Leopard Adventure

by Anthony McGowan

  A hungry-looking frog …

  She licked her lips and pointed to the pot of black stew. What was she saying? That the stew was tasty? Or that he was going to end up in it, and she would very much enjoy eating him?

  And now Boris had begun to sing. He was probably annoyed that no one was paying him any attention.

  ‘Kalinka, Kalinka …’ he sang, sounding like a village idiot blowing on a set of broken bagpipes.

  And then Frazer thought he heard something else – something from outside the cabin. A shout? Or just the cry of a bird?

  ‘Guys,’ he said to the group huddled over the map, ‘did you hear –’

  ‘Quiet, please, Frazer,’ said Miranda without looking round. ‘Can’t you see we’re planning the route for tomorrow? The last thing we need is to get lost.’

  ‘But –’

  ‘Tell me in five minutes.’

  Frazer decided to go see – at least it would get him out of the crazy hut. At the last moment he grabbed the case holding the X-Ark, flicked it open, took out his pride and joy and slotted in one of the darts.

  He opened the door and stepped out into the darkness and something black dashed past him, almost knocking him off his feet.

  ‘What the –’

  The dog.

  Boris the dumb mutt.

  It had bolted straight into the cabin, thumping through the half-open door.

  And then, as he peered into the dark, he saw what was happening in the yard. Amazon was slowly picking herself up off the ground. She was staring fixedly behind her. Frazer followed the line of her gaze. And there he saw, shimmering in the gloom, like something from a dream, a tiger.

  It couldn’t be.

  But it was.

  It looked strangely confused, as if it didn’t know what to do. Frazer had been in tricky situations before, though nothing quite like this. But he had to do something.

  And that something involved the X-Ark.

  Carefully he raised the tranq gun to his shoulder. It was a weird repeat of the whole giant-forest-hog incident. The thought came to him that if he hit Amazon again, this time nothing would save her – the tiger wasn’t protecting its young, but stalking its prey.

  And last time he’d aimed at the beast and hit the butt.

  Should he aim at Amazon’s butt, this time then? Was that his only hope of hitting the tiger?

  Was it all because he hadn’t set the sights properly? Maybe he shouldn’t bother with the hi-tech sights at all, but go on instinct, like Luke Skywalker in Star Wars.

  Yeah, that was it. He needed to go all Jedi. He needed the Force. He had to listen for the inner voice that would show him the way. He closed his eyes, and …

  ‘No!’

  He opened his eyes, and saw next to him a teenage boy. The boy was older than Frazer and Amazon, but he was a head shorter than either. He had the same oriental features as the old woman, but he was wearing jeans and a sweatshirt. Frazer guessed that this must be the grandson he’d heard about.

  ‘My grandfather will fix this, I assure you,’ he said. His English was oddly formal. The accent was strange, with hints of American mingling with the Russian, and other more exotic elements.

  And then almost magically, it seemed to Frazer, a figure appeared out of thin air, materializing between Amazon and the tiger.

  ‘Amba! Amba!’

  Those were the only words that Amazon heard clearly. More words followed, some sounding harsh and scolding, some soft and almost pleading.

  Amazon looked up from where she lay, cowering. What she saw was most strange. A short figure was standing in between her and the trees, facing the forest. His arms were open wide, and he held a heavy forked stick in one hand.

  He was talking to something, although his stocky frame blocked Amazon’s view, so she couldn’t see what.

  But she heard it. A low rumbling growl that flared up into a harsher roar.

  And still the little man spoke to the tiger – for tiger surely it was. And as he spoke he moved slowly forward. And for the first time Amazon saw the creature.

  It was magnificent. And terrifying. And truly, as the moon momentarily appeared from behind the thick cloud, it did burn bright in that forest of the night.

  Amazon could sense the huge power in its limbs, the strength of its jaws, the cunning hunter’s intelligence that glittered in its eyes.

  And yet, for all its concentrated power, it moved steadily backwards away from the little man. And Amazon sensed that the animal retreated not fearfully, but almost sulkily, as if it had been caught out doing something it knew was wrong.

  And then Amazon realized what was so familiar in the man’s tone of voice – he was telling it off! He was actually scolding the tiger, the way you would a naughty child. But also encouraging it to try harder to be good.

  And it was wonderful, and almost funny. But then, just before the tiger reached the scrubby edge of the clearing, confusion descended.

  Light and noise filled the space as the cabin door was thrown open, and then there came a bang that sounded to Amazon like a bomb going off in her own head. There was a snarling roar from the tiger – a roar this time not of threat, but of pain, and suddenly it was no longer there. It had passed through the wall of trees like a flame.

  The little man turned, and Amazon saw the murderous black look on his face. She felt it, almost like a physical force, as if someone had slapped her.

  And then she was surrounded by noise and bustle and concerned voices.

  ‘Zonnie, you OK?’ asked Frazer, helping her to her feet. ‘I had you covered with the X-Ark, but then this guy appeared …’ He gestured at the teenage stranger.

  ‘What’s happened? What’s been going on?’ said Miranda.

  ‘Is easy,’ said Boris, towering over them all. He was carrying a rifle. ‘Tiger come for girl. Boris, he save life. Is no need to thank. Is Boris job.’

  ‘You had no right to fire at the tiger,’ said Bob Doolins with quiet rage.

  Boris spat on the ground. ‘Eh? What more important – life of tiger or life of English girl? Not even crazy man like you can think this, that animal is worth more than person. Anyway, if Boris fire at tiger then tiger would be dead. Boris just frighten.’

  ‘Hey, my life wasn’t in danger, and as I’ve already told you, I’m not –’

  Amazon never finished her sentence. The rage of the little man – who truly had saved Amazon’s life (or so she thought) – was not at all quiet. He stormed up to the giant Russian and shoved him squarely in the chest. The man was old – as old as the old lady in the cabin – and Boris was huge and powerful, but still the push left the Russian on his back, staring at the black sky.

  Harsh words came with the shove. Again the only one that Amazon could make out clearly was ‘Amba’.

  Boris’s face now was twisted with fury and humiliation. The rifle was still in his hand. He brought it to bear on the old man who stood over him. The man laughed, mockingly, and spoke again.

  Boris’s finger was on the trigger.

  Amazon was horrified.

  Everything had happened so quickly – one moment she was running for her life from the unseen hunter, and the next her saviour was about to be shot.

  She shouted out, ‘No!’

  The teenage boy made as if to move towards Boris to protect his grandfather. Kirov half crouched, ready to spring into action, but whether that was to attack or defend Boris, Amazon didn’t know.

  But it was Frazer who stopped it.

  ‘Put the gun down,’ he said, walking forward and pointing the X-Ark at Boris.

  The Russian looked at the tranq gun and grunted: ‘Hrmmph. Is toy gun. Boris not impressed.’

  In fact, Boris was right not to be impressed. Frazer was bluffing. The safety catch was firmly on and, even if it hadn’t been, the boy was too well trained by his father to fire deliberately at a person. But once the bluff had begun Frazer had to go with it. Using every fragment of his acting talent, he said: ‘You want me t
o shoot a dart into your eye, Boris? Because my guess is that it would smart a little. And the chances are it would burst your eyeball and splash the jelly all over your face. But hey,’ he added, switching to his Boris voice, ‘who needs two eyes anyway?’

  ‘This a mistake you make, boy,’ Boris growled, and just as Frazer had found a new coolness, so Boris had lost his bluster and rough humour, exposing something cold and hard beneath.

  It was unclear how it would all turn out. The old man, still furious, glared at Boris. Boris, his moustache bristling, faced Frazer. And Frazer had the X-Ark trained on the Russian’s eyeball.

  And then near-tragedy turned into full-blown comedy. The old woman had followed the others from the cabin. She began to harangue the old man with words of extraordinary violence.

  And nor did she stop at words. The big wooden spoon that she had been using to stir the frightful brown stew was now employed to wallop her husband over the head and shoulders. He tried to fend off her blows with his arms, but it was like trying to ward off a swarm of angry bees. He ran into the cabin, the old woman in hot, if rather arthritic, pursuit.

  It was impossible not to laugh. And everyone did, except for Boris. His finger was still on the trigger of his rifle.

  It was Kirov who went over to him and calmly took the weapon from his hands, saying a few quiet words in Russian, to which Boris, for once, had no answer.

  ‘I think we go and eat,’ Kirov said aloud to everyone. ‘Plus, it is not so good to stay out here. Tiger is angry.’

  ‘Good idea,’ said Doolins, and they all retreated to the cabin.

  Back inside the cabin, they sat down to a very awkward meal. The old woman served up the brown stew in heavy bowls, accompanied by black bread.

  Boris sat hunched in a corner, chewing on his garlic sausage.

  ‘Boris not eat dog,’ he said.

  ‘Dog?’ said Amazon, staring in dismay at her bowl.

  ‘Relax,’ said Doolins. ‘It’s not dog, it’s racoon dog –’

  ‘Racoon!’ spluttered Frazer.

  ‘Racoon dog. It’s not a racoon or a dog, but a separate species. They’re quite common here, and the local people have always hunted them for their meat and skins. You should try it.’

  ‘I’m vegetarian,’ said Amazon and Frazer at the same time, although Amazon knew that Frazer was lying.

  The teenage grandson of the old trapper looked on all this with an amused smile.

  ‘My name is Dersu,’ he said, bowing slightly to Amazon. ‘I am very pleased to meet you. My apologies for the earlier disturbance.’

  Just like Frazer, Amazon was struck by the strange formality of the boy’s way of speaking, and his distinct graveness.

  ‘Hi, Dersu,’ she replied, shaking his hand. ‘I’m Amazon and this chump here is Frazer –’

  ‘Hey, chump yourself!’

  Amazon ignored Frazer’s interruption. ‘And please don’t apologize – I’m pretty sure that your grandfather saved my life back there. What was he doing? I mean he seemed to be talking to the tiger …’

  ‘Yes, my grandfather is a famous shaman and has some strange beliefs about the tiger that I do not completely share. And sometimes he believes two different things at the same time. So he believes that the tiger – Amba, in our language – is a Great Spirit, a god, if you like. But he also believes that the tiger is the guard dog of the evil spirit that lives in the rocks overlooking the river.’

  ‘OK,’ said Frazer. ‘So which tiger was that – the Great Spirit or the evil guard dog?’

  ‘In some ways now it does not matter. When that stupid Russian fired at the tiger, he made it our enemy. Now my grandfather thinks it will not rest until it has killed us all or driven us out of its territory. He is very distressed.’

  ‘How come you speak such good English?’ asked Frazer in his usual direct way.

  Dersu was quiet for a moment. ‘My father earned enough money to send me to the American school in Moscow.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Amazon. ‘I was going to ask you where your mum and dad are …’

  ‘My mother died after I went away to the school.’

  ‘Oh, I’m so sorry.’

  ‘And your father?’ asked Frazer.

  Dersu looked down. ‘I do not wish to say. It brings me shame.’

  Frazer made as if to ask him more about this, but Amazon put a hand on his arm, and shook her head. The message was clear: don’t go there.

  Luckily, at that moment they were distracted by the old woman. She was holding something in her gnarled hands. It seemed to be a wooden doll of some kind. The face was long, and the eyes were made of small blue beads. It had no arms and the legs were bent.

  As Amazon and Frazer watched, fascinated, the old woman tied string round the idol’s neck, and then suspended it in front of the stove. She then threw some thick, waxy green leaves on the flames. The leaves shrivelled and burned, and their smoke filled the room with a heavy scent, not unpleasant – almost like rosemary, but somehow drowsy.

  ‘What on earth is your grandmother doing?’ asked Frazer.

  ‘It’s to protect the home,’ said Dersu. ‘So Amba does not come in.’

  Amazon and Frazer exchanged looks. Frazer mouthed a word at her.

  ‘VOODOO.’

  ‘The wooden man is Kasalyanku,’ Dersu continued. ‘The leaves are a plant called ledum. They give Kasalyanku strength. He will protect us from Amba. This is the belief of my grandmother and grandfather.’

  The old woman began to sing in a low voice, and suddenly the whole room was watching her in utter silence. As she sang, Makha accompanied her on a small drum. Her song faded out, as it had faded in, and even though she didn’t believe in the power of such magic, the hairs on the back of Amazon’s neck still stood up.

  That night was not a comfortable one. After the meal Amazon and Frazer lay down on the hard floor in their sleeping bags. The adults talked for a while, and Amazon heard the chink of Boris’s vodka bottle. But eventually quiet fell on the hut.

  It was short-lived – Boris, predictably, started to snore.

  ‘You awake?’ whispered Frazer to Amazon.

  ‘No,’ said Amazon. ‘I’m fast asleep.’

  ‘Sounds like a truck crashing into a train and then they both roll off the side of the mountain.’

  ‘Nah – sounds more like a tiger and a bear having a fight to the death.’

  ‘And now the leopard’s joined in. This is getting ugly.’

  They giggled quietly. Then Frazer asked in a more serious voice, ‘So how are you doing, Zonnie? I mean, I’m kind of used to all this, as I’ve been on missions before, but I guess it’s all pretty strange for you.’

  ‘Well,’ replied Amazon, ‘it’s certainly a long way from England … but the truth is I’m loving it. I just wish I knew what was going on with my mum and dad.’

  ‘They’ll be fine. I know it. My dad’ll save them. Oh, er, not that they need saving or anything. I just, er …’

  ‘Fraze?’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Be quiet and go to sleep.’

  And eventually they both drifted off, unaware of the killer pacing impatiently outside.

  The wound was more to Amba’s pride than to his body, but the pain was, nevertheless, intense. The bullet from Boris’s rifle had passed between his ears, singeing the short fur on his forehead, and then it clipped off the very tip of his tail. It drew just a drop or two of blood, but tigers very much dislike having the tips of their tails tweaked. Amba retreated into the forest, lay under a rotten log, licked his wound and brooded.

  There was a memory, a good memory, and Amba sucked on it like a bone. Many years before he had turned the tables on a hunter who had been tracking him for days through the snowy forest. The presence of the human scared off the deer and other prey, and so, at last, Amba decided that this game must end.

  The tiger lured the hunter along a track, then leapt from the path, doubled back through the trees and waited. The hunter, his eyes on the s
poor in the snow, ignored the yapping of his dog, and knew nothing until Amba pounced. The yappy little dog made a fine dessert. All that was ever found of either was the hunter’s gun and a single boot.

  But Amba was not truly a man-eater. Man-eating tigers are almost always old and weak individuals with broken teeth and worn claws, who cannot hunt their usual prey. Amba did not savour the flesh of the strange animal that walked on two legs. And he was still strong enough to take on anything alive in the forest: the bristling boars, the black bears, even the mighty brown Ussuri bears – he’d eaten them all in his time, as well as his preferred sika deer. Oh yes, and plenty more dogs. Dogs were good to eat, and easy to catch.

  It was the dog that he was really after at the place of the wooden caves. The small human was just an annoyance. But then the Old One had come. And Amba feared the Old One. He feared him because the Old One knew, and to be known is the great dread of the tiger.

  And then the other human – the big one – had hurt him. And Amba did not forget being hurt.

  So, after he had licked and brooded, he prowled back to the wooden cave, thinking that if any human came through the mouth of the cave then he would assuredly eat it.

  And three times he paced round the clearing. But there was a smell he did not like, and a feeling that this was not, after all, a good place for a tiger. It made Amba’s tail hurt to be here, and so he padded away, cursing tiger curses.

  But he still wanted vengeance. He wanted to inflict pain and death on an enemy. For a long time here in the north the only real foe for a tiger was the bear. But now there was a new rival. Smaller, but cunning. And Amba would brook no rival. He knew where the leopard was.

  And her cubs.

  Yes, he would kill the mother and then he would kill the cubs. Perhaps that would make the pain go away.

  Awkward to get to, of course. He had already left the place of the fire once. He’d have to swim to get back. But it would be worth it.

  Something deep in his soul told him that leopard was good to eat.

  Amazon woke the next morning with a stiff neck and a sore back. For the first time she missed – but only a little! – her hard bed and cold room back at Millbank Abbey.