Tiger, Tiger

by Philip Caveney

  But he did not even acknowledge her. He went along the driveway and into his silent house, closing the door behind him.

  CHAPTER 11

  HAJI LIMPED sorrowfully along a cattle trail. His body was stiff and ached in every joint, and loss of blood had weakened him considerably. The hunting that night had been more fruitless than ever, hampered as he was by his wounds. He had caught a couple of muddy frogs at the edge of a swamp earlier that evening and they had served to allay his hunger to a tiny degree. But he could not survive on such a diet and he knew that if another two nights passed without a major kill, he would simply lie down in some quiet thicket and die.

  He prowled hopefully around the outskirts of another kampong, seeking to find evidence of cattle, but in this he was disappointed. There was nothing but the strong, all-pervading smell of Uprights. A fleeting image stirred through his mind’s eye, a time when he had lain up close to a village and an Upright cub had come very near to him.…

  He moved on, clambered awkwardly up a slight rise and slumped down in a spot where he could gaze into the mass of buildings before him. A soft night wind brought the smell of the Uprights wafting straight up to him and he grimaced, dropped his head onto his paws, gave a long low rumbling growl of discontent.

  The idea came abruptly to him that if he were to survive the hard nights and days to come, then he had only one choice. He must seek slower game.

  * * *

  MELISSA’S HAIR was dry already. Ten minutes earlier she had been splashing aimlessly about in the cool waters of the local swimming pool with her friends; now she was walking homeward beside them along the grass verge that bordered the road. The two girls with her were schoolmates, a year younger than her, agreeable enough company but, she thought, rather on the empty-headed side. For this reason she rarely bothered to seek them out during the holidays even though they lived quite nearby; but they had called at her house earlier that morning to ask if she would like to go swimming with them, and there was hardly any reason why she should say no. The girls’ names were Victoria Lumly and Allison Weathers. Victoria was a rather plump girl with medium-length curly red hair and attractive green eyes. Though she possessed an innocent air, she was a holy terror where boys were concerned and some of the stories she came out with at school were rather lurid. Allison, on the other hand, was a tall thin girl with a rather homely face, the most striking feature of which was a set of buckteeth that had earned her the rather cruel nickname of Rabbit. Her one saving grace was her long blond hair, which fell down in a series of silken tresses that would not have disgraced the heroine of a pre-Raphaelite painting. She was one of those unfortunate creatures who was prone to fits of giggling whenever the subject of boys was brought up. As this was the chief interest of both Victoria and Melissa, she had consequently been giggling uncontrollably all afternoon and was now looking rather worn out. Still, for the moment at least, the subject had switched to a more general topic—going home.

  “It’s alright for you, Melissa,” observed Victoria enviously. “We’ll be going back to another year in school. You’ll be free!”

  “I suppose. But I imagine school in England will be more fun than it is in Singapore.”

  The two girls looked extremely unconvinced by this.

  “Actually,” confided Allison cautiously, “I’m going to miss Malaya.”

  “What?” The other two stared at her.

  “Well … we won’t have servants and things … and it’s supposed to be very cold in the winter.…”

  “Bullshit!” cried Victoria. She was able to say this with some authority. Her parents had only been posted to Malaya for two and a half years, whereas the other girls couldn’t remember what the old country was like. “You’ll soon get used to it. Besides, there’s so much to do there, you’ll be spoiled for choice! Pubs … discos … pop concerts … fish ’n’ chip shops…” She raised her eyebrows. “Boys…”

  Allison began to giggle. The other two girls gazed at her wearily.

  “Listen to it!” sighed Victoria. “And this is the girl who claims she isn’t a virgin!”

  “I’m not!” retorted Allison crossly. “I’ve told you before. I was interfered with by my amah’s brother.”

  “You ought to see him,” chuckled Victoria with a wink at Melissa. “Fourteen years old and five foot nothing with his socks on.”

  “Well, he was certainly passionate enough, I can tell you! He … he came into the room where I was changing and … well, you know.…”

  “And where was your amah while all this was going on?” demanded Melissa.

  “Out shopping.”

  “It sounds very dubious to me,” persisted Victoria. “Anyway, I bet he didn’t go all the way.”

  “He put his hand under my bra!” said Allison defensively.

  Now it was the other girls’ turn to laugh. Allison blushed a deep shade of red.

  “Oh dear,” gasped Melissa. “I’m not sure that qualifies as losing your virginity, somehow. Still, nice try. A for effort!” They walked on for some distance in silence, letting the mirth subside. “Anyway,” said Melissa after some thought. “I can’t wait to kiss this place goodbye. Nothing ever happens here.”

  “Some of us are alright,” said Victoria meaningfully. “Some of us get invited to shooting contests!”

  Melissa smiled.

  “Just a question of knowing the right people,” she replied. “Anyway, how did you know I was there?”

  “Oh, a little bird, dear, a little bird.…”

  Melissa frowned. She was well aware just how accurate the local grapevine was.

  “I also understand,” continued Victoria, “that you were in the company of Mr. Bob Beresford.”

  Allison began to giggle uncontrollably.

  “Yes, well, I was talking to him quite a bit,” admitted Melissa. “What’s wrong with that?”

  “Nothing! He’s gorgeous. Give me half a chance and I’d be in there myself.… What a shame he’s tied up though.” She glanced sneakily at Melissa to gauge her reaction and it was one of surprise.

  “What do you mean?” asked Melissa suspiciously. “Oh for God’s sake, Allison, stop giggling!”

  Victoria sauntered along for a moment, relishing her own power.

  “I thought everybody knew,” she said.

  “Knew what?”

  “Well … by all accounts, he’s very fond of his little Chinese amah.… I mean, very fond. I’ve seen her, she is an extraordinarily pretty girl.”

  “They sleep together,” whispered Allison fearfully. She was about to lapse into another fit of giggles, but warning glances from her two companions kept her silent for the moment.

  “I don’t believe it!” snapped Melissa.

  “Oh, it’s true enough.” Victoria was quite adamant. “They’re quite open about it apparently. It’s the talk of our estate, it’s a wonder you haven’t heard about it before.”

  “Bob and I are very good friends,” persisted Melissa. “Very good. He’s promised to give me shooting lessons.”

  The two younger girls gazed at her with new respect.

  “Lucky you,” Victoria murmured meaningfully.

  “In fact, that’s not all I’m planning to do with him!” Having got their attention, Melissa was determined to press home her advantage. “He’s been very … attentive … if you know what I mean.”

  “Do you fancy him?” enquired Allison breathlessly.

  “Of course, she fancies him, you gonk! Who wouldn’t? Did you see him at the tennis club last week? Talk about poetry in motion.…”

  “And he does look quite clean,” reasoned Allison. The other two looked at her in quiet desperation.

  “What’s that got to do with it?” demanded Victoria irritably.

  “Well … it’s important. I wouldn’t like to go with a man who wasn’t nice and clean. For one thing, you can pick up all kinds of horrible diseases.…”

  “We are talking about sweaty animal passion!” cried Victoria. “W
e are talking about a man who would grab you in his tanned muscular arms and throw you roughly onto a bed, raining passionate kisses down on your yielding lips.…”

  “He’d still have to be clean,” insisted Allison.

  Victoria thought for a moment.

  “What about your amah’s brother? Was he clean?”

  Allison glanced at her feet for several moments.

  “Not very,” she said at last.

  Victoria smiled.

  “Now, Bob Beresford,” she murmured. “I wouldn’t care if he’d just crawled through a cesspit. A real man like that— How old is he, Melissa?”

  “Twenty-four.”

  “Mmm. Do you really think you’ve got a chance of making home base with him?”

  “Sure! Just a question of time, really.”

  “I bet you won’t go all the way with him.”

  “I bet you I will!”

  “How much?”

  “As much as you like.”

  “Twenty dollars.”

  “Alright then.”

  “This is silly!” said Allison. “For one thing, how will we know?”

  “That’s true,” agreed Victoria. “For once, the bucktoothed one has a point. You could simply tell us that you’d been with him, and we wouldn’t know any better. We’d have to give you a physical or something!”

  “Well, I wouldn’t lie to you.”

  “You might. No, we’ll have to think about this more carefully.…”

  The three of them walked for some distance in silence, while Victoria thought out the possibilities.

  “One way,” she mused at last, “would be for you to perform the act somewhere where Allison and I could watch.…”

  “You must be joking!” retorted Melissa.

  “Yes, well I didn’t think you’d agree to that idea. Another way, I suppose, would be to bring something of his back to show us … sort of a trophy … but what? An item of underwear perhaps…?”

  Now Allison began to screech with laughter. Melissa was quickly losing her temper with the girl.

  “Shut up,” she snapped. “This is serious.”

  Victoria snapped her fingers.

  “I’ve got it! Bob wears a special medallion, doesn’t he?”

  “I … I don’t know…”

  “Oh yes. Angela Cartwright told me she got talking to him at the swimming pool a couple of weeks ago. He was wearing this thing around his neck, a silver charm shaped like a bullet or something. He told her it had belonged to his father and that he never took it off, because it really meant a lot to him. Now, if you brought that back to show us, I think that would be proof enough, don’t you Allison?”

  Allison nodded gravely.

  “Better than underwear,” she reasoned.

  “But supposing he won’t give it to me?” asked Melissa. “Bob was very fond of his father, you know. You can tell by the way he talks about him. He might not want to part with it.”

  “My dear girl…” Victoria smiled mysteriously. “I’m told that when a man wants a woman enough, he’ll give her anything she asks in return for … sex.” Instinctively, she grabbed hold of Allison, before the giggles could start.

  “Alright,” agreed Melissa, reluctantly. “I’ll try.”

  “There’s no need to set a time limit either, seeing as you’ll be heading back to England in three months time. If you haven’t caught him by then, you never will. I’ll draw up a couple of papers for us both to sign, saying that if you haven’t presented the medallion for me to see no later than three days before you leave, then you pay me twenty dollars. And of course, if you do show the medallion, I’ll pay you the twenty dollars.”

  “Do we really need papers?” enquired Melissa.

  “Of course. Makes it more legal.”

  “My daddy was telling me,” said Allison unexpectedly, “that during the war they used to send the Gurkhas out after the Japanese and the Gurkhas got paid a bounty for each one they killed. To prove it, they used to cut off the Jap’s ears and bring them back in pairs.…”

  “Now there’s an idea!” cried Victoria in delight. “You could sneak a knife into the bed with you Melissa and cut off something of Bob’s, to bring back as proof!”

  “Ooh horrible!” cried Allison, with a shiver of revulsion. “Imagine poor Melissa bringing back Bob’s ears in her handbag.”

  Victoria winked. “It wasn’t his ears I was thinking of,” she announced, and she and Melissa lapsed into a bout of hysterical laughter. Allison stood staring at them in puzzlement, wondering just exactly what it was that they were laughing at. But they wouldn’t tell her and she was left to conjecture about it all the way home.

  * * *

  HARRY WAS SNATCHED from a shallow dreamless snooze by the sound of a car engine roaring up to his garden gate. He sat up, blinking, unsure for the moment of where he was. He found himself in his favourite rattan chair on the verandah. A cup of tea stood on the table in front of him, but when he reached out to touch it, it was quite cold. He muttered something vicious beneath his breath and then turned his head at the sound of the garden gate. Bob Beresford came strolling up the driveway.

  “Hello there!” He waved a greeting. Harry just sat staring at him in silent disbelief. “Er … am I a little too early?”

  “Early? Early for what?”

  “Well, don’t you remember? We made an arrangement yesterday. Here…” He reached into his back pocket, pulled out a wallet and extracted fifty dollars, which he set down on the table in front of Harry. “There y’go. Cash in advance.”

  “Yes, but … that was before you pulled that bloody silly shooting stunt! Naturally I didn’t expect you to show up after that.…”

  Bob grinned, spread his arms in a gesture of goodwill.

  “Well, forgive and forget, Mr. Sullivan, that’s my motto. As far as I’m concerned, I’m prepared to forget all about it.”

  “You’re prepared!” In spite of himself, Harry had to smile. The Australian’s sheer gall was unbelievable. “Well, Beresford, if you promise not to try shooting bottles off the heads of any tigers we meet.”

  “You’ve got yourself a deal there!”

  “Very well … but you’ll have to hang on for a moment while I get changed.” Harry disappeared into the house and Bob sat down to await his return. He had expected a delay of five minutes or so, but it was nearer to twenty before Harry emerged again. He was now wearing strong canvas jungle-boots that laced up almost to the knee. Into these were tucked a pair of long khaki trousers, and he wore a matching shirt and a bush hat. His rifle was slung over his shoulder and he had a thick ammunition belt around his middle which was heavy with cartridges; also, hanging from this was a formidable looking parang in a leather sheath and a water flask.

  “At least he’s not wearing jodphurs and a pith helmet,” thought Bob to himself. But he said, “You look like you’re ready for a nine-day march!”

  “It’s always been a rule of mine,” replied Harry firmly. “Never go into the jungle even for a few hours unless you’re prepared for every eventuality.” He leaned in at the doorway, said good-bye to Pawn, who was busy in the kitchen, and then followed Bob along the driveway to the Land Rover. Soon they were racing along jungle roads en route to the scene of Bob’s unsuccessful hunt.

  Bob tried to make conversation with Harry, asking questions about his experiences as a hunter and as a commanding officer with the Gurkhas, but the old man’s answers were mostly monosyllabic. He made it quite clear that he was there under duress and that while he had agreed to help the Australian out, he had in no way consented to be his friend.

  “Cantankerous old bugger,” thought Bob grimly. He wondered if other people had this much trouble making friends with the man. Harry, meanwhile, sat stolidly in the passenger seat, staring at the road ahead.

  “That was some shootin’ yesterday, Mr. Sullivan. It’s hard to believe that you haven’t practised recently.”

  “Well, it’s the truth.” Harry glanced at Bob. “Yo
u, on the other hand, clearly practise whenever the opportunity presents itself.”

  “Yeah … I am a bit fanatical about shootin’. I get it from my father. He was the best shot in Australia.… I dunno if you ever heard of him, Mr. Sullivan? Roy Beresford, the Queensland Crackshot? He was the greatest.”

  Harry shook his head.

  “No, I er … can’t say that I have.”

  “Yeah, well … more of a local legend, really. Still, I owe it all to him. It was his huntin’ stories that got me interested in the first place.…”

  They were nearing Kampong Wau now, and Bob brought the Land Rover to a halt beside the road, where a cattle trail led into the depths of the jungle.

  “This is where we go in,” he announced. They clambered out of the vehicle and Bob led the way in. As they stepped into the shade, Harry remarked to himself that it was the first time he had entered the jungle in many long years. It was exactly as he remembered it and as he walked along, he found his gaze sweeping instinctively left and right of the trail, looking for pugmarks. After they had gone a little way, he spotted some wild pig tracks, but they looked to be weeks old. Harry knew that a good way of telling if a tiger was in the neighborhood was to see how many pigs were encountered on the trail. If they were abundant, it quickly became apparent that the cat had moved on to a new part of its range; when there were none, it indicated that he was around somewhere, looking for food. But in such instances, one usually found evidence of their recent presence, pugmarks, droppings.… As they moved along, Harry was puzzled to find nothing but occasional old signs of their passing. This was strange because this part of Trengganu had once been abundant with wild pig. He asked the Australian if he had encountered any wild pig on his marches through the jungle.

  “No, not one. Why?”

  Harry shrugged.

  “I’m just wondering if something’s happened to diminish the pig population. They’re the tiger’s main source of food. A shortage of them could explain these cattle killings.”

  “Hmm. Well, I’ll keep my eyes open for them in future. Ah … now this is where we join the drag, I think.”

  Sure enough, a trail of crushed vegetation and broken grass stalks moved directly across their path and they could see two trails where the calf’s hooves had ploughed furrows on the damp earth. Bob let Harry take the lead from here, he was interested to see what the old man could do. Harry moved along the drag, stopping occasionally to examine half-formed pugs. At last, he found a place where the cat had crossed a patch of softer ground and here there were some quite clear imprints. He kneeled down beside them and studied them for a moment.