by Tony Black
“Myko, Myko,” Tilly continued to call out.
She kept pace with me as I trampled over bracken and the clay-baked footpaths. My brows grew heavy and my knees weakened; I knew that I could not escape her.
I stopped running and lowered myself down onto a humpbacked rock. A mob of blowflies settled on me at once and made tormenting dives on my eyes and mouth.
As Tilly came back into sight she smiled, and then she took a few steps closer. “You can’t get away, Myko.”
I felt myself smiling back at her. “I think you’re right,” I said, “what’s the point in running from you?”
Tilly moved to join me on the rock, where she sat at my side. I felt her breath as heavy as my own after our run through the forest. My face grew wet with sweat and my limbs ached and twitched as I felt the night’s breeze on my cheek, and the bitter citrus smell of the forest come to my nostrils.
“Why are you here, Myko?” said Tilly, her voice low and soft.
“The tigers,” I said.
“I knew it must be. But the tigers are gone now, Myko, your father trapped them, you said so yourself.”
I thought of the female tiger and her cubs that my father had trapped – they were on their way to Hobart now. I knew my father would soon have his blood money; at once I saw his face rise in my mind.
“No, Tilly.” I stood before her. “There is another tiger.”
Tilly’s mouth fell open; I believe she struggled for words. I knew she feared that there would be trouble brought with this new knowledge.
I raised my voice. “Tilly,” I said, “you cannot tell anyone!”
She jumped up and faced me at no more than an inch away. “Myko, how could you think that I ever would?”
“Tilly, my father, he …”
“Myko, your father is the station’s tiger man. His pride will be hurt if he finds out. How have you kept it from him until now?”
“I didn’t; the other tiger, the female, she strayed onto my tiger’s lands and Father’s dogs sought her out. Tilly, I must find my tiger – he has a mate and cubs.”
“That is what you are doing, Myko, looking for this tiger?”
“Yes, but I can’t find him. There may have been trouble with the other tiger, which drove him away already, and the trapping, the dogs may have spooked him.”
“But how will you find a tiger, Myko?”
“If I don’t find him my father will … Tilly, my father will know I deceived him, that I kept my tiger from him. He will be angry. I will be punished and the greatest punishment he could give me is to kill my tiger.”
Tilly turned away from me; she faced a dark path through the forest. “This way, Myko,” she called out.
“Why that way?”
“Come on,” roared Tilly as she set off from me, “we will find your tiger.”
Tilly sent me running once more, scouring the low forests which butted our home pastures. As I moved, with heavy, plodding strides, my skin became flayed by sharp branches that lashed out like stock whips. Twigs and fallen bark-strips were caught up with moss balls that blew on the forest tracks, scampering in every direction like lines of busy ants.
We ranged on for hours in the dark of the forest, until I found myself returned close to a familiar point. The sky above was moonless and beneath the branches’ shadows a crisp light flooded in with the new day.
“Tilly, hold up,” I said.
“What is it? Have you seen something?”
“I know this place.”
I stared into what looked like a small cave, with a floor of clay and earth. It was hollowed out and lined with twigs and grass. I could just make out the tiny scratchings on the lair’s edge, outside and in, where the newborn cubs had scrambled with their tiny claws.
“What, what is it?” said Tilly.
“This is my tiger’s lair. Look – there are wildfowl bones, my tiger must have brought them back to feed the cubs.”
I stood at the lair knowing my tiger had been here, but I could not say when. I feared for him now, and for his family. I imagined their slow trail through the forest in search of sanctuary, once again. Why must they be hounded like this? I thought.
“Myko, he has gone. The lair is empty.”
I ran into the scrub and turned up the thickets and fallen branch stems. I kicked at the tall grasses and gazed into the sun-baked wastes and flat reed beds.
“Myko, the tiger is gone,” said Tilly again.
“I need to know he is safe – that he’s far from this place.”
Tilly came to my side and placed her hand upon the arm I thrashed at the grasses with; I could find no sign of him.
“Myko, you must stop now. We have looked all night. The tiger is gone; we must go back home, we will be missed if we don’t.”
I didn’t want to listen to her. “You go back, Tilly,” I said.
“Myko, come with me.”
“No, Tilly. I will stay and look for my tiger. You go back.”
Tilly turned away from me and I felt her lower the hand she held on my arm. “Goodbye, Myko,” she said, “I hope you find him.”
I did not trust my tiger’s safety to fate. I knew I must keep to my search. I thrashed in the scrub, the sun came up high and hot, moisture rose on my back while I roamed in the high grasses.
I trailed across the smooth-pebbled beaches and the shore flats above the bays. I trudged in the tumbledown whiteness of the high wattle grasses and I scoured beneath the misty blue hills. For many hours I searched, but I saw nothing of my tiger. As the poor animal’s chances played out in my imagination I began to feel my emotions give way to panic.
My steps slowed as another day’s light began to fade, and darkness drew down on me. Though the stars seemed close I stumbled many times and through my tired eyes I could not see where to place my feet before me.
I lost all hope of finding my tiger. As I waved my defeat to the wind and trees, I fell backwards into a thicket of silver bracken.
I had failed my tiger; where he was, or where even I had wandered, I did not know.
I felt ready to weep; I rolled onto my knees and looked up to the dark sky, but it held no answers for me. I threw back my head and let my limbs fold beneath me. A hard tree-bole scratched at my back, ripping my shirt and stabbing at me as I fell. And then, where I came to rest, two bright yellow eyes lit up.
My tiger had found me.
Chapter Thirty-Two
I reached out and there was no fear in my tiger’s eyes. I felt the trees above hang around us in deep curiosity as my breathing stopped.
I crouched down on the age-soft stones as the high clouds broke and burnished us together in the moon’s light. I fell in a trance, looking at my tiger as the mist clung to the night’s air and carried off my thoughts.
My tiger’s dun-coloured coat shone as I neared him. He did not seem to mind how close I came, he merely stared on at me with round, wet eyes that seemed buried deep in the forest.
I felt my heart pulse and glow with pride. I was lost in a dream to be with my tiger, and then, suddenly, the surrounding darkness flooded in on us and at once I sank powerless in a blur of emotion.
As I gazed at the dampness of my tiger’s fur I saw blood. There was a wound beneath his ear; he was hurt. I drew nearer to look him over fully, and saw his coat streamed wet with blood, the flesh beneath ripped and torn.
Thoughts spun in my head. My tiger’s wounds were raw and fresh; I knew he had been set upon by dogs.
“Who has done this to you?” I whispered.
Few dogs will turn on a tiger, even when in packs they fear tigers greatly. Alone, a very large dog, a roo dog or a shepherd’s hound, would not go against a tiger. Dogs must be trained for such a task, like my father’s.
“Has he found you?” I said softly.
I saw now that my tiger panted, his breath came white against the darkness. I tried to encourage him to rest, but he was too alert, raking his claws in the rotten branches and fallen bark upon the forest f
loor.
He stood on his hinds like a straight-grown tree. Were my tiger a dog he would have barked frantically to capture my attention – but he was a tiger – he made no noise save the yappings he spared for his mate, within their hunt. Softly, he nuzzled his snout beneath my arm as if to raise me.
“What, what is it?” I said. I stood up and my tiger, I believe, turned to draw me.
Angles of moonlight showed the dark blood-patches on his coat. As he ran, his back-legs caught on an uneven bank and I saw he was part-lame, and in pain. I took his lead and followed after my tiger, through the bush once more.
As I felt my way the sky cleared above us and the moon, removed of cloud, shone down upon the forest. I saw clearly the severity of my tiger’s wounds now. He had fought bravely against many dogs and I knew he must soon be brought down by his injuries and his exhaustion. But my tiger’s steps were strong; he held a mighty force within his animal heart.
Respect deepened within me for my tiger’s fight. He had little left to give to his battle yet he did not allow himself to falter. I saw that my tiger was far braver than any man. What pains he suffers, I thought. And yet he did not let them draw him from his purpose.
As my tiger pressed hard into the bush, his nose following a silent trail, his steps fell ungainly, his tail so long and straight it made him turn all about like a boat in the sea. He possessed none of the agility of other animals, my tiger’s movements were his alone.
Anger kindled the hurts inside me as I ran through a slough of high reeds by the rapid singing stream. I followed the strong musky scent of my tiger as he cut his way through the heavily wooded patches. I crashed through twigs and stringy branches that whipped against me with stinging pain, but I felt nothing. I was a streak of rage as I thundered through the forest.
The mist rose and the waters grew faster, as fast as the blood pumping in my ears. The pace of my tiger also grew; he ran high in his stride, his narrow hips pushing him on through the coarse country. I did not understand this need to quicken his steps, and then all of a sudden, I heard dogs barking in the distance.
“Wait, wait,” I called out to my tiger, “wait there!”
I watched my tiger’s pace quicken yet again, we headed straight to the dogs. I understood he ran towards his end, and it made me stop still with fright.
“Wait, wait!” I tried to call back my tiger again, but he was gone from me, racing fast through the covering of man ferns.
The dogs grew nearer; their barking seemed only a few feet away as I raced after my tiger. I did not know what I would find there, but as I went I gathered up a fallen branch from a red gum. I felt its girth; its contours were strong. I intended to yield it like a waddy and fight alongside my tiger.
I will fight to the end if I must, I told myself.
We reached a clearing, a natural spot where trees had fallen in the forest, and yet, a fire burned strongly here. It had been burning for some time, sending pewter-coloured smoke spirals to the stars. The high amber flickers of the flame lit the trunks and branches and sent giant moths dancing in the open, where wattle bats swooped on them, grateful for their easy taking.
I knew my tiger’s appearance at this open clearing was not unexpected, this arena was carefully chosen. As I stepped from the bush behind my tiger I saw who had brought us here – it was my father.
Waves of hate and emotion crashed over me; my mind swam feebly as I stared at my father and his baying dogs.
“You!” I called as a drawn-out blade of light fell on my father’s face. I spied the whitened lines of scars that followed his jawline down into his collars.
“No, Father! No. No.” I pleaded with him, my hands raised like a surrender.
My father portrayed no emotion, his features held as firm as a tight-nailed slab of board. His eyes lacked any life as they locked on my tiger as tight as iron-shackles.
“Step out of the way, Myko. Now!” he roared.
Below his grasp, father’s dogs charged with all hell’s fury, their jaws attacking the air with bites. Though he stood as broad as a swamp gum, my father struggled hard to hold the angry mob of dogs; they tested even his strength and in little time Father was forced to loose some of the pack from his grasp.
The hounds reached for my tiger; three at once, they ran for him. I watched my tiger raise himself on his hinds and open wide his jaws; they were twice the gape of any dog.
The first dog my tiger caught was Father’s heeler dog; he cleared off half its head with one great bite. The dog fell before us; his skull was exposed and the red of his arteries spilled, it seemed, all at once.
The other dogs were smaller and did not envy their leader’s fate. I watched them run whimpering from the clearing, their ears flat, their tails bowed low beneath them.
Where my tiger stood square upon the ground he had won, he faced towards my father; I too fell into my father’s full view, but he would not look at me. He was ashamed of me. I had let him down.
“No, Father. No more.”
“You should have told me, Myko,” he said.
I had earned his outrage, but I knew I could never have told him of any tiger on his holding.
My eyes took in my father’s grimacing face. “You should have been truthful,” he said, “these tigers are a pest.”
“They are not!” I yelled at him.
“They are a threat to the flocks, Myko. It is my duty to hunt them.”
“They are not a threat, they are nearly wiped out. How can they be a threat? You are wrong, you are wrong to hunt them. I hate what you have done!”
His face seemed pained and drawn. I could not have hurt him more had I thrown his heart upon the ground, stamped on it soundly, and pressed it underfoot.
I did not wish to challenge my father in this way or any other. He was the man who had raised me. What mettle I had within me was the same as ran inside his veins, but the line was drawn in the dirt, and now it was time for one of us to pass.
“Get out of the way, Myko,” he said.
My father aimed to teach me of my wrongdoing. I knew his lesson would be a harsh one; I saw that as clear as the white moon moving above us.
“I said move, Myko!”
Father’s eyes moved slowly on my tiger.
“No!” I said. “You cannot kill my tiger. I won’t allow you.”
Had I been a willing son then I would have stepped aside. I would have learnt his lesson, become simply the tin pail he kicked to test, but I could not betray my tiger.
Wild thoughts coursed like thornfish through my emotions. I had my reserves of rage, but I felt fatigued and worn. I was lost to myself as surely as ever I had been.
“Step aside, Myko,” said my father; his voice was calm but firm and I sensed the force it held.
I gripped tightly on the waddy. “I won’t. You will not take my tiger,” I said.
As my father took a step towards me I could no more judge the right course than a blind man could latch hands on a feral cat. I gripped again on the waddy and resolved to leave my actions to God.
Chapter Thirty-Three
My mother sobbed as my family stepped down from the train leaving the Sakiai, but if my father felt any worries he did not show them. As all our eyes turned to him, where he carried Jurgis, he hastened his stride. “Come quickly, we will be best to move along as fast as we can.”
What faced us through the failing light was like a picture I had drawn many times. I imagined the scene before us to be a birthday cake. A huge cake, it might have been either round or square for I could not see its edges, it was so vast.
Down the cake’s centre I saw the birthday candles placed, in two neat rows. These candles marked a boundary – the high fences of wire. At the cake’s top, where the candles flamed, barbed wire curled in great round bunches.
I saw that the cake was cut, but not in a neat wedge. This slice went right down the middle, searing the cake in two. On each half burned candles, and at either side down its great missing cleft, they bur
ned there too.
The picture filled my imagination; I thought that it could not be true, who makes a cake like this? But it is what I saw, as I stood in the snow, watching the searchlight make the birthday cake and its candles sparkle for as far as my eyes could see.
“We must walk around the ditch,” said Father, his voice raking the air, “it cannot go on forever.”
I stared into the ditch and wondered how such a gorge could have been cut out; was it by a huge plough? Was it a line of prisoners, a gang in chains, perhaps? I did not know.
Father spoke again and the picture slowly vanished. “Come on, follow me where I go. The ditch cannot go on forever, it cannot.”
My mother stared ahead, blank-eyed. Dark shadows loomed beneath her open mouth, which blew out a high airy voice; “How can you say?” she said. Mother did not seem convinced, she stared unbelieving at my father as he shifted my brother like a sack’s weight.
“We will find its end, it must end somewhere,” said Father, “and then we will follow it back to where we must go; you must trust me Daina.”
Mother sighed again, and said under her breath, “What choice do we have?”
Jurgis kept quiet beneath the close weave of Father’s coat as we set off in the darkness once more. The glow of the station and the great arc of the searchlight traced the boundary for us as we went. But soon our path grew dim, and eventually the heavy darkness surrounded us. All around fell a blackness. As I held my hand out, to barely beyond my nose, I could not see it.
We crawled slowly on and my mother and father took turns carrying Jurgis. “I want to walk by myself,” said my brother, as he struggled in my mother’s arms.
“Jurgis, you have a fever. You cannot walk by yourself,” she scolded him.
“I can. I can. Let me go,” he said.
My brother struggled on and Father stretched out a hand to rest on Jurgis’s brow. “He is cooler now,” he said, “let the boy walk if he wants to, Daina.”
Mother grew worried as we continued through the night. “Sound out your names, boys. So I know where you are,” she said.