Children of Bast (13 page)

~ ~ ~ ~

“Do you want me to call you Nebibi?” Chubby asked.

“Doesn’t matter anymore, Chubby. My life has changed so much and I’ve learned to understand myself pretty good, so what I’m called is not that important. You’ve always called me Gaylord, and that’s okay with me, Old Friend.”

“Okay. Just checkin’.”

~ ~ ~ ~

Then I thought there’s more to me than being a housie. Yeah, I loved the pampering. I loved hanging out with Maama, when she was alive, and my sister, and the chow was all right. Fergus and Mutt all the time said it wasn’t fresh, but I liked it then, before I escaped and ate really fresh food. Now, slitting open bellies and sucking out guts and blood and other ooze still gets to me once in a while, but it’s worth it to be free.

What about proyet, I wondered, when the snow flies and it gets cold? I was used to a warm place, a blanket to stretch out on or a lap to cuddle in. Fergus and Mutt were not going to supply laps.

On the other paw I had a chance to build a reputation, or die in the attempt. If I made it, I’d respect myself as a savvy tom ready for anything. What good would that be at the seminary? None. But, oh Chubby, what stories I could tell if I went back, except who would I tell them to? My sister? That’d be short. So, in the end, I decided I’d stay on the street and tell my stories to other amai and teach them like Fergus and Mutt, and Adele and you, taught me.”

~ ~ ~ ~

Chuckling, Chubby said, “I think you made the right choice.”

It was late and I was tired of talking. “How about a nap,” I asked. “Until End of Light. Then, we’ll eat and I’ll talk until Tuyuur Song. Okay?”

“Yeah, I’m sleepy, too. Not because you’re talkin’, but because I’m old.”

“You can say that again.”

“You know, I can still whip up on you like you’ve never been whipped up on before, Gaylord, my pompous young friend.”

I had to laugh. “I know you can, Chubby. Never doubted it. Now hush and let me sleep.”

When we woke, End of Light was there and it was raining. Hate rain, but I hate hunger more. I licked Chubby’s face and roused him. What a grouch. Said nothing to me, not so much as a grunt.

I followed him to the mollie bašar’s place where the food was waiting. We gobbled and ran and then spent several minutes drying off. My tongue was throbbing when I finished. We settled again, storyteller and listener.

Chapter 12

You may say a cat has good grammar. Well, a cat does—but you let a cat get excited once; you let a cat get to pulling fur with another cat on a shed, nights, and you’ll hear grammar that will give you the lockjaw. Ignorant people think it’s the noise which fighting cats make that is so aggravating, but it ain’t so; it’s the sickening grammar they use
. A Tramp Abroad,
Mark Twain

“Are you ready to get clobbered?” Fergus shouted as he filled his hole. He came over, jumped on me, and pushed me to the ground. Mutt joined him for the easy scuffle before we raced down the beach to a more secluded spot.

“All right,” Fergus said. “Amait fighting’s an art form. I’m not sure what that means, but I think it means you gotta practice to be good. So, let’s start with warnings.”

He flattened his ears, dilated his eyes, bared his teeth and hissed. I jumped away because that’s how he was when I first met him. He laughed. “See, if you’re mean lookin’ enough, you might get a pass. You don’t know how much is bluff and how much can be backed up with mayhem

“Mayhem?” Mutt asked.

“Mayhem. I heard it used once by two tom bašar who were going at it in an alley. Now listen, I’m here to tell ya bašar can fight. Blood, snot, spit, and tears—everything is brought out in one of their fights, and with language and screaming, too. I heard mayhem and it interested me, so I’ve used it around fights ever since. Don’t know what it means, but it sure sounds bad.”

“You’re really smart, Fergus,” Mutt said.

“I know. Let’s get back to teachin’ Pretty Tom here how to defend himself. Okay, practice your warning.”

I laid my ears flat, frowned, glared, bared my teeth and hissed.

“Aw, come on, Nebibi,” Fergus said. “That wouldn’t scare a crippled rat. An alley amait would have you hung up and gutted before you took a second breath. You gotta scare the khara outta them, hey. Make them let a khara streak as they run like that kilaab did when you hissed in his face. Still cracks me up. You gotta make them know, in a serious way, what they’re getting into so they don’t wanna get into it. You dig?”

“Yeah.” I doubted I had that kind of stuff in me.

“Now, try it again, and do it like some honkin’ monster was looking down at you. You’re scared outta your mind but you ain’t runnin’, okay? Bear down!”

I thought about Adele and how she whipped Raeed when I did it again, but this time I flexed every muscle in my body. I brought the hiss from deep down inside, and my frown was aimed at a filthy kilaab like the one I’ll tell you about later, Chubby.

I saw Mutt step back. All was quiet until Fergus said, “Okay, Sweet Cakes. That’s what I’m talking about. That was impressive.” He looked at Mutt who crouched and purred. “You blew Mutt away. Right, Mutt?”

“Right. I think if it was real, I’d be about two blocks away now. You got some rage inside you, kid.”

I just smiled and tried to look important.

“If you can act wacko like that all the time, you may walk away from some fights, hey,” Fergus said. “Now, I ain’t scared. All your bluff is just that, and I know I can kick your tail anytime. Right? So, I don’t back off. Whatchya do now?”

I sat down and looked at Fergus. “Uh, run like hell? No, you’d just run after and mop the street with me, right?”

“That would be a yes, only I’d bury you after if I was a mind to.”

“Okay, let’s see.” I was really just playing with him, Chubby, because I knew he wanted to fight and he wanted me to say I’d stay. “Maybe, pinch a loaf? Say sorry? Wet myself? What?”

Now Fergus sat and stared at me. “You know, if you ain’t careful, me and Mutt’s gonna kick you out and forget about it. This is serious business. Amai that can’t fight are dead amai. Dig?”

“Sorry, Fergus. I was just playin’. I’d fight if backed into a corner. Okay?”

“That’s better.” He licked a paw and looked at me again. Mutt was still crouched and purring. “Okay, bluffin’ will usually get you nowhere. It ain’t easy bluffin’ an experienced alley amait. Maybe a kith brain like you, but not a savvy amait. You get a reputation for just being a bluffer, and you might as well go back to that cemetery . . .”

“Seminary, “ said.

“Do not interrupt. If all you do is bluff, an old fighter like me and Mutt’ll tear you to pieces ‘cause we know you ain’t got nothin’. Here’s where fighting gets to be that art form.”

Fergus took an attack stance, down on his haunches but on his toes with his upper legs cocked for grabbing or punching. His weight was on his back legs, ready to spring. Giving out a hiss and a scream, he hit me straight on and brought me down. He attacked my ears, then nailed my throat when I pulled my ears back, but he didn’t bite down.

He relaxed and let me go, then said, “Did you get that? I went for your ears, tender and easy to shred, and when you pulled back to protect ‘em, I got your throat. Now, if I was serious, I would have clamped your throat hard and tried to rip a hole. With the right hole ripped, the fight’s over.”

I stood, still feeling his fangs on my throat. “Okay, how do I defend myself?”

“First, forget your ears. They’ll heal, okay. A little shredding here and there, but they’ll still work.” I thought of your ears, Chubby. “Besides, ragged ears mean you’ve had experience and survived. It’ll be noticed and may impress your enemy. Okay, when he goes for the ears, you roll your head into him so he can get the ears easy, but leaves his throat open. You clamp on and take out the hole. Okay?”

“What if he moves too fast?”

“Good point. You’re on his throat, right? He’s got to pull back from your ears so he won’t lose his throat and sets himself up for you to slap the crap out of him. Let’s try it slow.”

We squatted, and he lunged. He grabbed my ears and presented his throat, which I latched on to. But, he pulled back quickly and left his face open to my paws, which I landed on his nose.”

“Great! If you belt him hard, real hard, using your claws to rip his face, you’ll confuse him and leave his throat and belly open. Either one’s good.”

Caching my breath, I said to Fergus, “Okay, that’s cool, but you’re cooperating, and I know that ain’t the way it is. Get real.”

Walking to the edge of the lake, Fergus occupied himself with a long drink. When finished, he came toward me slowly, purring. “You’re right. “Mutt,” he called. Mutt, who’d been lounging at the edge of our battleground, came over.

“Ferg?” He looked at me and grinned.

“Mutt, beat the khara outta Pretty Tom here, and no holds barred. Don’t kill him, but make him hurt so he’ll remember.”

Mutt eyed me. “You da boss, Boss.” He took two steps toward me.

To say I was scared is like saying rats stink, or that when it rains you get wet. I was shaking inside. Mutt, I knew, was a celebrated fighter. I saw many amai walk around him, never even bristling or bulging their tails. Mutt was a legend.

I got ready, gave out the best hiss and yowl I could. Mutt lowered his head but never took his eyes off me, slobbers dropping from his mouth.

I can’t describe what happened, Chubby. All I remember is his attack, like a white smear against the dark sky. He came for me, but that’s all I remember. When I came to, I was on my side, a deep gash in my left shoulder that was bleeding like crazy. Here, you can still see the scar. My right ear felt three times its size, blood dripped down my faraawi from my neck, and I was wiped out. I looked for Mutt and found him close by, on his side, bleeding from many wounds and gasping for air. Just the tip of his tail was moving. Fergus was bent over licking his face.

“Did I kill him?”

“No. But he’s in bad shape. Help me get him to the bushes. Can you stand, Mutt?” He didn’t move for a moment, then slowly got to his feet, his legs shaking.

“What about you, Nebibi?” Fergus asked.

When I moved I felt cut in half. Pain shot through me and I puked. My left front leg was shot, and I knew my ear was dropping off. But I managed to get up and limp to the bushes while Fergus drug Mutt most of the way. When I got there, I passed out. I guess Mutt did too; I don’t remember.

Fergus told us when we woke up that he’d been a fighter for a long time and had watched a lot fights everywhere, but he said this one was unbelievable. “I seen Mutt fight lots of times, taking on some of the biggest amai out here, and he won every time. But this was somethin’ else.” He paused and plopped down in front of us. “It was short, very short. Mutt, as usual, faked a dive for your ears, Nebibi, and then rolled under to tear out your throat. But, wham! You ripped his ear almost off and grabbed the side of his neck, raking him down the sides with your back claws. He whipped around, took hold of your ear and began making lace, while you went for his belly and tore at it. That’s when I broke it up. I wacked both of you hard enough to kill a kilaab.” He looked away like he was reliving the moment. “You guys lost it. You were both outta your mind. One of you would be dead if I hadn’t jumped in. Maybe even both of you.”

I could hardly move for a week. Even my tongue ached and I ate very little. Killing and eating anything was impossible. Fergus shared his catch with me and Mutt, who was as bad off as I was.

Chapter 13

A fox was boasting to a Cat of its clever devices for escaping its enemies. “I have a whole bag of tricks,” he said, “which contains a hundred ways of escaping my enemies.” “I have only one,” said the Cat; “but I can generally manage with that.” Just at that moment they heard the cry of a pack of hounds coming towards them, and the Cat immediately scampered up a tree and hid herself in the boughs. “This is my plan,” said the Cat. “What are you going to do?” The Fox thought first one way, then another, and while he was debating the hounds came nearer and nearer, and at last the Fox in his confusion was caught up by the hounds and soon killed by the huntsmen. Miss Puss, who had been looking on, said: “Better one safe way than a hundred on which you cannot reckon.”
Aesop

E
veryday I went over the fight and tried to remember what happened, but for the life of me I could not. It was like I had been asleep or knocked out. Fergus’ story was sketchy, too, because he said it happened so fast. But what interested me was how I knew what to do. Like I told Fergus, I had never been in a fight before. Never even hissed at anything or anyone. Maama used to wrestle with us, but it was just for fun, just three amai rolling around purring. When Mutt felt up to talking, he shed some light.

“Like you said, Nebibi, we’re born killers. Everything about us is fixed to kill. Your maama ever kill a toy?”

“No. Why would she kill a toy? They’re not alive.”

“I don’t mean really kill a toy. I know they ain’t alive, but did she ever attack it like it was alive and she had to kill it?”