Tiger's Curse (5 page)

The moon was full so I turned off the light and decided the moonlight coming through the two high windows brightened the barn sufficiently to read by.

The tiger’s tail thumped the wooden base of the wagon. I turned on my side, made a pillow of sorts from the hay, and started reading aloud. I could just make out his profile and see his eyes shining in the shadowy light. I started getting tired and sighed.

“Ah. They don’t make men like Romeo anymore. Maybe there never has been such a man. Present company excluded, of course. I’m sure you’re a very romantic tiger. Shakespeare sure wrote about dreamy men, didn’t he?”

I closed my eyes to rest them a little and didn’t wake up until the next morning.

From that moment on, I spent all my free time in the barn with Ren, the tiger. He seemed to like me being there and always perked his ears up when I started reading to him. I bugged Matt’s dad with question after question about tigers until I was sure he felt like avoiding me. He appreciated the work I did though.

Every day, I got up early to take care of the tiger and the dogs, and every afternoon I wandered in to sit near Ren’s cage and write in my journal. In the evenings, I would bring my quilt and a book to read. Sometimes, I’d pick out a poem and read it out loud. Other times, I just talked to him.

About a week after I had started working there, Matt and I were watching one of the shows as usual. When it was time for Ren to perform, he seemed to act differently. After trotting down the tunnel and entering the cage, he ran around in circles and paced back and forth several times. He kept looking out at the audience as if he was searching for something.

Finally, he froze as still as a statue, and stared right at me. His tiger eyes locked with mine, and I couldn’t turn my head away. I heard the whip crack several times, but the tiger stayed focused on me. Matt elbowed me, and I broke eye contact.

“That’s really strange,” Matt said.

I asked him, “What’s wrong? What’s going on? Why is he looking at us?”

He shrugged. “It’s never happened before. I don’t know.”

Ren finally turned away from us and began his normal routine. After the show was over and I had finished cleaning up, I went to visit Ren, who was pacing in his cage. When he saw me, he sat down, settled himself, and placed his head on his paws. I walked up to the cage.

“Hey, Ren. What’s going on with you today, Mister? I’m worried about you. I hope you aren’t getting sick or something.”

He rested quietly, but kept his eyes on me and followed my movements. I approached the cage slowly. I felt drawn to the animal and couldn’t seem to block out a very strong, dangerous compulsion. It was almost a tangible pull. Maybe it was because I felt we were both lonely or maybe it was because he was such a beautiful creature. I don’t know the reason, but I wanted—I
needed
—to touch him.

I knew it was risky, but I wasn’t scared. Somehow, I
knew
that he wouldn’t hurt me, so I ignored the red-alert bells dinging in my head. My heart began beating very fast. I took another step closer to the cage and stood there for a moment, shaking. Ren wasn’t moving at all. He just continued to look at me calmly with his vivid blue eyes.

I slowly reached my hand out toward the cage, stretching just my fingertips to his paw. I made contact and touched his soft, white fur with the tips of my fingers. He exhaled a deep sigh, but other than that he didn’t move. Feeling braver, I placed my whole hand on top of his paw, petted it, and traced one of his stripes with my finger. The next thing I knew, his head moved toward my hand. Before I could pull my hand out of the cage, he licked it. It tickled.

I withdrew my hand quickly. “Ren! You scared me! I thought you were going to bite off my fingers!” I tentatively held out my hand near the cage again, and his pink tongue darted out between the bars to lick my hand. I let him lick a few more times, and then headed over to the sink and washed the tiger saliva off.

Returning to my favorite spot by the hay bale, I said, “Thanks for not eating me.”

He huffed quietly in response.

“What would you like to read today? How about that cat poem I promised you?”

I sat down, opened my poetry book, and found the right page. “Okay, here goes.”

I AM
THE
CAT

by Leila Usher

In Egypt, they worshiped me

I am the Cat.

Because I bend not to the will of man

They call me a mystery.

When I catch and play with a mouse,

They call me cruel,

Yet they take animals to keep

In parks and zoos, that they may gape at them.

They think all animals are made for their pleasure,

To be their slaves.

And, while I kill only for my needs,

They kill for pleasure, power and gold,

And then pretend to a superiority!

Why should I love them?

I, the Cat, whose ancestors

Proudly trod the jungle,

Not one ever tamed by man.

Ah, do they know

That the same immortal hand

That gave them breath, gave breath to me?

But I alone am free

I am
THE
CAT
.

I closed my book and gazed reflectively at the tiger. I imagined him proud and noble, racing through the jungle on a hunt. I suddenly felt very, very sorry about his situation.
It can’t be a good life, performing in a circus, even if you have a good trainer. A tiger isn’t a dog or a cat to be somebody’s pet. He should be free in the wild.

I stood up and walked back over to the tiger. Hesitantly, I reached my hand into his cage to pat his paw again. Immediately, his tongue flew out to lick my hand. I laughed at first and then sobered. Slowly, I moved my hand up to his cheek and stroked the soft fur. Then, feeling brave, I scratched him behind his ear. A deep vibration rumbled in his throat, and I realized he was purring. I grinned and scratched his ear some more.

“Like that, do you?”

I pulled my hand out of the cage, slowly again, and watched him for a minute, deliberating on what had happened. He had an almost human expression of melancholy on his face.
If tigers have souls, and I believe they do, I imagine his to be a lonely and sad one.

I looked into those big blue eyes and whispered, “I wish you were free.”

t
wo days later, I found a tall, distinguished man dressed in an expensive black suit standing next to Ren’s cage. His thick, white hair was cut short, and he had a closely trimmed beard and mustache. His eyes were dark brown, almost black, and he had a long, aquiline nose and an olive complexion. The man was alone, talking softly, and definitely looked like he did not belong in a barn.

“Hello? Can I help you?” I queried.

The man whipped around quickly, smiled at me, and replied, “Hello! You must be Miss Kelsey. Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Anik Kadam. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” He pressed his hands together and bowed.

And I thought chivalry was dead.

“Yes, I’m Kelsey. Is there something I can do for you?”

“Perhaps there
is
something you can do for me.” He smiled warmly and explained, “I would like to speak to the owner of your circus about this magnificent animal.”

Confused, I replied, “Sure, Mr. Maurizio is in the back of the main building in the black motor home. Do you want me to take you there?”

“No need to trouble yourself, my dear. But, thank you kindly for the offer. I will go and see him immediately.”

Turning, Mr. Kadam left the barn, quietly shutting the door behind him.

After checking Ren to make sure he was okay, I said, “Now
that
was strange,” I said. “I wonder what he wanted. Maybe he has a thing for tigers.” I hesitated for a moment, and then reached my hand through the cage bars. Amazed at my own boldness, I stroked his paw briefly and then began to get his breakfast ready.

Speaking over my shoulder, I said, “It’s not every day a person sees a tiger as handsome as you are, you know. He probably just wants to compliment you on your performance.”

Ren huffed in response.

I decided to grab a bite to eat myself and headed toward the main building—only to discover a flurry of unusual activity. People were gathered together, gossiping in small, scattered groups. I snatched a chocolate chip muffin and a bottle of cold milk and cornered Matt.

“What’s going on?” I mumbled around a big bite of my muffin.

“I’m not exactly sure. My dad, Mr. Maurizio, and another man are in a serious meeting, and we were told to put a hold on our daily activities. We were instructed to wait here. We’re
all
wondering what’s going on.”

“Hmm.” I sat and ate my muffin, listening to the wild theories and speculations of the troupe.

We didn’t have to wait long. A few minutes later, Mr. Maurizio, Mr. Davis, and Mr. Kadam, the stranger I’d met earlier, walked into the building.

“
Sedersi
, my friends. Sit. Sit!” Mr. Maurizio said with a beaming smile. This man, Mr. Kadam, has made me the most happy of men. He has made an offer to purchase our belov’d
tigre
, Dhiren.”

There was an audible gasp in the room as several people jostled in their seats and softly whispered to one another.

Mr. Maurizio continued, “Now, now . . .
fate silenzio
. Shh,
amici miei
. Let me finish! He wishes to take our
tigre
back to India to the Ranthambore National Park, the great
tigre
reserve. Mr. Kadam’s
denaro
will provide for our troupe for two years! Mr. Davis is in
d’accordo
with me and also feels that the tiger will be assuredly happier there.”

I glanced at Mr. Davis, who solemnly nodded.

“It’s agreed we will finish the shows for this week, and then the
tigre
will go with Mr. Kadam
con l’aereo
, by airplane, to India, while we will move on to our next city. Dhiren will stay with us this last week until we make the
grandioso
finale next Saturday!” the ringleader concluded and thumped Mr. Kadam on the back.

The two men turned and disappeared out of the building.

All at once, the hushed crowd started moving around quickly and began talking with each other. Silently, I watched them as they darted back and forth among the different groups like a flock of chickens at feeding time, scuttling in and out of the crowd and pecking for tidbits of information and gossip. They spoke in excited tones and patted each other’s backs, murmuring animated congratulations that their next two years on the road were already paid for.

Everybody was happy except me. I sat there holding the remainder of my muffin in my limp hand. My mouth was still hanging open, and I felt frozen to my chair. After I pulled myself together, I got Matt’s attention.

“What does this mean for your dad?”

He shrugged. “Dad still has the dogs, and he’s always had an interest in working with miniature horses. Now that the circus has more money, maybe Dad can get Mr. Maurizio to purchase a couple that he could start training.”

He walked off while I pondered the question,
what does this mean for me?
I felt . . . distressed. I knew that this circus gig would end soon anyway, but I’d put it out of my mind. I would really miss Ren. I didn’t realize how much until that very moment. Still, I was happy for him. I sighed and chided myself for getting too emotionally involved.

Despite feeling happy for my tiger, I also felt gloomy knowing I’d miss visiting and talking to him. The rest of that day, I kept busy to keep my mind off it. Matt and I worked all afternoon, and I didn’t have time to see Ren again until after dinner.

I hurried to my tent, grabbed my quilt, journal, and a book, and ran over to the barn. Finding my favorite spot, I sat down with my legs stretched out in front of me.

“Hey, Ren. Pretty big news for you, huh? You’re going back to India! I really hope you’ll be happy there. Maybe you can find yourself a pretty female tiger.”

I heard a “harrumph” sound come from the cage and thought for a minute. “Hey, I hope you still know how to hunt and stuff. Well, I guess being on a reserve they’d keep an eye on you so you don’t waste away.”

I heard a noise coming from the back of the building and turned to see that Mr. Kadam had entered. I sat up a little straighter and felt a little self-conscious for being caught talking to a tiger.

“I am sorry to interrupt you,” said Mr. Kadam. He glanced from the tiger to me, studied me carefully, and then stated, “You seem to have . . . affection for this tiger. Am I right?”

I answered unguardedly, “Yes. I enjoy spending time with him. So do you go around India rescuing tigers? That must be an interesting job.”

Smiling, he replied, “Oh, it’s not my main job. My true job is managing a large estate. The tiger is an item of interest for my employer and he’s the one who has made the offer to Mr. Maurizio.” He found a stool, placed it across from me, and sat down, balancing his tall body on the short stool with a natural ease I would not have expected from an older man.

I asked him, “Are you
from
India?”

“Yes,” he replied. “I was born and raised there many years ago. The main holdings of the estate that I manage are there also.”

I picked up a piece of straw and wrapped it around my finger. “Why is this owner so interested in Ren?”

His eyes twinkled as he glanced at the tiger briefly and then asked, “Do you know the story of the great Prince Dhiren?”

I shook my head. “No.”

“Your tiger’s name,
Dhiren
, in my language means ‘strong one.’” He tilted his head and gazed at me thoughtfully. “A rather famous prince carried the same name, and he had quite an interesting history.”

I grinned. “You are evading my question and rather successfully too. But I love a good story. Can you remember it?”