Tiger, Tiger

by Philip Caveney

  After a while, Haji moved right, along another track into deeper jungle. He was astonished to find the powerful scent of a male tiger, sprayed on the bushes and trees. He came to a halt, sniffing and grimacing. It was rare for one male tiger to invade another one’s territory. It was true, certainly, that young tigers who did not possess their own home ranges sometimes crossed an established run, but such creatures were merely transients. They killed game on their travels but were rarely opposed by the resident animal, for they were only en route to another place. They certainly didn’t go around marking out territory in such a brazen way, and Haji was very angry that his authority should be challenged in this manner. He paced up and down for a moment, growling to himself, not sure how to resolve the matter. After some moments of indecision, he simply lifted his tail and blanketed the area with his own scent, so that if the intruder should return this way, he would be left in no doubt about Haji’s feelings over the outrage. This accomplished, Haji moved to the centre of the track and made two distinct scrape marks in the dirt with his hind feet, a further indication that the territory was his. He made as though to move off again, but returned after a few steps, still not satisfied with his efforts. He squatted down near the bushes and defecated, leaving a large pile of steaming dung as a calling card. There could be no mistaking a move like that.

  Content at last that he had made his intentions clear, he moved on again, stopping to spray at regular intervals. The scent of the other cat kept recurring along the track for some considerable distance until Haji reached a place where the intruder had veered off towards the river, leaving two scrape marks to indicate his change of direction. Haji growled, sniffed at the ground and gave out one last obliterating spray as a parting gesture. Then he moved along his way, trotting briskly, his head down. His aim was to make a wide rambling circle within the confines of his territory and arrive back for a second feed on his kill, around dusk. The rather vague intentions he had were soon channelled into more positive notions, when a mile or two along the track, he came across another scent. This one, however, did not antagonize him, for it belonged to Timah, one of the two resident tigresses that shared Haji’s range. Haji had not yet mated with Timah for she was only just coming to maturity and would be expecting her first “heat” any time now. The older tigress, Seti, was already heavily pregnant after a brief encounter with Haji some four months back and could expect to drop her litter in a day or so.

  As is the accustomed way with tigers, Haji lived a solitary existence, as did his two mates. They would only meet up to copulate and then after a few hours together would go their separate ways. It was true that sometimes, when chance brought them within range of each other, they would meet up briefly and possibly even share a kill. Such was Haji’s intention now. Timah’s scent was still fresh and he was soon able to locate her, by a series of calls which she promptly answered. A short while later, he found her waiting on the track ahead of him and hurried forward to join her. They made the familiar coughing greeting to each other that tigers invariably used and they rubbed against each other, flank to flank, purring contentedly like overgrown domestic tabbies. Timah was a particularly handsome creature. Some three years old, in the first flush of maturity, she was considerably smaller than Haji and shorter in total length by over a foot; but her fine dark coat was smooth and glossy and her green eyes glittered with quick intelligence. In old age, Haji’s coat had grown tattered and pale, and there were many grey hairs about his face and throat. But for all that, Timah was still his mate. In many ways, Haji preferred Timah to good dependable old Seti, who had borne him four litters over the years. Raising cubs was an arduous business for any tigress, for she was obliged to keep them with her for two years until they were deemed adept enough to look after themselves. Then, they either left of their own accord or were physically driven away, so they might search for territories of their own. More often than not, there would not be one available and they would have to content themselves with being transients for a year or so, until a resident cat died or moved away, leaving a range free. The cruel laws of nature usually maintained the balance and it was rare to have a waiting list. But there were instances of a maturing cat fighting an old male for possession of his territory, and it was such a circumstance that Haji feared might be the outcome of the presence of the scent-spraying intruder.

  But all that was quickly put out of his mind by the playful, mischievous Timah. In some ways, still a cub at heart, she had obviously decided that she wanted to romp and she began to leap around Haji, pawing at him in a display of mock-fighting and then, when he reciprocated, gambolling off into the bushes for a game of hide-and-seek. Dour old Haji felt all this to be a little beneath his dignity and after going along with it for a short while, he brought matters to a head by gripping Timah firmly by the nape of the neck and biting her just a little bit harder than qualified as mere play. She quietened down considerably after that and contented herself with trotting obediently along behind him, especially when he intimated to her that a splendid meal was waiting at the end of the journey.

  They set off, with keen appetites and high expectations, into the dappled green depths of the jungle.

  * * *

  IT WAS late afternoon and Harry was seated at the little table on the verandah, drinking Darjeeling tea and enjoying the last few peaceful hours before dusk. Behind him, Pawn worked tirelessly, flitting about the various rooms of the house like a restless fly. It was once again Mess night, and she was anxious to have everything spick and span for the Tuan before he left.

  The stillness of the day was abruptly shattered by the bronchial wheezing of a battered old Ford saloon as it came clattering into view around the corner. The car had an overall background colour of dark grey, but was liberally splattered with patches of other colours where rusty abrasions had been plastered over with metal filler. All in all, it was surprising that Doctor Kalim’s car had not fallen apart long ago. It showered flakes of rust onto the drive as it eased in through the open gateway and came to a shuddering, sorrowful halt. Harry raised his eyes heavenwards, for he had half expected this visit. Nonetheless, he called through into the house.

  “Pawn! Bring out an extra cup and saucer, please!”

  Doctor Kalim emerged from his car and as always, Harry was struck by the incongruity of it all. Kalim was a neat and dapper little Muslim, who always insisted on wearing an immaculate white shirt, his English university tie and a sombre black suit, which must have been hellishly uncomfortable in such heat. The whole effect was topped by a wide-brimmed black fedora, which added another six inches to his unimposing stature. He leaned into the back of the car, retrieved his leather briefcase, and came striding purposefully up the driveway, peering at Harry through a pair of pebble-rimmed spectacles.

  He stepped onto the verandah just as Pawn emerged from the house carrying the spare crockery.

  “Doctor Kalim!” announced Harry graciously. “This is an unexpected pleasure. Won’t you sit down and take a cup of tea?”

  Kalim gave a stiff little bow of assent.

  “Thank you, Mr. Sullivan, I’d love some.” He sat himself in the spare chair, removed his hat, and placed it carefully on the table. Pawn set the cup down in front of him and withdrew into the house, trying hard not to smile.

  “Allow me to fill your cup,” said Harry. “It’s only just been made.” He leaned over and filled Kalim’s cup to the brim. “There now. It’s such a pleasure to sit out here in the afternoon and drink a good tea, don’t you think?”

  Kalim said nothing.

  “I er … take it this is just a social call?” ventured Harry, knowing in his heart that such was surely not the case. Kalim had been his doctor for six years now and though in that time, Harry had never called on the fellow once, Kalim had often taken the initiative himself. The plain fact was that Harry didn’t like doctors or surgeries or hospitals and would have had to be taken forcibly, even after a major accident.

  “Indeed, this is not a social ca
ll, Mr. Sullivan, as I am thinking you must be most aware.” Kalim talked slowly and emphatically, for despite his years at university, he still had problems with his English. “Your very good chum, Mr. Tremayne, is asking me to be calling on you. He is telling me that you are having a very bad do at the tennis courts, yesterday.”

  Harry smiled, spread his arms.

  “Well, here I am, Doctor,” he exclaimed. “How do I look?”

  Kalim clenched his teeth and lifted the corners of his mouth, a device that was supposed to pass for smiling.

  “Come, come, Mr. Sullivan. As I am quite sure you are aware, how you look has very little to do with it. Tell me, when did you have last a major physical checkup?”

  “Oh, let me see now … that would have been in ’62, when we had the trouble in Brunei. Told me then I had a dodgy ticker, but that if I looked after it, there’d be no problem.…”

  A look of supreme annoyance came over Kalim’s usually placid face.

  “Oh really, Mr. Sullivan! Would you be saying that playing tennis is a particularly good way of looking after this … dodgy ticker, as you call it? Sometimes, I despair of the British mentality, I really do. Mr. Tremayne was telling me that you had a very nasty turn. It’s a wonder you didn’t kill yourself.”

  Harry gave a gesture of dismissal.

  “Dennis Tremayne is a natural-born exaggerater. Always has been. The fact is, it was hot. I had a bit of a dizzy spell, that’s all.”

  “A dizzy spell. Do you not think that I am being better qualified to judge the severity of what was happening to you?”

  “My dear Doctor Kalim! You weren’t even there, old man, so how can you be expected to know what was wrong with me? I say, do drink up your tea before it goes cold.”

  Kalim muttered something beneath his breath, but obediently, he picked up his cup and sipped at it a few times. He watched horrified, as Harry took a cigar case from his shirt pocket. He extracted one, put it into his mouth, and then offered the case to Kalim.

  “No, thank you very much, I don’t. And neither should you, if you are not minding me saying so.”

  “Say what you like,” muttered Harry gruffly. He struck a match and lit the cigar. “It’s your loss. These are very fine Havanas.”

  Kalim shook his head in mute exasperation. He thought for a moment, then leaned down, opened his briefcase and took out a stethoscope.

  “Well you can put that away for a start,” warned Harry.

  “Mr. Sullivan … now, it would not be taking me more than two minutes to be having a quick listen to your dodgy old ticker. We could be doing it right here, you will not even have to get out of your chair.…”

  “Certainly not. I’m not having you listening to my insides, some things are sacred you know!”

  “But really, this is being most childish.…”

  “You can say what you like, I know my rights. If I don’t want to be looked at, then there’s nothing you can do to make me. Now please, Doctor Kalim, stop being a confounded nuisance, sit still, and drink your bloody tea!”

  “Well, really!” Kalim was outraged. He thrust the stethoscope back into his briefcase and sat where he was for a moment, staring out across the garden, a look of dark, impotent fury on his face. “When I think of the poor people around here who would give anything to secure a doctor’s help,” he muttered. “And then I am encountering people like you, Mr. Sullivan … people who are refusing to help themselves. It is making me most annoyed.” He sipped again at his tea. “Let me tell you the symptoms I think you were experiencing yesterday. You have already spoken of dizziness. I think also there would have been a sharp pain in the chest, a pounding of the heart, an inability to control one’s breathing … shall I go on, Mr. Sullivan? Possibly, you were feeling nauseous and could not maintain your balance; Mr. Tremayne is already confirming that point with me. He is saying he had to be holding you upright.…” He glanced accusingly at Harry. “Well? Are these the symptoms you were having?”

  Harry shrugged expressively.

  “Perhaps,” he said, noncommittally.

  “Well then, Mr. Sullivan, it is hardly needing a doctor to be telling you that it was most probably a heart attack you were suffering yesterday.”

  “A…?” Harry laughed unconvincingly.

  “Oh, so it is a matter for merriment is it?” cried Kalim. He was getting more and more annoyed and his voice was sliding rapidly higher and higher up the vocal scale.

  “Not at all, not at all. But really, Doctor, a heart attack! Why, I’m as strong as a mule. I hardly think I’d be wandering about today, if I’d really had a heart attack yesterday.”

  “There are being all different kinds of heart seizures,” shrieked Kalim. “There are earth tremors and earthquakes, but all of them are starting in the same place. That is exactly why I am wanting to examine you, you silly old man! Now I am asking you for the last time, Mr. Sullivan. Will you submit yourself to me for a thorough physical examination?”

  “I will not,” replied Harry coolly.

  Kalim stood up, crammed his hat down on his head, and snatched up his briefcase.

  “Then I am clearly wasting my time here,” he announced.

  “I could have told you that before you sat down,” said Harry.

  Kalim gave an involuntary cry of exasperation. “You are without doubt the most cantankerous, impossible old fool,” he concluded, and began to walk away.

  “And you, my dear Doctor Kalim, are without doubt the most insufferable quack!” retorted Harry.

  Kalim stopped in his tracks for a moment. He gazed back at Harry with a look that would have scorched the varnish of a grand piano. Then he strode away, clambered back into his ramshackle car, and reversed carelessly out of the drive, catching the left rear wing on a gatepost and scraping a new area free of grey paint.

  Harry winced, then chuckled. The car lurched around in a ragged circle and accelerated away down the road, making a noise like an electric mixer filled with chestnuts. Pawn came to the door, gazed out in surprise.

  “Doctor man not stay very long,” she observed drily.

  “No,” chuckled Harry, puffing on his cigar. “I don’t think he was feeling very well.”

  CHAPTER 6

  THE TIGER’S HEAD above the doorway seemed to have acquired a grin. Harry settled into his familiar seat with a decided feeling of well-being for the world in general, even for Doctor Kalim. Harry was hatching a wicked little plan which involved sending the good doctor a box of Havana cigars. Trimani must have caught on to the Tuan’s feeling of contentment, for he brought the glass of beer with a huge dazzling grin stretched across his dark face. He lit Harry’s cigar for him and received a Havana for himself, along with the more usual fifty-cent tip.

  After a little while, Dennis came in, with his lovely young daughter, Melissa, in tow. She hurried over to Harry’s table while her father sorted out some business at the bar.

  “Hello, Uncle Harry!” She kissed him energetically on the cheek. She always had called him “uncle,” though, of course, they were really not related.

  He beamed at her.

  “And how are you?” he enquired. “Found anything to occupy yourself yet?”

  “I’m afraid not. Everything’s so quiet around here!” Melissa had recently finished school in Singapore and was anxious now to do a little living. Harry sympathized with her. There really wasn’t that much for an eighteen-year-old to get involved in here, the most energetic preoccupation being the acquisition of a suntan. That was a novelty that wore off after a few days.

  “I expect you’re itching to get back to England, aren’t you?”

  “I should say so!”

  “Will you go to university or something?”

  She shook her head.

  “No thanks. I’ve had enough schooling to last a lifetime. What I want is a career and a lot of fun, but not necessarily in that order.… Oh, but Uncle Harry, I wish you were coming back with us. Writing letters just won’t be the same somehow.”
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  “Yes, well, I think I’ve already had this conversation with Dennis.…”

  “Somebody mention my name?” Dennis arrived carrying drinks, one of which he passed to Melissa.

  “Good heavens, what is she drinking now?” cried Harry, in mock horror.