Cat People (2 page)

"My son."

With a cry almost like that of a child, the leopard was upon her.

The big cats moved slowly in single file around the inner perimeter of the cage. Standing in the center of the cage, tall and lean in white whipcord, Phillip Gallier watched them sternly. The procession alternated lion, tiger, lion, tiger. Three of each. The cats padded silently around the man, on their great paws, raising little puffs of dust from the dirt floor with each step. The lions carried their big shaggy heads high, their expressions calm, aloof. The tigers had a fiercer look, but they kept warily out of the way of the lions.

Phillip Gallier looked relaxed, but he was aware of the exact position of each cat moment by moment. He carried a stout three-foot cane by which, with subtle gestures, he directed the actions of the animals. A .38-caliber revolver was holstered on his hip, but it was only a part of the uniform. The crowd expected it, and in the circus you did not disappoint the crowd. Yet no one could remember the gun ever being out of its holster.

As the cats continued their parade, Phillip met the eyes of each and called it by name.

"Ho, Gunner, lift that chin. That's it, that's it. You, Pretty Boy, let me see those teeth. Give us a smile. Ah, magnificent. Come on, Captain, pick up those great clumsy feet of yours. Yes, that's more like it. Walk proud. Murphy, back off, there. Back off, you're crowding Captain. Cowboy, stay in line. Cisco, you stop playing with Cowboy's tail or you'll get yourself in trouble. Everybody, heads up now. Remember who you are. You are the lords of the jungle on two continents. You're the biggest and the strongest of the flesh eaters. Yes, yes, that's it. Now we're all looking good. Way to go, way to go."

Phillip pointed with the cane and the six cats came to a stop before a row of sturdy pedestals. They ranged from two feet high to taller than a man's head. The cats stood, each before his own pedestal, and watched Phillip alertly.

"Ready?" he said.

Muscles tensed under the cats' tawny hides.

"Up!"

At the sharp command the cats mounted with powerful grace to the platforms atop their pedestals.

"Good. That's very good."

One of the lions slipped a little and teetered on his perch.

"Steady, Captain, you're all right. Steady, boy."

The lion regained his balance, and Phillip surveyed the row of cats as they sat on their platforms, waiting. When he was satisfied that he had their full attention he raised the cane and pointed toward the ceiling.

"Ready? Everybody be tall, now. Stand!"

Obediently the big cats rose, balancing on their hind feet, front paws held out in front of them.

"Good. That's very good. Now let's hear how you can sing."

The great jaws opened and the beasts roared at the ceiling, the sky, the world, and mankind. It was a sound that a man would not forget soon.

"Beautiful," Phillip told them like a pleased choirmaster. "Just beautiful. All right, ready ... down."

The cats dropped back to all fours and descended easily to the floor of the cage. Phillip gestured with the cane, and they circled the cage single file again and headed one by one through the gate that would take them through the chute to the holding cages. Five of the cats left the big cage without incident, but the last, Gunner, largest of the lions, held back. He turned toward Phillip, showed his teeth, and gave him a rumbling roar. Phillip held out the cane, and Gunner swatted at it with one huge paw. Phillip snatched the cane back. Gunner's blow would have knocked it thirty yards away, or broken the back of a zebra.

Outside the cage Richie Laymon, twenty years old and very nervous, stood holding an eight-foot pole, barbed at the end. Richie knew that this was part of the act, that Gunner always took a swipe at Mr. Gallier on the way out, but the sight of those teeth and that mighty paw never failed to give him gooseflesh.

Richie was thankful that this was not his regular job. During the actual performance Mr. Gallier would be assisted by his wife, Nora, cool and beautiful in her spangled tights. Richie would be back in the center ring doing what he loved the most, clowning. With a big greasepainted smile he could make people laugh—young, old, rich, poor, it didn't matter. It seemed a far more rewarding job to Richie than scaring the socks off people by going into a cage with a bunch of killer cats.

Now, inside the cage, things were not going the way they should. Gunner had moved away from the gate to the chute and was menacing Phillip Gallier as though he meant it. The lion's great shaggy head was down, his tail slashing back and forth. Dangerous signs.

Richie moved uncertainly along the bars outside the cage, not sure just what was expected of him if a real emergency should develop. He wiped the palms of his hands one at a time on his trousers so he could grip the pole better. Phillip signaled him to stand still. The trainer's hand never even moved in the direction of the holstered pistol.

Phillip stood his ground in the cage, with only the useless cane as protection against the lion. As Richie watched through the bars, sweat soaking his shirt, Phillip tossed away the cane. He raised one hand as though in benediction and walked toward the lion. Gunner roared thunderously and raised his paw as though to strike again. The needle-sharp claws slipped out of their sheaths. In a fraction of a second they could strip a man's flesh from breastbone to pubis.

Phillip Gallier did not falter. He walked up to the lion, lowered his hand, and scratched the cat behind one ear. "What's the matter, Gunner? Feeling cranky today? We can't have that. You're my star. I expect you to show the others how to behave."

Looking as embarrassed as it is possible for a cat to look, the lion lowered his paw. He pushed his big head against Phillip's leg for more ear-scratching.

"That's more like it. We don't want people to think there are hard feelings between us."

The lion rumbled deep in his chest.

"That's the boy. Go on out now. We'll give the people a real show this afternoon."

The lion turned away, docile as a puppy now, and ambled out through the gate.

When the cat had disappeared through the chute into the holding cage, Phillip Gallier walked out through the main cage door and joined Richie Laymon. The young man still held the barbed pole in a white-knuckled grip.

"They're feeling frisky today," Phillip said. "We should have a fine show."

Richie swallowed, trying to moisten his throat. "That last one had me a little nervous."

"Gunner? He was just kidding around."

"Kidding? Those claws looked like so many knife blades. Couldn't you have them pulled?"

Phillip's face darkened. "You don't pull a cat's claws. That would be like taking away his manhood."

"If you say so. I'll tell you one thing, though, Mr. Gallier. You couldn't pay me enough to go in there and do what you do."

Phillip relaxed and smiled. His teeth were strong and white in the dark face. "It's got to be in your blood, Richie. Either you're born to the cats or you're not. And if you're not, forget it."

"I'll be glad to," Richie said. He leaned the barbed pole against the bars of the cage and dug into a pocket for a set of keys. "I've got the keys to the pickup if you're ready to go into town now."

"I think I'll let it go until tomorrow," Phillip said. "The concessions all have enough supplies for today's shows. Our licenses are all in order. The local farmers will be here between shows to load the manure. Besides, I'm a little tired. I think I'll catch a quick nap in the trailer before the afternoon show."

Richie frowned. "What about feed for the animals?"

"There's plenty of feed. You know I always take care of that before anything else." He looked more closely at the young man. "Is something bothering you, Richie?"

"No," he said quickly. "Nothing. It's just, well, it's still early and I thought there'd be things for you and me to do in town."

"You go on in if you want to. Take the pickup. I'm going to take advantage of this free time to stretch out for a while."

Richie did not move.

"Something
is
bothering you." Phillip's voice held the same tone of quiet authority as when he talked to the cats.

"No, really, it's nothing." Richie took a quick backward step. "Maybe I will take the truck into town, if it's okay. I'll see you."

The young man walked swiftly away across the fresh sawdust that had been spread on the ground. Phillip watched him go, a small frown line between his eyes. Then he shrugged and walked off in the other direction and out of the tent, toward where the trailers were parked.

He walked past the big trucks—only three of them, it wasn't a large circus. As always, the ornate gilt lettering on the side panels of the trucks gave him a thrill.
Gallier Family Circus.

Phillip's father had formed the show in the first decade of the century, when the circus was truly a part of American life. Now, more than fifty years later, people would rather stay home and watch television than go out and see live performers and real animals. The circus was a dying form of entertainment. A couple of the big ones played the arenas in the major cities, and only a handful of small shows like the Gallier Family was left for the little towns.

There was not much money in it, but it was the only life Phillip Gallier ever wanted. He loved the crowds and the camaraderie of the circus people. He loved the smells—sawdust, cotton candy, hot dogs, manure. And he loved to watch the tents and the midway booths go up magically at each new town.

Most of all, he loved the cats. Like his father before him, Phillip Gallier had a rapport with the big cats that others found uncanny. He could have named his price to go with Ringling Bros./Bamum & Bailey, but Phillip preferred to work with his own small company, and his own cats. The money he might have made appearing in places like Madison Square Garden meant nothing to him. Here he was in control of his destiny.

He walked past the trucks and into the area set aside for the trailers that housed the circus performers and the traveling crew. Here lived the aerialists, the clowns, the specialty acts, and the concessionaires. His own trailer was the largest. He shared it with Nora and their two children. The Gallier trailer was next to the cat cages.

Phillip paused before turning in to his trailer. Standing in front of the one cat cage that was set apart from the others he saw his children, Paul and Irena. At thirteen Paul was already doing a turn with the tumblers. Phillip was not yet ready to work him with the cats. There was something about the dark-eyed, serious boy that disturbed him. Irena was a laughing, friendly child of four. She was a favorite of the performers and the crew.

Phillip walked down to join his children. They stood without speaking, before the bars of the isolated cage. Irena chewed solemnly on a caramel apple. Paul flexed his fingers nervously. Phillip walked up behind them and stood there silently, watching with them.

Inside the cage, its rich coat glistening like deep water in the moonlight, was the black leopard. The leopard did not perform. He was with the circus for exhibition only. For all their skill, neither Phillip Gallier nor his father had ever trained a black leopard to work with the other cats.

The leopard lay comfortably at the back of the cage, a heavy, gnawed bone on the floor before him. One of the huge black paws rested easily on the other. The cat gazed out at the people with hooded yellow eyes.

"Saying hello to our friend, are you?" Phillip said quietly.

The children turned toward him. Irena impulsively wrapped her arms around his booted leg.

"Oh, Daddy, he's so beautiful," she said. "I wish we could take him in the trailer with us."

Phillip reached down and swept his daughter off her feet. He cradled her easily in the crook of his arm. "I don't think that would be wise."

"He's strong too," Paul said, turning back to the leopard. "Stronger than the lions, I bet."

"I don't know about that," Phillip said, "but he's a lot stronger than you or I."

"Do leopards kill people, Daddy?" Irena asked.

"Sometimes," Phillip answered. "If they are starved or mistreated or forced out of their natural home by people, then they may kill."

"Why would anybody want to hurt them?" Irena said. "They're so beautiful."

"I don't know. Men often destroy beautiful things without any reason."

Paul changed the subject. "How come you didn't go into town after you worked the cats?"

"I decided I could use a little rest before the early show. Is your mother in the trailer?"

Both children nodded their heads up and down.

"I guess she's taking a nap too," Paul said.

"She told us to play outside and not bother her," Irena added.

The fine hairs rose at the base of Phillip's neck. "Is she feeling all right?"

"She didn't say anything," Paul offered, "and she looked all right to me."

"Me too," Irena put in.

"Well, I'll just go look in on her," Phillip said.

"Can we come too, Daddy?" Irena asked. "I'm tired of playing outside."

"No." Phillip looked off toward the trailer. It looked dark and somehow ominous, silhouetted against the heavy gray sky of mid-morning. "You kids stay out here for a while. Talk to the leopard."

Phillip left them and walked back toward the trailer that was their home ten months out of the year. Most of the other two months they stayed in a motel near the show's winter quarters, in Florida. There was a big family house in New Orleans, but it stood empty most of the time. Nora would have liked to spend more time there, to join in the bright New Orleans social life, but Phillip could not stand to be separated for long from his beloved cats. As for the children, they thought traveling with the circus was the best of all possible ways to live.

The air had grown heavy by the time Phillip reached the trailer. There was a storm heading this way. Phillip hoped the wind would not be too strong. Wind played havoc with the tents. He pushed open the trailer door and walked in.

The compact living quarters, including the kitchenette and the children's bunks, were empty. Everything was neat and orderly, as Nora always kept it. Three long strides and Phillip was at the hanging curtain that closed off their bedroom. He swept it aside and walked in.