Tiger's Curse Read Online Free Page A

last thing the trainer did was put his head inside the tiger’s mouth. A hush fell on the crowd and Matt stiffened. The tiger opened its mouth impossibly wide. I saw its sharp teeth and leaned forward feeling concerned. Matt’s father slowly moved his head closer to the tiger. The tiger blinked a few times, but it held still, and its powerful jaws gaped even wider.
    Matt’s dad lowered his head all the way inside the animal’s mouth, fully within the chomping area of the tiger’s maw. Finally, he slowly brought his head out. When his head was completely free and he had moved away, the crowd erupted in cheers, while he bowed several times. Other handlers appeared to help take down the cage.
    My eyes were drawn to the tiger, which was now sitting on one of the stools. I saw it moving its tongue around. It was scrunching up its face as if it smelled something funny. It almost looked like it was gagging, like a cat does when it has a hairball. Then it shook itself and sat there calmly.
    Matt’s dad brought his hands up, and the crowd cheered loudly. The whip cracked again, and the tiger quickly jumped off the stool, ran back through the tunnel, up the ramp, and into its cage. Matt’s dad ran out of the ring and stepped behind the canvas curtain.
    Mr. Maurizio dramatically shouted, “The Great Dhiren!
Mille grazie!
Thank you so much for coming to see the Circus Maurizio!”
    As the tiger’s cage was wheeled away before me, I had a sudden urge to stroke its head and comfort it. I wasn’t sure if tigers could show emotion, but for some reason I felt like I could sense its mood. It seemed melancholy.
    Just at that moment, a soft breeze wrapped around me carrying the scent of night blooming jasmine and sandalwood. It completely overwhelmed the strong aroma of hot buttered popcorn and cotton candy. My heart beat faster as goosebumps shot down my arms. But as quickly as it came, the lovely scent disappeared and I felt an inexplicable hole in the pit of my stomach.
    The lights came up and the kids started stampeding out of the arena. My brain was still slightly foggy. Slowly, I got up and turned around to stare at the curtain where the tiger had disappeared. A faint trace of sandalwood and an unsettled feeling lingered.
    Huh! I must have hypersensitivity disorder.
    The show was over, and I was officially crazy.

3
the tiger*]
    t he kids rushed out of the building in a screaming mob. A bus started up in the parking lot. As it noisily shook itself awake rumbling, hissing, and puffing air out of its exhaust pipe, Matt stood up and stretched. “Ready for the real work now?”
    I groaned, feeling the soreness in my arm muscles already. “Sure, bring it on.”
    He started cleaning the debris off the seats, as I followed behind to push them against the wall. When that was done, he handed me a broom. “We’ve got to get the whole area swept up, pack everything into the boxes, and then store them all away again. You get started, and I’ll turn in the money boxes to Mr. Maurizio.”
    “No problem.”
    I started moving slowly across the floor, pushing the broom in front of me. I wound forward and back, like a swimmer doing laps, as I methodically swept up the rubbish. My mind wandered back to the acts I had seen. I loved the dogs the best, but there was something compelling about the tiger. My thoughts kept drifting back to the big cat.
    I wonder what it’s like up close. And why does it smell like sandalwood?
I didn’t know anything about tigers except what I had seen late at night on the Nature Channel and in old issues of
National Geographic
. I’d never been that interested in tigers before, but then again, I’d never worked in a circus before either.
    I’d almost finished sweeping by the time Matt came back. He bent to help me scoop up the giant mound of trash before we spent a good hour packing up boxes and hauling them back to storage.
    When this was done, Matt told me that I could have an hour or two off until it was