Tiger by the Tail (5 page)

As she disappeared out of view in one direction, Nick entered the kitchen from the other. He opened a
cupboard door and pulled out a monster jar of peanut butter.

“Are we going over to see Mr. McCurdy before or after lunch?” he asked.

“I didn’t think we were going to go at all today. Shouldn’t we wait a few days so we don’t appear too eager?”

“But we are eager. I don’t want all that good lying I did with Mom to go to waste. Besides, if we don’t go soon we might not get to go at all.”

“Why not?”

“Mom may hear something about Mr. McCurdy when she’s shopping or from one of the other neighbours and then she won’t let us go.”

“I doubt it. She doesn’t seem to hear anything that anybody says to her,” I said under my breath.

“What?”

“Nothing. Do you really think we should go today?” I asked.

“Definitely, but we shouldn’t go empty handed.”

“What should we bring?” I asked.

“Muffins. You bake some muffins and I’ll take care of other business,” Nick said.

“Other business? What other business?”

“Staying out of your way when you bake. I’ll be in the living room watching TV.”

“Come on, Sarah, just one,” Nick pleaded.

“No. How many times do I have to tell you?”

“You don’t have to tell me no. Just say yes.”

“No way. I can’t give Mr. McCurdy eleven chocolate-chip muffins. I’ve got to give him an even dozen.”

Nick and I had had this same conversation each of the last three mornings as we headed over to see Mr. McCurdy. When we got to his house we’d eat the muffins and talk for a while and then go off and spend time with the animals. Most of them were okay, except for the snake, which, thank God, had stayed out of sight. The tiger, Buddha, made me very nervous but he was fascinating and I loved to watch him … from outside the cage. Nick, of course, had to show how brave he was and had even fed Buddha some raw meat right out of his hand. I kept a safe distance. Mr. McCurdy had said a tiger could eat fifty kilograms of meat at one sitting and I weighed just under that. I didn’t like the thought that I could be a meal, and not even a complete meal.

“What difference does it make? Five minutes after we walk in he’s going to offer me one,” Nick said.

“Then no big deal. Just wait.”

We walked along in silence, the only sound coming
from the gravel crunching under our feet.

“Sure smells good,” my brother mumbled.

“Don’t you ever give up?” I said in exasperation.

“Yes.”

“When?”

“When I get what I want. If you want me to stop then stuff a muffin in my mouth.”

For a split second I thought it would be worth it.

“How about if you bake blueberry muffins tomorrow,” Nick suggested. “They’re Mr. McCurdy’s favourite.”

“They are? How do you know?”

“I just know,” he answered.

“Okay, I guess I can bake blueberry for tomorrow. Wait a second. Blueberry is
your
favourite,” I objected.

“What a coincidence, eh?”

“Nicholas, you …” I stopped mid-sentence. We’d come to Mr. McCurdy’s driveway. The wooden post that normally held his mailbox was leaning off to one side and was smashed off at the top. Looking down, I saw the yellow mailbox, with its faded red letters that read “McCurdy,” in the ditch.

“How did that happen?” Nicholas asked. “It was fine when we left yesterday, wasn’t it?”

“I didn’t notice.”

We walked up the driveway. It was mostly dirt with a few stray pieces of gravel, two deeply rutted tracks and weeds growing along the centre. The ruts were filled with
water, left over from yesterday’s storm. It had rained the last few days. It seemed like it was always raining since we moved here. Looking down I saw some footprints in the mud, leading away from the house toward the road. I realized they were made by me and Nick yesterday when we were leaving.

“This would be a pretty bumpy ride in a car,” I noted.

“It would be really neat on a dirt bike, I bet,” Nick responded.

The mud was still soft and we sank into it a little as we walked. I was grateful I’d worn my hightops today. I tried to walk around the puddles and avoid the worst patches of mud. I put my foot down into one of the tracks we’d made the other day and found that by walking in our old footprints I didn’t sink quite as deep. I moved along to the next footprint and then the next, my eyes trained on the ground. Nick had moved ahead of me. He wasn’t concerned about where he walked and happily stomped through the mud and water.

I stopped short and stared at the ground. “Nick, what’s this?”

He turned around. “What is what?”

“This. The footprint in the mud.”

He ploughed back through the puddles, splashing water into my face.

“Nicholas, you jerk!” I shouted as I wiped my face with my arm.

“Sorry. Where’s the footprint?”

“Here,” I said, pointing to the ground. It was now half-filled with water.

He bent down to look more closely. I bent down as well.

“What do you think?” I asked.

“I can’t be certain … but I think … that maybe … it’s an animal track.”

“I know that! What kind of animal?” I screamed.

“How should I know? It’s an animal, maybe a dog.”

“But look how big it is!”

“A big dog. Come on, let’s get going. I need a muffin,” he said as he straightened up and started walking again.

I put my hand down, just above the muddy water that filled the paw print. I stretched out my fingers. There was still space on all sides between the ends of my fingers and the edges of the track.

“Nick, this isn’t a dog!” I yelled, looking up to see him just a few metres farther along, crouched down. I stood up and moved quickly to his side.

He looked up at me. “More tracks. Here, coming from down the path. It’s not a dog.”

“I know, I just said that. The tracks are too big. Maybe it’s a bear.”

“It’s not a bear either,” he stated.

“How do you know?”

“If it was a dog or a bear there’d be claws at the edges
of the prints. Dogs and bears always have their claws out,” he said quietly.

“How do you know that?”

“I’m a Boy Scout, remember?”

“If it’s not a dog or a bear then what is it?”

“Something big, something that either doesn’t have claws or can pull in its claws … like a cat.”

“Like a tiger,” I said under my breath.

“Yeah, like a tiger,” Nick confirmed. He stood up and wiped his muddy hands on his pants.

“Nicholas, don’t do that!”

“Sorry,” he answered.

“Maybe Mr. McCurdy was out taking Buddha for a walk,” I suggested.

“I don’t think so. Maybe he was riding it,” Nick said.

“Riding it? What are you talking about? He wouldn’t ride on his tiger!” I exclaimed.

“Yeah, you’re right, but you’ll notice there are no other tracks out here besides ours and the tiger’s. So if Mr. McCurdy wasn’t riding it, then Buddha is out here by himself.”

“We have to get out of here.”

“We can’t go back the way we came,” Nick said. “The tracks are leading out toward the road.”

“But that doesn’t mean it didn’t double back into the bushes. We don’t have much choice,” I said. “Let’s get to the house right away. Once we’re with Mr. McCurdy
we’ll be okay.”

“Sounds good to me. Let’s run.”

“No!” I said forcefully, and then lowered my voice to continue. “We should move slowly and quietly. Buddha might be sitting just over the bank or maybe he’s watching us right now. If we run he might decide to chase us.”

“We’ll just outrun him then,” he suggested.

“Tigers can move faster than a racehorse. What makes you think you can move that fast? You’re not even that good a runner.”

“Believe me, if a tiger is chasing me I can become a good runner. Besides, Buddha wouldn’t hurt me. I’ve fed him right from my hand.”

“Good, now he thinks of you and he thinks of food. Since you don’t have any food in your hand maybe he’d think of your hand as food.”

That shut him up. We moved up the driveway, slowly, quietly, hardly daring to breathe. I looked apprehensively at the tall weeds and bushes and trees lining the laneway; any of these could offer the perfect hiding spot from which a tiger could pounce. I looked over my shoulder, gazing down the lane. No sign of anything. Turning back around, I caught my first glimpse of the roof of the house. We rounded a small curve and then climbed an incline and the house was right ahead of us across a patch of grass.

“We’re going to be okay,” I said, more to myself than to Nick.

“This is one time I hope you’re right.”

Moving across the grass I was both reassured and unnerved. Reassured because there was no place for a tiger to hide but unnerved because we seemed so exposed.

“HEY, MR. McCURDY!” Nick yelled.

I jumped straight up into the air and then, without thinking, I reached over and clipped my brother on the side of the head.

“What’s the big idea! I was calling Mr. McCurdy.”

“He could be anywhere,” I replied.

“He could be anywhere, but he is right there,” Nick answered.

“Where? I asked as I trained my eyes on the house. The sun was directly over the house and I squinted to see more clearly. “I don’t see him.”

“He’s right there, sitting in a chair by the back door.”

I cupped one hand over my eyes and squinted harder. “Yeah, I think I see him. Why isn’t he moving?”

“I guess he doesn’t see us because the sun is in his eyes,” Nick offered.

“The sun is in our eyes. It’s behind his back and he’s in the shade,” I explained. “Anyway, he should have heard you yell.”

“He’s old and probably a little deaf,” my brother countered.

“He didn’t seem deaf to me.”

As we continued to walk closer I could clearly make out Mr. McCurdy, sitting in a chair, a blanket draped over his shoulders, the end of his gun resting on his lap and poking out from the blanket. He wasn’t moving … at all.

“Must be asleep,” Nick said.

“But why would he be here in the first place and why would he be holding a gun?” I asked.

Nick didn’t answer. My eyes were trained on Mr. McCurdy, sitting in the chair, not moving. I strained to see anything, a flick of a hand, a nod of the head or his chest going up and down. We stopped in our tracks a few metres away from him. Nick and I looked at each other. From my brother’s expression I knew he was expecting me to do something.

“Mr. McCurdy?” I said quietly.

There was no answer. No movement.

“Try it louder,” Nick said, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Mr. McCurdy!” I stated more forcefully. There was no change. I thought I could see his chest move, ever so slightly, but I knew I couldn’t trust my judgment.

“Nicholas … do you think he’s D … E … A … D?”

“Dead? How would I know? Nana was the first dead person I ever saw. And why did you spell it, anyway?”

“I don’t know. I just thought it was … more polite, I guess.”

“If he’s dead it doesn’t matter, and if he’s alive I bet he can spell. Give him a shake,” Nick said as he pushed me forward.

I moved on tiptoes until I stood right over Mr. McCurdy. His head was slumped down on his chest and I still couldn’t tell if he was breathing beneath the blanket. Holding the muffin tray with one hand, I bent over and gently touched his shoulder with my other hand.

“Mr. McCurdy …”

“WHAT DO YOU WANT?” Mr. McCurdy screamed as he leaped to his feet. He knocked me backwards and the tray of muffins flew into the air as I fell to the muddy ground and the muffins landed all around me.

“WHAT? WHAT? Oh it’s just you two,” Mr. McCurdy exclaimed as he stared down at me. “What are you doing sneaking up on a fella?”

“We weren’t sneaking up. We came to visit. We brought you some muffins,” I stammered.

“Muffins?”

“Yes, muffins. They’re right there,” I said, pointing to the ground.

“They look mighty tasty,” Mr. McCurdy said.

“They are,” Nick chipped in, talking with his mouth full.

“But how did you …?”

“Caught it, mid-flight. Told you I’d get one,” he said as he popped the last piece of muffin into his already-stuffed mouth.

“Nicholas Eric Fraser, you are just such a —”

“This isn’t the time, Sarah,” he interrupted. “Don’t forget the tiger.”

“The tiger! That’s right. Mr. McCurdy, Buddha is loose!” I said as I pulled myself to my feet.

“Don’t be silly, Sarah, old Buddha’s all tucked in. I just checked his cage.”

“But we saw tracks,” I protested.

“Probably a big dog,” he stated.

“No claws,” Nick mumbled, swallowing hard to clear away the last of the muffin.

“No claws?” Mr. McCurdy asked.

“There are no claw marks, just gigantic paw prints.”

“Where? Where did you see them?”

“In the lane leading up from the road,” I answered.

“Impossible, I’ve been here all night watching the lane and I didn’t see anything.”

“But you were asleep when we came up,” I noted.

“Asleep? No, I was just resting my eyes for a few seconds.”

“But why were you sitting there all night anyway?” Nick asked.

“Some darn fool kids were here last night. I heard
them coming up the driveway and chased them away. Sat here all night to make sure they weren’t coming back. Nobody came back. I scared them away, good.”

We stood there in silence. My brother bent down, grabbed the tray and started gathering up the fallen muffins. He rubbed one against his pant leg and then took a big bite. I gave him a disapproving look.

“Wanna bite?” he asked, offering me what remained of the muffin.

“They still look good to me,” Mr. McCurdy chipped in. “Let’s go inside. I betcha Calvin will want one too. That chimp has himself a real sweet tooth.”

Mr. McCurdy walked over, pulled open the screen door and then froze in place. He turned to face me. “Maybe we should just go on down to the barn and see how old Buddha’s doing. That would make you happy, wouldn’t it, Sarah?”

We walked around the side of the house and along the path leading to the barn. Nobody said a word. For Nick, that would have been difficult since he was stuffing his third, or fourth, muffin into his mouth. Coming up on the barn we circled around to the stable entrance. The door was open.

“I closed that door last night,” Mr. McCurdy said, his voice breaking on the last word. He picked up his pace. Both Nick and I fell in behind him. I realized he wasn’t carrying the rifle anymore. I guess he’d left it sitting on
the chair, or leaning against the house.

Mr. McCurdy flung open the stable door. “Buddha, I’m coming to see ya, boy!”

Nick and I came to the door and peeked into the darkened stable. At first I couldn’t see anything. My brother gave me a small shove in the back and when I turned he motioned for me to enter. I took a few steps with him right on my heels. I saw Mr. McCurdy kneeling, motionless in front of the tiger’s pen. I couldn’t see Buddha. I moved closer until I was standing over Mr. McCurdy. The pen was empty and the door was ajar. I looked down at Mr. McCurdy. In his hand was a length of thick chain.

“It’s been cut,” he said, showing me the chain, “right in the middle with some sort of hacksaw. Didn’t even touch the lock. See, it’s still locked.”

Mr. McCurdy rose to his feet, turned, brushed by me and started quickly walking back the way we came. “Show me the tracks!” he shouted over his shoulder.