The House of Blue Mangoes (65 page)

‘I’m going to sit up on that rock.’ He pointed to a boulder shaped like a lozenge. Scrub formed a natural screen in front and there was a steep drop behind to a small ledge that overlooked the Parallel Rocks valley. ‘It’ll give me an unrestricted field of fire. What I want you to do is start from the edge of the forest and walk slowly down the game trail to the pool, talking loudly as you go. I’ll cover you every inch of the way. My rifle is dead accurate to two hundred yards.’ For a moment, the import of Harrison’s words didn’t sink in, then Kannan said, ‘Are you asking me to be bait for a man-eating tiger?’

‘Yes,’ was all Harrison said.

‘You’re crazy,’ Kannan said. ‘This thing has already killed nearly a dozen people and you’re asking me . . . you’re asking me to be its next victim. Is that correct?’

‘Quite correct,’ Harrison said.

‘I won’t do it. I absolutely will not do it.’

‘Fine. We might as well head back,’ Harrison said, and he made as if to move.

Even as he protested, Kannan knew he was going to do as the old man asked: the killing of the Pulimed Tiger mattered so much to him. It was as simple as that.

Harrison’s plan was uncomplicated. He would know of the tiger’s arrival from the alarm calls in the jungle and would see every move it made from the moment it left the cover of the forest. The moment it showed, he would put a bullet into it.

‘Remember, there is no danger from the front and I’m covering your back, every inch of the way, right down to the pool. If it doesn’t show on the first pass, we’ll try again, so long as there’s enough light to see. Walk slowly, talk at the top of your voice, and keep your eyes on anything that might hide a tiger. Load your rifle. Now, be ready to snap off a shot at a moment’s notice. If you hear a shot, stay where you are until you hear my call.’

They gave it half an hour. Harrison settled himself and then Kannan began to walk slowly down the game path to the pool, terror implicit in his every step. He had never been so afraid in his life. His vision blurred with concentration and fear turned his mind blank. What should he say, what should he say? How could he quarter every inch of ground in front of him, keep every sense alert, and still be able to talk and sing? Five steps, seven, nine, a dozen, and then, blessedly, the verse Charity used to croon to him in the mango groves of his childhood came to him. He began screaming it at the top of his voice, as if his childhood talisman could protect him from all the terrors of the adult world.

‘
Saapudu kannu saapudu

Neela mangavai saapudu

Onaku enna kavalai
. . .’

His grandmother’s song unlocked the floodgates. He sang snatches of songs half remembered from his days of courting Helen, he composed speeches to Freddie, to his father, to his wife, he abused Harrison at the top of his voice, and recited all the nursery rhymes he’d read so often to little Andrew Fraser. Then terror seized him and corrupted memory. He fell silent, then, remembering Harrison’s instructions, shouted out whatever came into his head:

‘
Jack and Jill went up a hill

To fetch a pail of water

Jack fell down and Jack fell down

And Jack fell down soon after
.’

He had left the open ground behind him and reached a section of the trail where it ran through luxuriant undergrowth. The light was green and gloomy, and the horror of what might await him stopped him dead in his tracks. How did Harrison know that tigers never attacked from the front? Your job is not to second-guess tigers or hunters, he said to himself. Your job is to move ever forward, making noise. So saying, he forced himself to move. But his mind was blank again; he’d even forgotten his grandmother’s ditty just when he needed it most. A memory of Pulimed church came to him and then, to his infinite relief, his mind flooded with Christmas carols.

‘
Away in a manger, no crib for a bed

The Little Lord Jesus lay down his sweet head

The stars in the night sky
. . .’

Concentrate on the bushes, that rock, what an odd shape it has, forget the shape, isn’t that a red and yellow . . . no, it’s a dry branch. His throat felt dry, and he couldn’t think of the words to the carol he was singing and began another:

‘
Jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle all the way

Oh what fun it is to ride on a one-horse open sleigh oh

Jingle bells, jingle bells
. . .’

He was halfway to the pool now, and the path curved. What if the tiger sprang on him as he turned the bend? He realized he had stopped singing, and began chanting:

‘
O little town of Bethlehem
. . .’

The shot was a sharp flat crack that drilled through the noise he was making. It was followed moments later by another. He heard Harrison’s voice calling to him and then there was a third shot. His legs would suddenly support him no longer and he sank to the ground.

104

The Pulimed Tiger was magnificent even in death. Kannan marvelled at the superbly muscled forelegs, the massive jaw. And to think he’d put himself in its path! Blood clotted in the white hair of its underbelly. Harrison showed him where the first bullet, fired the previous day, had raked the tiger across the left flank, finally lodging low down in its front foot. The last three shots were within inches of each other and were centred on the heart.

Kannan marvelled at the old man’s marksmanship. Harrison said, ‘You were in no danger at all, you know. I saw the tiger as soon as he left the forest, and I waited till he got closer and let him have it.’

‘Well, I’m relieved to hear that. But you won’t catch me doing it again in a hurry.’

‘You have an awful singing voice,’ Harrison said, and Kannan looked at him in surprise. Was the old man warming towards him? But Harrison had already bent over the tiger and he couldn’t see the expression on his face. ‘Aha. Just as I suspected.’

He picked up one of the huge front paws and beckoned Kannan over. ‘See how the hair has been completely licked off. Look closely and you’ll see a number of holes in the skin. I’m willing to wager there’s a broken-off porcupine quill under each of those punctures. The poor chap must have been in agony, no wonder he couldn’t catch his usual prey.’

Kannan was nodding, when Harrison asked, ‘Are you carrying your pruning knife?’

‘Yes, in my rucksack.’

‘Let me have it, I’ll show you what I mean.’ He picked up the great paw and made an incision. As the skin and flesh parted, Harrison pointed ‘See? Quills broken off, but almost impossible to dislodge.’ He dug out a couple of blood- and gristle-coated objects, cleaned them cursorily and held them out to Kannan. They were almost as thick as pencil stubs. He bent down, probed some more, and one of the claws dropped off. ‘Everything else seems to be okay,’ Harrison said, finishing his examination. ‘It’s the porcupine quills which drove him to find easier prey.’

Abruptly he stopped what he was doing, discarded the quills, and handed the knife back to Kannan. ‘Cut a length of bamboo, about six feet will do, from that clump over there,’ he said, pointing to a stand of wild bamboo that grew near the incline.

‘Why, surely you are not proposing to tie the tiger to it and carry it back? Two men can’t do it alone.’

‘Remember, you agreed to do exactly as I said.’ The old man’s voice was hard. Perhaps he had just imagined the warmth in it moments ago. Kannan shrugged and, leaning his rifle against a rock, went over to the bamboo. Selecting a stout stem, he began hacking away at it with his pruning knife. Even though the sun had lost much of its power, it was hard work, and he was soon sweating freely. Crazy old man, he thought, but at least he’d got the tiger! He could just imagine the faces of the Stevensons and that bastard Taylor when he brought it in. The old man fully deserved his reputation as a great shikari. Who else would have anticipated the tiger’s route? Pausing to rest, he looked over his shoulder to see what Harrison was up to and froze in disbelief. The old man had picked up Kannan’s rifle. Even as he watched, Harrison casually sauntered over to the edge of the cliff and threw it into the teeming mist of the valley below. Kannan raced towards him. ‘You crazy old fool, what the hell do you think you are doing? What the hell . . .’ He was almost upon him when Harrison spoke. ‘No further or you get a bullet in your belly.’ The calm voice sliced through Kannan’s fury and he noticed, for the first time, the old man’s gun pointing steadily in the region of his mid-section. He juddered to a halt, lowered the knife.

‘Why the hell did you do that? Have you gone mad?’ Kannan asked, his voice hoarse with confusion and anger.

‘I’ve told you. No questions. Just do as I tell you.’

‘I’ll be damned if I will, you drunken lunatic. You’ve already made me walk into the jaws of a man-eater, now you’ve thrown away my rifle. What are you going to do to me?’

‘Nothing, if you do as you are told!’

‘Why should I obey someone who is crazy?’

‘I can assure you I’m not crazy. However, if you don’t cut that bamboo, I’m going to shoot you and throw your body into the valley. It doesn’t matter to me if you live or die.’

‘You’ve already made that plain.’

‘Start cutting. I have work to finish.’

Fear began to mingle with Kannan’s rage.

‘What are you going to do?’ he asked.

‘You’ll find out soon enough. Now cut that bamboo.’ There was an edge to Harrison’s voice. Kannan stared into his eyes, but there was nothing to read in them. He turned and stumbled back to the stem in a daze, and finally had it down. He trimmed the leaves from it and carried it, under Harrison’s watchful eye, to the edge of the precipice.

‘Now get hold of the tiger by its hind legs and drag it to the bamboo,’ Harrison said.

‘Why are you doing this? Please tell me,’ Kannan said. Frustration mingled with rage and fear as he surrendered to the whims of the madman.

‘It’s just that I don’t want anyone to know the tiger’s dead.’

‘What!’ The statement drove everything else from Kannan’s mind. ‘What?’

‘You heard. Now do as you are told.’

‘No, I will not, you crazy bastard. Do you really expect me, after all I’ve gone through, to walk away from here and deny all knowledge of the tiger’s death? No, Harrison. I’m going straight to the police to report you for threatening me. Then I’ll come back for the tiger. You’ve gone too far, old man.’

He began walking away, but Harrison’s voice stopped him. ‘Walk any further and you’re dead. I’m sorry, my dear fellow, you’ll just have to think again. There’s nothing to prevent me from disposing of the tiger, and you, and then shooting myself. I have nothing to live for. Think about it.’

Kannan turned to face the hunter. ‘Why?’ he asked.

Harrison didn’t reply.

‘Why, why? Why in God’s name, why?’ Kannan cried, almost hysterical now. Suddenly he knew. ‘I’ll tell you why, you bitter old sod, I’ll tell you why. You want those smug pompous bastards to sweat it out for what they did to you. Isn’t that it? But how are you going to keep up the pretence when there are no more killings?’

Harrison gazed at him impassively, his rifle held steady. Goaded on by the other’s calm, Kannan shouted, ‘You will kill and kill and kill, you monster. You were the one who put up the posters, you were the one who killed the padre. Admit it. Damn you. Admit it.’

The sounds of the forest filled the silence between them. When Kannan spoke again, his voice was steadier. ‘You’re going to kill me, aren’t you?’

Harrison replied, ‘Not if you do as you’re told.’

‘What do you mean, do as you’re told? Why should I trust you?’

‘You trusted me once.’

Was that mockery he heard in the other’s voice? Anger began to build in him again. ‘Look, if you don’t let me go, I’ll go to the police . . .’ His voice trailed away as he realized the utter futility of repeating the threat. He wondered if he could rush Harrison, reach him before he got off a shot.

‘Don’t even think of it,’ Harrison said quietly. ‘You’ll be dead before you’ve moved three feet. Now, for the last time, will you do as you are told?’

Exhausted, his every gesture that of a condemned man, Kannan nodded. He walked over to the dead animal and grasping it by its thick hind legs began to pull it slowly over the stony ground. It was hard work, and the animal’s rank smell filled his nostrils, but Kannan was beyond caring. Step by step he moved towards the precipice and, as he did so, a new thought formed in his mind – he would just keep walking until there was nothing beneath his feet . . . Nobody would give him any trouble then . . . He would never do anything he had hoped to do, he would miss Helen and his mother, but there was nothing he could do about that . . . He would never see Doraipuram again, never eat blue mangoes by the Chevathar . . .

Harrison snapped at him. ‘That’s far enough. Now take the pole and push the tiger over.’

Kannan ignored him and kept walking forward, dragging the dead animal behind him. The crack of the rifle and the whine of the bullet near his feet overlapped each other and whipped him out of his daze.

‘I said enough,’ Harrison said. ‘One more trick like that and it’s a bullet in the belly.’

Kannan picked up the pole, thrust it under the tiger, began heaving at it, then stopped.

‘Why didn’t you just let me walk over? Do you want the personal satisfaction of shooting me?’

‘You will go unhurt if you do as you’re told,’ Harrison said.

‘I’ll make sure they get you.’

‘You won’t,’ Harrison said with a thin smile, ‘you won’t rat on me. I can see it growing within you now, the realization that you can make them sweat, get your own back on the white man. Tell me I’m wrong.’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘Really! Since when have you become the white man’s friend?’

‘I’ve had enough encounters with good men, to know that all white men are not bad.’

‘Have you now? And I suppose you’ll tell me that the Englishman is brave, fair, courageous, honest, white . . . You fool, don’t you see that those are just myths assiduously built up to control you poor heathen natives?’