The Tiger's Eyes

I walk the world, marveling at its beauty but only from the stories I’ve been told and never by my own witness. The tiger is by far the most majestic and I ask for its story as often as my friends are willing to tell me. Though I was born without sight I can picture the striped rings on its throat, like a distinguished collar that separates it from the other animals. A tapestry of contrasting colors, the orange background painted with a weave of black unique to every single one. Its stripes merge with the tall grasses of its home and like a mirage it disappears from view, waiting for the perfect moment to pounce.

I, who was denied the ability to see such things, desired those stripes. To wear them as my own trailing down my back like a cloak would make me happier than any story. With the vision of the tiger’s stripes as rooted in my memory as the paths of my home, I set out into the wilderness to find my tiger.

The journey was long and arduous bringing me to forests, jungles, and plains I had never seen before, and yet the tiger evaded me every time. Surely it was because of its stripes. One could be lying in the grass right by my foot and yet I’d be none the wiser of its presence. This elusiveness only added to its beauty to me, and my desire for its stripes seized my heart ever tighter.

My path came to an end at a marketplace. Much to my surprise the object of my obsession had been trapped within a cage and put on display for all to see. It paced the metal floor in agitation, back and forth with nowhere to go and nothing new to see. Despite my joy at finding what I sought I could not pretend that the knowledge of it being contained did not upset me. And yet I realized, were my desires not the same? I may lack the metal bars to hold it, but I still desired its stripes for myself and the cage I would build would rob it of its identity much as the cage robbed it of its freedom. I could not stand by this injustice.

That night I slipped into the hunter’s room and stole his keys. I tricked the night guard into thinking I was the stable hand hired to care for the tiger and finally met the beast. My eyes saw nothing, yet the soft pad of its steps upon the metal, the swish of its agitated tail stirring the air, and its soft pants slipping past its fangs painted the image just as good. The soft click of the key caught its attention and I could feel its intense gaze bearing down on me, unlike anything I had ever felt.

“You will be free,” I told the tiger.

“The freedom you offer me comes with a price, let it spill from your lips before I accept a weighted contract.” The tiger replied sitting back on its haunches its tail sweeping the metal floor.

I considered lying to the tiger. For I felt something new in its presence, fear. And perhaps, if it believed that I gave it freedom for nothing it would gift me what I wished for most on its own. But the twisted feeling that came with this thought drove me to discard the idea, what good were lies in the face of true beauty?

“Your stripes,” I said quietly. “I cannot see them, but the stories of their beauty have filled my head for as long as I can remember. I wished to be beautiful as well, to wear such pretty stripes myself and walk with pride as you do.”

The tiger laughed.

“You will hold no beauty of your own if you wear the skin of another,” He said. “But if you free me then I will share mine, so that you may witness the beauty you wish to grasp.”

It wasn’t what I had set out to get, but it was something. The creak of the cell door grated against my ears and I stepped aside feeling the large cat slip past me and touch the proper ground.

“Lay your hand upon my back.” The tiger said.

I stepped closer and rested my hand between his shoulder blades. His fur was soft and thick and pushed between my fingers even with a slight touch. I could feel his warmth coming off every part of him, surrounding me and fighting back the bite of the chill night air. I had walked with many people in my life but walking beside the tiger felt more familiar than any of them.

The tiger led me from the marketplace, beyond the walls of the village and my legs felt the steep incline of a hill. Here he stopped and sat down beckoning me to sit beside him. When I did I leaned into his shoulder and stared at nothing.

“Beauty comes in many forms,” the tiger said. “To pursue someone else's makes you forget your own. To understand this, I share my stripes.”

I felt a tingle upon my back like a light touch that gave me chills. And for the first time in my life, I saw light. The slow ebb of colors shifted as the sun began to peek from the horizon in a picturesque sunset. It was so different than the stripes of the tiger, so grand and fleeting yet just as beautiful. And I realized as the tiger looked at me I could see myself, all that I am, every color, line, and texture that made me up. I was beautiful too. Just as different no more a sunrise than a tiger is, yet no less beautiful and I finally understood the beauty of the world.

I had come here seeking stripes. But I had instead shared the life of a tiger and felt even more fulfilled than I had ever hoped to be.