Tyger Lilly

by Lisa Trusiani

  Lilly finished cleaning the cages and White Rabbit’s litter box. “I need to go home, Isadora,” whispered Lilly. Lilly really wanted to walk around town to see if she recognized anyone from the posters. Isadora pretended not to hear and told Lilly to sweep the floor and take out the trash. Without answering, Lilly found the broom and began to sweep.

  “Pick an animal, Isadora,” said Mr. Snodgrass.

  “A mongoose.”

  Lilly listened as Mr. Snodgrass answered. “I pick a Caiman crocodile.”

  “My mongoose wouldn’t go near your crocodile.”

  “Oh but he did, Isadora, and there’s nothing you can do about it. My crocodile’s jaws are powerful enough to grab your mongoose and drown him before he knows what bit him.”

  Isadora didn’t argue. “All right, I pick a cheetah. My cheetah is fast enough to get away from your stupid crocodile.”

  “You can’t change the rules of the game, Isadora. Your animal has to stay and fight. You know your cheetah’s a goner, sweetheart.” His voice became singsong as he chanted, “I’m winning the ga-ame! I’m winning the ga-ame!”

  “Okay, you killed my cheetah. I pick a grizzly bear.”

  “Now you’re thinking the right way,” said Mr. Snodgrass with a smile. “How are you going to do it?”

  “My grizzly reaches into the water and uses his razor-sharp claws to pick up your puny crocodile, Dad.”

  “Yeah, yeah? What next?” asked her father. “Does he bite my croc?”

  “You wish, Dad. Then you’d get away. Nope, my grizzly twists your crocodile’s scrawny neck. Ha!”

  Mr. Snodgrass clutched his stomach and doubled over with a groan. “My crock is dead alright. I pick a polar bear. I am one thousand pounds compared to your measly four hundred pounds. You are nothing compared to me. Look out, grizzly!”

  As Lilly cleaned the store, Isadora and her father were locked in battle, his polar bear fighting her grizzly bear. The bears lunged at each other, clawed and bloodied each other. They tore each other apart. Blow by blow, Isadora and her father described the slaughter. Lilly saw the terrible battle in her mind’s eye.

  The bears clawed and bit their way into the late afternoon until, locked in a deadly bear hug, they rolled into the water. The polar bear surfaced triumphant and the grizzly was never seen again. Lilly tried to ignore them but she couldn’t keep their vicious game out of her head. Lilly tied up the last trash bag as Mr. Snodgrass proclaimed his polar bear, “King of the Animals.”

  He bounced to some inner beat and chanted, “You lose. You lose. You lose.”

  Mr. Snodgrass laughed at Isadora’s pouting. “Come on, you know I always win. Say it, Isadora.”

  “No, I don’t want to, Daddy.”

  Mr. Snodgrass stopped smiling. “Say it,” he demanded.

  “No,” she said defiantly.

  “Isadora…?” he said giving his daughter a glowering stare.

  “All right, all right,” she said unhappily. “You’re King of the Animals, Daddy.”

  Lilly skirted around them to take out the trash. When she returned, Mr. Snodgrass was waiting for her. “Pick an animal, Lilly.”

  “I-I can’t, Mr. Snodgrass,” said Lilly quietly.

  Mr. Snodgrass moved his body in a mocking dance, “You don’t like our game, Lilly? That’s just too bad for you, Lill Pill. I said, ‘Pick an animal.’”

  Lilly didn’t answer. Mr. Snodgrass stood in front of her and lowered his voice to a barely audible growl. “I said, ‘Pick an animal.’ And don’t think I’m playing a game, Lilly. I’m not playing.”

  Lilly looked at Mr. Snodgrass staring at her. His face was too close, and his foul breath made her dizzy. The dizzier she felt, the more his face swam until yellow teeth, red eyes, and black eyebrows wiggled like melting jello. Lilly closed her eyes and wished she could disappear.

  Lilly breathed slowly and deeply, in and out. Lilly felt each breath travel through her filling her completely. She felt her breath travel to the tips of her fingers, the tips of her toes. Lilly felt as light as air. With her next breath, she slipped outside of herself and away.

  Lilly floated away and looked down at her body still rooted to the floor. “I know what animal Lilly would pick, Daddy.” Isadora shouted. “She’d pick a cat because she is a cat… a scaredy cat.”

  Lilly floated at the ceiling. She heard a distant laughter. “A cat?” hooted Mr. Snodgrass. “An ordinary cat? You’ve got to be kidding. Lilly the Cat is dead in the water!”

  Chapter 19

  Lilly woke and crept quietly to her windowsill stepping over a small mound. She thought it was a pile of unwashed laundry but was careful not to bump it in case it was a jumble of sleeping guinea pigs.

  Lilly perched on a chair by the window. She pulled her thighs to her chest wrapping her arms around her legs. She lowered her head and rested her cheek against her knees. Lilly closed her eyes and listened to the reassuring sounds of small creatures sleeping; a symphony of rumbly breaths and snoozy snores, gentle groans and grunts. It seemed to Lilly at that moment that even the earth breathed in peaceful sleep.

  Tobias slept upright, a typical parrot posture with legs locked. Lilly thought he was asleep until he spoke. “What do you think she’s doing?”

  Surprised, Lilly’s head popped up. “What? Who?”

  “Your mother,” said Tobias as he flew to the windowsill. “Look – look at the garden my dear.

  Lilly recognized the dark figure. A cloudy veil floated above her mother in lacy illumination. Moonbeams broke through and scattered across her hair and cotton gown as she sat glowing under the half moon.

  “Every night! Your mother sits there every night, face glistening, in the center of the moon garden.”

  Lilly remembered Mrs. Mynah planting the moon garden one evening when the moon was new. She remembered the names of the flowers – Pink Evening Primrose, White Dill, Dusty Millers, Candytufts, White Spider Plants and Giant Moonflowers that Mrs. Mynah promised would someday grow to be fifteen feet high, as tall as her mother’s green grizzly.

  Mrs. Mynah called the flowers in the moon garden night bloomers. Lilly breathed deeply and was filled with their fragrance. “Moon flowers sleep while we wake and wake while we sleep,” Mrs. Mynah had said.

  Tobias stared out at the garden. “Timmaa! The moon will have her way,” he said.

  “Do you think Mrs. Mynah is right about the moon pulling at us?” asked Lilly.

  “I’ll tell you,” said Tobias. “A long time ago on my island, there were people who lived in the forest and worshiped the moon. They planted according to the moon’s phases. They called down the moon when they practiced their sacred rituals, and with her help the forest people turned themselves into other beings.”

  “What kind of beings?” asked Lilly.

  “Usually an animal. Legend has it one turned herself into a beautiful Jalak Putih bird every evening and flew through the forest as darkness fell. The forest people also knew the secret of the magical Bowku trees.”

  “Bowku like the seed you ate, Tobias?” whispered Lilly.

  “Exactly and directly right, my dear,” Tobias answered. “They fed the Bowku seeds to their animal companions.”

  Lilly thought for a moment, then asked, “Animal companions? Do you mean their pets?”

  “These animals weren’t exactly pets. Some might call them familiars,” said Tobias. “Their animal companions helped the forest people with their sacred ceremonies.”

  “And the familiars could talk because they ate the Bowku seeds?” asked Lilly.

  “Yayaya… And when the forest people died out, or nearly died out, only their familiars remained. The familiars knew their secrets.”

  Lilly sat silently taking in Tobias’ words. “Why did the forest people die out? Were they sick?”

  “No-no-no-no,” Tobias sighed. “When the modern world came to my island it brought electric lights, gas powered vehicles and other inventions that seemed much more magical than the world
of forest people. Their children weren’t interested in learning the ancient ways.”

  “I’ll tell you something more,” said Tobias. “When your father came to my island, he met one of the last remaining forest people and her familiar.”

  Lilly’s eyes grew round. Tobias continued reminiscing. “This woman told your father a story about the moon and a white tiger. The story was ancient lore, passed down from mother to daughter.”

  Lilly heard rustling and guinea pig babble. Tobias made a chattering sound, and then explained to Lilly. “I apologized to Janie for speaking above a whisper. She was upset I nearly woke up her babies.”

  Tobias continued his story more quietly, “This woman knew your father wanted to save wild tigers from extinction. And she knew that your father hoped to see a white tiger in the wild someday. There are many white tigers in captivity but not in the wild. That’s what your father was doing years later in the Himalayas when he was killed.”

  “Did he ever find a white tiger, Tobias?”

  “I don’t know, dear. He didn’t return from his last trip to tell me.” Lilly listened to a silence punctuated by the beating of her heart.

  “I wish I could hear the story that my father heard,” asked Lilly hugging her knees.

  “Indeed-indeed,” said Tobias. “I’m certain your father would have liked that, and it is a story I can tell you.”

  “Can you tell me now?” asked Lilly as she climbed into her bed.

  “Yes, Lilly, right now,” said Tobias. Lilly closed her eyes, imagining an old woman lying in a hammock speaking to her father. She smiled and listened to Tobias’ raspy whispering.

  “King Magnet was a king of old though he was not an old king. At birth, he possessed a unique power -- whatever King Magnet wanted he received because whatever he wanted would go to him. When King Magnet flew through the kingdom, treasures floated behind him pulled by an invisible force. Oh yes, did I mention all creatures flew in that early time? Flying was not unusual.

  One day King Magnet saw a magnificent creature he had never seen before. It was a white tiger. The king’s heart grew strong with desire. He wanted this beautiful creature to belong to him so he could gaze upon its beauty, day or night. He wanted to know that he, King Magnet, was the only person in the world to own the only white tiger in the world. But instead of following the king home, the white tiger ran away.

  No creature had ever defied King Magnet before. He flew into a rage. He ordered his troops to set traps for the tiger. The traps remained empty. King Magnet thought only of the white tiger and soon his kingdom fell to ruin. Crops failed. People went hungry. Attacking armies carried away his treasures. Unhappiness reigned.

  Every night, King Magnet looked up to the heavens pleading for help. A visitor arrived one day and told King Magnet of the power of the moon and how to reach her. That night, the king stood at the edge of the deepest, darkest pool. As the full moon crossed the lake and stopped before him, King Magnet remembered the visitor’s words. “Look into the water until you see the moon. Look into the moon until you no longer see water.”

  With an overwhelming strength, the round, full moon tugged at King Magnet pulling him into her depths. As King Magnet floated inside the watery moon, a woman with the face of a white tigress appeared. King Magnet followed her until they reached a place of complete darkness, and he waited for the moon to fulfill his heart’s desire by giving him the white tiger. Without words, the woman spoke, “The white tiger is my son, King Magnet, and he belongs to no one except himself.”

  Without warning, King Magnet found himself flying through black night. Upon his return, the king recognized no one and no one recognized him. Looking into a pool, the king barely recognized his reflection for his hair was white, and he was a skeleton. More than a century had passed since he had left. The moon had had her way.”

  “Night after night, your mother sits pulled slowly open by the magnet of the moon,” said Tobias. “If the moon has her way, your mother’s tide will turn.”

  As Lilly slipped into sleep, she heard the earth exhale and the moon roar.

  Chapter 20

  Lilly sat at her desk. She looked at the clock. A slender, red hand raced past two black ones. “Ten minutes left,” sighed Lilly to herself. Lilly’s eyelids felt heavy. Her chin dropped to her chest. She saw a bright red rabbit run past two black turtles. With a jerk, Lilly awoke staring at the clock. Nine minutes. She glanced quickly at Mr. Stinchfield to see if he’d noticed.

  Mr. Stinchfield stared at his shoes and looked up, announcing their homework assignment. “Tonight you will memorize this poem, which I wrote myself.” He cleared his throat, producing a gravely, bulldozer sound. He stared at the back wall, until his face looked anguished. As he spoke his voice rose higher and choked at the end of every line.

  “A masked sky threw fists of ash

  turning the grass red.

  Rain shouted down drowning

  ` the earth in waves.

  Pounding ears. Breaking limbs

  under rivers of crushing boots.

  Cold rushes down

  the long bone of my back,

  a bloodless finger.”

  Mr. Stinchfield ran his fingernail down the chalkboard making a horrid screech. Several children jumped, shivers racing down their spines. Mr. Stinchfield laughed. Sweat glistened along his eyebrow. The bell rang for lunch. Children rushed out as if chased by a bloodless finger.

  “What do you think that was about?” asked Dorian. He sat next to Lilly and ate a sandwich from home so healthy it sprouted sprouts.

  “I don’t know,” she whispered. She gulped down a bite of Sloppy Joe from the school cafeteria. “I didn’t think he could get any scarier but I was wrong.” Lilly ate quickly and raced to the Library.

  “Hi, Miss Brightman,” said Lilly as she scooted to the bin where Miss Brightman piled books for re-shelving.

  Miss Brightman looked up from her desk and smiled. “How are you today, Lilly? How was your poetry class?”

  Lilly stood up from the bin with an armload of books. “Well,” she said, “I didn’t know Mr. Stinchfield was a poet. We’re studying his poem tonight.”

  The librarian’s face lit up. “How wonderfully brave of him,” she cooed. “I knew he was ready but I wasn’t sure he’d do it.”

  “You knew he was a poet?” asked Lilly incredulously. She whispered in case Mr. Stinchfield walked in and heard them talking about him.

  “I’ve been working with him,” said Miss Brightman. “There is so much more to that man than he allows anyone to see. It isn’t easy for a powerful man to open up and show his sensitive nature.” Miss Brightman stood and motioned Lilly to follow. The last row of bookshelves held a lineup of boxes, binders and notebooks filled with Mr. Stinchfield’s poems.

  “It wasn’t until I started working with him that he felt he could share his poetry with anyone. One poem, entitled, “My Mother Lives in Heaven,” is so,” her eyes brightened with tears, “moving.”

  A high-pitched whistling interrupted them. “The water for tea is ready. Would you like some, Lilly?” Miss Brightman walked to the hot plate behind her desk.

  “No, thank you,” said Lilly. She watched Miss Brightman turn off the heat and make herself a cup of tea.

  Settling in behind her desk, Miss Brightman opened a drawer and pulled out a folded napkin. “Have one?” she said as she daintily unwrapped two tea biscuits. Lilly pulled up a chair and politely accepted a biscuit. She nibbled as Miss Brightman spoke between sips of tea.

  She lowered her voice. “We all have secrets, Lilly, don’t we? You may have guessed mine,” she said smiling mysteriously. Lilly hadn’t and saw no reason to start guessing.

  Mrs. Brightman continued chatting in her confidential way, “Mr. Stinchfield has lived with a secret his entire life.” Lilly smiled politely. Although if she’d given it any thought, she might have decided that knowing secrets about anyone, especially Mr. Stinchfield, could only lead to trouble.

&nb
sp; “It is my observation,” said Miss Brightman doling out words as preciously as tea biscuits, “That Mr. Stinchfield was raised by a Nazi.”

  “You mean a really mean person?” asked Lilly.

  “Well that too,” said Miss Brightman. “Mr. Stinchfield was a sensitive child and wanted to be a poet. His father absolutely forbade it. He destroyed any poetry he found. So Mr. Stinchfield wrote in hiding. He wrote in the dark on the closet wall, on wooden slats under his bed, on tissue paper.” She sighed. “Isn’t it sad to think a father would be so cruel?”

  “You think his father was a Nazi because he didn’t allow poetry?” asked Lilly. She didn’t know Nazis hated poetry, too.