When would the tiger attack? What was it waiting for? Elsie didn’t know how long she could keep putting one foot in front of the other. She began to hum, very quietly, to keep her courage up.
She was good at humming. She’d had a lot of practice in the school choir.
‘Mmm-mmm-m-m, keep on the sunny, m-m-m-mmm-mm, always on the sunny…’
‘Be quiet. I’m trying to listen.’
‘For what? The tiger?’
‘No, we haven’t got a hope of hearing that. But if the deer spot it, they’ll sound the alarm call, the langurs will too. It’ll give us some warning.’
Elsie heard a whoop in the trees.
‘Was that the alarm call?’
‘No.’
Something screeched to her left.
‘Was that it?’
‘No.’
‘I’m only asking…’
‘Well, don’t!’
‘Okay,’ Elsie whispered.
They had arrived at another meadow, and she suddenly noticed that the sun was far lower in the sky than before; light falling in a golden haze over the top of the tall grass. They had been walking for longer than she’d thought. But there was no sign of the track where she’d first met John. Elsie hesitated.
‘Are we close, do you think?’
‘Pretty close.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘I said so, didn’t I?’
Just then, a breeze picked up. For two or three seconds, Elsie didn’t pay any attention to it. Then she whirled around.
‘It’s on my face! It’s not coming from the side, it’s on my face!’
How long had they been walking into the wind without knowing it? Long enough for the tiger to creep up behind them. For all she knew, it might be there, crouched in the bamboo thicket, only a few paces away.
Elsie stared frantically, saw the bamboo shake. Something was emerging from the shadows. Panic seized her. Running was a bad idea. Running was the worst thing in the world to do. Yet suddenly she was running.
‘Hey!’ John shouted. ‘It’s not…’
Elsie didn’t hear the end of his sentence. She was already far into the meadow, the solar topee flying off her head as she charged, her heart pounding so hard she couldn’t think or see. Grass whipped at her face, yet she carried on, staggering and stumbling until she ran out of breath. She stood still, her chest heaving, waiting for the end.
‘Fathead!’ John said, stamping through the grass behind her.
Elsie was panting too hard to reply.
‘It was only a wild pig. You ran away from a pig!’
‘Well, you…’ Elsie gasped. ‘You said you knew where the wind was coming from, and you didn’t.’
‘At least I was trying to use my head,’ John said furiously, ‘not walking along chattering and humming like a—’
If he calls me fathead one more time, I’ll kick his leg, Elsie thought. Then she remembered she couldn’t, because his leg had been shot, and only a truly evil person would kick someone who was already shot. The thought steadied her.
‘I don’t think the tiger can be following us,’ she said. ‘Maybe it was for a bit, but not any more. If it was, it would have attacked by now, wouldn’t it?’
John was carrying the solar topee that she’d lost during her flight. He gazed down at it, as if examining every detail of the fabric.
‘It could have attacked us, and it didn’t,’ Elsie persisted. ‘Which means we don’t have to keep zigzagging and thinking about the wind. We can take the direct route back instead.’
John turned the solar topee around in his hands, apparently fascinated by the row of stitching on the brim.
Elsie stared at him. ‘You don’t know how to get back, do you?’
There was a new chill in the breeze, and in the distance, something barked with a sound part-wail, part-howl.
‘We’re completely lost, aren’t we?’ Elsie said.
John’s head jerked up. ‘It’s all your fault!’ he burst out, as if he couldn’t control himself for a second longer. ‘If it wasn’t for you, I’d be home by now, I’d have bagged it, I’d be—’
He broke off, his fists clenched.
‘You’ve spoiled everything!’
‘I didn’t mean to,’ Elsie said. ‘I was only—’
‘Wherever you came from, you can jolly well go back again,’ John shouted. ‘On your own.’
‘Where are you going?’ Elsie said. ‘Wait!’
But he had already turned his back on her and was pushing his way through the grass, his body shaking with rage. A few seconds later he had vanished from sight.
Elsie stood for a moment, staring at the spot where he had disappeared.
‘John?’
The sound of barking came again, although this time it seemed a great deal closer.
‘John!’
Elsie caught a glimpse of him moving rapidly towards the trees. She hurried after, managing to keep him in sight for a moment or two. Then the grass became so tall that she couldn’t see anything at all. She pushed onwards, batting frantically at the stalks, the white feathery tips stirred to a froth above her head.
‘John!’ she called, her voice smothered by the sound of the grass.
She shouldn’t have blamed him for not knowing where the wind was coming from. It wasn’t fair of her. She’d known he hadn’t known. And it wasn’t as if she’d had a better suggestion. She’d simply followed along, letting him take the responsibility.
She couldn’t have behaved less like Kelsie Corvette if she’d tried.
And now she was lost. Double lost.
‘JOHN!’
She could be going in circles, for all she knew, although the grass looked thinner up ahead. Elsie rushed towards the opening. She hadn’t been going in circles, the trees were right there.
Something strange was happening. The trees were shaking, she could hear the sound of snapping wood, a thundering in the ground. A shape appeared, so sudden and so vast, it was as if the earth itself had risen.
There was no time to turn, or cry out, or even breathe. The elephant was coming straight for her, swinging its trunk as it charged.
Despite his shiny jeep and air of self-importance, it seemed the hunter wasn’t much of a hunter after all. His progress was erratic, and twice he sat down to wipe his face and stare wearily at his boots. More importantly, from Mandeep’s point of view, he seemed totally unaware he was being followed.
A tiger would find him easy prey indeed, Mandeep thought, although the man was in no real danger. Tigers were too wise to attack humans, and too good-tempered to be easily provoked. They rarely showed themselves. Even Mandeep didn’t spot them often. He had only met one face to face.
It had happened on a trail. Mandeep had turned a bend and there it was. A tigress walking directly towards him, not ten steps away. They had stopped in surprise and stared at one another. It lasted less than a minute, yet Mandeep could remember every detail. The shudder of her great forepaws in the dust, the lift of her head. Her eyes. The silence.
He’d stood as though turned to stone, transfixed by joy and terror. Then the tigress turned off the trail and vanished into the green.
Mandeep knew that old or wounded tigers could be a menace, hanging around villages, killing cattle, and sometimes even people. They were no trouble in the forest, however, as long as they were left alone.
Yet, of course, they were never left alone.
There was a photograph hanging in the lobby of Mr Lassiter’s club in town. Mandeep had seen it six months before. It was the day that Hugh had died. The telephone at the house wasn’t working, and Mandeep had been sent to the club to fetch Mr Lassiter home. He had run all the way, and then waited in the lobby while someone went to find him. That was where he’d seen the photograph, hanging between a pair of mounted blackbuck heads.
An old picture. Men with guns. The bodies of tigers heaped waist-high. Twenty tigers, maybe more. Maybe as many as thirty…
‘What is it
?’ Mr Lassiter was there, hurrying across the lobby. ‘Has there been an accident?’
Mandeep jerked his eyes away from the photograph.
‘What is it?’ Mr. Lassiter repeated.
Mandeep couldn’t bring himself to answer. But he didn’t need to. Mr Lassiter could tell something terrible had happened.
Mandeep would never forget the expression on his face as he stood there, with the ceiling fan slowly turning, the picture of the dead tigers on the wall behind him.
The hunter had crashed his way through a tangled thicket and disappeared from sight over a ridge. Mandeep wasn’t particularly concerned. It was becoming obvious that without a guide to help him, the man had little chance of finding anything substantial to shoot. Mandeep was wondering whether there was any point in continuing to follow him at all, when he came over the ridge and saw him in the clearing below. He was lying on his belly, the barrel of his gun resting on a large rock, his gaze intent.
Mandeep raised his head to see what he was looking at.
A male gaur – an Indian bison – stood less than a stone’s throw away, grazing on the far side of the clearing, and even for a gaur, it was enormous. A black, muscled cliff of an animal, seeming far too heavy for its own legs, with a head built like a fortress and curving horns. It had left its herd, as male gaurs did from time to time, and there were no animals around to sound a warning.
The hunter had got lucky.
The gaur chewed steadily, a look of peace on its mild, bovine face.
If the hunter had his way, that face would soon be staring, glass-eyed, on a very different scene. It would be mounted on a wall, framed by the shadows of its horns, cobwebs gathering around its dusty ears…
The image was so clear and so disturbing that Mandeep lost all sense of caution. His hand shot to his jacket pocket.
BANG!
The firecracker hit the rock to the left of the hunter, the tiny twist of gunpowder exploding on contact.
The gaur veered and bolted into the trees, moving with surprising speed for such a hefty creature. Mandeep heard the hunter shout but couldn’t make out the words. He was too busy retreating down the ridge, half-running, half-sliding in a tumble of earth and stones.
He picked himself up and sprinted, bent double, through a tunnel of bamboo bushes until he reached the edge of a steep ditch. He leaped into it at once, heading for the shelter of the undergrowth.
There he lay panting, listening for sounds of being followed.
The hunter must have seen him, why would he have shouted otherwise? Perhaps it had been no more than a glimpse, but Mandeep couldn’t count on that. The man might recognise him if he saw him again. He might come to the house making enquiries, demanding answers from Mandeep’s parents. Mandeep imagined the alarm on his mother’s face, and his fists tightened.
But getting angry wouldn’t help. He had to think.
Staying out another night would worry his parents terribly, although getting caught by the hunter would be even worse. He needed to lie low. He decided to remain in the forest and not return home until the coast was clear.
The elephant halted thirty paces away in an angry haze of dust. Elsie heard herself whimper, a tiny, rusty hinge of a sound in the back of her throat. She wanted to run, but her legs wouldn’t move. Nothing in her body could move.
The elephant made a screaming noise, and swung his head, and took another couple of colossal steps forward.
Elsie covered her head with her hands.
‘Don’t show fear. Face him down.’
Elsie shot a terrified glance to her right. It was John. He had come back.
‘Face him down,’ he repeated. His voice was calm, almost conversational. ‘That’s it. Shoulders square, don’t look away.’
‘What if it tra… tra… tramples me?’ Elsie squeaked.
‘Keep your voice nice and low. As if we were just chatting about the weather.’
John came towards her slowly.
‘Nothing to see here, old chap,’ he told the elephant. ‘Nothing at all. False alarm.’
The elephant stamped the ground and then paused, as though weighing up the situation.
‘If he senses weakness, he’ll try to take advantage,’ John told Elsie in the same steady, conversational voice. ‘You disturbed him, that’s all.’
Elsie took a shaky breath. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Positive. Look, he’s turning away already. Don’t take your eyes off him until he’s gone.’
They stood side by side, watching as the elephant retreated in a dignified fashion, pausing every few seconds to give them a suspicious look over its shoulder, before disappearing among the trees.
‘Best not to hang around,’ John said. ‘Elephants can be jolly peevish when they’ve got the wind up.’
Elsie didn’t really understand what that meant, but she got the general meaning.
‘Thank you for coming back,’ she said as they walked swiftly away. ‘You saved me.’
John looked embarrassed. ‘Quite all right.’
‘Sorry for saying that stuff before.’
‘Quite all right,’ John repeated, looking even more embarrassed.
‘What are we going to do?’
‘No chance of getting back tonight,’ John said. ‘We’ll have to camp.’ He squinted at the sun, and Elsie was glad to see his old expression had returned. As if he was giving the world the benefit of his deepest, most serious thought.
‘It’ll be dark soon,’ he said. ‘We need to find a good spot.’
They found one almost immediately, a grassy area on the bank of a rocky stream, the water running golden in the setting sun. John bent and filled his canister.
The moment she quenched her thirst, Elsie realised how hungry she was. She thought longingly of the protein bar.
‘Have you got anything to eat?’
John shook his head. ‘I might have time to find something. Know how to build a fire?’
‘’Course I do.’
‘Ever used a flint as a lighter?’
‘Loads of times,’ Elsie said.
John took his gun and disappeared into the darkening forest.
Elsie stared at the small metal object he had handed her. She had no idea how it worked. She had never made a fire before, let alone used a flint. She had never even been camping, unless trying to spend the night in a tent in her friend Matilda’s back garden counted as camping. Elsie suspected it did not. Matilda was so paranoid about snails getting into her sleeping bag, she’d insisted on returning to the house after barely an hour.
Elsie put the flint in her pocket and began collecting stones to put around the fire and a big pile of sticks. She would work the rest out later. It had grown cold, the sky almost empty of light. She paused to pull on her jumper.
A gun fired in the distance. She froze for a second and then hurried to finish her task, her hands shaking.
By the time John returned it was completely dark.
‘Gosh!’ he said. ‘I didn’t think you’d manage it as quickly as that!’
Elsie sat beside the crackling fire, feeling pleased with herself.
John was looking equally triumphant. ‘I shot a jungle fowl!’ He held it up.
‘So, you got the hang of the flint,’ he added. ‘Well done!’
Elsie hesitated, struggling with herself. But it was no use.
‘I found a box of matches in my jeans,’ she confessed. ‘I must have tucked them in there when—’
She was about to say when I was lighting your stove this morning, but she stopped herself in time.
‘I also found some paper,’ she said. ‘That helped to get it going.’
Her worksheet from the school trip to the wildlife centre more than a week ago. Her class had been doing a project about ecosystems. Elsie had no idea why she’d folded up the sheet and stuffed it into one of her turn-ups. For the same reason she’d put the matches there, she supposed. Just out of habit.
‘Poor thing,’ she said, gazing at
the bird dangling from John’s fist.
‘We’re hungry, aren’t we?’
Elsie nodded.
‘Mandeep says that jungle fowl are the ancestors of all the chickens in the world.’
He kneeled down and began plucking the feathers from the bird, biting his lip with concentration.
‘How do you know how to do that?’
‘I’ve watched the cook enough times,’ John said.
They roasted the meat on a skewer made from a twig, and while they waited for it to cook, they refilled the canister, and brewed tea with a handful of loose leaves which John brought out of his bag, wrapped in a scrap of newspaper. The jungle fowl was raw on the inside, and burned on the outside, but perfectly cooked in between, and they ate it greedily, without pausing to talk, or even wipe their mouths.
Elsie thought it was the most delicious meal she had ever eaten.
When they were finished, they boiled another canister of water and attended to John’s leg. The scarf was stuck to his skin with blood, and it took a lot of careful dabbing before Elsie could finally unwrap it, doing as best she could by the light of the fire. John sat still, his eyes squeezed tight.
‘Does it hurt?’
‘Can’t feel a thing,’ he said, gasping slightly.
But once the scarf was off and the wound thoroughly washed, and he could examine the damage for himself, his body relaxed. The furrow on his shin was long, yet shallow. The bullet had only scored the skin.
‘Told you it was just a graze.’
‘We still have to bandage it up again,’ Elsie said. ‘You don’t have a pair of scissors, do you?’ she added, after a moment’s thought.
‘My penknife has scissors. They’re pretty crumby, though.’
‘Can you close your eyes?’
‘Why?’
‘Just do it.’
He did as she asked, although Elsie still retreated to a safe distance, beyond the circle of firelight, before removing her jeans. He was right, the scissors were pretty crumby, she thought, as she began hacking at her turn-ups. It didn’t help that it was almost pitch dark and there might be any number of wild animals lurking nearby. Elsie paused and stared uneasily around her. Her heart bounded.
The Time Traveller and the Tiger Page 6