vacuuming the shag carpet in room 203. Sistine went up behind her and tapped her on the back. Willie May whirled around with her fist clenched, like a boxer.
“We need some answers,” Sistine shouted over the roar of the vacuum cleaner.
Willie May bent down and turned the vacuum cleaner off.
“Well,” she said, “look who’s here.” She kept her hand balled up, as if she was still searching for something to hit.
“What’s in your hand?” Sistine asked.
Willie May uncurled her fist and showed Sistine the bird.
“Oh,” said Sistine. And Rob realized then why he liked Sistine so much. He liked her because when she saw something beautiful, the sound of her voice changed. All the words she uttered had an
oof
sound to them, as if she was getting punched in the stomach. The sound was in her voice when she talked about the Sistine Chapel and when she looked at the things he carved in wood. It was there when she said the poem about the tiger burning bright, and it was there when she talked about Willie May being a prophetess. Her words sounded the way all those things made him feel, as if the world, the real world, had been punched through, so that he could see something wonderful and dazzling on the other side of it.
“Did Rob make it?” Sistine asked Willie May.
“He did,” said Willie May.
“It looks alive. Is it like your bird that you let go?”
“Just about exactly,” said Willie May.
“I . . . ,” said Sistine. She looked at Willie May. Then she turned and looked at Rob. “We,” she said. “We need to ask you something.”
“Ask on,” said Willie May.
“If you knew about something that was locked up in a cage, something big and beautiful that was locked away unfairly, for no good reason, and you had the keys to the cage, would you let it go?”
Willie May sat down on the bed. A cloud of dust rose up around her. “Lord God,” she said. “What you two children got in a cage?”
“It’s a tiger,” Rob said. He felt like he had to be the one who said it. He was the one who found the tiger. He was the one who had the keys to the cage.
“A what?” said Willie May.
“A tiger,” said Sistine.
“Do Jesus!” exclaimed Willie May.
“It’s true,” said Sistine.
Willie May shook her head. She looked up at the ceiling. She let out her breath in a loud slow hiss of disapproval. “All right,” she said. “Why don’t you all show me where you got this tiger locked up in a cage?”
The three of them walked through the woods in silence. Sistine and Rob chewed Eight Ball gum, and Willie May smoked a cigarette, and nobody said a word.
“Lord God,” said Willie May when they came up to the cage. She stared at the pacing animal. “Ain’t no reason to doubt the fierceness of God when He make something like that,” she said. “Who was the fool that caged this tiger up?”
“He belongs to Beauchamp,” Rob told her.
“Beauchamp,” said Willie May with disgust. She shook her head. “One person in the world that don’t need to be owning no tiger, and that’s Beauchamp.”
“See?” said Sistine. “It’s not right, is it? Just like you told Rob about your bird and how you had to let it go.”
“A bird,” said Willie May, “that’s one thing. Tiger belonging to Beauchamp is another.”
“Tell Rob that he should unlock the cage and let him go,” Sistine demanded.
“I ain’t,” said Willie May. “You got to ask yourself what’s going to happen to this tiger after you let him go. How’s he going to live?”
Rob was flooded with sad relief. Willie May wasn’t going to make him do it. He wasn’t going to lose the tiger.
“Panthers live in these woods,” argued Sistine. “They survive.”
“Used to,” said Willie May. “Don’t no more.”
Sistine put her hands on her hips. “You’re not saying what you believe,” she accused. “You’re not talking like a prophetess.”
“That’s ’cause I ain’t no prophetess,” said Willie May. “All I am
“We need some answers,” Sistine shouted over the roar of the vacuum cleaner.
Willie May bent down and turned the vacuum cleaner off.
“Well,” she said, “look who’s here.” She kept her hand balled up, as if she was still searching for something to hit.
“What’s in your hand?” Sistine asked.
Willie May uncurled her fist and showed Sistine the bird.
“Oh,” said Sistine. And Rob realized then why he liked Sistine so much. He liked her because when she saw something beautiful, the sound of her voice changed. All the words she uttered had an
oof
sound to them, as if she was getting punched in the stomach. The sound was in her voice when she talked about the Sistine Chapel and when she looked at the things he carved in wood. It was there when she said the poem about the tiger burning bright, and it was there when she talked about Willie May being a prophetess. Her words sounded the way all those things made him feel, as if the world, the real world, had been punched through, so that he could see something wonderful and dazzling on the other side of it.
“Did Rob make it?” Sistine asked Willie May.
“He did,” said Willie May.
“It looks alive. Is it like your bird that you let go?”
“Just about exactly,” said Willie May.
“I . . . ,” said Sistine. She looked at Willie May. Then she turned and looked at Rob. “We,” she said. “We need to ask you something.”
“Ask on,” said Willie May.
“If you knew about something that was locked up in a cage, something big and beautiful that was locked away unfairly, for no good reason, and you had the keys to the cage, would you let it go?”
Willie May sat down on the bed. A cloud of dust rose up around her. “Lord God,” she said. “What you two children got in a cage?”
“It’s a tiger,” Rob said. He felt like he had to be the one who said it. He was the one who found the tiger. He was the one who had the keys to the cage.
“A what?” said Willie May.
“A tiger,” said Sistine.
“Do Jesus!” exclaimed Willie May.
“It’s true,” said Sistine.
Willie May shook her head. She looked up at the ceiling. She let out her breath in a loud slow hiss of disapproval. “All right,” she said. “Why don’t you all show me where you got this tiger locked up in a cage?”
The three of them walked through the woods in silence. Sistine and Rob chewed Eight Ball gum, and Willie May smoked a cigarette, and nobody said a word.
“Lord God,” said Willie May when they came up to the cage. She stared at the pacing animal. “Ain’t no reason to doubt the fierceness of God when He make something like that,” she said. “Who was the fool that caged this tiger up?”
“He belongs to Beauchamp,” Rob told her.
“Beauchamp,” said Willie May with disgust. She shook her head. “One person in the world that don’t need to be owning no tiger, and that’s Beauchamp.”
“See?” said Sistine. “It’s not right, is it? Just like you told Rob about your bird and how you had to let it go.”
“A bird,” said Willie May, “that’s one thing. Tiger belonging to Beauchamp is another.”
“Tell Rob that he should unlock the cage and let him go,” Sistine demanded.
“I ain’t,” said Willie May. “You got to ask yourself what’s going to happen to this tiger after you let him go. How’s he going to live?”
Rob was flooded with sad relief. Willie May wasn’t going to make him do it. He wasn’t going to lose the tiger.
“Panthers live in these woods,” argued Sistine. “They survive.”
“Used to,” said Willie May. “Don’t no more.”
Sistine put her hands on her hips. “You’re not saying what you believe,” she accused. “You’re not talking like a prophetess.”
“That’s ’cause I ain’t no prophetess,” said Willie May. “All I am
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