It was Richard Parker who calmed me down. It is the ironyof this story that the one who scared me witless to start withwas the very same who brought me peace, purpose, I daresay even wholeness.
He was looking at me intently. After a time I recognized thegaze. I had grown up with it. It was the gaze of a contentedanimal looking out from its cage or pit the way you or I wouldlook out from a restaurant table after a good meal, when thetime has come for conversation and people-watching. Clearly,Richard Parker had eaten his fill of hyena and drunk all therainwater he wanted. No lips were rising and falling, no teethwere showing, no growling or snarling was coming from him.
He was simply taking me in, observing me, in a manner thatwas sober but not menacing. He kept twitching his ears andvarying the sideways turn of his head. It was all so, well,catlike. He looked like a nice, big, fat domestic cat, a450-pound tabby.
He made a sound, a snort from his nostrils. I pricked upmy ears. He did it a second time. I was astonished. Prusfen?
Tigers make a variety of sounds. They include a number ofroars and growls, the loudest of these being most likely thefull-throated aaonh, usually made during the mating season bymales and oestrous females. It's a cry that travels far and wide,and is absolutely petrifying when heard close up. Tigers gowoof when they are caught unawares, a short, sharpdetonation of fury that would instantly make your legs jump upand run away if they weren't frozen to the spot. When theycharge, tigers put out throaty, coughing roars. The growl theyuse for purposes of threatening has yet another guttural quality.
And tigers hiss and snarl, which, depending on the emotionbehind it, sounds either like autumn leaves rustling on theground, but a little more resonant, or, when it's an infuriatedsnarl, like a giant door with rusty hinges slowly opening – inboth cases, utterly spine-chilling. Tigers make other sounds too.
They grunt and they moan. They purr, though not asmelodiously or as frequently as small cats, and only as theybreathe out. (Only small cats purr breathing both ways. It isone of the characteristics that distinguishes big cats from smallcats. Another is that only big cats can roar. A good thing thatis. I'm afraid the popularity of the domestic cat would dropvery quickly if little kitty could roar its displeasure.) Tigers evengo meow, with an inflection similar to that of domestic cats,but louder and in a deeper range, not as encouraging to oneto bend down and pick them up. And tigers can be utterly,majestically silent, that too.
I had heard all these sounds growing up. Except forprusten. If I knew of it, it was because Father had told meabout it. He had read descriptions of it in the literature. But hehad heard it only once, while on a working visit to the MysoreZoo, in their animal hospital, from a young male being treatedfor pneumonia. Prusten is the quietest of tiger calls, a puffthrough the nose to express friendliness and harmlessintentions.
Richard Parker did it again, this time with a rolling of thehead. He looked exactly as if he were asking me a question.
I looked at him, full of fearful wonder. There being noimmediate threat, my breath slowed down, my heart stoppedknocking about in my chest, and I began to regain my senses.
I had to tame him. It was at that moment that I realizedthis necessity. It was not a question of him or me, but of himand me. We were, literally and figuratively, in the same boat.
We would live – or we would die – together. He might bekilled in an accident, or he could die shortly of natural causes,but it would be foolish to count on such an eventuality. Morelikely the worst would happen: the simple passage of time, inwhich his animal toughness would easily outlast my humanfrailty. Only if I tamed him could I possibly trick him into dyingfirst, if we had to come to that sorry business.
But there's more to it. I will come clean. I will tell you asecret: a part of me was glad about Richard Parker. A part ofme did not want Richard Parker to die at all, because if hedied I would be left alone with despair, a foe even moreformidable than a tiger. If I still had the will to live, it wasthanks to Richard Parker. He kept me from thinking too muchabout my family and my tragic circumstances. He pushed meto go on living. I hated him for it, yet at the same time I wasgrateful. I am grateful. It's the plain truth: without RichardParker, I wouldn't be alive today to tell you my story.
I looked around at the horizon. Didn't I have here a perfectcircus ring, inescapably round, without a single corner for himto hide in? I looked down at the sea. Wasn't this an idealsource of treats with which to condition him to obey? I noticeda whistle hanging from one of the life jackets. Wouldn't thismake a good whip with which to keep him in line? What wasmissing here to tame Richard Parker? Time? It might be weeksbefore a ship sighted me. I had all the time in the world.
Resolve? There's nothing like extreme need to give you resolve.
Knowledge? Was I not a zookeeper's son? Reward? Was thereany reward greater than life? Any punishment worse thandeath? I looked at Richard Parker. My panic was gone. Myfear was dominated. Survival was at hand.
Let the trumpets blare. Let the drums roll. Let the showbegin. I rose to my feet. Richard Parker noticed. The balancewas not easy. I took a deep breath and shouted, "Ladies andgentlemen, boys and girls, hurry to your seats! Hurry, hurry.
You don't want to be late. Sit down, open your eyes, openyour hearts and prepare to be amazed. Here it is, for yourenjoyment and instruction, for your gratification and edification,the show you've been waiting for all your life, THE GREATESTSHOW ON EARTH! Are you ready for the miracle of it? Yes?
Well then: they are amazingly adaptable. You've seen them infreezing, snow-covered temperate forests. You've seen them indense, tropical monsoon jungles. You've seen them in sparse,semi-arid scrublands. You've seen them in brackish mangroveswamps. Truly, they would fit anywhere. But you've never seenthem where you are about to see them now! Ladies andgentlemen, boys and girls, without further ado, it is mypleasure and honour to present to you: THE PIPATEL,INDO-CANADIAN,TRANS-PACIFIC, FLOATINGCIRCUUUUUSSSSSSSSSSSS!!! TREEEEEE! TREEEEEE!
TREEEEEE!
TREEEEEE! TREEEEEE! TREEEEEE!"I had an effect on Richard Parker. At the very first blow ofthe whistle he cringed and he snarled. Ha! Let him jump intothe water if he wanted to! Let him try!
"TREEEEEE.‘ TREEEEEE! TREEEEEE.' TREEEEEE!
TREEEEEE! TREEEEEE!"He roared and he clawed the air. But he did not jump. Hemight not be afraid of the sea when he was driven mad byhunger and thirst, but for the time being it was a fear I couldrely on.
"TREEEEEE! TREEEEEE! TREEEEEE! TREEEEEE!
TREEEEEE! TREEEEEE!"He backed off and dropped to the bottom of the boat. Thefirst training session was over. It was a resounding success. Istopped whistling and sat down heavily on the raft, out ofbreath and exhausted.
And so it came to be:
Plan Number Seven: Keep Him Alive.
He was looking at me intently. After a time I recognized thegaze. I had grown up with it. It was the gaze of a contentedanimal looking out from its cage or pit the way you or I wouldlook out from a restaurant table after a good meal, when thetime has come for conversation and people-watching. Clearly,Richard Parker had eaten his fill of hyena and drunk all therainwater he wanted. No lips were rising and falling, no teethwere showing, no growling or snarling was coming from him.
He was simply taking me in, observing me, in a manner thatwas sober but not menacing. He kept twitching his ears andvarying the sideways turn of his head. It was all so, well,catlike. He looked like a nice, big, fat domestic cat, a450-pound tabby.
He made a sound, a snort from his nostrils. I pricked upmy ears. He did it a second time. I was astonished. Prusfen?
Tigers make a variety of sounds. They include a number ofroars and growls, the loudest of these being most likely thefull-throated aaonh, usually made during the mating season bymales and oestrous females. It's a cry that travels far and wide,and is absolutely petrifying when heard close up. Tigers gowoof when they are caught unawares, a short, sharpdetonation of fury that would instantly make your legs jump upand run away if they weren't frozen to the spot. When theycharge, tigers put out throaty, coughing roars. The growl theyuse for purposes of threatening has yet another guttural quality.
And tigers hiss and snarl, which, depending on the emotionbehind it, sounds either like autumn leaves rustling on theground, but a little more resonant, or, when it's an infuriatedsnarl, like a giant door with rusty hinges slowly opening – inboth cases, utterly spine-chilling. Tigers make other sounds too.
They grunt and they moan. They purr, though not asmelodiously or as frequently as small cats, and only as theybreathe out. (Only small cats purr breathing both ways. It isone of the characteristics that distinguishes big cats from smallcats. Another is that only big cats can roar. A good thing thatis. I'm afraid the popularity of the domestic cat would dropvery quickly if little kitty could roar its displeasure.) Tigers evengo meow, with an inflection similar to that of domestic cats,but louder and in a deeper range, not as encouraging to oneto bend down and pick them up. And tigers can be utterly,majestically silent, that too.
I had heard all these sounds growing up. Except forprusten. If I knew of it, it was because Father had told meabout it. He had read descriptions of it in the literature. But hehad heard it only once, while on a working visit to the MysoreZoo, in their animal hospital, from a young male being treatedfor pneumonia. Prusten is the quietest of tiger calls, a puffthrough the nose to express friendliness and harmlessintentions.
Richard Parker did it again, this time with a rolling of thehead. He looked exactly as if he were asking me a question.
I looked at him, full of fearful wonder. There being noimmediate threat, my breath slowed down, my heart stoppedknocking about in my chest, and I began to regain my senses.
I had to tame him. It was at that moment that I realizedthis necessity. It was not a question of him or me, but of himand me. We were, literally and figuratively, in the same boat.
We would live – or we would die – together. He might bekilled in an accident, or he could die shortly of natural causes,but it would be foolish to count on such an eventuality. Morelikely the worst would happen: the simple passage of time, inwhich his animal toughness would easily outlast my humanfrailty. Only if I tamed him could I possibly trick him into dyingfirst, if we had to come to that sorry business.
But there's more to it. I will come clean. I will tell you asecret: a part of me was glad about Richard Parker. A part ofme did not want Richard Parker to die at all, because if hedied I would be left alone with despair, a foe even moreformidable than a tiger. If I still had the will to live, it wasthanks to Richard Parker. He kept me from thinking too muchabout my family and my tragic circumstances. He pushed meto go on living. I hated him for it, yet at the same time I wasgrateful. I am grateful. It's the plain truth: without RichardParker, I wouldn't be alive today to tell you my story.
I looked around at the horizon. Didn't I have here a perfectcircus ring, inescapably round, without a single corner for himto hide in? I looked down at the sea. Wasn't this an idealsource of treats with which to condition him to obey? I noticeda whistle hanging from one of the life jackets. Wouldn't thismake a good whip with which to keep him in line? What wasmissing here to tame Richard Parker? Time? It might be weeksbefore a ship sighted me. I had all the time in the world.
Resolve? There's nothing like extreme need to give you resolve.
Knowledge? Was I not a zookeeper's son? Reward? Was thereany reward greater than life? Any punishment worse thandeath? I looked at Richard Parker. My panic was gone. Myfear was dominated. Survival was at hand.
Let the trumpets blare. Let the drums roll. Let the showbegin. I rose to my feet. Richard Parker noticed. The balancewas not easy. I took a deep breath and shouted, "Ladies andgentlemen, boys and girls, hurry to your seats! Hurry, hurry.
You don't want to be late. Sit down, open your eyes, openyour hearts and prepare to be amazed. Here it is, for yourenjoyment and instruction, for your gratification and edification,the show you've been waiting for all your life, THE GREATESTSHOW ON EARTH! Are you ready for the miracle of it? Yes?
Well then: they are amazingly adaptable. You've seen them infreezing, snow-covered temperate forests. You've seen them indense, tropical monsoon jungles. You've seen them in sparse,semi-arid scrublands. You've seen them in brackish mangroveswamps. Truly, they would fit anywhere. But you've never seenthem where you are about to see them now! Ladies andgentlemen, boys and girls, without further ado, it is mypleasure and honour to present to you: THE PIPATEL,INDO-CANADIAN,TRANS-PACIFIC, FLOATINGCIRCUUUUUSSSSSSSSSSSS!!! TREEEEEE! TREEEEEE!
TREEEEEE!
TREEEEEE! TREEEEEE! TREEEEEE!"I had an effect on Richard Parker. At the very first blow ofthe whistle he cringed and he snarled. Ha! Let him jump intothe water if he wanted to! Let him try!
"TREEEEEE.‘ TREEEEEE! TREEEEEE.' TREEEEEE!
TREEEEEE! TREEEEEE!"He roared and he clawed the air. But he did not jump. Hemight not be afraid of the sea when he was driven mad byhunger and thirst, but for the time being it was a fear I couldrely on.
"TREEEEEE! TREEEEEE! TREEEEEE! TREEEEEE!
TREEEEEE! TREEEEEE!"He backed off and dropped to the bottom of the boat. Thefirst training session was over. It was a resounding success. Istopped whistling and sat down heavily on the raft, out ofbreath and exhausted.
And so it came to be:
Plan Number Seven: Keep Him Alive.