“Oh … I feel … restful. Very restful. I hope I didn’t drag you away from anything … important.”
“Don’t be silly. I’m glad to be here.…” She pulled up a chair and sat beside him, hardly knowing what to say.
“The tiger … is dead now. Did they tell you?”
She nodded.
“Ah, but the poor old devil,” sighed Harry. “In such pain, such terrible pain. All he wanted was to rest, you see … and did they tell you about … poor little Ché?”
“Yes, they did. They said it was Bob Beresford’s fault. How could I have ever felt anything for that … that megalomaniac…?”
Harry shook his head.
“We mustn’t be too hard on him,” he warned. “The poor devil will always have it on his conscience. In a way, I wish that he’d been able to get … that tiger. Then he would have been happy and Ché … Ché would still be…” His voice trailed away for a moment, and an expression of pain came over his features.
“Uncle Harry, are you alright? Shall I call for…?”
“No no, I’m fine … just a little … discomfort now and then. Somebody trying to tell me I’m … outstaying my welcome, that’s all.”
“You mustn’t talk like that! I was speaking with the doctor just now and he said everybody was very hopeful.…”
Harry gave a weak little chuckle.
“Pish, girl! You never could lie to me and get away with it. Remember when you were only little, and you broke a teacup at my house? Goodness, the elaborate stories you created … but all along … I knew it was you.…”
Melissa bowed her head. A terrible ache was filling her chest and she could not prevent her eyes from filling with tears.
“Now, now…” Harry lifted an arm and tilted her chin up, so he could study her face. “No crying now … you’ll spoil that pretty face.…”
“Oh Uncle Harry!” She tried to say something else, but her words collapsed into the formless misery of sorrow. It was several minutes before she could control herself enough to hear what he had to say.
“You were always my favourite, you know … you and Ché … now he’s gone and you … you’ll soon be off to start a new life in England. I just wanted to tell you … that you must forget about any mistakes you’ve made in the last few months … you’re going to begin again … and you’re going to reach the potential I know you’re capable of.” He lifted his head with great effort and pointed to his bedside table. “There … something for you … I want you to have it.”
Melissa turned to look where he was pointing. A silver chain lay on the table top, a silver chain, with a tiny Saint Christopher medallion on it. Melissa thought of the bullet-shaped pendant she had contrived to steal and she felt horribly ashamed.
“Oh, Uncle Harry,” she whispered. ”It’s far too good for me.”
“Nonsense, child. Please … keep it … wear it … and think of me.…” His eyes seemed to widen a little and he seemed to be attempting to sit up, but he did not possess the necessary strength. “Please … write to Marion for me … tell her … tell her that I lo—”
A shadow seemed cross his face. The eyes, gentle in death, clouded and his head moved slowly back down to the pillow. The remainder of his sentence escaped as a long harsh exhalation of air. Melissa sat staring down in horror at the abruptness of the transformation. His hand was still clutched tightly around hers. With an effort, she prized the gaunt fingers away and clutching the Saint Christopher tightly, she walked quietly to the door. As she went out, Dennis and the doctor came hurrying towards her. Melissa stared at them through a film of tears and shook her head blankly. The doctor hurried into the room.
“I’ll take you home,” murmured Dennis.
“Please … no. Can I—can I walk?”
“Well, do you think that’s a good idea? You’re not in a very good…”
“Let me walk!” she snapped, and hurried away along the corridor, wanting to be outside when the full grief of Harry’s death hit her. For the moment, she was still stunned by the suddenness of it. She groped her way blindly along the corridors and out through the exit into the sunlight. She stood for a moment, gazing blankly around at the deserted barracks. This place too, was dead now. Impulsively, she kicked free of her shoes and ran across the parade ground, towards the main gates. Overhead, a grubby Union Jack fluttered forlornly at half mast. The sentry at the gate stared at her in surprise as she raced sobbing past him, but he made no attempt to stop her. Then she was out on the road, running hard between ranks of lush green vegetation, oblivious to the pain that the hot surface of the tarmac caused to her naked feet, aware only of the great aching void of misery that was rising, steadily rising within her. She had just witnessed the death of the finest man she had ever known and she could not rid herself of the awful conviction that in the last months of his life, she had treated him shabbily, blinded as she was by her infatuation for a younger and far less worthy man.
The misery in her chest welled into a great bitter balloon, that burst abruptly, flooding her with sorrow. She slowed to a walk, her shoulders heaving with uncontrollable emotion. She walked blindly onwards, blundering occasionally into the overhanging bushes at the edge of the road, her eyes blurred with tears, as she gradually sobbed the grief away. Harry was dead. Nothing could ever make the loss seem easier to bear.
She walked onwards, her head bowed and as she put distance behind her, so bit by bit, she gained control of herself, fell into a grim melancholic silence. She wiped her eyes on the sleeve of her blouse, smearing the white cotton with trails of black mascara. She stared impassively along the deserted road ahead. Now, more than anything else, she wanted to be away from this place, away from the humid, unrelenting heat, away from the strange dusky people and their ancient customs which she had never learned to understand. Harry had been a part of it all, he belonged somehow, but the day of the Tuan was over with now and Melissa wanted no part of it. What was it Harry had called himself that time…? Oh yes—the last dinosaur in this patch of swamp. The edges of Melissa’s mouth curved upwards the smallest amount as she began to remember.…
She was approaching Kampong Panjang when she first became aware of the sounds, distant at first, but rapidly growing in volume. It was a clamour, a rhythmic cacophony, an exhaltation. She quickened her step a little, puzzled and intrigued. The noise swelled. Now she could make out the sounds of voices, making a rowdy incomprehensible chant.
Around a curve in the road came the tiger. Melissa was momentarily shocked by the sight of the dark-striped tawny body, curving and threshing in the brilliant sunlight. The body was supported on stout poles that had been impaled into chest and groin and throat and paws; beneath the heavy body, a series of men danced along, manipulating the poles, oblivious to the dark splashes of gore that rained down their half-naked bodies. The tiger was thus imbued with new life, it lurched and bobbed in a pathetic semblance of life, its great jaws gaping, its swollen tongue lolling out, surrounded by a filthy halo of buzzing flies. In the wake of the slain tiger followed a noisy jubilant host of villagers, many of them beating on drums and tin cans, all of them shouting and singing about the death of the man-eater.
Melissa stood hesitantly in the middle of the road as the procession bore down on her. She stared in horrified fascination at the great dead beast that seemed to hover, godlike, above her. The pole carriers, spotting the lone white girl, swooped forward in a sudden whooping run, shouting gleefully at her; but she could not understand them and felt only threatened by their exhortations. She began to back slowly away, but then they were up with her, they were circling around her laughing uproariously and the tiger was so close, she could smell the stink of its already decomposing flesh.
“Please … let me go. I—”
But now the crowd was pressing in around her, she was at the centre of a great dusky circle of jostling bodies and flashing teeth. She glanced around in a panic, as arms pulled at her, invited her to join the procession. She glanced up and the tig
er swayed in a bloated dance of death, the once magnificent eyes staring sightlessly at the puny creatures gathered below.
A sensation of revulsion filled Melissa. She had but recently seen the death of one old tiger and at last he had been allowed the dignity, the sanctity of rest. For this beast, the path would not be so smooth. When the villagers tired of parading the heavy carcass around, the body would be torn up to provide keepsakes and souvenirs, medicines and charms. If by some miracle the hide was left intact, it would doubtless end up in some souvenir shop in Kuala Trengganu, being ogled by a succession of silly tourists. Whatever was left would be thrown out in the scrub, for the various other scavengers to dispose of. For all his deprivations, the tiger surely deserved something better than that.
Lost in noisy chaos, Melissa found her own voice. She began to scream a vicious collection of curses as she pushed her way roughly through the crowd seeking escape. The villagers fell obediently aside, shocked and bewildered by her reaction. Some of them paused to stare at her as she burst out of the crowd and ran away along the road, but the white girl was quickly forgotten. The villagers closed ranks and moved rowdily onwards, beating their drums, chanting their chants. Above them, the tiger god danced, a tragic, jerky ballet. In life he had always gone his own way; only in death could he be made to dance to someone else’s tune.
Melissa slowed to a walk again. She did not glance back at the procession as it moved on in the direction of Kuala Hitam. She wiped the last vestiges of tears from her eyes with her already sodden sleeve, and then, liftng her head, she began to move on in the direction of home, walking with a newfound spring in her step. For the first time in many long months, she felt that she really knew where she was going. She began to make plans for her return to England and so occupied was she with her thoughts, that she did not notice the approach of her father’s car until it was right beside her. She turned, gazed in at Dennis.
“Better now?” he asked her cautiously.
She nodded, forcing a smile.
“Better,” she replied. “Let’s go, shall we?”
She opened the door and climbed in beside him. She could see from the redness of his eyes that he had been crying too and she was momentarily shocked by the realization that her father was capable of such a thing. They sat in the car for a few moments, neither of them saying a word, both realizing that there was very little they could say. Both of them felt a profound sense of ending, as though something very important had abruptly finished.
“Did you see the procession?” asked Dennis at last. “The tiger…?” His voice was hoarse and heavy with grief. Melissa nodded. She watched her father for a moment, seeing that he wanted to say more, but that he could not find words. She reached out and squeezed his hand gently.
“It’s over,” she said simply.
“Yes.” Dennis nodded. He reached out and turned the ignition key. The engine rumbled into life.
“I wonder…” he murmured, “who’ll tell Marion?”
“I will,” replied Melissa without hesitation. “Harry asked me to tell her.”
Dennis glanced at her in surprise, noting the new look of determination in her eyes. She looked away from him and stared down at a small silver medallion she held in her hand. It had been clenched in her fist all this time, so tightly that it had left an angry red imprint on the soft flesh of her palm. “He wanted me to have this,” she said softly.
Dennis nodded. He let out the clutch and the car accelerated away down the road. They drove home in silence.
* * *
TIMAH APPROACHED the cave cautiously. Instinct had brought her to this place, just as instinct told her that the time was near, that the increasing movements deep in her belly could be contained no more. She hesitated in the entrance of the cave, staring into the shadows and snuffing the air nervously. But there was no occupant. She slipped gratefully into its cool sanctuary and paced restlessly up and down in its narrow confines for several minutes. Haji had been here recently, she could still detect faint traces of his smell and this comforted her, for it was her first litter and she was anxious. After a while, she sat down in the farthest corner with her back up against the granite wall and lifting one back leg, she reached down to lick repeatedly at her vulva. This stimulated pain there, but she bore it in silence, began to exert pressure on her hind quarters, pausing every so often to repeat the licking process.
After ten minutes, the head of the first cub had emerged from her body, red and unidentifiable in its fleshy sac. She increased the pressure and the protuberance slid smoothly out and dropped to the floor of the cave. Two more cubs followed at ten-minute intervals and only the last provided her with any real problems. It was lying awkwardly in her womb, and she was obliged to sit with one back leg raised, exerting powerful pressure before she could expell the sac. Only then did she set about freeing the cubs from their bloody prisons, lapping up the sacs, umbilical cords and placenta that would provide her with much needed nourishment over the next few days. She licked the cubs clean with her great rasping tongue, rejoicing at the wriggling motions they made in response. They all seemed healthy enough, blind, mewing little bundles that began to grope their way towards Timah’s milk-filled teats the moment she stretched herself out.
Outside the light was failing fast as the brief twilight advanced. Tired from her exertions, Timah settled down in the shadowy sanctuary, while the cubs moved warm and impatient against her belly, their toothless little jaws seeking nourishment. The anxieties of the last few hours had gone now and a great contentment settled over her. She lowered her head to the cave floor and settled quickly into a deep dreamless slumber. She woke once, some hours later, when one of the cubs moved restlessly in his sleep and tumbled away from his two sisters. Timah raised her head for a moment and nudged him gently back to the reassuring warmth of her flank. She glanced calmly out to the mouth of the cave, but the unfathomable darkness there did not frighten her. It was an easy enough matter to find sleep again.
GLOSSARY
amah servant
berok pig-tailed monkey
bomoh witch doctor
chit-chat gecko or house lizard
gaur wild buffalo
harimau tiger
kampong village
kris ceremonial dagger
machan a blind
nanti sikit creepers (literally “wait a while”)
padi wet land in which rice is grown
parang long-bladed jungle knife
penghulu village headman
rusa deer
san fu trouser suit
seladang wild cattle
selamat petang good evening
Sepak Takraw game played with a rattan football
Si-Pudong Old Hairy Face
terima kasih thank you
tok belang tiger (literally “striped prince”)
tok landak porcupine
trishaw bicycle-driven taxi
BY THE SAME AUTHOR
The Sins of Rachel Ellis
A glossary of foreign terms is provided here.
TIGER, TIGER. Copyright © 1984 by Philip Caveney. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.
eBooks may be purchased for business or promotional use. For information on bulk purchases, please contact Macmillan Corporate and Premium Sales Department by writing to [email protected].
ISBN 0-312-80448-2
First Edition
eISBN 9781466884823
First eBook edition: October 2014
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Tiger, Tiger Page 43
