by Katy Yocom
A shattering roar. Sarah hoped to God that Machli couldn’t manage to move with her belly so full. Sanjay bellowed, “Chalo! Chalo! Chalo!”—Go! Go! Go!— as Sarah crawled back along the tree trunk, but her foot slipped, and she fell into the warm, shallow water at the river’s edge. She spat out a muddy mouthful and cursed. Hari pulled the vehicle close as she scrambled up the bank, and Sanjay and William hauled her into the jeep.
She found herself sprawled facedown on the back seat, choking on river water, ears filled with the twin roars of engine and tigress until the tires found purchase and they sped away. “Are you okay?” Hari called, looking frantically in the rearview mirror as Sanjay and William pulled her upright. She started to say, “I’m fine,” but a stream of red splashed from her face onto her shredded, crimson-soaked T-shirt. She saw but did not feel the long diagonal gash in her stomach. She held one hand to her cheek, one to her torso to stanch the bleeding as the jeep careened out of the park and onto the paved road. William pressed his hands to her ribcage. A garnet stream dripped down his arm.
“No death today,” Hari rapped out. “No death.” She wasn’t sure if he meant that the tiger cub was safe or that he was worried about her.
At the hospital, they rushed her into the emergency ward. She found herself lying on a metal examining table, a doctor’s beefy face hovering over her. “What have we here?” he asked equably. She didn’t know whether to be comforted or pissed off by his calm.
He cut her out of her shirt, cleaned her up, sewed up her torso, and began stitching her face with black thread. “So, Ms. DeVaughan,” he said. “What have you done to yourself?”
“Um,” she said. William, Sanjay, and Hari stood behind the doctor, watching.
“Don’t move the left side of your face.”
“I, uh,” she said out of the right side of her mouth, “I got into a disagreement with a tiger cub.”
“That is rarely a good idea, madam.” She supposed he thought she was crazy or at least lying. “Next you’ll be telling me I should see the other fellow, eh?” The doctor pulled a stitch tight. She guessed him to be thirty-five or so, a big man sporting a prosperous belly and a pukka accent that sounded more British than most Brits’ did. “I hope you got a good chunk out of him. But either way, you’re lucky. The tiger has special feelings for you.” He cut the thread with a snick of scissors. “He’s given you three lovely whiskers.” He was the kind of doctor Daddy had been, calm and unflappable, dispensing little jokes. Sarah raised a hand to her face. “Ah-ah. Don’t touch.” He nodded at William. “Hand her that glass, would you?”
William gave Sarah the mirror, and she considered her reflection. Ugly black stitches held shut the three scratches. “Tiger’s whiskers are valuable, you know. Highly prized,” the doctor said. “They’re not so deep. Call them a badge of honor.”
“Something to remember this day by,” she said.
“For the next few weeks, you’ll remember it more by the gash on your belly. That will hurt. And you won’t enjoy the intestinal effects of swallowing river water. I’ll write you a prescription for Cipro. But you’ll be good as new in a few weeks. You’ll have to come back for postexposure prophylaxis for rabies, of course.” He smiled at her alarm. “You get the injections in the arm. It’s nothing like the old days. You’ve had all your immunizations, of course. Tetanus?”
“Tetanus, polio, MMR, typhoid. Hep A and B.”
He made a note on her chart. “Anything else I should know? Autoimmune disorders, childhood diseases?”
“Chickenpox. And cholera.” She looked up at him. “Am I going to get it again?”
“Cholera? Hard to say. But we’ll keep a close watch and get you started on rehydrating fluids right away if you start showing symptoms.” The doctor considered her. “I’m curious you’ve had it before. You don’t seem the cholera sort.”
She wiped her nose with the back of her hand. “I lived in Delhi till I was eight.”
“Lucky girl,” he commented. “Lucky girl then and lucky woman now.”
“Lucky,” Sanjay blurted. “She nearly died twice today. Once by the river and once by the tigress. If Machli’s belly had been empty, it would have been a different story.”
Sarah flinched. Her colleagues had every right to be furious.
A commotion erupted in the waiting room. The nurse planted herself in front of the film crew as they made for the ward, cameras and all. Behind them marched Geeta, mobile phone in hand, striding past the crew and through the swinging doors. Her eyes hardened on Sarah. “The park director called.” She gestured with her phone hand. “I told him he must have got his story wrong because no employee of mine would do something that reckless. But it’s true, isn’t it? Look at you. Scratched to bits and lucky you’re not killed. Rescuing a cub, was it?” She looked at the others for confirmation. “I’m to understand you got out of the jeep with a tigress within attacking distance? A tigress who saw you threatening her cubs? Have you lost your mind?”
“Geeta Ma’am,” Sanjay began, and Sarah said, “It wasn’t like that—”
“He’s beside himself, Sarah. And I can’t blame him.” Her voice rose. “It’s bad enough you endangered yourself. What do you think would have happened if you’d got yourself attacked? You know bloody well at least one of these men would have come to your rescue and got himself killed as well.”
“Excuse me, you mustn’t shout,” the doctor said.
“Not to mention the danger to the tigress! If she had killed you, like as not she’d end up being put to death. My God, didn’t you think for a second about the lives you were putting in danger? And don’t dare to tell me the cub would’ve drowned. That park is not some zoo where nothing bad ever happens. It’s nature, and animals die!”
“Madam, you must not keep shouting like this,” the doctor insisted.
“I’m sorry,” Sarah said. “I’m truly sorry.”
“Geeta, stop,” William said. “You know how quickly things develop in the field.”
“You bloody well should be sorry. I told you! The day you arrived, I told you. Rule one: We never interfere with what happens in the park. Never! And to do it in front of a film crew!” Geeta clutched her hair with both hands. “You’ve ruined us. Our credibility is gone. The park director’s already threatening to ban the lot of us. And how are we to get funding with this, this debacle on our heads? Tell me that, would you? No—don’t bother. I’m sacking you. As of this minute, you no longer work for Tiger Survival. I can only hope that’s enough to undo the damage you’ve done.”
A tear slid down Sarah’s cheek and lodged in black thread. It burned. She didn’t wipe it away.
The doctor looked up. “Now that is quite enough. I’ll not have you badger my patient. Out of my ward, all of you. Go.” He turned back to Sarah as the others filed out. “Don’t worry,” he said. “Tears are sterile. And by the way, what you did was extraordinary.”
Quinn
Woman rescues baby tiger.
She saw the headline over coffee, clicked on the video clip out of curiosity, and found herself watching her sister hurl a tiger cub out of a frothing river.
On the next viewing, she saw blood. Crimson stains blooming all over Sarah’s white shirt.
She dialed her cell phone with shaky fingers. No answer.
Date: July 15, 2000
Subject: Are you alive??
Are you okay? Are you alive? The news clip said you were safe, but you were bleeding, I saw it. How did this happen? Answer me as quick as you can. Please be okay. I love you. What the fuck were you doing?!
She called Pete at work and waited as he watched the video. “Holy shit,” he said.
“Don’t tell the kids.”
“Of course not.” A pause. “Let me know when you hear from her, okay?”
The entire day passed without word. Sarah’s reply came after midnight, in
full denial mode: She was fine, just a few scratches; Quinn shouldn’t worry. As if anything she said could negate the video footage. A few scratches: Quinn didn’t believe it. That shirt.
Mother answered on the first ring. “Thank God,” she said when Quinn relayed the news. “She could have called us before now.”
“She didn’t call. She emailed.”
Mother fell silent. “We must seem very far away to her.”
They said good night. Quinn pulled her feet up onto the couch and rested her head on her knees. She hadn’t smoked since she and Pete started dating, but she wanted a cigarette. Sarah never admitted to being in danger. War zones, terrorist enclaves, countries shredded by cyclones or tsunamis: She had an answer for each of Quinn’s anxieties. She was drinking only treated water, staying in the safest areas. Quinn was under orders not to worry about her. Which meant: Shut up, Quinn. Keep your fears to yourself.
She closed her eyes and pictured the twins creeping out of the pantry, slipping out of the kitchen. The door softly closing behind them.
Quinn clicked Reply and typed, “Sarah.”
The room lay dark and silent beyond the glow and hum of her laptop. Quinn had waited seventeen hours for Sarah’s reply, and the wait had left a sick emptiness in the fist of her stomach. She would only stir herself up if she tried to reply. She went upstairs, put her hand on Pete’s shoulder, and whispered that Sarah was safe.
His eyes never opened, but he reached up with one warm arm and pulled her to him. He kissed her cheek. It was more tenderness than she could bear. She touched his head and left the room. Downstairs, she shut down her computer. When the screen went black, she closed her eyes and curled into a ball on the couch.
She told the twins about it before breakfast, then sent her reply while the kids ate.
Sarah,
Thank God you’re safe.
The kids think it’s great that Auntie Sarah saved a tiger. Remember you told them you were going to India to save tigers? And now you have. They’re very proud of you.
As for me, I have to be honest. I’ve watched you take one risk after another. I’m tired of worrying about you, I’m tired of begging you to be careful, and I’m tired of knowing that for all your words about being safe, you seem compelled to put yourself in harm’s way.
It’s your life, I know. But you know what? I want my children to know you. I want you in my life for the next fifty or sixty years. I want to sit around together when we’re old and reminisce about our younger days. Is that really such a terrible thing to ask? I love you, little sister. I want you safe.
Quinn
This time, Sarah’s response came back before the end of the day.
Quinn. I’m sorry. I know it could have ended badly.
Geeta is furious. She says she has no choice but to fire me. My work permit is for this job, so unless I can convince her to change her mind, I’ll have to leave. But I have no idea where I would go. I’m home here. I’ve planted a garden. I’m learning to cook.
Write to me again, even if you have to yell at me. Tell me the truth, whatever you think the truth is. I feel very alone right now.
Tell me the truth. But what was the truth? That Quinn hoped Sarah would have to leave India? That she wanted Sarah safe, even at the cost of her happiness? What kind of love was that?
The week before, Pete had taken the kids to a birthday party and left Nick’s inhaler at home. It boggled her that he could be so cavalier. It boggled him that she’d been so upset about it.
She should try harder with Sarah. She’d given up a long time ago on being close, but that had been a mistake. Pete could stop loving her, he could divorce her, but Sarah could never stop being her sister.
Her computer screen stared, unblinking. Sarah was alone and hurt. Her little sister.
Hey, you,
Don’t be so hard on yourself, okay? You did a brave thing in the heat of the moment. You pulled a tiger out of a river with your bare hands! Who else can say they’ve done that?
I may not have said it before, but I’m proud of you. And no matter what happens, you’re going to be okay. I’ve never met anyone more adaptable than you. You have a bottomless well of internal resources. And you have a sister who loves you.
Take care of yourself, Sarah Jane.
Quinn
P.S. If you have to leave India, come back to Louisville. It’s home, too, remember?
Sarah
She slept badly for two nights after the river rescue, gripped by stomach cramps and the knowledge that she had royally screwed up.
Five a.m. found Sarah sitting on the front porch, an overnight case at her side and a copy of the previous day’s edition of the Times of India in her hand. A welter of bugs swarmed the porch light. Beyond the shelter of the roof, rain pattered straight to earth, no wind to slant it.
Front-page news. Front page. What had happened to journalism? Especially when the article itself was so bare-bones:
AMERICAN WOMAN RESCUES TIGER CUB
By Anjali Ghosh
SAWAI MADHOPUR, RAJASTHAN, July 15—A female American conservation worker rescued a tiger cub from a raging river yesterday in Ranthambore National Park. Sarah DeVaughan was touring the park with two male coworkers and their driver when the 5-month-old cub was swept away in the churning waters before their very eyes. While her coworkers watched from the safety of their jeep, DeVaughan leapt out of the vehicle and threw herself into the river to rescue the tiger tyke. A film crew from the U.K. captured the drama.
Neither DeVaughan nor her colleagues at Tiger Survival were available for comment. However, park director R.K. Singh said of the courageous rescue, “Of course, I can’t condone any person endangering herself in the park. But I am quite happy that the cub’s life was spared, and I’m grateful Ms. DeVaughan lived to tell the tale.”
Meanwhile, somewhere in Ranthambore National Park, a tiger cub and its mother are no doubt grateful too.
The story wrapped up with a couple of cursory paragraphs about Ranthambore and the plight of tigers in general. As an example of journalism, Sarah judged it thoroughly mediocre, cliché-ridden and all but devoid of detail, though she knew what the reporter had been up against. She’d had little actual content to work with, due to Geeta’s directive that the staff avoid speaking to the press. All the same, Geeta’s media embargo accomplished little, thanks to the photo that ran with the article: Sarah on the fallen tree, holding the struggling cub by the scruff of the neck while the waters surged around them. Both Sarah and the cub had their teeth bared. It was a terrific photo, even reproduced on grainy newsprint: full of movement, good light and color, glistening water and intense facial expressions, not to mention the textures of wet skin, clothing, and orange striped fur. Sarah wished she’d taken the shot, instead of being its subject.
The landlord’s door opened. Drupti, home from Jaipur for the summer, stepped out and settled beside Sarah on the bench. “Well, hello there, national heroine. How are you feeling?”
“Not bad. I haven’t thrown up since last night. My abs are sore as anything, but at least I didn’t pull out my stitches doing it.”
Drupti smiled. “You’re a bit of a mess,” she observed, “but you’re front-page news! Did you see the opinion piece, by the way?” She found the page and handed the paper back to Sarah. “‘Why aren’t Indians doing more to save the tiger?’”
“Yikes.” Sarah skimmed the columns. “Partly a call to action and partly about the fact that I’m not from India.”
“We like to shame ourselves from time to time with our failure to preserve our heritage. Thank goodness we’ve still got the Taj, at least till the pollution eats it to nothing. By the way,” she said, “I’m waiting for a friend to take me to the library. What are you doing out here at five in the morning with what appears to be an overnight case?”
“I’ve been summoned to Delhi,”
Sarah said. “The assistant director, or somebody, of Project Tiger wants to meet.”
“Heavens. Does this mean you’re not fired anymore?”
Sarah started to laugh, sending a sharp pain through her stomach. “Unclear.”
“Geeta-ji is still terribly angry. I heard her last evening in William-ji’s flat.” Drupti sat forward, her braids swinging. “Sorry, but it was a bit hard not to hear.”
Sarah had heard, too. Geeta had called her a liability. William had called her a godsend.
“She doesn’t need to be afraid,” Drupti said. “Any publicity is good publicity.”
“Is that what they teach you in law school?”
“Not exactly. My best friend, Chandra, is always telling me that. She’s studying marketing.”
“Hmm. Seems patently untrue.”
“Generalizations are sloppy things, aren’t they? But when the film goes public, think how much coverage it will get.”
“It already has,” Sarah said. “They were talking about it on the radio this morning.”
“You see? Everyone in India will know this brave woman works for Tiger Survival.”
“Assuming I still do.”
“You’ll be interviewed. Geeta-ji, too. People will see that this American woman risked her life to save a tiger, and they’ll think, ‘Okay, what am I doing? What’s my government doing? Shouldn’t they be doing more?’ Tiger Survival will be a cause célèbre.”
Sarah smiled at that. “You’re making me feel better.”
“Good,” Drupti said. “Let’s face it, Indians aren’t going to stop crowding onto land that used to be tiger territory. People might feel bad about the situation, but what can they do when the problem is so big? But you’ve proved that one person can save a tiger. It will make people feel good, and when they feel good, they’ll think it’s possible to do good. They’ll be inspired.”
“More wisdom from Chandra?”
A breeze picked up, slanting the rain and spattering their shoes. “Wisdom from me. My family discussed it last night. We all agree that Geeta-ji doesn’t need to worry. You can tell her we said so.” Drupti nodded toward the road, where Hari had pulled the Sumo to a stop outside the gates.