Page 6 of Tiger's Quest
“Sure. I’ll even come over and babysit for you.”
He beamed while Sarah rolled her eyes. “Who are you planning on taking out, me or the car?” she asked.
“You, of course, my dear. The car is just a vehicle to showcase the beautiful woman sitting at my side.”
Sarah and I looked at each other and snickered.
“Good one, Mike,” I said.
After dinner, we retired to the living room where I gave the kids their orange tigers. They squealed in delight and ran around growling at each other. Sarah and Mike asked me all kinds of questions about India, and I talked about the ruins of Hampi and Mr. Kadam’s house. Technically, it wasn’t his, but they didn’t need to know that. Then they asked me about how Mr. Maurizio’s circus tiger was adapting to his new home.
I froze, but only for an instant, and told them that he was doing fine and that he seemed very happy there. Thankfully, Mr. Kadam had explained that we were often out exploring Indian ruins and cataloging artifacts. He’d said my job was to be his assistant, keeping records of his findings, and taking notes, which wasn’t too far from the truth. It also explained why I was going to minor in art history.
Being with them was fun, but it also wore me out because I had to make sure I didn’t slip and tell them anything too weird. They’d never believe all the things that had happened to me. Sometimes I had a hard time believing it myself.
Knowing they went to bed early, I gathered my things and said goodnight. I hugged them all good-bye and promised to visit again the next week.
When I got home, I spent a couple of hours studying and then took a hot shower. Climbing into bed in my dark room, I gasped quietly as my hand brushed against fur. Then I remembered my purchase, shoved the stuffed tiger to the edge of the bed, and tucked my hand under my cheek.
I couldn’t stop thinking abouthim. I wondered what he was doing right now and if he was thinking of me or if he even missed me at all. Was he pacing in the steamy jungle? Were he and Kishan fighting? Would I ever get back to India—and did I really want to? I felt like I was playing whack-a-mole with my thoughts. Every time I punched one thought down, another one would surface in a different place. I couldn’t win; they kept popping up from my subconscious. Sighing, I reached over, grabbed the leg of the stuffed tiger, and pulled it back onto the bed. Wrapping my arms around its middle, I buried my nose in its fur and fell asleep on its paw.
2
Wushu
The next few days spun past quickly and uneventfully, and then it was time to start school. I collected my term assignments from each class and realized that my experiences in India would come in handy. I could write about Hampi for my research paper on an Indian metropolis, discuss the lotus flower as a religious symbol in anthropology, and theme my world religion final around Durga. The only class that seemed overly challenging was Latin.
Soon I had settled into a comfortable routine. I saw Sarah and Mike often, went to class, and I spoke to Mr. Kadam every Friday. The first week he helped me with an oral report on the SUV versus the Nano and between his vast knowledge of cars and my hair-raising description of actually driving in India, I got the best grade in the class. My mind was so full of assignments that I had very little time to worry about anything else—or to think about anyone else.
One Friday phone call brought an interesting surprise. After chatting about school and my latest paper about the weather patterns in the Himalayas, Mr. Kadam broached a new topic.
“I’ve signed you up for another class,” Mr. Kadam began. “One that I think you will enjoy, but it will take up more of your time. If you are too busy, I’ll understand.”
“Actually, another class would probably be a good idea,” I replied, curious to know what he had planned for me next.
“Wonderful! I have signed you up for a wushu class in Salem,” Mr. Kadam explained. “The class is on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays from 6:30 to 8:00 p.m.”
“Wushu? What’s that? Is it some kind of Indian language?” I asked, hoping that wasn’t the case.
Mr. Kadam laughed. “Oh, I do miss having you around. No, wushu is a type of Chinese martial arts. You mentioned once that you were interested in trying martial arts, correct?”
I breathed out a sigh of relief. “Oh! Yes, that sounds like fun. Yes, I can fit it into my schedule. When do classes start?”
“Next Monday. I anticipated that you would say yes, and I have sent a package with the necessary materials. You can expect it to arrive tomorrow.”
“Mr. Kadam, you really don’t have to do all this for me. You need to restrain yourself from piling on more gifts, or I’ll never be able to pay back this debt.”
He chided, “Miss Kelsey, there is nothing I couldeverdo that would come even close to paying the debt I owe you. Please accept these things. It makes an old man’s heart very happy.”
I laughed. “Okay, Mr. Kadam, don’t get all dramatic about it. I’ll accept if it makes you happy. But, the jury’s still out on the car.”
“We’ll see about that. By the way, I have deciphered a bit of the second pillar. It may have something to do with air, but it’s too soon to draw any conclusions just yet. That’s one of the reasons I’d like you to learn wushu. It will help you develop a better balance of mind and body, which may prove to be helpful if your next adventure takes place off the ground.”
“Well, I certainly don’t mind learning how to fight and defend myself too. Wushu would have come in handy against the Kappa.” I joked and continued, “Are the translations difficult?”
“They’re very . . . challenging. The geographical markers that I have translated are not found on the Indian continent. At this point, I worry that the other three objects we’re looking for could be anywhere in the world. Either that, or my brain is too tired.”
“Did you stay up all night again? You need your sleep. Make yourself some chamomile tea and go rest for a while.”
