Tiger's Curse

by Colleen Houck

  My eyes were drawn to the tiger, which was now sitting on one of the stools. I saw it moving its tongue around. It was scrunching up its face as if it smelled something funny. It almost looked like it was gagging, like a cat does when it has a hairball. Then it shook itself and sat there calmly.

  Matt’s dad brought his hands up, and the crowd cheered loudly. The whip cracked again, and the tiger quickly jumped off the stool, ran back through the tunnel, up the ramp, and into its cage. Matt’s dad ran out of the ring and stepped behind the canvas curtain.

  Mr. Maurizio dramatically shouted, “The Great Dhiren! Mille grazie! Thank you so much for coming to see the Circus Maurizio!”

  As the tiger’s cage was wheeled away before me, I had a sudden urge to stroke its head and comfort it. I wasn’t sure if tigers could show emotion, but for some reason I felt like I could sense its mood. It seemed melancholy.

  Just at that moment, a soft breeze wrapped around me carrying the scent of night blooming jasmine and sandalwood. It completely overwhelmed the strong aroma of hot buttered popcorn and cotton candy. My heart beat faster as goosebumps shot down my arms. But as quickly as it came, the lovely scent disappeared and I felt an inexplicable hole in the pit of my stomach.

  The lights came up and the kids started stampeding out of the arena. My brain was still slightly foggy. Slowly, I got up and turned around to stare at the curtain where the tiger had disappeared. A faint trace of sandalwood and an unsettled feeling lingered.

  Huh! I must have hypersensitivity disorder.

  The show was over, and I was officially crazy.

  3

  the tiger

  the kids rushed out of the building in a screaming mob. A bus started up in the parking lot. As it noisily shook itself awake rumbling, hissing, and puffing air out of its exhaust pipe, Matt stood up and stretched. “Ready for the real work now?”

  I groaned, feeling the soreness in my arm muscles already. “Sure, bring it on.”

  He started cleaning the debris off the seats, as I followed behind to push them against the wall. When that was done, he handed me a broom. “We’ve got to get the whole area swept up, pack everything into the boxes, and then store them all away again. You get started, and I’ll turn in the money boxes to Mr. Maurizio.”

  “No problem.”

  I started moving slowly across the floor, pushing the broom in front of me. I wound forward and back, like a swimmer doing laps, as I methodically swept up the rubbish. My mind wandered back to the acts I had seen. I loved the dogs the best, but there was something compelling about the tiger. My thoughts kept drifting back to the big cat.

  I wonder what it’s like up close. And why does it smell like sandalwood? I didn’t know anything about tigers except what I had seen late at night on the Nature Channel and in old issues of National Geographic. I’d never been that interested in tigers before, but then again, I’d never worked in a circus before either.

  I’d almost finished sweeping by the time Matt came back. He bent to help me scoop up the giant mound of trash before we spent a good hour packing up boxes and hauling them back to storage.

  When this was done, Matt told me that I could have an hour or two off until it was time to join the troupe for dinner. I was eager to have a little time to myself, so I hurried back to the tent.

  I changed clothes, wiggled into an only slightly uncomfortable place on my cot, and pulled out my journal. As I nibbled on my pen, I reflected on the interesting people I had met here. It was obvious that the circus folk considered each other family. Several times, I noticed people stepping in to help, even if it wasn’t their job. I also wrote a bit about the tiger. The tiger really interested me. Maybe I should work with animals and study that in college, I reflected. Then I thought about my extreme dislike of biology and knew I’d never make it in that field.

  It was almost time for dinner. The delectable aroma coming from the big building made my mouth water.

  This was nothing like Sarah’s vegan cookies, I thought. No, it had the homey feel of Grandma’s biscuits and gravy.

  Inside, Matt was setting up chairs around eight long folding tables. One of the tables was set up with Italian takeout. It looked fantastic. I offered to help, but Matt brushed me aside.

  “You worked hard today, Kelsey. Relax, I got this,” he said.

  Cathleen waved me over. “Come sit by me. We can’t start eating until Mr. Maurizio comes in to make the evening announcements.”

  Sure enough, the moment we sat down, Mr. Maurizio strolled dramatically into the building. “Favoloso performance, everyone! And a most eccellente job to our newest salesperson, eh? Tonight is a celebration! Mangiate. Fill your plates, mia famiglia!”

  I giggled. Huh. He plays the part all the time, not just for the show.

  I turned to Cathleen. “I guess that means we did a good job, right?”

  She answered, “Yep. Let’s eat!”

  I waited in line with Cathleen, and then picked up my paper plate and filled it with Italian green salad, a big scoop of spinach-and-cheese-stuffed shells covered in tomato sauce, parmesan chicken, and, not having enough room on my plate, popped a warm breadstick into my mouth, grabbed a bottle of water, and sat down. I couldn’t help but notice the large chocolate cheesecake for dessert, but I wasn’t even able to finish the dinner I had on my plate. Sighing, I left the cheesecake alone.

  After dinner, I moved to a quiet corner of the building and called to check in with Sarah and Mike. When I hung up, I approached Matt, who was putting all the leftovers into the fridge. “I didn’t see your dad at the table. Doesn’t he eat?”

  “I took him a plate. He was busy with the tiger.”

  “How long has your dad been working with the tiger?” I asked, eager to learn more about the impressive cat. “According to the job description, I’m supposed to help out with the tiger somehow.”

  Matt shoved aside a half empty bottle of orange juice, wedged a box of takeout food next to it, and shut the refrigerator. “For the past five years or so. Mr. Maurizio purchased the tiger from another circus, and they had bought it from another circus before that. The tiger’s history wasn’t well documented. Dad says the tiger will perform only the standard tricks and refuses to learn anything new, but the good news is that it’s never given him a problem. It’s a very quiet, almost docile beast, as far as tigers go.”

  “So what do I have to do to it? I mean, am I really supposed to feed it?”

  “Don’t worry. It’s not that hard as long as you avoid the big teeth,” Matt joked. “I’m kidding. You’ll just be bringing the tiger’s food back and forth from building to building. See my dad tomorrow. He’ll give you all the info you need.”

  “Thanks, Matt!”

  There was about an hour left of light outside, but I had to get up early again. After showering, brushing my teeth, and changing into my warm flannel pj’s and slippers, I hurried back to my tent and got cozy under my grandma’s quilt. Reading a chapter in my book made me drowsy, so I quickly fell into a deep sleep.

  The next morning after breakfast, I hurried to the kennel and found Matt’s dad playing with the dogs. He looked a lot like an adult version of Matt, with the same brown hair and brown eyes. He turned to me as I approached and said, “Hello. It’s Kelsey, right? I understand you’ll be my assistant today.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He shook my hand warmly and smiled. “Call me Andrew or Mr. Davis, if you prefer something more formal. The first thing we need to do is take these feisty little critters for a walk around the grounds.”

  “Sounds easy enough.”

  He laughed. “We’ll see.”

  Mr. Davis gave me enough leashes to hook to five dogs’ collars. The dogs were an interesting assortment of mutts including a beagle, a greyhound mix, bulldog, a Great Dane, and a little black poodle. The animals bounced around everywhere, getting the leashes all twisted around each other—and me. Mr. Davis leaned over to help and then we started off.

  It was
a beautiful morning. The woods were fragrant, and the dogs were very happy, jumping about and pulling me in every direction except the one I wanted to go. They kicked up rustling pine needles and leaves and exposed bare brown soil as they sniffed every square inch of the terrain.

  As I unwound a dog from a tree I asked Mr. Davis, “Do you mind if I ask you some questions about your tiger?”

  “Not at all. Ask away.”

  “Matt said that you guys didn’t know much about the history of your tiger. Where did you get him from?”

  Matt’s dad rubbed a hand over the stubble on his chin and said, “Dhiren came to us when Mr. Maurizio purchased it from another small circus. He wanted to liven up the acts. He figured that I worked well with other animals, so why not tigers. We were very naïve. It usually requires extensive training to work with the big cats. Mr. Maurizio was insistent that I try and, fortunately for me, our tiger is very tractable.

  “I was extremely unprepared to take on an animal of that size though I stayed and traveled with the other circus for a while. Their trainer taught me how to handle a tiger, and I learned how to care for it. I’m not sure I could have dealt with any of the other cats they were selling.

  “They tried to get me interested in one of their very aggressive Siberians but I quickly realized that she wasn’t for us. I negotiated for the white cat instead. The white was more even tempered and seemed to like working with me. To tell you the truth, our tiger seems bored with me most of the time.”

  I pondered this information as we silently walked down the trail for a while. Untangling the dogs from another tree, I asked, “Do white tigers come from India? I thought they came from Siberia.”

  Mr. Davis smiled. “Many people think they’re from Russia because the white coat blends in with the snow, but Siberian tigers are larger and orange. Our cat is a Bengal or Indian tiger.”

  He looked at me thoughtfully for a moment and asked, “Are you ready to help me with the tiger today? The cages have safety latches, and I will be supervising you at all times.”

  I smiled, remembering the sweet scent of jasmine at the end of the tiger’s performance. One of the dogs ran around my legs, trapping me and breaking the reverie for a moment.

  “I would really enjoy that, thanks!” I replied.

  After finishing our walk, we put the dogs back in the kennel and fed them.

  Mr. Davis filled the dogs’ trough with water from a green hose. He looked over his shoulder and said, “You know, tigers could be completely wiped out in the next ten years. India has already passed several laws against killing them. Poachers and villagers are mostly responsible. Tigers generally avoid humans, but they are responsible for many deaths in India every year and sometimes people take matters into their own hands.”

  Then, Mr. Davis gestured that I should follow him. We walked around the corner of the building to a large barn that was painted white with blue trim. He opened the wide doors for us to enter.

  The bright sun filtered in and warmed the area, spotlighting the dust particles that flew around as Mr. Davis and I walked past. I was surprised at how much light shone in the two-level building despite there being only two high windows. Wide beams rose high overhead and arched across the ceiling; the walls were lined with empty stalls that held bales of hay stacked up to the ceiling. I followed him as he approached the beautiful animal wagon that had been a part of the performance yesterday.

  He picked up a large jug of liquid vitamins and said, “Kelsey, meet Dhiren. Come here, I want to show you something.”

  We approached the cage. The tiger, who had been dozing, lifted its head and watched me curiously with bright blue eyes.

  Those eyes. They were mesmerizing. They stared right into me, almost as if the tiger was examining my soul.

  A wave of loneliness washed through me, but I struggled to lock it back into the tiny part of me where I kept such emotions. I swallowed thickly and broke eye contact.

  Mr. Davis pulled a lever on the side of the cage. A panel slid down, separating the side of the cage near the door from Dhiren. Mr. Davis opened the cage door, filled the tiger’s water dish, added about a quartercup of liquid vitamin, and closed and locked the door. Then, he pushed the lever to raise the panel in the cage again.

  “I’m going to do some paperwork. I want you to get the tiger’s breakfast,” Mr. Davis instructed. “Head back to the main building and go back behind the boxes. You’ll see a large refrigerator there. Take this red wagon with you to carry the meat from the fridge back here. Then take another package out of the freezer and put it into the fridge to thaw. When you return, put the food into Dhiren’s cage just like I did with the vitamins. Be sure to close the safety panel first. Can you manage that?”

  I grabbed the wagon handle. “No problem,” I said over my shoulder as I headed back to the door. I found the meat quickly and returned in a few minutes.

  I hope that safety door holds, or I’ll be what’s served for breakfast, I thought as I pulled the lever, dished up the raw meat into a wide bowl, and slid it carefully into the cage. I kept a wary eye on the tiger, but it just sat there watching me.

  “Mr. Davis, is that a female or a male tiger?”

  A noise came from the cage, a deep rumble from the tiger’s chest.

  I turned to look at the tiger. “What are you growling at me for?”

  Matt’s dad laughed. “Ah, you’ve offended him. He’s very sensitive, you know. In answer to your question, he is a male.”

  “Hmm.”

  After the tiger ate, Mr. Davis suggested I watch the tiger practice his performance. We closed the barn doors and slid the wooden beam down to lock them in place just to make sure the tiger couldn’t escape. Then I scrambled up the ladder to the loft to watch from above. If anything went wrong, Mr. Davis had instructed me to climb out the window and return with Mr. Maurizio.

  Matt’s father approached the cage, opened the door, and called Dhiren out. The cat looked at him and then put his head back on his paws, still sleepy. Mr. Davis called again. “Come!”

  The tiger’s mouth opened in a giant yawn and his jaws gaped wide. I shuddered looking at the huge teeth. He stood up and stretched his front legs and then his back legs one at a time. I chuckled to myself for mentally comparing this large predator with a sleepy housecat. The tiger turned around and trotted down the ramp and out of the cage.

  Mr. Davis set up a stool and cracked the whip, instructing Dhiren to jump up onto the stool. He got the hoop and had the tiger practice jumping in and out of it for several minutes. He leapt back and forth, running through the various activities with ease. His movements were effortless. I could see the sinewy muscles moving under his white and black striped fur as he went through the paces.

  Mr. Davis seemed to be a good trainer, but there were a couple of times that I noticed the tiger could have taken advantage of him— but didn’t. Once, Mr. Davis’s face was very close to the tiger’s extended claws, and it would have been very easy for the tiger to take a swipe, but instead, he moved his paw out of the way. Another time, I could have sworn Mr. Davis had stepped on his tail, but again, he just growled softly and moved his tail aside. It was very strange, and I found myself even more fascinated by the beautiful animal, wondering what it would feel like to touch him.

  Mr. Davis was sweating in the stuffy barn. He encouraged the tiger to return to the stool, and then placed three other stools nearby and had him practice jumping from one to the other. Finishing up, he led the cat back to its cage, gave him a special jerky treat, and motioned for me to come down.

  “Kelsey, you’d better head on over to the main building and help Matt get ready for the show. We have a bunch of senior citizens coming in today from a local center.”

  I climbed down the ladder. “Would it be okay if I bring my journal in here to write sometimes? I want to draw the tiger’s picture in it.”

  He said, “That’s fine. Just don’t get too close.”

  I hurried out the building, waved at him,
and shouted, “Thanks for letting me watch you. It was really exciting!”

  I rushed back to help Matt just as the first bus pulled into the parking lot. It was completely the opposite from the day before. First, the woman in charge bought all the tickets at once, which made my job much easier, and then all the patrons shuffled slowly into the ring, found their seats, and promptly fell asleep.

  How could they sleep through all the noise? When intermission came, there wasn’t much to do. Half of the attendees were still asleep, and the other half were in line for the restroom. Nobody really bought anything.

  After the show, Matt and I cleaned up quickly, which gave me a few hours for myself. I ran back to my cot, pulled out my journal, a pen and pencil, and my quilt and walked over to the barn. I pulled open the heavy door and turned on the lights.

  Strolling toward the tiger’s cage, I found him resting comfortably with his head on his paws. Two bales of hay made a perfect chair with a backrest; my quilt spread over my lap warmed me as I opened my journal. After writing a couple of paragraphs, I began to sketch.

  I’d taken a couple of art classes in high school and was fairly decent at drawing when I had a model to look at. I picked up my pencil and looked at my subject. He was looking right at me—not like he wanted to eat me, it was more like . . . he was trying to tell me something.

  “Hey, Mister. What are you looking at?” I grinned.

  I started my drawing. The tiger’s round eyes were wide-set and a brilliant blue. He had long, black eyelashes and a pink nose. His fur was a soft, creamy white with black stripes radiating away from his forehead and cheeks, all the way down to the tail. The short, furry ears were tilted toward me, and his head was resting lazily on his paws. As he watched me, his tail flicked back and forth leisurely.