Tiger's Curse (4 page)

“Thanks, Matt!”

There was about an hour left of light outside, but I had to get up early again. After showering, brushing my teeth, and changing into my warm flannel pj’s and slippers, I hurried back to my tent and got cozy under my grandma’s quilt. Reading a chapter in my book made me drowsy, so I quickly fell into a deep sleep.

The next morning after breakfast, I hurried to the kennel and found Matt’s dad playing with the dogs. He looked a lot like an adult version of Matt, with the same brown hair and brown eyes. He turned to me as I approached and said, “Hello. It’s Kelsey, right? I understand you’ll be my assistant today.”

“Yes, sir.”

He shook my hand warmly and smiled. “Call me Andrew or Mr. Davis, if you prefer something more formal. The first thing we need to do is take these feisty little critters for a walk around the grounds.”

“Sounds easy enough.”

He laughed. “We’ll see.”

Mr. Davis gave me enough leashes to hook to five dogs’ collars. The dogs were an interesting assortment of mutts including a beagle, a greyhound mix, bulldog, a Great Dane, and a little black poodle. The animals bounced around everywhere, getting the leashes all twisted around each other—and me. Mr. Davis leaned over to help and then we started off.

It was a beautiful morning. The woods were fragrant, and the dogs were very happy, jumping about and pulling me in every direction except the one I wanted to go. They kicked up rustling pine needles and leaves and exposed bare brown soil as they sniffed every square inch of the terrain.

As I unwound a dog from a tree I asked Mr. Davis, “Do you mind if I ask you some questions about your tiger?”

“Not at all. Ask away.”

“Matt said that you guys didn’t know much about the history of your tiger. Where did you get him from?”

Matt’s dad rubbed a hand over the stubble on his chin and said, “Dhiren came to us when Mr. Maurizio purchased it from another small circus. He wanted to liven up the acts. He figured that I worked well with other animals, so why not tigers. We were very naïve. It usually requires extensive training to work with the big cats. Mr. Maurizio was insistent that I try and, fortunately for me, our tiger is very tractable.

“I was extremely unprepared to take on an animal of that size though I stayed and traveled with the other circus for a while. Their trainer taught me how to handle a tiger, and I learned how to care for it. I’m not sure I could have dealt with any of the other cats they were selling.

“They tried to get me interested in one of their very aggressive Siberians but I quickly realized that she wasn’t for us. I negotiated for the white cat instead. The white was more even tempered and seemed to like working with me. To tell you the truth, our tiger seems bored with me most of the time.”

I pondered this information as we silently walked down the trail for a while. Untangling the dogs from another tree, I asked, “Do white tigers come from India? I thought they came from Siberia.”

Mr. Davis smiled. “Many people think they’re from Russia because the white coat blends in with the snow, but Siberian tigers are larger and orange. Our cat is a Bengal or Indian tiger.”

He looked at me thoughtfully for a moment and asked, “Are you ready to help me with the tiger today? The cages have safety latches, and I will be supervising you at all times.”

I smiled, remembering the sweet scent of jasmine at the end of the tiger’s performance. One of the dogs ran around my legs, trapping me and breaking the reverie for a moment.

“I would really enjoy that, thanks!” I replied.

After finishing our walk, we put the dogs back in the kennel and fed them.

Mr. Davis filled the dogs’ trough with water from a green hose. He looked over his shoulder and said, “You know, tigers could be completely wiped out in the next ten years. India has already passed several laws against killing them. Poachers and villagers are mostly responsible. Tigers generally avoid humans, but they are responsible for many deaths in India every year and sometimes people take matters into their own hands.”

Then, Mr. Davis gestured that I should follow him. We walked around the corner of the building to a large barn that was painted white with blue trim. He opened the wide doors for us to enter.

The bright sun filtered in and warmed the area, spotlighting the dust particles that flew around as Mr. Davis and I walked past. I was surprised at how much light shone in the two-level building despite there being only two high windows. Wide beams rose high overhead and arched across the ceiling; the walls were lined with empty stalls that held bales of hay stacked up to the ceiling. I followed him as he approached the beautiful animal wagon that had been a part of the performance yesterday.

He picked up a large jug of liquid vitamins and said, “Kelsey, meet Dhiren. Come here, I want to show you something.”

We approached the cage. The tiger, who had been dozing, lifted its head and watched me curiously with bright blue eyes.

Those eyes. They were mesmerizing. They stared right into me, almost as if the tiger was examining my soul.

A wave of loneliness washed through me, but I struggled to lock it back into the tiny part of me where I kept such emotions. I swallowed thickly and broke eye contact.

Mr. Davis pulled a lever on the side of the cage. A panel slid down, separating the side of the cage near the door from Dhiren. Mr. Davis opened the cage door, filled the tiger’s water dish, added about a quartercup of liquid vitamin, and closed and locked the door. Then, he pushed the lever to raise the panel in the cage again.

“I’m going to do some paperwork. I want you to get the tiger’s breakfast,” Mr. Davis instructed. “Head back to the main building and go back behind the boxes. You’ll see a large refrigerator there. Take this red wagon with you to carry the meat from the fridge back here. Then take another package out of the freezer and put it into the fridge to thaw. When you return, put the food into Dhiren’s cage just like I did with the vitamins. Be sure to close the safety panel first. Can you manage that?”

I grabbed the wagon handle. “No problem,” I said over my shoulder as I headed back to the door. I found the meat quickly and returned in a few minutes.

I hope that safety door holds, or I’ll be what’s served for breakfast
, I thought as I pulled the lever, dished up the raw meat into a wide bowl, and slid it carefully into the cage. I kept a wary eye on the tiger, but it just sat there watching me.

“Mr. Davis, is that a female or a male tiger?”

A noise came from the cage, a deep rumble from the tiger’s chest.

I turned to look at the tiger. “What are you growling at
me
for?”

Matt’s dad laughed. “Ah, you’ve offended him. He’s very sensitive, you know. In answer to your question,
he
is a male.”

“Hmm.”

After the tiger ate, Mr. Davis suggested I watch the tiger practice his performance. We closed the barn doors and slid the wooden beam down to lock them in place just to make sure the tiger couldn’t escape. Then I scrambled up the ladder to the loft to watch from above. If anything went wrong, Mr. Davis had instructed me to climb out the window and return with Mr. Maurizio.

Matt’s father approached the cage, opened the door, and called Dhiren out. The cat looked at him and then put his head back on his paws, still sleepy. Mr. Davis called again. “Come!”

The tiger’s mouth opened in a giant yawn and his jaws gaped wide. I shuddered looking at the huge teeth. He stood up and stretched his front legs and then his back legs one at a time. I chuckled to myself for mentally comparing this large predator with a sleepy housecat. The tiger turned around and trotted down the ramp and out of the cage.

Mr. Davis set up a stool and cracked the whip, instructing Dhiren to jump up onto the stool. He got the hoop and had the tiger practice jumping in and out of it for several minutes. He leapt back and forth, running through the various activities with ease. His movements were effortless. I could see the sinewy muscles moving under his white and black striped fur as he went through the paces.

Mr. Davis seemed to be a good trainer, but there were a couple of times that I noticed the tiger could have taken advantage of him— but didn’t. Once, Mr. Davis’s face was very close to the tiger’s extended claws, and it would have been very easy for the tiger to take a swipe, but instead, he moved his paw out of the way. Another time, I could have sworn Mr. Davis had stepped on his tail, but again, he just growled softly and moved his tail aside. It was very strange, and I found myself even more fascinated by the beautiful animal, wondering what it would feel like to touch him.

Mr. Davis was sweating in the stuffy barn. He encouraged the tiger to return to the stool, and then placed three other stools nearby and had him practice jumping from one to the other. Finishing up, he led the cat back to its cage, gave him a special jerky treat, and motioned for me to come down.

“Kelsey, you’d better head on over to the main building and help Matt get ready for the show. We have a bunch of senior citizens coming in today from a local center.”

I climbed down the ladder. “Would it be okay if I bring my journal in here to write sometimes? I want to draw the tiger’s picture in it.”

He said, “That’s fine. Just don’t get too close.”

I hurried out the building, waved at him, and shouted, “Thanks for letting me watch you. It was really exciting!”

I rushed back to help Matt just as the first bus pulled into the parking lot. It was completely the opposite from the day before. First, the woman in charge bought all the tickets at once, which made my job much easier, and then all the patrons shuffled slowly into the ring, found their seats, and promptly fell asleep.

How could they sleep through all the noise?
When intermission came, there wasn’t much to do. Half of the attendees were still asleep, and the other half were in line for the restroom. Nobody really bought anything.

After the show, Matt and I cleaned up quickly, which gave me a few hours for myself. I ran back to my cot, pulled out my journal, a pen and pencil, and my quilt and walked over to the barn. I pulled open the heavy door and turned on the lights.

Strolling toward the tiger’s cage, I found him resting comfortably with his head on his paws. Two bales of hay made a perfect chair with a backrest; my quilt spread over my lap warmed me as I opened my journal. After writing a couple of paragraphs, I began to sketch.

I’d taken a couple of art classes in high school and was fairly decent at drawing when I had a model to look at. I picked up my pencil and looked at my subject. He was looking right at me—not like he wanted to eat me, it was more like . . . he was trying to tell me something.

“Hey, Mister. What are you looking at?” I grinned.

I started my drawing. The tiger’s round eyes were wide-set and a brilliant blue. He had long, black eyelashes and a pink nose. His fur was a soft, creamy white with black stripes radiating away from his forehead and cheeks, all the way down to the tail. The short, furry ears were tilted toward me, and his head was resting lazily on his paws. As he watched me, his tail flicked back and forth leisurely.

I spent a lot of time trying to get the pattern of stripes right because Mr. Davis had told me that no two tigers had the same stripes. He said that their stripes were as distinctive as human fingerprints.

I continued to speak to him while drawing. “What’s your name again? Ah, Dhiren. Well, I’ll just call you Ren. Hope that’s alright with you. So how’s your day been? Did you enjoy your breakfast? You know, you have a very handsome face, for something that could eat me.”

After a quiet pause with the only sounds being the scratch of my pencil and the deep rhythmic breathing of the large animal, I asked, “Do you like being a circus tiger? I can’t imagine it’s a very exciting life for you, being stuck in that cage all the time. I know
I
wouldn’t like it very much.”

I fell quiet for a while and bit my lip as I shaded in the stripes of his face. “Do you like poetry? I’ll bring in my book of poems and read to you sometime. I think I have one about cats you might like.”

I looked up from my drawing and was startled to see that the tiger had moved. He was sitting up, his head bent down toward me, and he was staring at me steadily. I started to feel a little bit nervous.
A large cat staring at you with great intensity can’t be a good thing.

Right then, Matt’s dad strolled into the building. The tiger slumped down onto its side, but kept his face turned toward me, watching me with those deep blue eyes.

“Hey, kid, how’re you doing?

“Umm, I’m fine. Hey, I have a question. Doesn’t he ever get
lonely
by himself? Haven’t you tried to, you know, find him a girl tiger?”

He laughed. “Not for him. This one likes to be alone. The other circus said they tried to produce offspring by breeding him with a white female in heat at the zoo, but he wouldn’t have it. He stopped eating, so they pulled him out of there. I guess he prefers bachelorhood.”

“Oh. Well, I’d better get back to Matt and help him out with the dinner preparations.” I closed my journal and gathered my things.

As I strolled back to the main building, my thoughts were drawn to the tiger.
Poor thing. All alone with no girl tiger and no tiger cubs. No deer to hunt and stuck in captivity.
I felt sorry for him.

After dinner, I helped Matt’s dad walk the dogs again and got settled in for the night. I put my hands under my head and stared at the tent ceiling, thinking some more about the tiger. After tossing and turning for about twenty minutes, I decided to go visit the barn again. I kept all the lights off in the building except the one near the cage and went back to my hay bale with my quilt.

Because I was feeling sentimental, I had brought a paperback copy of
Romeo and Juliet
.

“Hey, Ren. Would you like me to read to you for a while? Now Romeo and Juliet don’t have any tigers in their story, but Romeo does climb a balcony, so you just picture yourself climbing a tree, okay? Wait a second. Let me create the proper setting.”