Tiger, Tiger. Philip Caveney

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СКАЧАТЬ jungle, his eyes and ears alert to anything they might encounter. They were his greatest aids, much more developed than his comparatively poor sense of smell, and the day that they began to fail him would be the day that Haji would admit defeat. But now, there was a terrible hunger, knotting and coiling in his belly, and while his legs still possessed the strength to carry him he would hunt to the best of his ability, and somehow stay alive.

      The jungle was beginning to come awake. There was a distant whooping of gibbons in the forest canopy, interspersed with the distinctive ‘Kuang! Kuang!’ cry of an argus pheasant. Black and yellow hornbills fluttered amongst the foliage and there was the familiar weeping tones of the bird that the Malays had named, Burung Anak Mati or ‘bird whose child has died.’ But none of that distracted Haji from his quest for what was good to eat and within his reach. Presently, his ears were rewarded by a rustling in the undergrowth some eighty yards ahead of him. He stopped in his tracks and listened intently. He could hear quite clearly the crunching of a deer’s wide jaws on a bunch of leaves. Haji flattened himself down against the ground and began to move around to his right, keeping himself downwind of his intended prey, hoping to get it in sight. He moved with infinite care and precision, knowing that one telltale rustle in the grass would be enough to frighten the creature away. Slowly, slowly, setting down each foot in a carefully considered spot, he began to shorten the distance between himself and the deer. After twenty minutes, he had worked himself close enough to see it. A rusa, he could glimpse the rust-red hide, dappled by the rising sun. The rusa was nervous. He kept lifting his head between mouthfuls, staring skittishly this way and that. On such occasions, Haji remained still, not moving so much as a muscle. Each time that the deer returned to its meal, he inched forward again, his eyes never leaving the creature for an instant. In this way, another half-hour passed and now Haji was within twenty yards of the rusa; but here, the cover ended. There was a clearing now, over which he could not pass undetected. His only hope was to rush the beast and trust that the resulting panic would confuse his prey long enough for Haji to leap upon it. He flexed his muscles, craned forward, ready to rush upon the deer like a bow from an arrow; and in that instant, another deer further upwind caught the familiar smell of tiger and gave a loud cry of warning.

      The rusa wheeled about with a snort, and with a bellow of rage Haji broke from cover, propelling his four hundred pounds of body weight along with tremendous bursts of power from his heavily muscled legs. For an instant, the rusa seemed frozen to the spot with fear, but abruptly the instinct for survival maintained itself and the deer turned and bolted across the clearing with Haji mere inches from his flying heels. But where Haji was already at top speed, the rusa was just approaching his. He lengthened his stride, sailed effortlessly across a fallen tree stump and was off, gathering speed all the time. Haji followed for just a few yards, knowing only too well when he was beaten. He dropped down onto the grass, panting for breath while he watched the rusa recede into distance, tail flashing impertinently at his would-be killer.

      Haji fashioned his rage and frustration into a great blasting roar that seemed to shake the ground on which he stood. The noise disturbed a troop of pig-tailed monkeys resting in the top limbs of a nearby Kapok tree. Safe in their leafy sanctuary, they began to chatter and shriek abuse at him, and Haji, blind to everything but his own anger, flung himself at the base of the tree and began to tear at the wood in a frenzy, his great claws rending the soft wood to shreds and scattering bits of tree bark in every direction. The monkeys quietened for a moment, but then, seeing that they were safe, began their impudent mockery again, leaping up and down on the branches and grimacing, while Haji raged vainly, far below them.

      At last, his anger ran its course and he drew back from the tree, still growling bitterly beneath his breath. He paced up and down for a moment, ignoring the monkeys, his head low, his eyes fixed to the ground while he waited for the great calm to come to him again. At last it did. He stared once along the track the rusa had taken. No sense in going that way now, the deer’s panic would have alerted every creature for miles in that direction. Haji gave one last roar, but this time it was controlled, decisive. He struck out along a path to his left which led to secondary jungle and, eventually, Kampong Panjang.

      The monkeys watched him stalk away and they fell silent again. A couple of the braver ones stood tall and made threatening gestures with their arms in the direction he had gone; even so, it was some considerable time before they ventured to leave the safety of their tall Kapok tree.

      Harry strolled in through the open glass doors of the Kuala Hitam Sports Club, nodding to the pretty Chinese receptionist, who rewarded him with a radiant smile. He passed through another open doorway and was outside again. He turned right, past the forest of white-painted chairs and tables that ran alongside the long open-air bar, which in turn overlooked the three well-maintained tennis courts belonging to the club. Harry had come for his regular game with Captain Dennis Tremayne, a long-standing friend who still served with the Fourth and was therefore a useful source of gossip where they were concerned. He was considerably younger than Harry, but that hardly seemed to matter. Tennis was the one sport that Harry really enjoyed and he was thankful that he had never put on any weight in his advancing years. Nothing looked more ludicrous than a fat man in shorts attempting to play a game that was quite beyond his capabilities. But it was probably quite true to say that Harry cut a more imposing figure in shorts than Dennis, who, at the age of forty-four, was already a little on the stout side.

      Harry spotted Dennis sitting at one of the small tables.

      ‘Hello old chap!’ chuckled Dennis. ‘It seems we’re a bit early for our game today. Let me get you a drink.’

      ‘Fresh orange juice, please.’ Harry settled into a chair as Dennis signalled to the barman.

      ‘Two fresh oranges, please. Plenty of ice,’ Dennis grinned and turned his attention to the game in progress. ‘All action out there today,’ he observed. ‘Hope they don’t expect that sort of routine from us.’ He had a plump, ruddy-complexioned face that always wore a happy expression. His cornflower blue eyes were hidden today behind a pair of mirrored sunglasses. ‘Strewth,’ he exclaimed. ‘Is it just me or does it get hotter here all the time?’ He motioned to Harry’s sweater. ‘Beats me how you can wear that thing.’

      ‘Well, don’t forget Dennis, I’ve been living in this climate for most of my adult life. India, Burma, Malaya, all got one thing in common – they’re bloody hot. Couldn’t stand it any other way now.’

      Dennis nodded.

      ‘You er … wouldn’t fancy going back to Blighty ever?’

      ‘I should say not! I’d freeze to death.’ He narrowed his eyes suspiciously. ‘Why did you ask that?’

      ‘Oh, no reason, really …’

      ‘No reason, my hat! What’s up? C’mon Dennis, spill the beans, you know you never could hide anything from me.’

      Dennis raised his hands in capitulation.

      ‘Alright, alright, I surrender!’ He leaned forward, lowered his voice slightly. ‘It’s just that word came through today about some more cuts and –’

      ‘More cuts!’ Harry shook his head. ‘Don’t see how they can do it, frankly. Surely they’ve cut the Gurkhas down as much as they possibly can. Trimming the force to ten thousand men, it’s butchery!’

      Dennis nodded sympathetically.

      ‘Well, you know my views on that one Harry, I couldn’t agree with you more. But the particular news I’m referring to concerns Kuala Hitam in particular. Seems the top brass have got it into their heads that it’s unnecessary. It’s got to go, old son. Complete demobilization by 1969. Fact. Heard it myself, just this morning.’

      ‘What СКАЧАТЬ