Tiger's Curse (3 page)

Somehow, I doubted this was one of those situations.

When everything was ready, Matt sent me over to Cathleen to pick out and change into a circus costume—which turned out to be gold, glittery, and something I normally wouldn’t have touched with a ten-foot pole.

This job better be worth it
, I muttered under my breath and crammed my head through the shiny neckline.

Donned in my new sparkly getup, I walked out to the ticket booth and saw that Matt had put up the price board. He was waiting for me with instructions, the lock box, and a ring of tickets. He had also brought me a sack lunch.

“It’s show time. Chow down quick because a couple of buses of summer camp kids are on their way.”

Before I could finish eating, the camp children descended upon me in a raucous, violent flurry of little bodies. I felt like tiny buffalo were stampeding over me. My customer service-like smile probably looked more like a frightened grimace. There was nowhere for me to run. They were all around me—each one clamoring for my attention.

The adults approached, and I asked them hopefully, “Are you all paying together or separately?”

One of the teachers responded, “Oh, no. We decided to let each child buy a ticket.”

“That’s great,” I muttered with a fake smile.

I began selling the tickets, and Cathleen soon joined me until I heard the music of the performance begin. I sat there for about twenty minutes more, but nobody else came in, so I locked the money box and found Matt inside the tent watching the show.

The man I’d met earlier that morning was the ringleader. “What’s his name?” I whispered to Matt.

“Agostino Maurizio,” he replied. “He’s the owner of the circus, and the acrobats are all members of his family.”

Mr. Maurizio brought out the clowns, acrobats, and jugglers, and I found myself enjoying the performance. Before long, though, Matt elbowed me and motioned to the souvenir stand. Intermission was going to start soon: time to sell balloons.

Together we blew up dozens of multicolored balloons with a helium tank. The kids were in a frenzy! They ran to every booth and counted out their coins so they could spend every penny.

Red seemed to be the most popular balloon color. Matt took the money while I inflated the balloons. I’d never done it before, and I popped a few, which startled the kids, but I tried to make the loud pops into a joke by shouting, “Whoopsie!” every time it happened. Pretty soon, they were yelling, “Whoopsie!” along with me.

The music began again, and the kids quickly filed back to their seats, clutching their assorted purchases. Several of the kids had bought glow-in-the-dark swords and were waving them around, threatening each other gleefully.

As we sat down, Matt’s dad came into the ring to do his dog show. Then the clowns came out again and played various tricks on audience members. One threw a bucket of confetti over the kids.

Great! I probably get to sweep all that up.

Next, Mr. Maurizio came back out. Dramatic safari hunting music began, and the circus lights extinguished quickly, as if they had been mysteriously blown out. A spotlight found the announcer in the center of the ring. “And now . . . the highlight of our
programma
! He was taken from the harsh, wild
giungla
, the jungles, of India and brought here to America. He is a fierce hunter, a
cacciatore bianco
, who stalks his prey in the wild, waiting, watching for the right time, and then, he . . .
springs
into action!
Movimento
!”

While he was talking, men brought out a large, round cage. It was shaped like a giant upside-down bowl with a chain-link fence tunnel attached to one side. They set it in the middle of the ring and clamped locks onto metal rings embedded in cement blocks.

Mr. Maurizio continued. He roared into the microphone, and the kids all jumped in their seats. I laughed at Mr. Maurizio’s theatrics. He was a good storyteller. He proclaimed, “This
tigre
is one of the most
pericoloso
—
dangerous
—predators in the entire world! Watch our trainer carefully as he risks his life to bring you . . . Dhiren!” He jerked his head toward the right, and then he ran out of the ring as the spotlight moved over to the canvas flaps at the end of the building. Two men had pulled out an old-fashioned animal wagon.

It looked like the kind of wagon on a box of animal crackers. It had a white, curvy gilt-edged top, big black wheels painted white around the edges, and ornamental carved spokes that were painted gold. Black metal bars on both sides of the wagon curved in an arch at the top.

A ramp from the wagon door was attached to the chain-link tunnel, as Matt’s dad entered the cage. He set up three stools on the side of the cage opposite from where he stood. He had changed into an impressive golden costume and brandished a short whip.

“Release the tiger!” he commanded.

The doors opened, and a man standing by the cage prodded the animal. I held my breath as an enormous white tiger emerged from the cage, trotted down the ramp, and into the chain-link tunnel. A moment later, it was in the big cage with Matt’s father. The whip cracked, and the tiger jumped up onto a stool. Another crack and the tiger stood on its hind legs and pawed the air with its claws. The crowd erupted into applause.

The tiger leapt from stool to stool while Matt’s father kept pulling the stools farther and farther away. On the last leap, I held my breath. I wasn’t sure if the tiger would make it to the other stool, but Matt’s father encouraged it. Gathering itself, it crouched low, assessed the distance carefully, and then leapt across the breach.

Its entire body was airborne for several seconds, with its legs stretched out ahead and behind. It was a magnificent animal. Reaching the stool with its front paws, it shifted its weight, and landed its back feet gracefully. Turning on the small stool, it rotated its large body with ease, and sat, facing its trainer.

I clapped for a long time, totally in awe of the great beast.

The tiger roared on command, stood on its hind legs, and batted its paws in the air. Matt’s father shouted another command. The tiger jumped down from the stool and ran around the cage in a circle. The trainer circled as well, keeping his eyes centered on the animal. He kept the whip just behind the tiger’s tail, encouraging it to keep moving. Matt’s dad gave a signal and a young man passed a large ring though the cage—a hoop. The tiger leapt through the hoop, then quickly turned around and jumped back through again and again.

The last thing the trainer did was put his head inside the tiger’s mouth. A hush fell on the crowd and Matt stiffened. The tiger opened its mouth impossibly wide. I saw its sharp teeth and leaned forward feeling concerned. Matt’s father slowly moved his head closer to the tiger. The tiger blinked a few times, but it held still, and its powerful jaws gaped even wider.

Matt’s dad lowered his head all the way inside the animal’s mouth, fully within the chomping area of the tiger’s maw. Finally, he slowly brought his head out. When his head was completely free and he had moved away, the crowd erupted in cheers, while he bowed several times. Other handlers appeared to help take down the cage.

My eyes were drawn to the tiger, which was now sitting on one of the stools. I saw it moving its tongue around. It was scrunching up its face as if it smelled something funny. It almost looked like it was gagging, like a cat does when it has a hairball. Then it shook itself and sat there calmly.

Matt’s dad brought his hands up, and the crowd cheered loudly. The whip cracked again, and the tiger quickly jumped off the stool, ran back through the tunnel, up the ramp, and into its cage. Matt’s dad ran out of the ring and stepped behind the canvas curtain.

Mr. Maurizio dramatically shouted, “The Great Dhiren!
Mille grazie!
Thank you so much for coming to see the Circus Maurizio!”

As the tiger’s cage was wheeled away before me, I had a sudden urge to stroke its head and comfort it. I wasn’t sure if tigers could show emotion, but for some reason I felt like I could sense its mood. It seemed melancholy.

Just at that moment, a soft breeze wrapped around me carrying the scent of night blooming jasmine and sandalwood. It completely overwhelmed the strong aroma of hot buttered popcorn and cotton candy. My heart beat faster as goosebumps shot down my arms. But as quickly as it came, the lovely scent disappeared and I felt an inexplicable hole in the pit of my stomach.

The lights came up and the kids started stampeding out of the arena. My brain was still slightly foggy. Slowly, I got up and turned around to stare at the curtain where the tiger had disappeared. A faint trace of sandalwood and an unsettled feeling lingered.

Huh! I must have hypersensitivity disorder.

The show was over, and I was officially crazy.

t
he kids rushed out of the building in a screaming mob. A bus started up in the parking lot. As it noisily shook itself awake rumbling, hissing, and puffing air out of its exhaust pipe, Matt stood up and stretched. “Ready for the real work now?”

I groaned, feeling the soreness in my arm muscles already. “Sure, bring it on.”

He started cleaning the debris off the seats, as I followed behind to push them against the wall. When that was done, he handed me a broom. “We’ve got to get the whole area swept up, pack everything into the boxes, and then store them all away again. You get started, and I’ll turn in the money boxes to Mr. Maurizio.”

“No problem.”

I started moving slowly across the floor, pushing the broom in front of me. I wound forward and back, like a swimmer doing laps, as I methodically swept up the rubbish. My mind wandered back to the acts I had seen. I loved the dogs the best, but there was something compelling about the tiger. My thoughts kept drifting back to the big cat.

I wonder what it’s like up close. And why does it smell like sandalwood?
I didn’t know anything about tigers except what I had seen late at night on the Nature Channel and in old issues of
National Geographic
. I’d never been that interested in tigers before, but then again, I’d never worked in a circus before either.

I’d almost finished sweeping by the time Matt came back. He bent to help me scoop up the giant mound of trash before we spent a good hour packing up boxes and hauling them back to storage.

When this was done, Matt told me that I could have an hour or two off until it was time to join the troupe for dinner. I was eager to have a little time to myself, so I hurried back to the tent.

I changed clothes, wiggled into an only slightly uncomfortable place on my cot, and pulled out my journal. As I nibbled on my pen, I reflected on the interesting people I had met here. It was obvious that the circus folk considered each other family. Several times, I noticed people stepping in to help, even if it wasn’t their job. I also wrote a bit about the tiger. The tiger really interested me.
Maybe I should work with animals and study that in college
, I reflected. Then I thought about my extreme dislike of biology and knew I’d never make it in that field.

It was almost time for dinner. The delectable aroma coming from the big building made my mouth water.

This was nothing like Sarah’s vegan cookies
, I thought.
No, it had the homey feel of Grandma’s biscuits and gravy.

Inside, Matt was setting up chairs around eight long folding tables. One of the tables was set up with Italian takeout. It looked fantastic. I offered to help, but Matt brushed me aside.

“You worked hard today, Kelsey. Relax, I got this,” he said.

Cathleen waved me over. “Come sit by me. We can’t start eating until Mr. Maurizio comes in to make the evening announcements.”

Sure enough, the moment we sat down, Mr. Maurizio strolled dramatically into the building. “
Favoloso
performance, everyone! And a most
eccellente
job to our newest salesperson, eh? Tonight is a celebration!
Mangiate
. Fill your plates,
mia famiglia
!”

I giggled.
Huh. He plays the part all the time, not just for the show.

I turned to Cathleen. “I guess that means we did a good job, right?”

She answered, “Yep. Let’s eat!”

I waited in line with Cathleen, and then picked up my paper plate and filled it with Italian green salad, a big scoop of spinach-and-cheese-stuffed shells covered in tomato sauce, parmesan chicken, and, not having enough room on my plate, popped a warm breadstick into my mouth, grabbed a bottle of water, and sat down. I couldn’t help but notice the large chocolate cheesecake for dessert, but I wasn’t even able to finish the dinner I had on my plate. Sighing, I left the cheesecake alone.

After dinner, I moved to a quiet corner of the building and called to check in with Sarah and Mike. When I hung up, I approached Matt, who was putting all the leftovers into the fridge. “I didn’t see your dad at the table. Doesn’t he eat?”

“I took him a plate. He was busy with the tiger.”

“How long has your dad been working with the tiger?” I asked, eager to learn more about the impressive cat. “According to the job description, I’m supposed to help out with the tiger somehow.”

Matt shoved aside a half empty bottle of orange juice, wedged a box of takeout food next to it, and shut the refrigerator. “For the past five years or so. Mr. Maurizio purchased the tiger from another circus, and they had bought it from another circus before that. The tiger’s history wasn’t well documented. Dad says the tiger will perform only the standard tricks and refuses to learn anything new, but the good news is that it’s never given him a problem. It’s a very quiet, almost docile beast, as far as tigers go.”

“So what do I have to do to it? I mean, am I really supposed to feed it?”

“Don’t worry. It’s not that hard as long as you avoid the big teeth,” Matt joked. “I’m kidding. You’ll just be bringing the tiger’s food back and forth from building to building. See my dad tomorrow. He’ll give you all the info you need.”