yards above him. He swore beneath his breath and started dragging himself towards it, gritting his teeth at the agony this induced in his left leg, which was quite obviously broken. Behind him, a low growl suggested that the tiger was recovering his senses a little too quickly for comfort. Galvanized by fear, Harry lifted himself clear of the ground and literally threw himself across the intervening space. The shock of pain as he struck the ground nearly caused him to faint, but his hands closed around the stock of the rifle and he twisted over onto his back, to stare down at the tiger. The cat was hunched at the bottom of the gully, snarling ferociously and preparing to leap upwards. There was no time to aim. Harry simply pointed the barrel downwards, between his feet and as the tiger launched himself, he squeezed the trigger. The tiger was in mid-leap as the bullet slammed its way right down his open jaws and into his heart, killing him instantly. The leap fell short but the tiger’s great weight came crashing down on Harry’s chest, pinning him to the rock. The beautiful yellow eyes stared sightlessly into his own and the great open jaws were frozen in a grimace of death, mere inches from his face. Harry’s head fell back and he gave a groan of mingled pain and exhaustion. He was close to fainting. He put his hands beneath the tiger’s carcass and attempted to lift the body off, but it was a crushing dead weight that simply would not be moved. Harry dropped back again, gasping for breath. His senses were reeling and the terrible pain had come back into his chest. He had gashed his head on the rock during the fall and a trickle of blood was running into his eyes.
He remembered the signal flare he had seen earlier and with one last effort, he managed to pull the rifle clear of the tiger’s body. Pointing the gun into the air and working the bolt each time, he managed to fire three shots before his strength finally gave out and unconsciousness came creeping in to claim him.
The last thing he saw was the tiger’s snarling face, gazing at him from the midst of a rushing roaring mist but then the image was gone and there was a blackness that took him in, offering rest and shelter from the cruel sun that was burning into his eyes. He slept and did not hear the sounds of the rescue party as they came racing along the stone-littered dryness of the river bed.
CHAPTER 35
BOB BERESFORD gazed apprehensively at the telephone booth. He glanced at his watch. Almost time. It was early morning and the sun had not reached its full strength yet. The long dusty street was completely deserted. He had not slept through the long interminable night, plagued as he was by doubts and a terrible sense of guilt. Worst of all was the knowledge that he could do nothing to make amends for Ché’s death. It would be on his conscience for the rest of his life. He recalled the faces of the boy’s parents back at the kampong, when he had brought the child’s lifeless body home. At first their expressions were just masks of inarticulate grief, but as Bob had stammered his clumsy explanations, those expressions had quickly turned to stares of hateful accusation. He had sobbed his apologies and escaped as quickly as possible, driving home at a dangerous speed, realizing that there was the only person in the world who could give him any solace. Lim had stayed with him since then, attending to his every need, talking with him, insisting that he could not be expected to bear the full blame for Ché’s death. She had not managed to convince him of it, but at least she had made the pain more possible to sustain.
She stood beside him now, a guardian angel that he did not rightly deserve.
The telephone rang shrilly within the glass booth. Bob glanced nervously at Lim and then moved away from her, opened the door and stepped inside. He was grateful that it was not later in the day. The small glass box would be like an oven with the sun’s full strength beating down onto it. The phone continued to ring. Bob stared at it for several moments, wondering vaguely why it was only now that he had chosen to take this action. Perhaps it was simply the instinctive reaction of any boy who had suffered an unexpected fall. He picked up the receiver.
An operator’s clipped tones reached his ears.
“Hello, Mr. Beresford?”
“Speaking.”
“Your long-distance call to Sydney, Australia.”
“Thank you.”
“Will you put your money in now, please? I am trying to connect you.”
He gorged the metal box with coins, pushing them one after the other into the slot, until he had reached the prearranged amount. There was a long silence, during which he visualized mile upon mile of metal cable, along which a tiny spark of electricity was speeding. He turned and gazed thoughtfully at Lim through the glass. She gave him a reassuring smile. Somewhere, a long way away, a telephone rang, a tiny metallic insect buzzing. It rang for what seemed an eternity and Bob was almost on the point of replacing the receiver when unexpectedly, someone picked up the phone.
Another silence. Then a woman’s voice, cautious, unsure of herself.
“Hello?” The voice was painfully familiar and the sound of it made Bob’s eyes fill with moisture. “Hello, who’s there?”
“Hello, Ma,” he said simply.
“Bob? Bob, is that you?” He could picture her astonishment. She must have given him up by now. When she spoke again, her voice was tremulous with emotion. “Bob, where have you been? I thought you were angry with me … you never answered one of my letters…”
“I’ve been very busy, Ma,” he lied. “But I’ll be finishing up here in a week or so. I was thinking about coming home for a while.…”
“Home? Oh yes, that would be wonderful … you … you know that Frank will be here, don’t you?” she added cautiously.
“Sure. Where else would your husband be?”
She sounded relieved.
“Oh, he’s a nice man, Bob, I’m sure you’ll get on well with him, if you just give him a chance … oh lord, I can hardly believe I’m talking to you after all this time! It will be so good to see you again, Bob. I can’t begin to tell you … when can I expect to see you?”
“I don’t know for sure yet, Ma. I’ve got to make all the arrangements … but I’m looking forward to being home again. Things … didn’t really work out too well for me here.…” He glanced once again through the glass, and Lim was gazing hopefully at him. He nodded almost imperceptibly. “One other thing, Ma,” he added. “I won’t be coming by myself. I’m … planning to bring a wife with me.…” There was a long stunned silence on the other end of the line. “Ma? Ma? Are you still there?”
* * *
THE TAXI screeched to a halt by the gates of the Kuala Hitam Army Hospital. Melissa thrust a five-dollar bill into the driver’s hand and clambered out, not waiting for any change. As she hurried towards the hospital entrance, her father came out to greet her. He took her arm and escorted her inside.
“There’s not much time,” he told her tonelessly. “He’s been asking for you repeatedly.” They moved along grey corridors that smelled of antiseptic.
“Is there no hope then?” asked Melissa in a small, anxious voice.
Dennis shook his head.
“The doctors say it’s a miracle he’s hung on this long. If the Gurkhas hadn’t been so close behind him, he wouldn’t have even survived the trip back. There isn’t the equipment here to give him the attention he needs, but he wouldn’t last out the flight to K.L. I’ve been with him this morning. He knows he’s on the way out, but he’s going with grace.”
“But why me? Why does he want to see me?”
Dennis shrugged.
“He didn’t say. But listen, love, try to put on a brave face for him, eh?”
She shook her head.
“I just won’t know what to say,” she reasoned.
“Try your best.” He came to a plain, black painted door and rapped politely with his knuckles. The door opened and a white-coated doctor came out.
“This is my daughter,” explained Denn
is. “How is he now?”
The doctor shook his head.
“We’re losing him very quickly now. I’m afraid it’s just a matter of time. You’d better go along in, Miss Tremayne.”
Melissa glanced helplessly at her father.
“Come in with me,” she pleaded, but he shook his head.
“It’s you he wants to see now,” he said gravely.
Melissa nodded, took a deep breath. She was shaking. She had never been in such close proximity to death before and it frightened her. She stepped into the room and the door clicked quietly shut behind her. She stood where she was for the moment, staring sadly at the figure in the bed.
Her first impression was of smallness. Harry’s six-foot frame seemed to have dwindled to half its size, it was dwarfed by the great snowy immensity of the bed in which he was lying. Around the bed was hung the various paraphernalia of science; clear bottles hung on racks, tubes fed into arms, electrical machines that clicked and buzzed and all to no avail. Harry was dying and nothing could change the fact.
Melissa took a step forward. His eyes were closed and his chest rose and fell beneath the white sheets, almost imperceptibly.
“Uncle Harry?” she murmured, but at first there was no response.
“Uncle Harry … it’s me. Melissa…”
His eyelids trembled, flicked open. He lay gazing up at her for a moment and then the faintest trace of a smile curved itself upon his lips.
“Melissa … so there you are.…”
The voice too was small, a ghost of its former self. Melissa stepped forward again, to stand beside the bed. Instinctively, she reached out to clutch one of his hands in hers, and she felt the gentle pressure as he tried to squeeze it in a gesture of affection.
“How … how do you feel?” she asked and hated herself for such a stupid question.
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