The Night Tiger(82)

“Yes.” Ren is about to tell her that Yi is younger than him because death has increased the distance between them, but he pauses, not knowing how to mention it. Not here, in the gloomy shadow of the windows. “Do you know my brother?”

Now it’s her turn to hesitate, as though she’s said too much. “I’m not sure. But I have a brother, too. His name is Shin, for xin. So that makes four of us out of five.”

“There’re five actually. If you count my master.”

“What do you mean?”

“He has a Chinese name, too—he said so tonight. It’s got the Li in it, for ritual.”

“Are you sure?” She looks disturbed for some reason.

“Yes, but maybe it doesn’t count, since he’s a foreigner.”

“Ren!” Ah Long appears in the corridor.

Guiltily, Ren spins round. He’s supposed to be searching for Nandani, not talking to strange young women. “Coming!” he says, but Ah Long has seized his shoulder.

“Did you find her?”

“No.” Ren doesn’t understand why Ah Long is so worried.

“Don’t go out right now.”

“Why?”

“Aiya! Because the tiger is in the garden. Ah Seng and that boy, Nandani’s cousin, swear they saw it just now.”

“Where?”

“At the bottom of the garden where you bury the garbage—remember the paw print? Stay inside for now!”

“Did you tell the master?”

“He’s gone for his shotgun.”

“To kill it?” asks Ji Lin.

Ah Long glances at her as though he’s just registered her presence for the first time. “To frighten it off, so the guests can leave. You can’t kill a tiger with that kind of shot.”

He turns on his heel and disappears. And now Ren realizes that the mood in the house has changed. There’s a rising buzz, cries of alarm and pleasurable excitement. A tiger! The same one the fellows at the Club were waiting up for the other night? Mrs. Banks is wailing to her husband, I knew we should have left earlier, but the men are enthusiastic. This is what they have come East for: adventures like tigers in the garden, Oriental dancing girls, and cobras in their beds. Rawlings says loudly, “It’s probably gone already,” though nobody wants to believe him.

But Ren has a terrible, sinking feeling. There have been too many coincidences tonight, too many warning signs. He should have paid attention to them, but he’s been distracted. Now Nandani is gone, and the tiger is waiting, right where its pugmarks were found yesterday. What kind of beast returns so soon when there is no kill?

Ren knows that spot is where he buried the finger. If he returns the finger, perhaps the tiger will give back Nandani. With a strangled cry, he darts towards the veranda.

“What are you doing?” Ji Lin catches him by the sleeve.

“I have to get it back.” He has the peculiar sensation that she’ll understand him. “It wants the finger.”

“What finger?” In the dim light, her face has a greenish pallor.

“Dr. MacFarlane’s finger! I must put it back!”

With a sharp tug, Ren frees himself and runs out of the veranda doors. Now is the time to get it, before William comes out with a shotgun. He’s not afraid of the tiger, he tells himself. This kind of spirit tiger, that only hunts women with long hair.

It’s a lie though, because he’s terrified. His head is pounding, his lungs burning. But Ren is certain, down to the marrow in his bones, that there’s very little time left for Nandani. Perhaps she’s already dead. But no, the tiger has come back as a sign to him. A last chance.

I’m sorry, he gasps. He should have obeyed Dr. MacFarlane’s wishes from the beginning. He promised, didn’t he? This is what happens when promises are broken.

Outside, the darkness has a wet green scent, as though the earth itself is exhaling. Ren runs blindly over the lawn, heading for the rubbish dump. Breath wheezing as he trips, scrambles, gets up. Behind him, distant shouts. Doors slamming, windows opening.

And now he’s scrabbling in the soft earth, heaving aside the stone that he used as a marker. No spade, nothing but bare hands and broken fingernails.

Hurry, hurry!

Then he hears it, a rumbling snarl. It’s pitched so low that the air trembles; he can feel the reverberations in his bones. Every muscle in his body freezes, the hairs on his head stand on end. At this moment, Ren is no longer a boy or even human. He’s nothing but a hairless monkey caught on the ground.

The growl goes on and on, a steady rolling that fills the air. Dazed, he can’t tell which direction it comes from. Then there’s a coughing bark, a harsh rattle that cuts off abruptly and silence.

From the house he can hear faint shouts. A girl’s voice screaming stop or no.

But Ren is digging like a madman. So close, he can feel the edge of the biscuit tin. Thumbnail tearing. Sliding up the lid. It’s open and the little glass bottle clinks into his grimy hand. Ren heaves a sigh. Crouching, he turns towards the house. And then there’s a flash and a deafening roar.

Eyes wide, Ren hits the ground. He’s so surprised, he feels nothing but numbness. Lifts his left hand. It’s wet and slippery and looks like raw meat. Then the pain hits him in the side. Ren folds over, crumpling like old newspaper. The last thing he sees is his girl in blue. She’s holding him in her lap; there’s blood all over her pretty dress. It’s all right if it’s her, he thinks as he presses the glass vial from his good right hand into hers.