Pride (29 page)

I dry her off with my towel as best I can. She's soaked. She keeps shaking her head to get the water out of her ears. I sit down in the dry sand and rub as much as possible, but the fur is soft and keeps sticking down. I didn't realize how skinny Cannibal is; the fur makes her look twice as big as she
really
is and that isn't much.

When I get her mostly dry, I put her back in her box and walk up away from the ocean toward the boardwalk. I want to go see that lion again. Mostly I want to give Cannibal a real chance to see it and maybe not be so afraid.

We walk up the steps onto the boardwalk. It's the same place where Laurel and I took Cannibal last night to go to the bathroom.

Up on the boardwalk, everything is empty. There's only one man going along with a stick and a nail in the stick picking up papers and putting them in a bag he has slung over his shoulder. I guess he gets paid for doing that but it doesn't seem like very hard work.

I walk along the boardwalk trying not to swing Cannibal too much in her cage and at the same time seeing how many boards I can step over, stepping far as I can. I can step eleven boards each time, without jumping, just stepping. I notice the whole boardwalk is made with two-by-fours. It's great having done carpenter work so you know these things. Boy, a carpenter could keep busy all year just replacing two-by-fours that get worn and splintery. You'd never be out of work.

When I get to his cage, the lion is awake, sitting comfortably up near the front so sun is shining on him. Without the bars he could almost be sitting in Africa, out on a grassy plain like Dad said, just enjoying the sunshine. I come close up from the side so I won't block his sun. He looks over at Cannibal and me but then turns his head back and stares at the sun some more. The light of that sun seems to go through his yellowish-brown eyes so they look as if you could see clean through them from one side to the other. His mane is well brushed so it sticks up and hangs over his face. There's a pink spot on his nose I hadn't noticed before. It's almost the same as Cannibal.

I carefully open Cannibal's cage. She's reaching back and trying to lick off all the salt water from the ocean. Her fur is still sticking down. I might have to give her a real bath to get out all the salt and sand. I carefully climb under the little fence in front of the cage and put the opening to Cannibal's box near the edge of the cage. The lion stares down at me and the box. Cannibal looks up and sees the lion.

This time she doesn't duck down but suddenly jumps right out of the box and
into
the lion's cage! She rears back in her fighting position and takes a swing at that lion's paw. I
can't
reach in and get her; I'm afraid of the lion! In fact, I'm scared to death, partly for me but mostly for Cannibal. She
really
looks like a mouse compared to that lion. The lion's paw is twice as high as Cannibal's head!

At first I try calling her quietly, holding out her box so she can see it, but she won't pay any attention. I'm almost crying; how could I be so dumb? The lion looks slowly down at this mouse of a cat between its paws.

I remember it's elephants who are supposed to be afraid of mice. Mike Conway said it's because they're afraid a mouse will climb up their trunks the same way ladies are afraid of mice because they're afraid they'll crawl into their whatsits.

Then the lion opens its mouth and closes his big paws close around Cannibal. Cannibal isn't paying any attention at all. She's still swinging away at the lion's leg with all her might. That lion sticks his tongue out and licks Cannibal so hard she's knocked right over on her back. Then the lion licks her again on the stomach while she's still on her back.

The lion stops and looks at Cannibal. Cannibal looks up into that lion's big yellow eyes. I figure this is where Cannibal gets eaten all in one bite. That lion's tasted her and now he's ready to slurp her right in. Cannibal has one paw out ready to strike but isn't swinging. The lion gently licks the side of Cannibal's face. Even that almost pulls poor Cannibal's whiskers out and rolls her over on her side.

Cannibal isn't more than a foot inside the cage but I'm afraid to stick my hand in there. Maybe that lion will be nice with Cannibal because, in a way, they're both cats, but I'm not a cat; I'm the kind of meat lions like to eat. I'd probably just about make a reasonable-sized breakfast for a lion.

I can't get myself to stick my hand inside the cage, but I push Cannibal's little box between the bars and hope she'll crawl in so I can pull the cage back out with Cannibal in it; but Cannibal is enjoying being licked by a lion.

We kids always say we can lick each other, or our dads can lick each other, but this lion is really licking Cannibal and I
know
he can lick me for sure. But, when it comes to me, I think he'll do it with his long sharp teeth and claws, not with his tongue.

I need something to attract Cannibal's attention, to get her close enough so I can grab her quick. I look around for a piece of paper or string, anything, but that man with the nail on the end of a stick must have gotten it all; there's nothing.

Back on the side of the lion's cage I see something golden. That would attract Cannibal's attention for sure; she likes anything that shines. I run around that side of the cage but it's a padlock holding the cage closed. It's one of those kind of hasp things with the curved part of the lock sticking through a slit on the hasp. The lock's hooked in the loop to hold the cage closed but the lock isn't pushed tight.

At first I'm afraid, but I'm more scared for Cannibal. I pull out the lock carefully, testing to feel if the door will open by itself. I do this quietly so the lion won't hear me. The door seems to be stuck anyway with the loop through the hasp even without the lock. There's a small piece of wood on the ground and I push it through to hold the door shut till I can put the lock back in. Then I run around to the front of the cage. Now Cannibal is trying to climb up on the lion's leg; she doesn't seem to be fighting any more.

I call her name and dangle the lock. Cannibal turns around and walks toward me, balancing along the lion's arm to the end of his paw. She puts her own paws on the end of her box and I can almost reach her. I lean the lock in farther so she can strike at it. Suddenly, she swings at the lock, I drop it quickly, grab hold of her paw, pull her out of the cage and close her into the box.

Then I see how the lock has dropped in the cage about as far in as Cannibal was when I was trying to reach her. I set Cannibal down on the boardwalk in her box and go around to where the stick is stuck in the loop of the door. I pull it out and run around to use it for reaching in to pull the lock out from the lion's cage.

It's almost long enough, but not quite, unless I push my hand into the cage farther. I reach in quickly, but even
more
quickly, that lion swings at the stick and knocks it out of my hand. He also knocks the lock farther into the cage so it's right up against his chest.

I don't know what to do. I'm afraid to reach in and I probably couldn't reach in that far anyway, without the lion eating off my arm.

I stand there. I look around for someone to help, but there's no one on the boardwalk. I don't know what's happened to the man with the sack and the stick with the nail on the end. That stick would reach the lock just fine and I could pick it up with the nail part. I can't even find another stick to put inside the loop of the hasp to hold the door. I'm getting more scared by the minute, and at the same time the lion is pushing his face against the bars the same way Cannibal does when she wants me to pet her. I don't know why I do it, but I rub my fingers against his muzzle, above his whiskers and teeth. He closes his eyes and pushes harder against me. He wants to be friends; he's only lonely. I rub his face some more and try to convince myself that he's just a friendly old lion who wants to be petted; but the smell of him, the size, the force he uses to push his face against my hand scares me.

I decide to run home fast so I can tell Dad what's happened. He'll know what to do.

I run a long time along the boardwalk until I get to where I go down our street. On the way I see the older man in the lion act, the one with the whip. He has a filled dirty burlap sack over his shoulders. He might be the one I saw going through the garbage before. Now he's walking toward the lion cage.

I figure for sure he'll get there before the lion pushes against that door. He'll know how to get the lock out of the cage; probably he'll just walk in and pick it up. I'm convinced that lion wouldn't hurt a flea. If he wouldn't even hurt Cannibal who was
looking
for a fight, why should he hurt a human being? I decide not to tell Dad or Mom or even Laurel. It would cause such a ruckus; not even Dad would understand why I went under the fence put there to keep people away, just so Cannibal could meet a real lion.

Now it's happened and it's all over. But I'm still scared; I slow down to get my breath. Maybe I should tell the lion man about the lock being off the cage. I start to go back, after him. Then I decide just to run back to Dad and Mom. It'll be all right.

A
fter the boy has left, Tuffy stands up. He pays no attention to the lock at his feet. It's getting later; he's hungry.

Cap is out gathering food. The butcher who's promised the meat said he could pick it up at seven o'clock so Cap's scrounging for garbage scraps, something to give Tuffy until the store opens.

Tuffy, in his usual way, his custom of years, goes around the cage, rubbing his sides against the wood and the bars; except for Cap, it's the closest thing to stroking he knows. When he pushes against the wall with the door, the door swings open.

Usually the door opening either means Cap coming in to clean the cage or time for Tuffy to get into the motorcycle sidecar with Jimmy prodding at him. He takes another tour around the cage before he sticks his head out. The attaching tunnel to the motordrome, Wall of Death, is pushed aside. For the first time in a long time, he's looking out into open space without bars.

On the right, beside the Wall of Death, is another boardwalk attraction. It's called Sammy, the Human Fish. Sammy is a man who lost both legs to an artillery shell in the World War. Sammy and Cap are friends; they were in different divisions but shared the knowledge of death. Sammy's act is to stay under water for from five to seven minutes, performing several tricks, such as pretending to sleep or smoke cigars; standing on his hands, his head. Sammy is about Cap's age and lives all the year round on the boardwalk. He has a tiny apartment attached to the back part of a small platform, level with the top of the pool in which he does his act.

A market nearby delivers food to Sammy and he has a small dolly-like flat car on rollers he uses to hand-push himself up and down the boardwalk. Sammy rarely, if ever, goes anywhere except along the boardwalk and then usually only off season when the weather isn't cold and there aren't too many people.

During the season, he's busy most of the time giving performances. He gives a performance every half hour, and each performance lasts about fifteen minutes, so that, in season, except for sleeping, really sleeping, Sammy is in the water almost as much as he is out.

Sammy is actually happier, more comfortable in the water. Owing to lack of exercise and also because of the enormous lung and diaphragm development he needs to stay under water so long, he's huge across the chest and stomach. He has arms stronger than most people's legs, from pushing himself along on his cart. Even without his flat car, the way he moves is to make fists of his hands, then rest his weight on his fists and swing, sliding the rest of his body along. He's bald-headed and looks more like an egg than a fish. If ever anyone wanted to make a film of Humpty-Dumpty, Sammy would be perfect.

Sammy is having his breakfast. He's dressed in a bathrobe cut off just below the waist, and is up on his platform. Behind him is the pool where he does his act. It's like a large aquarium, twenty feet across, with a glass panel fronting on the boardwalk. The tank is ten feet in depth and the water is also ten feet deep. On the bottom of this tank is specially built furniture: a table, a chair, dishes, a couch, all part of his act, special in that they're attached to the bottom of the tank and don't float.

Sammy is, at that moment, pouring some cornflakes into a bowl and has a small can of Sterno heating his coffee. He looks up to see Tuffy slowly padding up specially built stairs, each step wide enough for Sammy to place himself so he can lower his fists onto the next step and let himself down.

Sammy doesn't know how to react. He likes Tuffy. He's often talked about him with Cap, and Cap's always wanted Sammy to come into the cage with Tuffy to see how tame he is. But Sammy has never done it, not so much because he is afraid as because the smell of the lion's cage would get all over his clothes and hands. At least that's what he tells Sture.

Sammy hurriedly pours the milk for his cornflakes into a bowl and pushes it with his arm as far forward as possible.

“Here, Tuffy, here's some milk. Be a nice lion now, drink some milk.” Tuffy continues to advance. He's curious. He wants to get next to Sammy, maybe be caressed, maybe be fed. Sammy is backing off, using his arms, keeping his eyes on Tuffy. Tuffy sniffs at the milk, the cornflakes, but doesn't drink or eat. He continues slowly, a slow step at a time toward Sammy. Sammy reaches the edge of his pool and lets himself fall over backward into the water.