ndx3

Night Visitor, cont'd.

“Oh, God, yes,” Hugo said. “These back feet are badly cut up.” Compassion had thickened his voice. “I wonder what happened to the poor fellow.” Then he sat on the terrace and watched me feed the tiger.

While the tiger was eating I took a good look at the cuts I could see, and none of them seemed inflamed or infected.

I continued to hold the meat up in chunks and the tiger ate all of it this way, and afterward he looked me straight in the eye for several seconds, then put his foot into my lap. He was saying thank you. I refilled the water bucket and put it near him so he could drink. When the big cat finished drinking, his head went back down and he was sound asleep again in seconds.

Hugo was silent while we ate. We drank more coffee, sitting on the terrace, watching the tiger. Hugo looked at his watch every few minutes, and at the stroke of nine he took out his mobile phone and dialled the first number at the top of my list. I tore the bottom half off and went into the study to ring the numbers.

As I made the calls, I began to worry about the tiger. At nine o’clock it was already hot outside; it would be another day of relentless humidity and high temperatures. He’d flopped down on the creeping thyme last night and hadn’t moved. It was thick and cushiony and it smelled heavenly, but it was in full sun all day. Oh, for a drop of rain to clear and cool the air!

Hugo came to me in the study. “No joy,” he said. He looked dejected. “I think we must ring the police.”

“No. I’ve got one more number to ring,” I replied, with more optimism than I felt.

I dialled the number. When a young woman answered, I said, “May I please speak with your large cat keeper?”

Without even a pause she said, “He’s not here this morning. Would the vet do you?”

“Yes,” I said, hope inexplicably rising , “Thank you.”

The voice that spoke then was American “Dirk Madison.”

“You’re the vet?” I asked

“Yes, ma’am. How can I help you?”

“Well,” I paused. Then I just blurted it all out. “There’s a tiger in my garden. He wandered in last evening, and just lay down. He’s covered in cuts and blood, his feet appear to be very sore, and he’s exhausted. I fed him whatever I had last night –eggs, minced beef, dripping, bread. I put water out for him, too. When I got up this morning, the food was gone, but he hadn’t moved and he was sleeping the sleep of the dead.” I stopped for breath.

The American vet jumped in. “Is he still asleep?”

I walked to the window and looked. “Yes, and I’m worried because he’s lying on the hottest spot in my garden. There’s no shade, and he’s going to bake. He woke up when I took some meat out to him this morning, but he couldn’t or wouldn’t stand, so I had to hand feed him, and then I moved the water close enough for him to drink without getting up. But it’s getting hot now and–“

“Stop worrying,” Dirk Madison interrupted. “He’s used to the heat, and he’ll find shade if he needs to. His name is Shanti. And we’ve been looking for him for three days.”

Tears started; tears of relief, I suppose. I nodded to Hugo, whose face lit up as I’d never seen it before– and I’d known him since he was a toddler.

“Oh, I’m so happy to hear you say that!” I cried. “There’s been nothing about him in the news, not the papers, not telly or radio--”

“No. The police know, of course. But Shanti wouldn’t hurt a fly, and we didn’t want to start a panic. All it would take is one idiot with a gun.” He sighed. “Now, you relax. We’ll be there as soon as we can. Where are you?” the vet asked.

“Hoo-eee!” Dirk yelled when I told him. “That’s nearly a hundred miles from here. That old boy can really move.”

I gave him the rather circuitous directions to my house, which, considering the current circumstances, was just as well being off the beaten track.

“Don’t ring off yet!” I was still worried about the heat. “What can I do to make him more comfortable?” I asked. “I can see that he’s in pain.”

“If you say, ‘Shanti, I’ll help,’ you can check him out. He was trained at Marineworld in California. I trained him myself. He’ll let you check his paws and clean the cuts if you want to. But as long as he’s sleeping, you might as well just leave him alone. We’ll be there in a couple of hours. See you soon!” he said, and rang off.

Hasn’t been here long, I thought. Doesn’t know how bad our roads are compared to those American freeways.

But I was elated. I told Hugo the gist of the conversation as I rushed out to see Shanti. I walked up to the sleepy tiger and he opened his eyes.

“Shanti,” I said, “Dirk is coming to get you.”

The ears twitched.

“Yes, you sweet thing, Dirk is coming.”

Shanti looked at me again, straight in the eyes, and again put his paw forward. I realized suddenly that he wasn’t thanking me. He was showing it to me. I looked closer, and saw fresh blood. It was bleeding. The paw was huge, the diameter of a dinner plate, the fur under the blood white, the claws long but obviously clipped. “Just like a house cat,” I thought.

I flopped down on the thyme, and called Hugo. “Turn on the hosepipe, Hugo,” I said, rather more bossy than I intended. “Please,” I added. “Turn it on low, just a stream, and hand it here, please.”

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