The Tiger Rising by Dicamillo Kate

Author:Dicamillo, Kate [Dicamillo, Kate]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Young Adult, Childrens, Fantasy, Contemporary
ISBN: 9780763649449
Goodreads: 7381903
Publisher: Candlewick Press (MA)
Published: 2001-01-01T08:00:00+00:00

The next morning, Rob was helping Willie May in the laundry room. They were folding sheets and chewing Eight Ball gum.

All night, he had tossed and turned, scratching his legs and thinking about the tiger and what Sistine said, that he had to be set free. He had finally decided to get Willie May’s opinion.

“You ever been to a zoo?” Rob asked her.

“One time,” said Willie May. She cracked her gum. “Went to that zoo over in Sorley. Place stunk.”

“Do you think them animals minded it? Being locked up?”

“Wasn’t nobody asking them did they mind.” Willie May pulled another sheet out of the dryer and snapped it open.

Rob tried again. “Do you think it’s bad to keep animals locked up?”

Willie May looked at him over the top of her glasses. She stared at him hard.

Rob looked down at his feet.

“When I wasn’t but little,” said Willie May, “my daddy brought me a bird in a cage. It was a green parakeet bird. That bird was so small, I could hold it right in the palm of my hand.” She draped the sheet over one shoulder and held out a cupped hand to show Rob. It looked, to him, like a hand big enough to hold the entire world.

“Held him in my hand. Could feel his little heart beating. He would look at me, cock his head this way and that. Called him Cricket, on account of him all the time singing.”

“What happened to him?” Rob asked.

Willie May bent and took a pillowcase out of the dryer.

“Let him go,” she said.

“You let him go?” Rob repeated, his heart sinking inside him like a stone.

“Couldn’t stand seeing him locked up, so I let him go.” She folded the pillowcase carefully.

“And then what happened?”

“I got beat by my daddy. He said I didn’t do that bird no favor. Said all I did was give some snake its supper.”

“So you never saw him again?” Rob asked.

“Nuh-uh,” said Willie May. “But sometimes, he comes flying through my dreams, flitting about and singing.” She shook her head and reached for the sheet on her shoulder. “Here,” she said. “Go on and grab ahold of the other end. Help me fold this up.”

Rob took hold of the sheet, and as it billowed out between them, a memory rose up before him: his father standing out in the yard, holding his gun up to the sky, taking aim at a bird.

“You think I can hit it?” his father said. “You think I can hit that itty-bitty bird?”

“Robert,” his mother said, “what do you want to shoot that bird for?”

“To prove I can,” said his father.

There was a single crack and the bird was suspended in midair, pinned for a moment to the sky with his father’s bullet. Then it fell.

“Oh, Robert,” his mother said.

It hurt the back of Rob’s throat to think about that now, to think about the gun and his mother and the small thud the bird made when it hit the ground.

“I know something that’s in a cage,” said Rob, pushing the words past the tightness in his throat.

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