Tiger, Tiger

by Philip Caveney

  Haji was curious about the Upright’s presence here in a tree, a place where that particular species rarely visited. Why had he forsaken the safety and comfort of his more familiar home? The black stick was a clue, of course. The black sticks roared death at other creatures with their moving fire and perhaps it was the Upright’s intention to fling death at something he thought might stray here. But what? Surely not the calf, the Upright could not be so stupid as to think that was still alive.… Haji was quite unable to equate himself as being a likely target and so he lay beneath the tree for some time, watching eagerly to see if any action might occur. But the hours passed relentlessly and nothing happened. Once there was a brief flare of fire up in the tree and Haji was about to run when just as suddenly it went out again. Then there was the vaguely familiar smoke-smell that the Uprights sometimes carried with them. A little later, a small white thing fell from the tree and lay smoking in the grass. Haji was tiring of the whole affair and was on the point of taking himself elsewhere in search of other prey, when he became aware of soft rhythmic sounds coming from the tree-seat, sounds that seemed to suggest sleep. Haji tilted his head to one side and listened. Sure enough, it did seem like the Upright had gone to sleep but just to be sure, Haji waited for several more minutes before moving off in another wide circle, which brought him slowly, cautiously, up to the kill.

  His first thought was to drag it away and consume it elsewhere. The Upright might wake and see him … and now, for the first time, it occurred to Haji that the Upright could just as easily direct the power of the black stick against a lone tiger as anything else. And who else might be expected to come to this area but the one who had killed the meat in the first place? It was he, Haji, and no other who the Upright sought! This conclusion caused a kind of anger to well up in Haji and he would have roared his defiance, but good sense warned him that first, he should secure the meat that belonged to him. He took the half-consumed carcass in his great jaws, lifted it clear off the ground and began to carry it away; but abruptly, he came to a halt. The carcass would not move! Setting it down again, Haji examined a thick piece of rope that was fastened around the calf’s middle. The other end was attached to a stout stake that had been hammered deep into the ground. Haji sniffed the attachment suspiciously. Then, glancing back nervously at the tree, he lifted the carcass up again and began to pull with all his might. At first, his efforts seemed fruitless, but then the head of the stake began to slowly pull free of the earth that held it. Haji spread his forepaws wide, braced himself, and gave one enormous heave that wrenched the wood completely out of the ground. Then, with the rope and stake trailing behind him, he carried the food triumphantly away into the jungle. Behind him, slumped on the machan, a lone Upright slept, dreaming of success.

  CHAPTER 10

  THE CONSTANT HUNT for food was disrupted by the long wailing cries of a tigress whose time for mating was at hand. Haji recognized the voice of Timah, and instantly all thought of food was momentarily forgotten. It was early morning and the sounds of Timah’s distress echoed eerily through the jungle clearings, a loud prolonged caterwauling impossible to ignore. Haji began to answer with calls of his own and moving quickly along cattle trails, he soon reached an area where she had recently passed, the ferns and bushes reeking with the musky scent that she had copiously sprayed. Her moaning was nearer now, but Haji was alarmed to hear a third voice, calling off to the east, one he didn’t recognize. This voice too was answering Timah and it was unmistakably male. Haji thought of the unfamiliar sprayings and scrape marks he had recently found and he bristled with anger. Pausing for a moment, he threw back his head and roared shatteringly, but this time, he introduced an edge of warning into the cry that demanded the stranger keep his distance. The third voice kept up its arrogant barrage and gradually, the three cats converged on each other.

  At last, Haji emerged into a small clearing, to find Timah awaiting him. She moved towards him flirtatiously, prowling with a slow sensuous grace that she had newly discovered. When she reached him, she moved her soft flank invitingly against his and curled the end of her tail over to trail along the length of Haji’s spine. But he was still aware of the stranger’s voice calling, very close now. Timah halted her caresses and stared off, puzzled, in the direction from which the voice was issuing. She was clearly as surprised by this manifestation as Haji was. After a few moments, she returned to her shameless advances with renewed urgency, but Haji could not settle. He prowled backwards and forwards, growling deep in his throat, while he anticipated the confrontation that must inevitably come.

  Suddenly, the newcomer burst impetuously into the clearing and stood confronting the two of them. He was a handsome young male, just reaching maturity. He could not have been much over four summers old and while he lacked Haji’s dimensions, he was clearly healthy and at the peak of his strength. He stood with his legs braced, snarling arrogant defiance at Haji across the clearing. Haji responded with a roar that would have scared most competitors away, such was its force, but the newcomer stood his ground, his ears raised to show the white spots on the back of them, a symbol of aggression. Haji moved away from Timah and paced silently toward the youngster, until they stood about ten feet apart. Meanwhile, Timah, with an air of silent resignation, plumped herself down in the grass to await the outcome of the contest. To the victor would go the spoils of war.

  Now began a long and noisy show of power as the two males paced restlessly up and down, bellowing and raging, bristling the white ruffs around their necks and making short ritual dashes at each other, then pulling away at the last instant. The clearing echoed to the noise of them and the display went on for some considerable time before they tired of it and decided to get down to some real fighting. It was the young male who made the first attack. He took a sudden lunging run at Haji, his great clawed feet making slashing attacks at the older cat’s eyes; but Haji twisted aside, turned in against his adversary’s flank and sank his claws and teeth into the thick neck as it dashed by him. The youngster roared in pain and whirled about in a flurry, striking back with a series of blows that thrust Haji bodily away from him. He followed straight after, lunging full length onto Haji, his jaws seeking the older cat’s throat. But Haji’s legs raked savagely against his opponent’s chest, flinging him aside, and the young tiger was persuaded not to try that line of attack again.

  Now the two of them drew back from each other and fell silent, each of them intent upon the other. They prowled cautiously around, each of them seeking an opening, like two wrestlers weighing each other’s weaknesses. The younger cat now became aware of Haji’s injured leg and instinctively directed his next attack in that area. He leapt abruptly in, trying to sink his teeth into the swollen flesh; but he received such a devastating flurry of blows about the head for his troubles that he turned away again and then Haji’s claws sank into his flank and the two of them locked together. Their struggles took them over the edge of a steep slope and they tumbled headlong, a bundle of kicking legs and foaming jaws. At the base of the hill they struck a tree trunk and sprawled heavily apart. The youngster was up first. He crept up to the base of the tree while Haji was still recovering from his daze; then dashing around it, he struck Haji head on, three hundred and fifty pounds of ferocious power, driving the older cat backwards with a series of relentless, crushing blows. Haji felt one of his ears rip into bloody tatters and this served to release a rage in him that was extraordinary. With a howl of hatred, he burst back at his tormentor, blind to everything but his own fury. The tables were abruptly turned and now it was the young cat who retreated from the onslaught. He was backed up against the tree trunk again and he was caught there for an instant like a heavyweight boxer slumped against the ropes, while Haji delivered some fearful damage, his great claws ripping deep into the other’s head and neck. But then the youngster had the sense to slip around the trunk of the tree and he kept it between him and Haji for a moment while he struggled to regain his breath. The two of them circled warily around the
base of the tree now. The youngster could see that Haji had expended much of his last reserves of strength in that recent outburst. Now he was weakening rapidly, hampered by his injured leg. A decisive attack now could just turn the tables.…

  The youngster backed abruptly away from the tree onto open ground and Haji followed closely, realizing only too well that his adversary was rallying for an all-out assault. In this next confrontation, the outcome of the fight would be resolved. There was a moment of silence, while two pairs of yellow eyes flashed dumb hatred at each other. Then, as if at some prearranged signal, the two great cats ran at each other and collided in a fury of claw and fang. Haji struck badly, twisting his injured foot inwards against the other cat’s chest. He howled in pain and sensing an advantage, the youngster struck home with his heavy paws, pounding and tearing at Haji with incredible force. Haji was virtually blinded by the barrage and could do nothing but retreat before it. In that instant, he knew that he had lost the fight. The triumphant roar of the youngster mocked him as he turned tail and ran away into the jungle, for to stay longer was to die, and Haji had always been a survivor.

  But his own shame weighed terribly on him as he plunged away into the undergrowth with his tormentor still hard on his heels. He raced into a bamboo thicket and buried himself deep in the cool leafy sanctuary. Thankfully, the younger cat gave up the chase now, contenting himself with parading up and down outside the thicket, roaring triumphantly and telling the jungle at large about his magnificent victory.

  Haji slumped down in exhaustion and began to lick his wounds in humiliation. He was an exile now. Not only would the victor take his mate, but he would lay claim to his territory as well and would waste no time in chasing Haji off it. Then the old cat would be nothing but a transient, a tiger without a range to prowl. He would be allowed to linger no more than a day or so in any one place, and all the creatures of the jungle would know of his shame. In such a condition, he could not hope to live for very much longer.

  He lapped weakly at his injured paw. The fight had unsettled the quills in their fleshy beds and new pain rivered spasmodically through it. His head, neck, and flanks were scarred deeply and fresh blood dripped from the wounds. He had meant to move on, but now found he had scarcely the strength to rise. Peering back, he saw the youngster strutting away in the direction of Timah and knew that for the moment, the bamboo thicket was as secure a place as any other. He let his head drop onto his forepaws and he gave a long low moan, deep in his throat, to articulate the misery that he felt. And he lay slumped and unmoving in the midst of the thicket all through the rest of that day and far into the night.

  * * *

  HARRY EMERGED from a taxicab outside the gates of Kuala Hitam barracks. He reached in and took out the rifle in its leather carrying case and slung this carelessly over his shoulder. He paid the driver and then strolled towards the gates. The Gurkha sentry recognized him and began instinctively to salute; then he hesitated halfway, smiled foolishly.

  “Force of habit,” he murmured. ‘I never really know what to do.…”

  “Try saying ‘Hello, Harry,’” suggested Harry with a grin. “But anyway, how are you, Hernam?”

  “I am most well, sir.”

  “Good. And your wife and children?”

  “They also, sir. It is good to see you again.”

  “Heard anything yet? About moving, I mean?”

  Hernam shook his head. He had the typical delicate features of a Gurkha, handsome dusky skin and large brown eyes. He looked considerably younger than his real age, which was almost thirty. “Nothing for sure yet. But some of the men have dates already. The first wave leaves in two weeks time.” He shrugged helplessly. “What can we do?” he murmured. “We must wait…” He forced a smile. “You are here for the shooting, yes? You are expected. Most of the others are at the range now.”

  “Good. Well, I expect I’ll see you again before very long. Goodbye, Hernam, and give my very best wishes to your wife and children.”

  “I will, sir. Thank you.”

  Harry strolled on along the road into the camp. Everywhere seemed horribly quiet; there was the distinct air of “nothing happening.” The few huts and buildings he passed seemed devoid of any life. Once this place had fairly bustled with activity. Of course, Harry had no wish to go back to the dark days of the confrontation, but it was sad that a place like Kuala Hitam couldn’t function without some kind of war to support it.…

  When he reached the shooting range, it quickly became apparent why there was nobody at the camp; they were all here. A large crowd had assembled by the firing line and it was quite obvious that everybody who had a dollar or two to spare was going to have a bet. A couple of young Gurkha officers were sliding in and out of the crowd taking odds and a lot of money appeared to be changing hands. Of course, it was against all the laws of protocol, but Harry could hardly blame anybody for their actions. If such a silly little event was the high spot of everybody’s month, then there was something very wrong with the way things were around here.

  He moved into the crowd and instantly people started recognizing him. Harry had long since earned the dubious status of a local celebrity, and at social gatherings he tended to find himself being greeted by people whom he scarcely knew or, for that matter, wanted to know. He moved towards the shooting line, nodding and keeping his best “professional” smile glued to his face, but the smile faded somewhat as he noticed Melissa talking earnestly with Bob Beresford. She glanced up as he approached.

  “Oh, Uncle Harry, there you are! We were beginning to think you’d changed your mind!” Harry winced at the way she said the word “we” as if she and Beresford had already formed some kind of partnership. Well, it was probably just a matter of time anyway, he realized that now. He tried not to feel resentment towards the Australian, but he felt it rising again the moment he heard the man’s droning accent.

  “Great to see you, Harry! I hope you don’t mind me callin’ you that.…” Bob paused briefly for a reply, didn’t get one and hurried on again. “Now, if I can just explain what’s going to happen here. First off, you give your fifty dollars to Harun over there…” He indicated one of the young officers. “It works out that there’s eight of us all together, so what happens is we all pair off see, we have a sort of elimination series. Whoever wins out of the first pair goes on to meet the winner of the next pair and so on. The eventual winner takes the pot.”

  Harry nodded.

  “What are the targets?”

  “Just standard bulls. You get six shots each and the highest number of inner rings gets it. They aren’t too big, think you’ll be able to see them okay?”

  “I think I’ll manage,” snapped Harry, curtly.

  “Yeah, well … we’ve drawn lots for partners already. You’re paired against me, as it happens.”

  “What a surprise,” said Harry drily.

  “You’d better be good,” announced Melissa brightly. “I’ve put down five dollars on you, Uncle Harry.”

  He glared at her. “You’ve bet?” he enquired. “But I thought only the competitors could…?”

  Bob coughed.

  “Oh no, Mr. Sullivan. We’ve organized a tote for the spectators as well. Shame if they can’t get in on the fun too, eh? There’s no profit in that part of it for us. The winners share the pot.” He grinned, spread his hands in a gesture of benevolence. “It’s a bit of a laugh!” he concluded. “Anyway, I told Melissa she should put her money on me. I’m going to win this.”

  Harry gazed at him for a moment.

  “Are you always so sure of yourself, Mr. Beresford?” he asked.

  “Only where shootin’s concerned. I never miss.” He said the last three words with slow steady pride.

  “Well, Uncle Harry’s no slouch either,” chuckled Melissa. “I tell you what! This will be a good way to settle that little dispute the other night … about the shooting lessons! Whoever wins out of the pair of you is hired. How about that?” The two men gazed at each othe
r in silence. Melissa instantly wished she hadn’t said it.

  “Here no, look, that’s a silly idea.…” she began, but Bob waved her to silence.

  “Sounds fine to me! What do you say Mr. Sullivan?”

  Harry shrugged.

  “Just as you wish,” he murmured. He turned to Melissa. “Where’s your father today?” he enquired.

  “He had to work I’m afraid. Poor Daddy, he misses all the fun.”

  “Does he know you’re here?”

  “Yes, of course! Anyway, what does it matter? I’m old enough to do as I like.”

  Harry noticed that as she said this, her eyes slid sideways to observe Beresford’s reaction, as though she was constantly seeking his approval.

  “Yes, of course…” He turned abruptly away and went to find a seat, where he could await his turn. When the young officer approached him, he dutifully handed over his fifty dollars.

  “What has the silly old bugger got against me?” murmured Bob irritably.

  “He’s not a silly old bugger,” retorted Melissa and was vaguely surprised by her own defensiveness. “When you get to know him, you’ll realize that. But it’s true, you do rub him up the wrong way.…”

  “I try to be nice,” said Bob. “I certainly don’t bear him any grudge. But you saw what happened just then. I asked if I could call him Harry, he didn’t say a bloody word. I ended up calling him Mr. Sullivan, the same as ever. I mean, how am I expected to make friends with somebody like that?”

  Melissa shrugged.

  “I don’t know,” she admitted. “But I’d hate to think of the two of you as enemies. Why don’t you— Why don’t you let him win?”

  “What?”

  “It would mean a lot to him.”