Free Beast by Donna Jo Napoli Page A

if that’s the case: for they are not bold. Then came the lion.
    The snake, the mongoose, the vultures, the jackals, me —all caught in an endless cycle of bloodied jaws and claws.
    But at least the lion has the respite afforded by a distended belly after a gargantuan meal. If only I can learn to shake off the lethargy that follows a gorging, I can perhaps hold on to my human mind. I can think the thoughts of a man.
    But at this moment my stomach still has room for more meat. If I see the jackals again, I will attack. I will eat jackal.
    And now I realize I shouldn’t have made such short work of the mongoose meal; I should have left something other than this mess of scattered teeth and bone splinters. Something to lure the jackals back.
    I am inept.
    And I have eaten again without the wudhu first, without prayer. If I had stopped to find a stream and roll in it, then pray, the jackals would have eaten all the meat. But that isn’t what made me eat so quickly. No, I didn’t even think of that when I ate. I simply ate. There was food; I was hungry.
    The lion in me prevails not only over body, but over spirit. I fool myself to hope otherwise.
    I walk to the bush the jackals were hiding under before and nestle in. I sleep.
    When I wake, it’s night, and an edginess makes me jump to my feet. I peer through the dark. Nothing’s watching me, yet somehow I am certain I have to get moving.
    I trot quickly. After a few hours the wild yields to trees arranged in orderly rows with aromatic shrubs in between. A garden. One of mine. The palace itself is quiet, but voices come from the holding pen. It is suicidal to be here—but I am drawn forward. Night cloaks me, at least. I stay close to the wall along the hunting park, every part of me at the ready. My mind possesses a clarity of thought I have not had since I woke that first night in lion form. The closer I get to the human trappings from my old life, the more acute that clarity grows. Near the little bridge I crouch and listen.
    Kiyumars’ voice comes like warm rain to a dry garden. Oh, to speak with him again, to speak with my friend.
    Djamchid, another servant, answers. They lament my disappearance. Kiymars scolds himself for not warning me more severely against the dangers from the wild cats brought in for the hunt. By the time the irony of his assumption hits me, the discussion has moved on to trouble with the Turks. Kiyumars overheard the Shah speak of coming war. Talk ofimpending bloodshed from the Turks has surrounded me my whole life. This is a real concern, but maybe not as pressing as Kiyumars thinks.
    I come closer, so that I can see into the pen now. Kiyumars and Djamchid work with Abdullah and four other Indian boys. It’s been a week already. Precisely a week, for the hunting guests depart at dawn.
    And, oh, perhaps my human part has been working all along; perhaps it kept track of the days and brought me back here in time. For an idea forms now, an idea that shakes me to the core of my being.
    I hear the pari Zanejadu’s words again: Only a woman’s love can undo the curse.
    I am lion. And I will die lion, for no human woman will ever love me.
    But a week ago two lionesses accepted me. And I accepted them—more than I wanted to admit.
    India is lion country. India is lion country. India is lion country.
    O Merciful One, forgive me. For I know I can live that life. A lion’s life.
    The irony of the pari’s curse finally hits me: The lion is king of beasts.
    I stand taller to meet the challenge. I am the Prince of Persia, and I choose my destiny. I will go to India.
    The departure of the Indian guests shines before me as what it truly is: an opportunity. I can follow them ata distance all the way to the wilds where lions live. I don’t have to travel that great distance alone.
    This is, at last, a plan. The only plan.
    With the realization comes impatience. I want to begin my new life. The pari ruined my old