by Tony Black
I did not take me long to discover my father had kept his promise to me, but the sight that greeted me came as a heart-scald. If other animals, save tigers, were caged within the confines of the zoo, I did not record their type. I came only to find the tiger my father had sold.
Few others paid interest to the tiger or her cubs, save an old cove who hovered at my shoulder. The beasts had little life within them, lain upon the straw in their cage like sacks of grain. Their faces revealed the life within them slowly drained away; their eyes looked as dead as those of mounted stag heads.
“No beast enjoys the confines of such a place,” said the old cove at my side, “but tigers, I believe, fare worse than most.”
I turned to face him, he was tall and broad, his white whiskers teased up towards his pink cheeks.
“Look at these laughing hyenas,” said the old cove as he swiped a hand at the crowds with their fingers pointed at the shamed animals, “I want to be no part of this gawping throng of ghouls!”
“Then why are you here?” I snapped.
The old cove turned to me and smiled, his pink cheeks blushed red, “You have me there boy,” he said, “you have me there.”
I saw the young female tiger leave the cover of her cubs to pace the cage for a few brief moments. She looked in a daze as she crept towards the four walls, each after the other, as if in disbelief of the limits of her surroundings.
“There’s no sadder sight than a predator, suited to roam far across plains and rugged lands, caged and forced to feed from the end of a broom handle,” said the old cove.
As he spoke I watched the tiger pacing, and I saw that now she had only two cubs. I wondered how long it would be before the other cubs perished. Then what would be left of the tigers?
“They will not last here,” I said.
“Few tigers survive in such conditions, my boy. None have ever been bred in this way.”
The old cove removed his stockman’s hat and brushed at its brim; little specks of dust gathered in the air before him.
“But there’s few tigers now will ever find their way towards this life of misery,” he said.
“They are too few,” I snapped.
“Too few, my boy, they are as good as gone.”
I turned to face the old cove but he was fixed on the tigers before us, his pale watery-blue eyes wandering back and forth with each step the tiger took.
“This zoo once kept a steady trade in tigers, shipping them around half the globe and paying the trappers well for their haul. But now, my boy, those days are coming to a close. You could be setting eyes on one of the last.”
The old cove’s voice fell thin and reedy as he spoke. For a moment I wondered if he would shed a tear, and then he turned and tipped his hat to me.
“Good day to you, young sir,” he said, and then he was gone.
I sat for nearly an hour watching the caged and saddened tigers by myself. I sensed little connection between us. I hoped for the same response I once shared with my now dead tiger, but hardly an acknowledgment passed from the dark eyes of the female and her remaining cubs.
In time a small finch wandered between the bars of the tiger’s cage and suddenly the female became suffused with life, latching on the tiny bird with her long claws. For an instant she became alive again. As she shook the finch by the head a dim glow fired her eyes, and then she lowered the bird towards her cubs; a moment later, she resumed her look of torpor.
I could not watch anymore, and raised myself from the ground. I moved forward to place my hand through the bars of the cage, the tiger sensed no threat and did not raise her head to me. I watched her eyes alight on me for a moment but I had become just another fixture within the limits of her meagre world.
“I’m sorry you must suffer this way,” I said calmly.
I left the tiger to her gloom, and returned to my own tiger’s cub. I found him curled soundly in the coat I had left him in, but he had moved far from his sister’s cold, still body. I believe he accepted her absence from him.
I tried to feed some possum to the cub, but he ate nothing this time. I had no desire for food myself – my stomach was now turning over like a steamer paddle with the task I faced.
Stars appeared in the sky. They looked like little piercings on a curtain which shielded us from the daylight. As I gazed up I wondered was this world becoming weary? Was the night sky really as threadbare as an old woman’s shawl?
I knew there had been much lost on this earth already, but since the passing of my tiger I felt each loss and its pain anew.
How can such a thing be mended? I did not know the answer. Surely once a thing is gone, taken from the world, it cannot return.
I imagined the things my tiger must have seen, the seasons he lived through, the joys he surely felt. I knew my tiger’s story as if it were my own. I still remembered well what the friendly bosun first told me, as we made our way to my tiger’s island.
“Tigers once numbered here in their thousands, it was their refuge, sought from the main,” he had said.
“There were tigers on the mainland, too?” I had asked.
“Yes, oh yes. They were content to roam there once, but man drove them far from that home.”
The bosun’s story fascinated me.
“How?” I asked. “How did they drive out the tigers?”
“When the earliest settlers arrived, many thousands of years ago, they brought dogs – and the dogs were hunters.”
“The dogs fought with the tigers?”
“The dogs hunted in the tigerlands; they didn’t care how they came by a kill, they were carrion eaters too, not like the tigers – the tigers had their pride, they ate only what they killed.”
“So the tigers were starving?” I asked.
“When the dogs thrived, the tigers fled over the last slender needle of land before the rising seas separated the main, creating the island.” The bosun had pointed to the island. I still saw his face cut by the sun as he spoke.
“On this island the tigers survived for thousands of years more, in peace, before man arrived in his tall ships and set the cycle once more in its throes.”
I felt every hurt of the tigers’ sad plight because we all had a share in this slaughter. Every man on the island had brought down the tigers, every soul had turned against them where they roamed.
I saw youngsters playing, some barely walking, and knew at once they were taught to fear and kill the tigers. I had listened to the stories in the billet at Woolnorth, from the peddlers on the wayroads and in the chatterings of shop girls. None felt emotion for the tigers’ cause. The tiger was raged against, and for what?
I remembered the old cove’s words and I longed to pick up my tiger’s cub and hold it like a babe, to cry into its downy fur like a child, but I could not. This tiger cub was all the tigers’ last chance, and I clearly understood that; I could not risk aligning it with any man, even myself. I must see that the tiger cub survived on its own, far from any fear or threat from mankind.
All along the road’s curve the milky moon laid down a waxy layer of skin that grew into the dark distance and then disappeared. Black-coloured buildings were cut out against the dark-grey of the horizon and stretched upwards to the sky’s line. I felt a chill of fear as I embarked upon the most recent of my crimes, but I steadied my nerves. I knew I must resist the call of my conscience and get on with what I had to do; I would gladly commit more grievous wrongs than this to reach my aim.
As I proceeded my steps fell slow but persistent. The wind veered into my path and put a damp coldness in my bones, but I raised my pace and my heated blood soon brought a warm glow to my face. It did not take long before I put an eye on my target.
I watched and waited for the last of the lights to dim and finally be drawn to darkness at the Beaumaris household and then I marched into the yard.
I pushed at the iron filigrees of the gateposts – they held no locks or fastenings – the hinges, recently greased, made little sound as I ent
ered. I came prepared to climb fences and walls, to cut through chains, but I found myself admitted to the zoo’s keep as freely as a paying customer.
I knew my aim, I rehearsed it well. I sought out the female tiger and her cubs without faltering in my steps. I anticipated much commotion from the creatures but they greeted me as no threat. I felt blessed to walk among these animals and rouse no emotion save the occasional curious glance in my direction.
New sleek waves of calm washed over me as the tiger seemed to greet me when I showed; I sensed understanding in her eyes. I knew she was not glad to see me, but perhaps she felt resigned to play her part in my new fate.
I reached beyond the bars once more and she let me rest my hand on her head, “Hello there,” I whispered, “hello my girl.”
For some long moments we stared at each other in the stillest of understanding, and then she removed herself to the back of the cage.
As the tiger went, I silently climbed to the rear of the enclosure and unlatched the cage’s bolt-fastening. The tiger did not stir, but her two cubs ran from out the darkness to whimper at her rear. I felt shamed to bring them fear, but the tiger soon calmed her cubs, licking on their ears.
The air came thick with a musky tiger scent as I went inside the cage. It felt cramped, as I crawled on all fours my back scratched on the roof. My heart beat loudly in my chest and fresh fears blistered on my mind. As my shoulder blades crowded closer together, my thoughts suddenly formed into a new shape. I felt for the poor tiger within these walls, but I believe she knew what I planned.
“Good girl,” I whispered again, “good girl.”
From beneath my shirtfolds I removed the dead cub and placed it on the ground before her. At once the tiger clawed the cold cub closer and tried to make out its scent. Her blunt-nose twitched noiselessly, and then her heavy eyelids raised several times in curiosity. When she had completed her inspection, the tiger once more placed licks on her cubs. The cubs seemed curious to see another of their kind within the cage and drew closer to its side.
The cubs looked matched for size with the dead tiger, both being female, and still very small. I knew I could withdraw one freely – the dead cub making a sound match for its missing number.
It seared my heart to remove the tiger cub from its mother and sister, its plaintive cries reached deep within me as I buried the cub beneath my shirtfolds. The cub’s mother did not watch as I left her behind, but I felt the eyes of the young sibling as it squatted deep within the straw, as if unbelieving of another loss.
“Goodbye,” I said, “I will take good care of her.”
Though I felt their pain I knew I must not take them all. My task must go unnoticed by man, nothing could be risked that might betray my plans. As I ran down the stony dust-packed path I felt sure I had done right. I now held two tigers to pair in the wild. If there was a chance for these tigers to grow and survive, then perhaps I could yet fulfil my own dead tiger’s wishes.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Clouds crossed the sky on the breeze and thin shadows shambled beneath the hill rises and plateau flats. In this sun-buoyed day the clammy air felt hot all around. The light streamed through the drooping branches and shining leaves, and the forest colours penetrated even the darkest shadows of the thick vegetation, where blocks of sunlight stacked high on the tree stems.
I headed for the central plateau, a land unseen by man, occupying most of the island’s middle share. Its western parts form the mountain ranges which extend all the way to the southern coast. They are not high mountains, but very rugged, their gullies and river valleys holding a steep incline covered in thick rainforest.
I found no roads or tracks as I travelled. “This is rough country,” I muttered to myself.
Any tracks carved by bushcutters grew over after only a few days. I knew this as a desolate place for men. As the bushlands opened out I still found no trampled ways. Even returning to the forests’ light-breaks, where the grasses grew high, no signs of man’s movements showed.
I took the higher country, where the open areas of sedgeland held the strands of forest surrounding the utmost ridges. The plains were not extensive, they occurred with frequency, but at their breadth spread only a few hundred yards apart.
I knew the rain fell heavily here; at all times of the year it landed in drops the full width of a man’s hand. In such a place, all progression is difficult; hereabouts all farming is impossible.
I see now why no settler ever put down here. In such large areas of wooded seclusion, there are many places which offer security for tigers, and quiet, for breeding. The country here is rich in marsupials, there are large wallaby populations, wombats and brush possums also. These are lands where tigers can hunt, feed themselves well, and roam over a large area, unhindered by any fear of man.
I knew this to be the best place for the cubs as I headed for the deep and desolate lands, surrounded by the dark hollows of the mountain gums and the coverings of bracken patches on the forest floor.
My haul of tiger cubs curled together in the open saddle-bag I had latched tightly to the grey. Brief moments when they bristled with energy arose now and then, but mostly they lay sleepy-eyed and quiet. Though they seemed content I knew that they faced many trials. Any chance for the cubs to survive without their parents was slight. I had hopes they might grow well, that the land would support them, but the task lay heavily on my thoughts.
By the time the sky grew grey beneath the tarnished moon I felt drowsy with fatigue. I had travelled through the night and an entire day when I set down to rest by a shallow river. The water flowed fast and fish thrashed as I let the cubs stretch out their legs.
“Go, run about,” I called to them, “get used to this place, it will be your home … I hope, forever.”
The noise from the tinkling stream occupied the cubs for a time as they raised up their small noses and sniffed furiously. But as I moved to gather dry twigs for a fire they started to trail me.
Underneath the hazy stars the cubs became tangled in the high sedge and I had to raise them, bleating, by their scruffs.
“Out of there,” I called to the cubs. Their antics amused me, but did not take me from my fears for long.
I tried to feed the cubs bullock livers, which I carried within my supplies, but both seemed unsure of my offering.
“What’s wrong with it?” I said. I talked more and more to them; with each word their ears twitched and their heads lolled from side to side to better make out what I said.
“Here, try it …” I coaxed them towards the bullock livers but they merely looked at me with wide confused eyes.
“Okay, I will eat them.” My father used this trick to cajole a sick dog to its tucker tray. As I knelt down the cubs became curious, sniffing at my ears to see what I had hidden from them.
“Ah, I have your attention now,” I said, “I see …”
I raised up their feed in my teeth and they leapt to grab their share; then soon ate their fill like hungry wolves.
Together, at the start of our new adventure, I knew the cubs to be delicate creatures that carried many fears. I knew that I did too. I had no idea how my plans for them would unfold, but I knew we must all learn together if we were to have any chance of survival.
In the still of morning I awoke to find the cubs snugly stored beneath my shirtfolds. I did not know how they found their way there, but I moved quickly to discourage such behaviours and pushed them away from me.
“Get down. Away! Away!” I said. I was careful not to raise my voice too high and frighten them. “Go away! You have your own sleeping space in the hay I put down for you. Go away. Go away!”
I watched the cubs lumber off, brushing the grasses, until they stood with bemused stares by the brink of the glassy stream. As I watched them, beneath a knot of foliage on the river’s bend, the cloven air fanned their curiosity. The cubs grew deeply interested in their new surroundings and the thought gored me. I knew I must act quickly to encourage their natural insti
ncts.
A bold cloud eclipsed the sun and I saw we had camped close by a high cliff, drawn in black. Through the chinking light I saw its bare surface seemed as smooth as marble; it looked like just the kind of isolated place I hoped to find.
I picked up the cubs and headed through the forest’s unbroken hum towards the cliff. The sky above stretched blue, scrubbed clean of clouds, and the air grew sticky. Curved blades of light cut through the canopy and reed-sheaves whistled by the slapping water banks.
When we reached the cliff’s steep face, the sun’s glow leaned firmly on the highest of the crags. I made for a narrow cave set low in the ridge’s wall. Inside a rectangle of yellow light cut a trapdoor on the cave floor. I kept the cubs to the rear and collected a nest of branches and leaves, like my tiger had made. They grew not to fear me now, raising their hinds and dropping their paws and heads each time I returned to the cave, but I discouraged their playfulness.
“Away, back, back,” I said. This turned out to be my hardest task, to rebuff the cubs when they offered me affection, but I could not risk them bonding to me. Soon the cubs would need to fend for themselves. Though they filled me with pride and my heart puffed full every time I looked down at their tawny faces and playful chestnut eyes I knew our destinies were not bound together. We had to be parted soon enough, and I knew that would be a painful day.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
I snared possum and tried to feed the cubs as a grown tiger might. They took my gifts in a peculiar fashion. I laid a possum before the cubs and the one I presented the bait to took it and fed first, whilst the other merely watched. Neither cub fought the other for food. The pair seemed nothing like dogs, who when delivered their feed will attack one another to get the greatest share. My young tigers did not quarrel with each other.
I tried to train them to feed themselves with wounded possums from the snare lines, but they merely drew sport from the poor creatures.