‘Think of the wind: who can see the wind? And your breath? Does that mean that storms don’t exist then? Or that you don’t exist?’
That night, after they had dined in the warmth of the hut, the Man had taken a walnut and she had watched as he cracked it open.
‘This is Time,’ he had said, showing her the kernel. Then he had pointed at the shell: ‘And this is Eternity!’
‘Is one inside the other?’
‘We are inside Time, but Time is encased by Eternity. It’s Eternity that creates us; it’s Eternity that welcomes us at the end of our days.’
‘How do you know if you can’t see it?’
‘Because the place you left is the place you long to go back to. Nostalgia is the imprint that Eternity leaves inside our hearts.’
Lying on the rug, as the last embers quietly died in the stove, the Tiger had stared at him.
‘Was it our destiny to meet?’
‘Yes,’ the Man had replied, wrapping himself in his blanket.
The Tiger had one more question she wanted to ask him.
‘Do those who find each other inside the kernel also find each other in the shell?’
But the Man had turned over, sinking into a deep sleep.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
The Young Ibex
After a while, the snow descended on the scree too. The sun now appeared for shorter and shorter amounts of time and the moon dominated the sky, illuminating the surrounding landscape with its cold rays. Herds of large, horned prey climbed down the rocks towards the valley.
The blanket of snow had restored dignity to the Tiger’s gait; the soft, powdery frost beneath her paws gave her a feeling of new-found youth.
She was growing tired of eating only marmots.
So, one morning, shortly before dawn, the Tiger crouched down behind some low fir trees. She didn’t have to wait long before a herd appeared. In just three jumps she caught up with the creature lagging behind the others. She was already upon it and was about to tear it into pieces when she heard a feeble voice.
‘Spare me!’
Was it possible that the prey had spoken?
At that moment, the Young Ibex turned his head, and their eyes met. His eyes were dark, velvety, staring at her with long lashes covered with tiny icicles.
‘Was it you who spoke?’ the Tiger asked.
The Young Ibex lowered his eyes. ‘Yes.’
‘I’ve never heard my food talking before!’
‘Maybe you never wanted to listen,’ a voice behind him said.
The Tiger looked around and saw a large female ibex standing nearby, watching the whole scene with fear. All the other members of the herd had run away but she stood there, legs slightly bent and horns pointed at the Tiger, as if ready to charge.
The Tiger suddenly felt a strange uneasiness. ‘Do you want to challenge me?’ she dared her.
The Ibex Mother shook her head. ‘It’s not a battle I could win.’
‘What do you want then?’
‘Let him live! His mouth is still wet with my milk.’
‘He was too slow. The slowest creature ends up in my jaws.’
‘Maybe you are the one who’s too fast.’
The Tiger felt the Young Ibex trembling wildly under her front paws.
‘Only the eagles have the right to prey on our young. You do not belong to our world,’ the Ibex Mother insisted.
There was a long silence.
Up above them, some crows that were circling started cawing.
The Tiger had never had to make such a decision before. When she was hungry, she had to kill. Such was the law of nature.
The Ibex Mother seemed to read her thoughts.
‘Eat me if you’re hungry,’ she said, offering her neck.
At that, the Tiger felt a huge warmth flooding her heart. The laws of her stomach dictated one thing; the law of her heart was suggesting something else entirely.
A tiger had to be a true tiger.
But what if being a true tiger meant having to transcend her own nature? What if all the roads she had travelled were meant to lead her there, to this very moment?
The Ibex Mother was offering herself just as the Man had done.
She wanted to give her life so that her child could live.
One day, long ago in the past, had the Man not told her about the Taiga beyond the Sky, where no more blood was shed?
‘Going there or not,’ he had said, ‘depends on the fire you kindle.’
‘How do you kindle fire?’ she had wondered.
‘There’s an icy cold fire that destroys, and a warm one that builds. Both live in our heart. It’s up to us to decide which one to ignite.’
‘So only one of those fires burns in the taiga where no blood is shed?’ the Tiger had asked timidly.
‘Exactly.’ The Man had nodded. ‘If it weren’t so, then it would be merely a mirror of our world down here.’
How long did the Tiger and the two ibexes remain still?
The sun had already ascended beyond the Easternmost spire.
The flying crows had landed on a rock nearby, waiting patiently for something to happen.
The Tiger felt the Young Ibex’s jugular pulsing rapidly beneath her paws. What a familiar sensation that was! Since the first hare she had ever hunted, endless blood had flown under her claws.
Yet, at that moment, the call of that pulse was louder than that of the blood.
To her, the beating of that little heart was the only sound in the world.
When the largest of the crows came by to claim their share, the Tiger lifted her gaze up towards the mother, then back to the child, then to the mother once more. There was courage in those eyes, and trepidation too. The same courage and the same trepidation she had seen in her own mother’s eyes as she watched her daughter take her first steps outside the den.
The Tiger retracted her claws and gently lifted her paws up from the fragile body.
The Young Ibex sprang up and reached his mother at lightning speed. Their muzzles touched briefly and then they both galloped down the scree without ever looking back.
The Tiger watched them cross the snowy slopes of the pasture and finally disappear towards the woods. There, they would find the rest of their herd. There, they would find moss and lichens waiting for them, which would allow them to survive through the winter.
All of a sudden, she felt herself enveloped by a deep fatigue.
With a couple of roars, she chased off the crows that were still waiting to claim the spoils of her hunt, then slowly, and with her tail lowered, she retired into her den.
And there she remained, curled up, for a very long time.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Towards the Sky
Was it a dream or was it reality?
And would she be able to tell them apart, when it came to it? All of a sudden, she thought she heard the Little Acrobat’s voice. She heard it not as a distant memory, but as if he were there, alive and present beside her in the den.
‘If you want to fly, you have to climb up high!’ he said.
The Tiger opened her eyes wide, shaking her head.
Nobody was there.
And even if my young friend had been there, she thought, suddenly awake, he wouldn’t be anything but disappointed.
She had lied to him, after all. She had said to him: ‘I want to fly.’ But it would have been more honest just to tell him the truth: ‘I want to be free.’
The Little Acrobat had opened the door of her cage for her and yet she still had not tried to lift herself even a few inches off the ground. Being able to fly was out of the question, but she could have attempted at least a little somersault.
The Tiger felt strangely light that morning. It was as if her body had begun to transform during her long sleep.
Didn’t the same thing happen with butterflies? How many times had she seen them in the forest, when she was young? The creature emerging from the tiny cocoon was completely different from th
e one that had entered it.
What if the law of life was precisely that, she wondered: a transformation?
What if the moment to try to fly had really come?
Her paws would never allow her to climb on bare rocks, but when crossing a snowy blanket, her steps were still those of a Queen.
The Tiger emerged from her den beneath the Big Tree, shaking herself vigorously. Yes, the time had finally arrived to resume her journey.
With her head held high and her tail straight, she started climbing up the ravine which the ibexes had descended. She should have felt weakened by the lack of food, but instead she suddenly felt strong and full of energy, just as she had as a little cub running around the taiga.
She reached the first cleft in just a few bounds.
Looking out, she realized that a new scree had opened up far below, while ahead of her was an ever-higher cleft. She leaped into the deep snow, tumbling around with the same joy she and her brother had felt when they were little.
On the third day of her climb she met an eagle. She was suspended above the Tiger, seemingly motionless, soaring on an updraught.
‘Are you a tiger?’ she asked from up above.
‘Can’t you tell?’ the Tiger answered, her breath short from the exertion.
‘I can, yes, but I don’t understand.’
‘What don’t you understand?’
‘What are you doing up here? This isn’t your Kingdom, and there are no humans to eat here. Are you lost?’
‘My whole life I’ve been lost, looking for my own path,’ answered the Tiger as she reached a ledge and dropped to the ground, exhausted.
‘Why? Your parents’ path wasn’t enough?’
‘Not for me.’
‘Impossible. The path of our parents is our own path. Following it will give us everything we need.’
As she spoke, the eagle pulled up towards the East.
‘Eagle!’ cried the Tiger. ‘You can see everything from up above; would you tell me what lies beyond the mountains?’
The eagle turned in the direction of the Tiger.
‘Beyond the mountains?’ the eagle repeated. ‘What do you think lies there? Beyond the mountains, there are just more mountains…ountains…ountains…’
The eagle had disappeared from view, but her words still echoed down in the valley.
‘…ountains…ountains…ountains…’
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
The Dance of the Crows
After her encounter with the eagle, the Tiger began to feel weaker and weaker. Her body had become lighter as she had lost weight, but the little strength she had left was barely enough to allow her to move.
There were no more gullies ahead of her, only ledges and the occasional small shrub and spur: tiny rocky steps in the steepness of the wall. It was becoming increasingly difficult to know where her next step should be – and to muster up the energy to take it.
She often imagined herself falling down, leaving patches of fur hanging like rags on the rocky spurs.
Her struggle to focus her attention on things both close and far away lent her gaze an unexpected calm, while the hardness of the climb had rid her body of anything that wasn’t necessary.
This was her path now. There was no turning back.
Nor could she stop.
More than once she lost her grip and slipped down in reality. On one occasion, she was saved by a tree that sat perched on a rock; on another, a heap of fresh snow softened the impact.
Every once in a while, the Tiger raised her head to look at the peaks that towered over her climb. On some mornings they looked as if they were within grasp of her paws; at other times they seemed impossible to reach.
The passing of time had enhanced her perception of the rising sun. Although the sunrises came day after day in regular succession, she saw each one as a wonder all its own. It seemed to her as if the light were somehow turning into matter, and that matter was fire. Perhaps the world was full of flames and fires that kept spreading in an attempt to light it up.
‘Not everyone can see these fires – much less catch them,’ the Man had told her one day.
Now she knew that was true. It wasn’t an illusion.
Behind every life there was fire, and only that fire generated light.
One morning, as the sun shone high above the peaks, the Tiger stirred from her sleep to the sound of talons scratching on the frozen ground.
Opening her eyes, she saw a large crow by her side.
He was walking around her, slowly and composed, as if entertaining a solemn thought. In fact, he was merely trying to gauge how much time she had left.
The Tiger knew that well.
In the taiga, the crows had been her faithful companions. They had followed her everywhere, like a dark, cawing cloud, waiting impatiently to strip the flesh from her prey once she herself was satisfied. They would dive at the ground and fight fiercely among themselves for the best morsels with beaks as strong as steel. From her position of power, she had always regarded them with benevolence. Ultimately, they owed their survival to her.
The Tiger stared at the crow for a long time.
‘I’ve been a benefactress of your kind,’ she told him in a barely audible whisper.
‘And for that we will be eternally grateful,’ replied the crow, leaning over slightly. ‘But everyone must be true to their task.’
‘That’s right,’ the Tiger answered, feeling her eyelids growing heavy.
All of a sudden, everything seemed to blur inside her head, and she couldn’t tell whether she was dreaming or if it was real. Distant images overlapped, merging with one another. The days of romping around playfully with Tiger Cub, capturing her first prey, her father’s eyes, the smell of the thaw and the sharp scent of ice, the rustle of the Man’s step on the snow, the emptiness of the den after her mother had left.
She felt her body quiver and then fall still.
Occasionally she shuddered, startled by a noise that was just her own voice – her voice, but also those of the Tamer and the Little Acrobat, coming in waves and mingling with the voices of those who had murdered the Man.
When she opened her eyes, the Tiger noticed that the crows were now four.
They still kept a safe distance, scampering around her. They stared at her carefully, raising and lowering their heads, like tailors intent on taking measurements for a new dress.
Have I been true to my task? she was wondering, when she felt something unsteady slip beneath her paws.
She thought she had miscalculated a jump while crossing a river that was overflowing after the thaw. Instead of leaping over to the other side she must have landed on a floating tree trunk, and now the strength of the current was dragging her downstream. The water kept creeping between her paws, making her falter. She had to use every fibre of her being to avoid being swallowed by the waves, clinging on fiercely with her powerful claws.
There must be a waterfall somewhere nearby, the Tiger thought, as she heard a roaring noise growing louder and louder.
And she was right: shortly afterwards she saw a giant wall of watery mist towering ahead of her. She had no more strength left to resist the rush towards the precipice.
‘So be it!’ she muttered, crouching down on the trunk.
And ahead she went, to meet her fate.
But before she could be plunged into the abyss, something unexpected happened. Instead of being sucked away by a rushing vortex, she felt herself engulfed by a soft, warm breeze that licked her muzzle and ears, slipping down her back to touch her tail, just as her mother’s tongue had caressed and welcomed her into the world.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Beyond the Breach
The first thing the Tiger noticed was the smell. It wasn’t the smell of sawdust, wet with the urine of the circus elephants, or the butyric acid molecules that revealed the presence of prey even from miles away.
Inhaling more deeply, the Tiger realized that this was not even a smell, but rathe
r a perfume. Various essences appeared to be mingled within it. Essences that evoked a particular mood.
But what mood is it? the Tiger wondered, slowly opening her eyes.
She was still there, on the same snow-covered ridge where she had fallen asleep, sinking into those confusing dreams.
The crows had vanished, along with their footprints.
Even the snow had disappeared.
The season must have turned while I was sleeping, the Tiger thought.
Looking up, she saw the rosy light of dawn graze the highest peaks.
Everything looked crisp and perfect. Dewdrops glistened on the vegetation around her, reflecting fragments of the sky.
The Tiger lifted her head, still sniffing. She realized that the perfume carried within it the memory of the season when everything is reborn.
She herself was born in that very season, in the fleeting spring of the taiga. It was in spring that she had poked her head out of the den for the first time. It was the loudness of its colours and shapes that had welcomed her after the long twilight of her weaning.
After that, everything had been a source of amazement to her. There were so many types of herbs and berries in the world! And the birds brooded their eggs in their nests under the bushes with such keen dedication!
At that time, there was a lightness in her heart. She playfully chased her own tail or Tiger Cub, or the butterflies and the large bugs that populated the taiga.
That’s it, thought the Tiger. Although I didn’t know it at the time, the grace of the acrobat was already inside me.
Forgetting your own innocence.
Could there ever be a bigger mistake?
The Tiger noticed that there was a gap in the wall of rock ahead. The gap was neither too wide nor too narrow. It seemed to have been made just for her.
How was it possible that she hadn’t seen it before?
It had probably been covered by snow, or perhaps her eyesight wasn’t as good as it used to be.