Another playful adventure

Proud to announce that I won the 2021 Golden Globe Awards for my role in this most recent episode of BRYAN THE TYGER.

P.S.

In other news: my Public Private Diary is fully printed; also I made a list of my latest novels that have been printed but not included in any collection.

Chapter Eleven

Leaping down off the last long table, I see that there is a pond nearby, so I head toward it. Normally I don’t like to get wet – in fact, I will avoid it at any cost – but right now my paws are sticky from trampling thru the icing on those cakes, and I desire to wash away this cloying muck; plus I fancy the idea of gazing at my reflection in the water’s surface.

So, approaching the liquid plain, which stands unmoved – pure as the expanse of heaven – I lay me down on the green bank and slowly lean closer to the clear smooth depths that, from this angle, contain the semblance of another sky . . .

I bend further until I’m directly overhead. Just opposite, a shape within the watery gleam appears bending at the same time to look upwards at me. — I gasp and recoil in terror. The shape gasps and recoils in terror. (I had forgotten that I possessed such fearful symmetry!) — But now, curious, I return, and, equally curious, the shape returns as soon with answering looks inside that depth of mirror-sky: I behold two fiery eyes within the cool pure liquid, and I am filled with awe and tenderness.

To this day I remain lying there at the side of the pool, staring into that selfsame gaze that requites with perfection my pining wonder.

However, because this tale wishes to continue telling itself despite having infiltrated bliss, I will record henceforward not the vulgar events of actuality but the ecstatic events of surreality.

So I wake myself out of this trance when, after a sharp hiss, momentarily the image ripples into abstraction. What happened is that a fiery teardrop fell, disturbing the water’s surface and thus reminding me that I need to clean my paws. I therefore pace forth into the shallows and frolic around until that feeling of sweetness is gone.

Now excitedly I dash over to the Trojan battlefield. I see the great Diomedes standing with Menelaus: both greet me warmly, and they scratch behind my ears.

“Tyger Bryan! What brings you out here, to the ringing plains of Troy?”

“I feel a hunger that can be sated by nothing but battle,” I say, “and a thirst that can be quenched by nothing but blood.”

“Oho!” sez the Spartan King, “too bad for all sides!”

We share a laugh. “Men, take this compliment: I wish to emulate the both of you. First, Menelaus, tho we’re not supposed to mention that other book while we’re currently inside this one, let me bend the rules and say: I admire the way that, in the later epic, you spin your adventurous yarns for your guests while dining. . . . And you, Diomedes, in what is rumored to be the selfsame poet’s earlier work, I love your audacity in battle: you attack even gods and goddesses! I’m still in awe that you wounded both Ares and Aphrodite.”

“Well thanks Bry,” sez Diomedes, “but, after our recent clash, I myself am among the wounded; that’s why I’m over here idling instead of out there in the thick of it. Odysseus himself can tell you more; although there’s not much to tell: it was just a tough skirmish – he’s right over there.”

I race over and circle around my friend Odysseus lovingly. I play some trix on him and he plays some trix on me, and we lie to each other a few times, but then we drop the act and embrace as comrades.

“I really missed you,” he sez.

“I missed you, too,” I say.

“Honestly speaking, I’ve never fought alongside a battle-cat like you,” sez Odysseus. “As far as I’m concerned, there’s no finer warrior in the world.”

“Thanks,” I say, and my fiery nature crackles a little more intensely (this is what Burning Tygers do instead of purring).

“I wish that you had been here for our most recent battle,” Odysseus continues; “Agamemnon, Diomedes and I all got wounded . . .”

“Yeah, I heard.”

“But if you had been with us, I’m sure that we would have made short work of those Trojans. You would have bashed them down to Hades with your mighty right forepaw.”

I then make a playful gesture as if I am doing exactly that, and Odysseus laughs.

“See you around,” I say while galloping off.

Then I go to the other side, to see my Trojan friends. (I like both sides equally — they’re all good eggs.)

“Hector! Paris! Aeneas! Long time no see!” I shout.

The three heroes look dumbfounded.

“What’s wrong,” I quip; “cat got your tongue?”

“Tyger Bryan!” Hector holds out his arms and begins to guffaw in a way that you’d expect Santa Claus to laugh. I notice that, under all that armor, the actor who’s playing this role is actually Charles Laughton. “Come here, you devil!”

I embrace Hector firmly. We harbor tremendous respect for each other. He holds my huge head between his hands and gazes long at my terrifying face. “It’s really you!” he sez. “For a second there, I thought that I must be dreaming.”

I shake loose and say: “Alright, enough. Are we gonna stand around here weeping like a bunch of pumas? Let’s see some action!” Then I leap forward and turn around and add: “I missed you guys deeply; I haven’t drunk the delight of battle in months. Where’s the best fray?”

They direct me to the most violent part of the combat. (This war that they’ve got going here has been continuing for almost as long as some of the U.S. wars! — I’m really proud of them.)

I dive directly into the carnage and fight without bias. I kill anything that moves. I pay no mind to which side anyone is on: I go totally berzerk. No respecter of persons am I, neither of deities nor any thing living that dares to enter this holy dance:

First I bite off a soldier’s arm, as he is standing near me and preparing to hit me with the sword that he is wielding. I swallow the whole appendage, sword and all; then I bite off this same man’s head. One instant before doing so, I recognize the identity of this fellow: it is Patroclus. (“Well,” I think to myself, “it sux to be him.”) Then I spit out Patroclus’ head and it hits Idomeneus right in the face and he dies instantly.

I then charge straight forward and take a bite out of Nestor’s horse — I bite it right in the middle, leaving a gaping void where its belly should be. The horse is shrieking in pain and terror — this racket annoys me (I have delicate ears that prefer chamber music, or the sounds that faithful wives make when enjoying adultery) so I finish the job and bite him the rest of the way thru, thus leaving the horse in two parts. Nestor, who was riding this nag, tumbles groundward and splashes into the viscera; then he gets up and tries to run away, but I chase him down and kill him with my jaws. Now he cannot make any more speeches.

At this point, something awful happens. I am wounded in my flesh by the sword of Telamonian Ajax. It is just as I am biting into Sarpedon and killing him and savoring the jet of blood that sprays into my gullet, I feel a sting on my right haunch. I yell an obscenity and turn around — there he is, the culprit:

“Ajax!” I roar. “Why?”

The poor fool looks astounded: “I didn’t realize you were murdering our foemen — I thought you were harming only us.”

“No-o-o-o-o!” I roar. “The fiery father maketh his sun to rise on both the evil AND the good, and sendeth rain on the just as well as the unjust (Matthew 5:45)!”

“I’m sorry,” sez Ajax.

So I close my Tyger-eyes and take deep breaths to bolster my resolve, because the pain is severe. Then I lift my mighty arm and swing my right forepaw directly at Ajax and bash him straight off the screen. But now a title card appears assuring the audience (mostly immortals are watching the battle, at this hour) that Ajax did not expire of the injuries caused by my blow: he only suffered tremendously and then years later lost his mind and performed self-slaughter.

Now I jump back into the action. I sink my fangs into Dardanos and Dolon, among the Trojans; and, of those who belong to the Achaeans, I de­vour Neoptolemus. I also end up killing Agamemnon before his wife gets a chance to do so.

At this point I feel satisfied, so I leave the scene. I stop at a nice flat place in the desert and lick the blood and guts off my fur. It tastes good to my palate.

I then enjoy a deep slumber and dream this truth: The Prince of Darkness visits me in reality and offers me Helen, the concubine of Menelaus and Paris. I transmogrify into a human body for this act; because, as a reward for being the very best fighter on the battlefield, and for spilling the most blood, I am allowed to become one flesh with Helen eternally. This is a moment I’ll never forget: it is not unpleasant.