Read Online Beast by Donna Jo Napoli - Free Book Online Page A

so that I can’t do much else.
    One thing I know by nightfall, though, is that I must leave the tower. My mouth is dry as uncooked rice. Thirst compels me.
    I stand up. Pigeon droppings fall from my fur in clumps. It is good to be on all fours. I stretch again, long long. This body brings unexpected pleasures — a simple stretch becomes a languorous moment.
    I lean against the wooden door. It resists briefly, then pops open, swinging wide. I crouch as low as I can and creep out. No one is about. I lick the muck from my paws, front and hind—this time, I won’t leave a trail.
    I stand upright so that I can move with more ease. The night air still smells of the evening meal—cooked meat. It stirs no interest in me. I wonder if I will ever be hungry again.
    The air also smells of humans. My muscles contract under my skin. Fear presses me to run.
    But there’s one more smell. A musky odor that confuses me with longing and unexplained dread. It comes from the men’s pavilion.
    I trot, ears alert, eyes continuously scanning the palace, the bushes, all the grounds. The pavilion’s marble floor is cold under my thick, spongy pads. I feel uncertain, as though I’ll slip, legs splayed to either side. I want to get away.
    But that odor pulls me on.
    She lies in the center of the floor. Her tail stretches out straight as an arrow. Her chest is pocked with holes. Dried blood mats her fur. It’s dark, and I don’t see as well as in daylight, but I recognize the sound and smell of death. I put my face to hers, and the flies disperse. My tongue runs along her jaw, up to her ear. To the two nicks.
    My lioness.
    She seems so much smaller in death, as though she shrinks. She seems delicate. And piercingly lonely.
    Lions are cannibals, I know this now, for a part of me accepts this body as meat.
    But another part of me moans the loss of a female — of this female — whom I realize I would have followed day after day had the elephants not come.
    I am stupid with grief. I lie on the floor beside her. Insects move from her body to mine and back. Their wings go hush hush. The night air stings my open eyes. Finally, I shut them and sleep.
    The footsteps belong to a man. He approaches the pavilion from the palace side. The body of the lioness lies between me and him. I know this man. Perhaps the pari guides the feet of the Shah, for it is not yet dawn and he carries no lantern—he can make out less in the dark than I can, I’m sure.
    I see my lioness running for her life, then turning to face her tormenters — turning to face the Shah. But her jaws were more ferocious than he had imagined. So the arrows flew as she lunged at him. Arrows from his companions as well as from the Shah. My brave, lost lioness.
    The Shah missed his chance to fulfill his destiny as ruler of all Persia—to kill a lion with his bare hands.
    It is well past midnight of the second day since I found myself in lion form. The spell is strong. I remember the pari Zanejadu, her laugh, her words; only a woman’s love can undo this terror.
    No woman will ever love me.
    The pari has won.
    Yet, in a sense, it is I who won, for I am still alive.
    The Shah’s bare feet slap quietly on the marble. The insects investigate him; he swats with one hand, but still comes closer. He kneels beside my lioness.
    I stand.
    The Shah gasps loudly. His hands fly up beside his face. His mouth hangs open, as though he’s shrieking silently.
    I lower my head, offer my neck to his bare hands.
    He doesn’t move.
    Nor do I.
    He has stopped breathing. But now he takes in breath again and lowers one hand ever so slowly to rest it on the top of my head.
    I wait.
    â€œMaster, is that you?” It is Shahpour’s voice. He’s running toward us. “What . . . ? Lion!” he shouts and runs back toward the palace.
    The Shah’s breath comes fast, in little bursts. “Beast,” he whispers. “Why?