The Pure Land (21 page)

‘By the name of Wang-Li, perhaps?’

‘You know him?’

‘Indeed,’ said Glover. ‘Continue.’

‘He had acquired the animal in the Malay Straits. He was offering it to me at such a favourable price, he explained, that I could not fail to gain from the transaction. He was sure some travelling circus, making its way in these parts, would be eager to buy it. Mister Li would sell it himself, at a much higher price, if he had not been summoned to return to Shanghai on urgent family business.’

‘He is a man of rare commitment to his family,’ said Glover. ‘It is most touching.’

‘Mister Glover,’ said the young man, ‘it all seemed so reasonable at the time.’

‘Ah, yes,’ said Glover. ‘It always does.’

‘But in the cold light of day …’

‘The taste of ashes in the mouth.’

‘Exactly so. And then when I saw the creature …’

Glover stopped him, suddenly alert. ‘You have seen it? It exists?’

‘Oh, yes.’

‘It is here, in Nagasaki?’

‘It is being kept in quarantine, in a shed down at the docks.’

Glover was already up out of his seat, eager, moving towards the door. ‘Lead me to it, sir!’

On the way to the docks, Glover strode out, the young man struggling to keep up, explaining that the situation was complicated by the fact that the Japanese officials refused to issue a permit for the import of the creature. In the meantime, he had borrowed more money to pay Wang-Li in cash.

‘Because he was in such a hurry,’ said Glover, ‘to get back to Shanghai, on account of his urgent family business.’

‘You know the man well!’ said Mitchell.

‘So you’re out of pocket on the deal, and are unable to make good your investment.’

‘In a nutshell.’

‘You’ve bought a pig in a poke. A tiger in a box!’

In fact the tiger was in a bamboo cage that had been especially built to transport it, the thick solid lengths of bamboo bound firmly together with twine, the gate fastened shut with a bolt, an iron padlock. The whole thing was held to the ground by lengths of hawser tied to massive pegs hammered into the floor.

In the dim light they could make out the shape of the tiger where it lay, its huge bulk curled in the corner of the cage. The smell of it filled the air, rank and animal.

They had thrown the beast meat laced with laudanum, sedated him, rendered him numb. Now he was waking from his stupor, twitching, trying to stand up. He steadied himself, fixed his yellow eyes on Glover and young Mitchell, gave out a low threatening growl.

‘Dear God!’ said Glover. He had never seen the like, except in magazine illustrations, drawings on a circus handbill, and he’d always thought those fanciful, exaggerated. Now the reality stood before him, immense in its power, its menace, ferocity barely held in check.

‘
Tyger tyger burning bright
,’ said Mitchell.

‘Is that from a rhyme?’ asked Glover.

‘William Blake,’ said Mitchell. ‘The English poet.’

‘Indeed?’

‘
In the forest of the night
.’

‘How does it continue?’

‘
What immortal hand or eye
…’

‘Yes?’

‘
Could frame thy fearful symmetry
.’

‘Ah,’ said Glover. ‘I’m not much of a man for poetry, except for Burns of course. But to my ear that sounds very like the thing.’

‘It is,’ said Mitchell.

Burning bright
.

Glover stared the tiger in the face, looked right into those eyes now fixed on him, sensed their absolute otherness, saw the animal’s nature, predatory and ruthless and unafraid. He turned to say something to Mitchell and the tiger sprung, hurled itself straight at him, tail flicking, great paws battering the bars, shaking the whole cage, straining at the ropes.

On an instinct for survival, preservation, they stood back towards the door.

‘Mister Mitchell,’ said Glover. ‘You have just sold your tiger!’

‘Thank you!’ said Mitchell.

‘I shall give you what you paid for it, and add, say, ten percent for your trouble.’

‘That is most generous,’ said Mitchell, ‘considering …’

‘Considering I now have to deal with these recalcitrant customs officials and persuade them to issue a permit.’

They shook hands on the deal. The tiger let out a great roar, and as if summoned, two of the customs officials appeared in the doorway.

Glover bowed to the men, told them he was anxious to complete the formalities speedily, remove his tiger from the
premises. They replied that it was impossible, the regulations did not permit it, tigers were not an item on the agreed trade tariff.

Glover explained he had bought the animal from Mister Mitchell here (Mitchell bowed), who had in turn purchased it from Mister Wang-Li, a respected trader no doubt known to them.

The officials glanced at each other, the senior of them simply repeated his litany.

‘
Muri o iuna!
’ This is impossible.

Well then, asked Glover, what were they to do? Wang-Li had left the country and was not answerable. The original owner was somewhere in the Malay Straits. There was no one to whom the beast could be returned.

The officials said he would have to destroy it. Glover refused.

‘I have just spent good money buying this magnificent animal. I have no intention of butchering it to be sold as dog meat!’

The senior official repeated again, ‘
Muri o iuna!
’ And he added, ‘
Kyokashou nado dasen!
’ I cannot give you a permit.

‘Very well then,’ said Glover. ‘I cannot return the creature, I refuse to kill it, you will not let me bring it into the country. The only solution is to set it free, let it return to the wild.’

He stepped up to the door of the cage. The tiger crouched, growled.

‘Mister Mitchell!’ He held out his hand. ‘If you would kindly furnish me with the key to this lock, we shall liberate this fine beast and relieve these gentlemen of any responsibility in the matter.’

Mitchell looked alarmed, fighting down panic. But regardless, he handed over the key.

The officials hadn’t understood what Glover was saying to Mitchell, but his intent was clear. They started screaming at him to stop, this was madness, the creature would eat them, each and every one.

The tiger threw itself again at the bars, rattled the cage. Glover twirled the key.

‘Well?’

The senior official spoke in English for the first time, his voice shaking. ‘We give permit. You keep animal.’

‘Thank you,’ said Glover, and he turned again to Mitchell. ‘A pleasure doing business with you, sir.’

The official muttered something, not quite under his breath. ‘
Yaban!
’

Glover heard. ‘Perhaps that’s what I should call the tiger!’ And he looked it in the eye again, raised a hand as if in benediction. ‘I name this beast Yaban, the Barbarian!’

The tiger opened its great jaws, roared. 

The tiger was drugged again, the cage heaved by a system of ropes and pulleys onto the back of a horsedrawn cart, transported with much juddering and jolting up the hill to Ipponmatsu. The journey was made at night, to avoid spreading alarm among the locals, but even so, one or two startled workmen ran in fright when they saw the great beast asleep, torchlight flickering on his yellow and black flanks, and at least one drunken sailor looked ready to sign the pledge, forswear the opium pipe and the demon drink forever.

The cage was manoeuvred into place by the side of the house, made fast once more with thick ropes and iron pegs. The tiger slept.

The next morning Glover was awakened by a scream, a woman’s voice, highpitched, shrieking in absolute terror. He threw on his cotton yukata, grabbed his pistol from the bedside drawer, ran out of the house.

The tiger was half awake, looked groggy, uncoiling, standing up, wobbling on his huge paws, a raw throaty growl forming in his throat, his eyes fixed on Tsuru. She had come up the path to the house as usual, carrying a wicker basket of provisions,
clearly not expecting to encounter this great terrifying beast. She stood rigid, unable to move, the basket and its contents scattered at her feet.

Glover made soothing noises. ‘It’s all right, Tsuru-san. It’s fine.’

She took a step back.

He spoke to the tiger. ‘Calm down, big fellow. You look like a man with a hangover! This is Tsuru-san, by the way.’ Tsuru took another step back. ‘I wouldn’t go eyeing her up for breakfast. She’d barely make a mouthful!’

Tsuru was shaking.

‘
Dozo
,’ he said, motioning her to come inside. ‘Please.’

In the house, he sat her down, made tea, brought it to her. The simple act seemed to shock her as much as seeing the tiger.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I didn’t get a chance to warn you about Yaban.’

She looked puzzled. ‘Yaban?’

‘That’s what I called him,’ said Glover. ‘The tiger,
tora
.’

‘His name?’ she said.

‘
Hai
.’

‘Is right name,’ she said. ‘Is like barbarian.’

He laughed, glad to see her regaining her composure, even mustering a little defiance. But he had to go and pick up the basket, the provisions. When she left later, to go to the market for more meat to feed the beast, Glover had to walk with her to the gate, and she stayed close to him, her eyes downcast, not looking at the cage. 

That night he brought Maki to Ipponmatsu for the first time. Her eyes widened when she saw the tiger; she clapped her hands and laughed, shrieked, terrified and excited all at once at the sight of it.

‘Yaban!’ she shouted. ‘Gaijin!’ And she laughed again.

He led her inside, to the bedroom he had shared with Sono. Already aroused, she clung to him, pulled him to the bed; her back arched, feral, as she moved on top of him, cried out. 

A month after he had bought the tiger, he read a notice in the
Advertiser
, announcing the arrival in Yokohama of a travelling circus, under the management of Professor Risley, late of the Strand Theatre in London where, as a talented acrobat, he had astonished audiences by his remarkable feats of strength and agility, including the propelling of his two young sons into the air from the soles of his feet.

Glover immediately wrote a letter to Professor Risley, entrusted it to the Captain of a clipper leaving next day for Yokohama. Within a week he received an enthusiastic reply, and three days after that the Professor himself arrived at Ipponmatsu, anxious to see Yaban for himself.

He was not disappointed. ‘By God, sir, he’s a handsome brute!’

Risley was compact and muscular, with a shining bald pate, a magnificent waxed handlebar moustache, every inch the showman, the very caricature of a circus performer. Glover refrained from asking him in what subject and from which university he had gained his professorship.

‘I thought you’d be impressed,’ said Glover.

‘I’ve never seen his like, and I’ve travelled from America to the Indies, from Australia to Russia.’

He had lately arrived with his circus from San Francisco, had regrettably lost some of his animals to sickness on the voyage, among them a lion. The tiger would be a most welcome replacement, if they could agree on a mutually acceptable price. The hand of providence, he said, was indeed beneficent.

Glover took a liking to the man, his spirit, his indefatigable optimism. He had gone to Australia to join in the goldrush; the same quest had taken him to the Klondike.

‘Never once saw the colour of the stuff,’ he said. ‘But nothing ventured, eh?’

Tsuru found him terrifying, cowered when he came into the house.

‘Pretty little thing,’ said Risley.

‘She is,’ said Glover, looking at her with affection. ‘Don’t know what I’d do without her.’

Tsuru was flustered, hurried out of the room.

‘These Jap women,’ said Risley. ‘Damned appealing!’

‘I’ll take you to the teahouse,’ said Glover.

‘If you don’t mind,’ said Risley, ‘I’d prefer something stronger.’

Glover laughed out loud. ‘The Sakura sells a lot more than tea!’

At the teahouse, the Professor took a shine to Maki, but Glover made it clear she was not available, was already, as it were, spoken for.

‘By Christ, Glover,’ said Risley, ‘you’re a dog and no mistake! That little wench back at the house, this one here. It’s just plain greed!’

Glover steered him towards another girl, a friend of Maki’s called Yumi.

‘Yumi!’ said Risley, delighted. He pointed at her. ‘You!’ He pointed at himself. ‘Me!’ He grabbed her by the waist. ‘You-me!’

Next morning they agreed on a price for the tiger. Glover didn’t even haggle. He was happy to turn a substantial profit, find the beast a good home. Risley for his part was relieved that his circus had been saved; the creature would prove an irresistible attraction to audiences, would repay the outlay in ticket sales.

‘The beneficent hand of providence,’ said Glover, clinching the deal with a handshake.

The tiger shook himself awake, stretched and yawned, flanks rippling.

‘Now
there’s
gold!’ said Risley.

At the docks, the same customs officials were happy to be rid of the animal, see it go; they rushed through the paperwork, falling over themselves in their anxiety to speed the process along. The cage was hoisted on board a cargo ship, roped and battened down. The tiger lay groggy, drugged again for the journey. Glover felt a curious pang at seeing it go.

Risley called to him from the deck. ‘The circus will be visiting Yokohama and Edo, Osaka and Hyogo. You must come and see it!’

‘I will!’ said Glover, waving. ‘I will!’ And he turned away feeling strangely bereft.

Back at the house, Tsuru said she was glad Yaban had gone.

‘The tiger or the man?’ he asked.

‘Both,’ she said, so earnestly it made him laugh. 

After the business with the tiger, there was a certain amount of anticipation, tinged with apprehension, as to what Glover would do next, what grand gesture he might make. His admirers, and his detractors, did not have long to wait.

‘What we need to do,’ he told Mackenzie, ‘is put on a demonstration, let them see first-hand what we have achieved in the West, make them marvel!’