In Search of the Blue Tiger (12 page)

*NB: I've heard the Father say he is always blacking out and cannot control his violent rages. Remember also Mr Fishcutter under the streetlight.

The term were-wolf means ‘man-wolf' and comes from the Old English ‘wer' or ‘man' plus wolf. The were-wolf is usually a man who roams the countryside killing and eating his victims. If the were-wolf is wounded, the wound is seen in the human form and can reveal the identity of the were-wolf.

*NB: keep an eye out for wounds on the Father and Mr Fishcutter.

Other legends say sorcerers can deliberately transform into were-wolves in order to do evil or to kill an enemy. In South America sorcerers are said to kill and drink the blood of their enemies. In 16th-century France many were convicted of killing children and eating parts of their bodies. One man took some of the flesh of a little girl home to his wife. There was a famous case in Germany in 1573. Peter Stubb, who lived near Cologne, claimed the Devil gave him a magic belt that enabled him to change into a wolf.

*NB: What of the Father's thick leather belt? The one he hits me with and which is now Stigir's lead? What of Mr Fishcutter and the scarf: the speckled band?

This Peter Stubb terrorised the countryside, eating livestock, 13 children and two pregnant women. After 25 years of these activities he was finally hunted down as a wolf. He was recognised after slipping off the belt. Finally, he was burnt at the stake. Other countries have other were-animals: Ancient Greece had Centaurs and Satyrs; India has were-tigers; Africa has were-leopards; Russia has were-bears; South America has were-snakes; and China has were-foxes.

The speckled band. Mr Fishcutter is a were-wolf, and sometimes a snake with poison in his teeth. The speckled band. He will wrap himself around Mrs April and sink his fangs into her tender neck. I am on to you, Mr Fishcutter. I have learned from the tiger who was bound and burnt by man, from other people who change with darkness. I will stalk the stalker and deliver Mrs April from the dangers of the night.

Next morning is Middle School Assembly. It is the one they call ‘pastoral', not the one they call ‘religious'. If it were religious assembly (RA), then Perch and Carp would not be standing in the back row as they are now. For they are Jehovah's Witnesses; prohibited by their faith from attending RA. Once in a Social Education lesson they explained their religion to us.

I remember the day well, because I had been off sick with the mumps and it was my first morning back at school. Everything seemed so bright and busy after my days of lying in a fever. My Great Aunt had been kind to me, mopping my brow, feeding me cold drinks and trying to tempt me with soups. Even in my fever, I remember being amazed at how contrary adults can be. So, second lesson after break and there were Perch and Carp Fishcutter telling us God's name was Jehovah and we were living in the last days before the mighty battle of Armageddon. After that everyone would live in peace and happiness, people and animals side by side. They said Adam was the first Jehovah's Witness, explained how every single word of the Bible was inspired by God and should be followed. That's why they called from house to house, telling people about the good news of Jehovah's kingdom. The Bible told them to do it. It was their duty to spread the Truth.

I've read my grandfather's Bible from beginning to end twice already. Concentrating on who begets who and what the Jews shouldn't eat is a great way to block out the noise from the House of the Doomed and Damned. But I don't remember God telling us to knock on people's doors on Sundays.

The Twins had stood in front of our class, their identical clothes and hair and eyes matched them and no one else. They talked at us, but not to us, not with us. Millie Harness asked why they didn't celebrate Christmas and birthdays. Carp looked past her, past us all, and said Christmas was all about pagan tree worship. She said the ancient Christians never celebrated birthdays. The only celebration they had was something called the Memorial, which was the same as the last supper. Barney Butcherhook, perhaps because his dad chops up animals, asked why Jehovah's Witnesses wouldn't have blood transfusions.

‘It's decreed,' said Perch. ‘We follow all the commandments in the Bible. In the Old Testament we are told the lifeforce is in the blood and we should refrain from using any blood products. In our modern times this means we cannot have blood transfusions.'

That's the question that stuck in my mind. The one about the blood. What were the ‘blood products'? That's what I wanted to know most of all.

The Twins explained they didn't come to the Religious Assemblies because they were the only ones in the school who followed the Truth of Jehovah's word in the Bible. This caused a bit of a titter, not least from the teacher, who was Head of Middle School. I remember she spent the next RA lecturing us on blasphemy. Still, the Twins never got to hear about it because they skipped RA. Instead, they had to stay behind in the classroom to wipe down the blackboards and arrange the chairs.

I once heard Mother talking about the Fishcutters, telling Great Aunt how it was the stepmother who brainwashed the family with the Jehovah Witness ‘mumbo-jumbo'.

But the Twins are here at this morning's Pastoral Assembly. They get to hear all about the state of the boy's toilets, the summer trip to Cliftonville and the under-fifteen's fifth place in the handball competition.

Then Miss Cat-Eyes, the drama teacher, takes her place behind the lectern on the podium. She wears a knitted calf-length skirt and matching cardigan. Her cat-eyes glasses are speckled with silver glitter. Around her neck drapes a long flowing purple scarf. She is telling us all about the school drama competition. She twitters on about the tradition of drama in the school and the value of teamwork. But my attention is drawn to the Twins. I am sitting cross-legged with the rest of my class on the floor at the side of the hall. They are standing at the back with the bigger children. Every time I look up they are staring at me in a way I have never seen them look at anyone else. I am the object of their attention. I concentrate on the scab on my knee, but I can feel their twin eyes burning into me.

‘Each drama,' I hear Miss Cat-Eyes announce, ‘must be made up of children from both years of the middle school. You can choose any topic you like. But I want each group of children to work together as writers, directors and actors. That way you will experience the whole process of creating a piece of theatre.'

She is so enthusiastic her scarf quivers.

When I look up the Twins are still staring at me, trapping me in their gaze.

It is claimed sorcerers can turn into other were-animals (man-animals) such as serpents, leopards, panthers, jackals, bears, coyotes, owls, foxes and other feared creatures. As were-animals, they travel at great speeds. They meet in caves at night to initiate new members and to plan killings. Werewolves, like witches, are thought to be servants of the Devil, who make pacts with Satan and sell their souls to him for his help.

After school I take my usual route home. I jump over the fence by the football pitch and head down the lane past Palmer's Dairy Farm. Sometimes I take a drink of milk out of one of the metal urns left at the pick-up point by the roadside. This afternoon I decide against it. An electric blue dragonfly hovers and skirts alongside me as I kick a pebble into the brook. The ripples crease the surface of the water and I follow their progress towards the bridge. Then, as if by magic, the Fishcutter Twins appear on the bridge. A pair of highwaymen barring my way: waiting for me to deliver myself. They wave at me, beckoning me towards them. I casually kick another stone into the water and pretend to look at something very fascinating on the far bank as I walk up towards them.

As I walk on to the bridge I imagine they change into trolls, licking their lips in anticipation of an unsuspecting traveller, a tasty morsel. I think of a password – ‘blue tiger' – in case I'm asked.

‘We've been thinking about you,' says Carp on the right.

‘For sometime now,' says Perch on the left.

‘We've seen you in the library, with the librarian.'

‘In the park, with the dog.'

‘At her house, playing chess.'

‘Playing chess.'

‘So, we've chosen you,' says Carp.

‘For our play,' says Perch.

‘The school competition,' says Carp.

‘We will tell you more later,' Perch says. And she and her sister turn on their heels and walk back over the bridge and off along the lane. Their long black hair doesn't move as they walk.

Once more I am alone. I peer over the wall of the bridge to the stream below. There is the dragonfly, skimming the surface, darting back and forth as if writing a message, its electric blue body dipping like a pen into the water. What is it telling me? I try to make out the words as it skits to and fro. A poem, a parable, a warning? Then it bursts off under the arch of the bridge, an emissary on an aerial mission.

I am standing in the garden, teaching my plum-coloured dog to sing in tune. Mother and Father are talking in the kitchen. The window is open to let some smoke out.

‘Unnatural…' says one.

‘Frigid librarian …' says the other.

‘Friends of his own age …'

‘Well, do something …'

‘What …?'

‘You do something …'

A door slams. Off to the pub.

I think that's how me and Dilip came together. And how I find myself being collected from school by Dilip's granny a few days later.

That morning Mother told me I was to go to Dilip's house for an hour after school, and she would collect me at Dilip's house after she finished whatever it was she needed to do.

‘It will be good,' she said, ‘to spend time with a boy from school.'

Everyone in Tidetown knew about Dilip's family. They were the only one of its kind in the county. The story was told of the ship that was wrecked off the Peebles a hundred years ago. It was carrying spices and silks from the East. Among the bedraggled survivors, pulled off the reef at low tide, was a group of Indians from Goa, dark-skinned and exotic. With little hope of returning home, they wandered here and there, some going on to be merchants, others to become shopkeepers. These were the ancestors of Dilip's parents, who met at the wedding of a cousin and fell head over heels in love before anything could be arranged. Both were Catholic and, despite their alien customs and ways, were accepted into the congregation in Tidetown.