Tiger Fever

 

            I was lying in bed with a fever on a summer day once, with the wind blowing just a little in and out of the window. Sometimes I felt cold, and sometimes I threw my blanket off just to the let the wind onto my skin.
            I called out, “You know what I would like?”
            “No, what?” he said.
            “I would like to see a tiger,” I said. “Right here.”
            I dozed off for a while.
            I felt something heavy enter the bed from the foot. You know, how cats do? They kind of stealthily crouch and walk up to see whoever is in the bed.
            When I opened my eyes, I saw that it was a young tiger. He was maybe about 100 lbs of rich yellow with black stripes with giant paws, and bright shining eyes. He crept up to my side and lay down. He embraced my arm much as Willie does.
            I saw that Willie and Suzy were both in the bed also and made no objection, so I figured it must be OK. They would tell me if it was otherwise.
            His mouth hung open, showing his glamorous ivory teeth. I looked into his eyes as deeply as I was capable of.
            I saw jungles, tundra, mountains, islands and seas and rivers.
            “Yes,” I said. “Is there anything I can give you?”
            “Yes,” he said. “You are a Namer. I seek a name of my own.”
            “Yes,” I said. A long list of names ran through my mind. I stopped at the name Samson. I was surprised to find nothing more obscure nor ornate. But there it was. That’s how naming works.
            “I name you Samson,” I said. He laid his head on my right hand where it lay on the bed.
            “Shall I leave you a keepsake?” he said in his burry, low voice.
            “Yes,” I said.
            “Give me your hand,” Samson said.
            So, I did, and he took it into his mouth. And he tenderly bit me, just breaking the skin on the back and on the palm of my right hand. It bled a little, onto the sheets.
            He licked up the mess.
            He said, “The scars will be your keepsake, lest you forget me when the fever leaves you.”
            “Samson,” I said, as I fell back into sleep.
            When I woke he was not there, of course, but the two little wounds on my hand remained, and I was well.

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