Tiger, Tiger. Philip Caveney

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СКАЧАТЬ amongst the very old, but here in Trengganu it persisted amongst many of the inhabitants and may well have been passed on to Ché by his parents or grandparents.

      ‘A big tiger, you say? How big?’

      ‘Majid described him to me. He was fifteen feet long and stood as high as a fully grown deer. His eyes blazed like hot coals and his teeth were like great white daggers, this long!’ Ché held the palms of his hands six inches apart. ‘A truly terrible beast, Tuan. Poor Majid was fixed to the spot for a moment, but of course the beast did not attack him, for he was facing it.’

      Harry nodded. He knew all about the fervent Malay belief that every good man had a verse from the Koran written on his forehead that proclaimed mankind’s superiority over the beasts of the jungle. Whenever confronted with this, a tiger is incapable of attacking its intended victim; and that was why, of course, nine times out of ten, a tiger would attack a man from behind. Beliefs like this were indelibly printed in the Malay consciousness and no amount of reasoning could shake that kind of faith. Harry could quite easily explain that Majid had probably been in no danger whatsoever; that a tiger only ever attacks a human being if it is very old or badly wounded, unable to catch its usual prey; moreover, that it would be quite natural for a tiger to attack from the rear, simply to maintain an element of surprise, but none of these arguments would make Ché cast off his own beliefs. So Harry simply asked, ‘Where do you think this tiger came from?’

      The question was more complicated than it might seem to Western ears. To a Malay’s way of thinking, no tiger could just be there, a native cat wandering out of its jungle home. Ché thought for a moment before replying.

      ‘Some people in the village say that it might be a weretiger. There is an old bomoh who lives along near Kampong Machis and he claims to have the power of turning into a h – tok belang. But more likely, it goes the other way about. A beast from Kandong Balok has been living amongst us for some time and now is seeking his old ways.’

      Harry nodded, knowing better than to laugh and cause offence. He knew all about Kandong Balok, the mythical kingdom of tigers that lay far beneath the earth in a secret place. There ruled Dato Uban, the king of all tigers, in a home made of human bones and thatched with human hair. From time to time, one of Dato’s subjects would yearn to live as a human and then this particular tiger would leave Kandong Balok by means of a secret tunnel. En route, a mysterious transformation would occur, the tiger would take human form and would go to live in some kampong, the other inhabitants never dreaming that such a creature dwelled amongst them. Sometimes, the changeling would become homesick and would visit Kandong Balock occasionally, reverting to its original form as it moved through the tunnel. Other times, the beast would simply hunger for raw flesh and, like the troublesome weretigers, would change its shape and kill cattle or even human beings.

      The kampongs were rife with stories about weretigers, which were usually told to a huddled family audience late at night, in the glow of a solitary oil lamp. Details varied, but the basis was always more or less the same. A woman would be married happily for years to a man who was a good provider, a gentle sensitive husband. A tiger would start to prey on luckless villagers at night and the poor woman would never suspect a thing, until she awoke early one morning to see her husband’s head coming up the short ladder into the house, a head that was supported by the crouching body of a tiger! This was her husband, caught in mid-transformation. What happened to the marriage at this point was generally left as a matter of conjecture. Another popular story involved a brave man, lying beneath the slain body of his wife with a kris in each hand and stabbing the tiger when it came to eat. In the morning, a well-respected villager would be found with two daggers stuck in his ribs. There were countless other stories of course, all so similar that it was a wonder the Malays believed in them as faithfully as they did. Harry had his own particular favourite and he now asked Ché to recount it for him, for he loved to observe the boy’s excitement whenever he told such a tale.

      ‘Well Tuan, since you like the story so much, I will tell you it again. In the days before the tok belang looked as he does now, he was nothing more than a wild little boy, wandering in the jungle. One day, he was befriended by a strange old man who lived in a hut alone. The old man was very kind to the boy and taught him the ways of man, how to eat properly, how to speak and wear clothes, for, of course, up to this time, the boy had been quite naked. Well, the people in the nearest kampong soon came to hear about all this and they sent a man to insist that the wild boy must go to school. The old man was sad to lose his friend, but at last he agreed and the boy was sent to the kampong school. Now, the teacher there was a very stern man and he quickly lost patience with the wild boy, for he was always fighting with the others, biting, and scratching them most cruelly. The teacher had a strong cane which he used to punish bad boys, and he warned the wild one that he must be quiet or he would suffer. But after a little while, the wild boy began to fight again and the teacher snatched up the cane, shouting, “Now I shall beat you, for you are truly nothing but a wild animal!” And he hit the boy very hard with the cane. At this instant, the boy dropped onto his hands and knees. The teacher hit him again and the boy growled. He hit him a third time and whiskers grew from his cheeks. A fourth time and a tail grew between his legs. The teacher was in a rage and he kept striking the boy, so hard that the cane scarred his body with black stripes and then, suddenly, the creature leapt to the door and ran away to the jungle, where it has remained ever since. And to this day, he carries the stripes on his back to remind him of that terrible beating.’

      Ché sat back with a smile of satisfaction, for he felt that he had told the story well. Harry applauded him gently and thought to himself, ‘Lord, how I’d miss this boy if I ever decided to go back to England.’ He sighed gently.

      ‘You are sad, Tuan?’ asked Ché, ever sensitive to the old man’s moods.

      ‘Why do you ask that?’

      ‘Oh … suddenly your face changed, as though a cloud had passed over the sun.’

      Harry chuckled. ‘You don’t miss much,’ he observed. ‘I was just thinking that many of my friends … will be going away soon.’

      Ché looked alarmed.

      ‘You will go with them?’ he cried.

      ‘No. I don’t think so.’

      ‘Good. There are many of your friends here, too. You belong here.’ Ché said this with conviction and seemed to dismiss the idea completely. Of course, the Tuan would stay. The thought of him going anywhere else was unthinkable.

      ‘I … went into Kuala Trengganu yesterday,’ announced Harry slyly.

      ‘Oh …?’ Ché tried to sound casual, but he knew that the Tuan was leading up to something. ‘It is a fine place. I have been there myself, twice.’

      ‘Yes indeed. Many fine shops …’

      Harry took a small leather box out of his pocket. Ché’s eyes lit up.

      ‘What have you there, Tuan?’ he enquired.

      ‘Oh … just something I bought.’

      ‘For yourself?’

      ‘No. For a friend of mine. I wonder if he’ll like it.’ He opened the box, removed the watch, and let it dangle on its leather fob before Ché’s eyes.

      ‘Oh, Tuan! It shines like the sun! I think your friend will like it very much.’ He gazed at Harry suspiciously for a moment. ‘Who is this friend you speak of?’ he demanded.

      ‘A very special friend of mine. A friend who tells me marvellous СКАЧАТЬ