Nobody was surprised when Elizabeth gave birth to a tiger. She called her cub Neerav and, in the heat of July, licked her clean of afterbirth in the shade and protection of the understorey.
The other women had known. They had heard the deep gutteral growls and her screams, seen the teeth marks on her neck. Some saw the slink of orange and black disappear as quietly as it had arrived, back into the anonymous forest.
The men were gone. Elizabeth had seen to that. The fighting and drinking, the laziness, the abuse of their children: it had to stop. She led the women to the forest where they ate herbs and spoke in whispers. Spirit animals came to them. They chose Elizabeth to lead the women.
They refused the men their sex. At first the men laughed and then they saw the women were serious. They pleaded and, when that didn't work, some took that which was not theirs. The drinking and fighting never stopped. After a long while the men saw the strength in Elizabeth and, one by one, they left the village.
The women fell into deep peace. Conversation and laughter dripped through the canopy from one house to another. For a time afterwards children were born by the men who left. They suckled until they grew strong. Soon though they came no more.
An elephant came to Elizabeth in a dream. It told her that Bageshwar the tiger would visit soon. She left food out for him beyond the village and, when she saw it had been eaten, walked from the village to lie for him.
Neerav grew strong and protected the women at night. In the day she sought shade and allowed them to stroke her belly. The children rode on her back, clinging to her neck as she swam in the slow flowing river. The women were deeply content.
William Donaldson finished packing his suitcase. He placed his Bible on top of his clothes and belongings so that the edges aligned with those of the suitcase. He swept the floors and pulled lace across the windows. He had God's work to do.
Word had spread. The men that left had told their stories. Their stories had grown and contorted, eventually reaching the ears of his church. William Donaldson was chosen to bring back civility and common decency to the women.
The journey was long and grew hotter the longer it went on. Sweat mingled with spices and over days he became aromatic, thirsty and fevered. Neither his ailments nor the rich colours and sounds swayed him from his convictions.
He arrived just outside the village early morning. Mosquitoes clouded his vision and his arms became demented - scratching, scratching. The women were bathing in a shaded pool and he felt shame for feeling envious of cool water on skin. They sang as they washed each other. Particles of their song floated leaf to leaf in the low sun towards him.
They were lean, their eyes bright. Hair hung long and loose. They laughed, naked together. Children were running wild, girls with boys, animals amongst them.
They had become savages and his heart swelled at the task before him.
All day he watched the women, his eyes drawn to their leader. She seemed attractive enough to him and he decided then to make her his wife after completing his mission. He would wait until the next morning before entering the village. It gave him time to wash, prepare a plan and set up camp. It would not be right to sleep amongst so many women.
Neerav had seen him two days before he reached the village. She brought the news to Elizabeth who felt a deep unease in her heart, though she didn't know why. There was little to do other than wait until the traveller arrived and determine his purpose. Neerav continued to watch him so that, as soon as he arrived, the women knew he was there.
William Donaldson couldn't sleep that night. Sweat oozed from his brow and slid into his eyes, stinging them. The mosquitos had lessened since dusk but were now biting bite upon bites. His fingers worked furiously, blood mixing with sweat, the itching incessant now.
He sensed rather than saw movement. Insect noise was deafening, the night dark.
Again. He saw the movement but no shape. Maybe twenty feet away. He felt into his suitcase and found the cold of his revolver.
When he saw movement again he pulled his gun up to shoulder level and fired into the darkness.
After the gunshot the noise ceased for an instant. There was silence save for an almost unnoticeable rasping. An instant later this too was gone. William Donaldson felt his way in the dark in the direction he had sent the bullet. When he found the mass, it took him some time to work out its form. He felt the body, the size of it. He knew what it was now and smiled. The women would be grateful he had saved them after he showed them what he had done.
The women's leader was screaming at him, shaking with rage and grief. She clawed at him with her nails. Her fingers found his eyes and gouged. Other women now surrounded him, ripping at his hair, his ears. He fell to the ground their weight upon him. Blood flowed from his head onto his crisp linen shirt. One of his fingers had been broken. His mouth tasted the richness of the soil, thorns cut his cheeks. He looked up and his eyes caught the early sun. With one great effort he stood, flailing, until the women no longer held him. He ran.
Missionaries returned to the village two years later, three of them this time, but found no trace of the women there. They wondered at the mournful birdsong and the eldest missionary could have sworn he saw a slink of orange and black before it disappeared back into the anonymous forest.
Thank you for taking the time to read this short story - I hope you liked it. I think it may do better as a much longer read; I find it difficult to get much nuance in a story this short. Maybe I'll work on it. If you enjoy reading what I post then please subscribe for free below and share with friends. I'd love to hear what you think too so please comment in the comments section.
Rich
Somehow this escaped me at the time! There's some really great description in this and I love the opening. You might be right about the longer form. That would help your transitions between the characters and to develop and mesh the fantasy element a bit more. I'm not entirely sure we needed the missionary guy in a story this length, save for his role in ending the story. I think just the tribe of women and the animals would have been intriguing enough.
Beautifully vivid and descriptive Rich. We love it. Keep 'em coming!