didn’t—perhaps he was waiting for Charlie to speak. The young lion, in the meantime, was looking from one to the other urgently, almost quivering with his desire for them to get on with it. So Charlie spoke.
“The cats at home,” he said, “my friends, told me that I should ask a cat, if in doubt . . . My parents, you see, have been stolen away, though I don’t know exactly why, or where they are being taken, but the river cats said they were on a ship going out to sea, to France, and I wonder—have you heard anything?”
The oldest lion half-smiled again, in such a sad way that Charlie felt a tweak in his heart.
“I hear nothing, boy,” said the lion. “I live in the dark, I go nowhere, I see no one. My wives live in the dark, they go nowhere, they see no one. We eat dead meat; we stay still. From time to time we are taken out by that human and made to do tricks, like a monkey begging for a nut. We are made to pretend to fight. We pretend to fight. We are made to pretend to beg. We pretend to beg. We don’t hear anything. Who would tell us anything? We used to be lions, boy. We used to know things. We know nothing now.” He gave a soft shivering snort at the end of this speech, and Charlie felt its sadness cold and deep within him. That so beautiful, powerful, and magnificent a creature could say such despondent things—it seemed so wrong. A lion should not be like this.
The young lion hung his head, but there was an angry energy coming off him that he seemed to be trying to squash. The lionesses licked their paws quietly, perhaps pretending not to hear, perhaps too sad to do anything else. The young girl cub had her mouth folded tight, as if she were trying hard not to say anything.
“I’m sorry,” said Charlie. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“Oh, we’re not upset,” said the oldest lion. “That’s the problem. We should be—we should be very upset indeed. We should be raging and roaring and plotting and scheming and escaping . But we’re not. We’re just lying about . . .” And at this he rolled over, hiding his face, and the other lions all looked away in shame and embarrassment. Charlie too felt embarrassed.
The sound of Maccomo humming one of his tuneless tunes flickered from the doorway. The lions looked up, and away. The oldest lion turned his back, and went to lie by the wall.
The young lion leaned forward and touched his nose to Charlie’s hand. “Come back later,” he whispered, just as Maccomo’s shadow fell across the doorway. The young lion looked as if he had made up his mind about something. “Come back later and I’ll tell you everything.”
CHAPTER 10
F or the rest of that morning Maccomo kept Charlie busy explaining to him the workings of the equipment in the ring, the ring cage (as the chain-mail tent was called), the lionpassage from the cages to the ring, and the various other bits and pieces involved in the act.
“It is an act en férocité, ” he explained, smoking another of his smelly little cigarettes and looking at Charlie out of the corners of his eyes as he demonstrated the workings of the lionpassage gate. “The lions appear to be ferocious with me, and I with them. But in fact we love each other.”
Love? thought Charlie. Hmmm. Not sure about that.
Then it was time to feed them. The meat was kept in the enormous galley fridge, as big as a room, along with the food for the sailors and circus people, and Charlie had to fetch it every couple of days. The lions didn’t eat every day. In addition, they had their water, which had to be kept fresh and clean, and their medicine, which they took every day in their water. This Maccomo saw to himself. After they had their medicine, Maccomo went and lay on the floor in the lionchamber, outside the cages, wrapped in his crimson cloth against the cold, and smoked and sang in a peculiar language that Charlie had never heard before.
Every now and then during the morning Charlie and the young lion looked
“The cats at home,” he said, “my friends, told me that I should ask a cat, if in doubt . . . My parents, you see, have been stolen away, though I don’t know exactly why, or where they are being taken, but the river cats said they were on a ship going out to sea, to France, and I wonder—have you heard anything?”
The oldest lion half-smiled again, in such a sad way that Charlie felt a tweak in his heart.
“I hear nothing, boy,” said the lion. “I live in the dark, I go nowhere, I see no one. My wives live in the dark, they go nowhere, they see no one. We eat dead meat; we stay still. From time to time we are taken out by that human and made to do tricks, like a monkey begging for a nut. We are made to pretend to fight. We pretend to fight. We are made to pretend to beg. We pretend to beg. We don’t hear anything. Who would tell us anything? We used to be lions, boy. We used to know things. We know nothing now.” He gave a soft shivering snort at the end of this speech, and Charlie felt its sadness cold and deep within him. That so beautiful, powerful, and magnificent a creature could say such despondent things—it seemed so wrong. A lion should not be like this.
The young lion hung his head, but there was an angry energy coming off him that he seemed to be trying to squash. The lionesses licked their paws quietly, perhaps pretending not to hear, perhaps too sad to do anything else. The young girl cub had her mouth folded tight, as if she were trying hard not to say anything.
“I’m sorry,” said Charlie. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“Oh, we’re not upset,” said the oldest lion. “That’s the problem. We should be—we should be very upset indeed. We should be raging and roaring and plotting and scheming and escaping . But we’re not. We’re just lying about . . .” And at this he rolled over, hiding his face, and the other lions all looked away in shame and embarrassment. Charlie too felt embarrassed.
The sound of Maccomo humming one of his tuneless tunes flickered from the doorway. The lions looked up, and away. The oldest lion turned his back, and went to lie by the wall.
The young lion leaned forward and touched his nose to Charlie’s hand. “Come back later,” he whispered, just as Maccomo’s shadow fell across the doorway. The young lion looked as if he had made up his mind about something. “Come back later and I’ll tell you everything.”
CHAPTER 10
F or the rest of that morning Maccomo kept Charlie busy explaining to him the workings of the equipment in the ring, the ring cage (as the chain-mail tent was called), the lionpassage from the cages to the ring, and the various other bits and pieces involved in the act.
“It is an act en férocité, ” he explained, smoking another of his smelly little cigarettes and looking at Charlie out of the corners of his eyes as he demonstrated the workings of the lionpassage gate. “The lions appear to be ferocious with me, and I with them. But in fact we love each other.”
Love? thought Charlie. Hmmm. Not sure about that.
Then it was time to feed them. The meat was kept in the enormous galley fridge, as big as a room, along with the food for the sailors and circus people, and Charlie had to fetch it every couple of days. The lions didn’t eat every day. In addition, they had their water, which had to be kept fresh and clean, and their medicine, which they took every day in their water. This Maccomo saw to himself. After they had their medicine, Maccomo went and lay on the floor in the lionchamber, outside the cages, wrapped in his crimson cloth against the cold, and smoked and sang in a peculiar language that Charlie had never heard before.
Every now and then during the morning Charlie and the young lion looked
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