Tiger, Tiger. Philip Caveney

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СКАЧАТЬ of it made him feel very claustrophobic. He started once when a pig-tailed monkey scuttled away from his advance with a shrill shriek of alarm, but he kept doggedly onwards, even when the trail stretched on much further than he would have believed possible. He marvelled at the sheer brute strength of the tiger. From time to time, he came across the chafed roots of trees and bushes, where the horns of the cow had evidently lodged for a time. The torn shredded bark suggested that the cat had exercised prodigious power in pulling the carcass free, and Bob began to wonder if the penghulu had been right about the second tiger. Surely it must have taken two strong animals to move the body this far.

      Bob had no impression of time. He had forgotten to put on his wristwatch that morning and now it seemed like hours that he had been walking in this way. The trail led on through green shadow. Bob’s nerves began to get the better of him. On two distinct occasions, he had the vivid impression that something was gliding intently along behind him. Each time, he snapped fearfully around, his rifle ready to fire, only to find nothing but the empty jungle mocking him. He was on the verge of giving up and retracing his steps, when unexpectedly, the trail culminated at the edge of a sluggish-looking stream of water. It was a disappointing end to his search, for there was nothing here but a sorry-looking pile of bones and offal. It was obvious that no tiger would bother to return to this particular meal.

      Bob came to a halt, mopped at his brow, which was sweating profusely despite the comparative cool of the jungle. Instinctively, he reached into his pocket for cigarettes and then remembered that he had given them to the penghulu. He swore vividly, shrugged his broad shoulders and turned back, retracing his steps.

      If it had taken him a long time to come this far, the return journey seemed to take twice the time. He saw not a living thing on the way back, save for a brilliantly coloured tree snake hanging from an overhead limb. It had a glossy black body marked with a series of green and red spots, and he gave the creature a wide berth, not being sure whether it was poisonous or not. After what seemed like an uneventful eternity of trekking, he emerged into sunlight again.

      The penghulu was sitting beside the road, smoking a cigarette and humming happily to himself. He glanced up in surprise as the Australian’s head appeared above the bank. Then he smiled, his gold teeth throwing out a dazzling welcome.

      ‘Ah, Tuan! You find Si-Pudong, yes?’

      ‘No.’ Bob clambered up onto the road and flopped down to rest for a moment. He accepted his lighter and cigarettes gratefully. Opening them, he found that there were only three left. He glanced disapprovingly at the penghulu, who smiled sheepishly and spread his arms in a gesture of regret.

      ‘You gone long time, Tuan,’ he said defensively.

      ‘Aww, that’s alright.’ Bob lit himself a smoke and inhaled deeply. ‘The cow was all eaten up,’ he announced. ‘If I’m going to shoot that tiger, I need to be onto the kill much quicker than this.’ He thought for a moment and then reached into his pocket and pulled out a notebook and pencil. ‘I tell you what,’ he said. ‘I’m going to write the address of my house down here. Can you read some English? It’s only a mile or so away from here on the Kuala Trengganu road. Now, this is what I’m going to do. I’m going to give you twenty dollars …’

      The penghulu’s eyes lit up.

      ‘Now, the next time you or any of your people hear of a tiger killing a cow anywhere in Trengganu, you come and let me know, understand? So you see, it’s in your interest to help me out.’ He reached into his pocket, drew out his wallet and handed a twenty-dollar bill to the penghulu, who accepted it eagerly. ‘Another thing, you got any friends who can work with wood? Savvy? A carpenter, you know …?’ He mimed the action of sawing and hammering wood, and the penghulu nodded.

      ‘My cousin,’ he said with conviction.

      ‘Alright, let’s go and see your cousin. I want him to make me a special seat that I can rope up into the trees, a seat I can shoot from, you understand? I’ll meet his price, whatever it is! And look, I’m going to need men to help me later on, and they all get paid too. You’ll be able to buy a lot of cigarettes before we’re through. I’m a good man, chief, I always look after my friends. What do you say, are you going to help me out?’

      The penghulu crumpled the twenty-dollar bill in his hand.

      ‘I good man too, Tuan! You not worry, I keep ears open, all over. I hear something, I send word, never fear!’ And he grinned, a wide golden grin. ‘Now, you come talk my cousin. He best woodman in all kampong. He make you good shooting seat, you will see.’ And he led Bob back in the direction of the village.

      On the way back, to seal the bargain, they smoked the last two cigarettes.

Chapter 8

      It was a little after eight o’clock and Harry had already been up for something like three hours. He sat in his favourite rattan chair on the verandah remembering how, when he was younger, he had possessed the ability to sleep like a proverbial log. But as a man got older, his capacity for sleep seemed to dwindle. Now, the advent of the night was no longer a pleasure to him, but an irksome task that had to be endured in a seemingly endless fit of tossing and turning. More often than not, he would arise with the dawn and pace about his home, searching for little jobs to occupy himself while the hours slowly creaked past.

      It was with a feeling of elation that he heard the metal garden gate clang open, telling him that Pawn had arrived to make the breakfast and, what was more important, today was the day she always brought Ché with her. They advanced slowly up the drive, an incongruous couple, she small and creaking in her sarong, he, a spindly hyperactive twelve-year-old, dressed in shorts and a torn T-shirt. He bounded up onto the porch ahead of his grandmother, his dark eyes flashing in merry greeting.

      ‘Good morning, Tuan!’ Like most young Malay boys, his English was excellent, and he had long ago lost any bashfulness that he might originally have possessed.

      ‘Good morning, Ché … Pawn …’ The old woman clambered up the stairs, grinning as always.

      ‘I am late, Tuan?’ she enquired fearfully.

      ‘Oh, I hardly think so! Anyway, I think we’ll leave breakfast for an hour or so. I haven’t much of an appetite yet.’

      ‘Yes, Tuan.’ She bowed very slightly and moved on into the house.

      ‘Ché, come and sit with me,’ suggested Harry. ‘Tell me all the news!’

      Ché pulled up the spare seat and sat himself down on it, lifting his bare legs up so that he could rest his chin on his knees. Then he sat regarding Harry with a good-natured grin on his face.

      ‘The Tuan is well today?’ he enquired.

      ‘Oh, well enough, Ché, well enough. A little old, but there’s not much I can do about that is there? Now then, what’s been happening over in Kampong Panjang?

      Ché’s face became very animated.

      ‘Well, Tuan, such excitement in the kampong two nights ago! A great tok belang killed a cow on the road just beyond the village. The cow belonged to my best friend, Majid, and he stood as close to the beast as I am to you!’

      Harry smiled. He noted that like many Malays, Ché had a terrible reluctance to say the word ‘tiger.’ This stemmed from the old superstition СКАЧАТЬ