Morris - All the way to the tigers: a memoir

India, 2011

WE HAVENT MOVED in what seems like hours. Its late afternoon in January, and I can see my breath. Our jeep is at a crossroads where my driver and guide sit in silence. Ajay is listening. His eyes dart, skimming the woods. But mainly he listens. Im listening too. Though Im not sure what Im supposed to hear. Ive got two horsehair blankets across my legs, a hot-water bottle cooling in my lap, and a scarf wrapped around my head. Im shivering, not only from the cold but also perhaps from a fever, and coughing from a virus thats sunk deep into my chest. As the sun is going down, a family of langur monkeys gathers in the trees.

Something rustles the bush, and theres chatter above. A bird with turquoise-and-black feathers that look like an evening gown flits through the forest. Another with two long purple plumes perches on a low-hanging branch. Ajay points to the scat of an elephant in the road, but its a tame elephant, one of four used by the rangers to patrol these woods. A jackal bursts from the brush and crosses our path. But the tiger eludes us. It is the tiger everyone comes to see. Not the snake-eating hawk, the spotted deer, the wild boar. Its all about the tiger.

Sudhir, our driver, wants to push on, but Ajay motions for him to be patient. Ajay is still listening. It is almost dusk. The other jeeps have called it a day. In fact there were very few. Ive seen almost no tourists. I am alone with my driver and guide in this jeep that holds eight. Its getting colder, almost freezing as the darkness settles in. I am in the jungle, sick and cold, with blankets wrapped around my thighs, searching for tigers. Weve been out for days without a sign, but Ajay and Sudhir want to persist. It has become a point of pride. Ive seen beautiful birds, I tell them. White-spotted and sambar deer. Ive seen a jackal race down the road and monkeys, mocking us from trees. I dont need to see more. But it seems that I am the one thing in this jungle that they wont listen to. Slowly Ajay raises his hand. Hes whispering to Sudhir. He listens, then points, and now both men are pointing in different directions. What is it? I ask. As always I hear nothing.

Sambar deer alarm call. She is warning spotted deer.

Suddenly we are off as Sudhir zigzags along the twists and turns of the rutted dirt road. I bump up and down in the back, holding the frame as we approach a fork. Go right, go right, Ajay mouths, his hand waving Sudhir on. We race down into a big meadow surrounded by trees. Once more we stop and the men stand up. Ajay borrows my binoculars. He scans the meadow, focused on some movement in the brush. In there, Ajay says. Shes somewhere in there. Ajay explains that all unseen tigers are referred to as she. The tiger, hidden in the brush, is always she.

We wait for her to move while we stand still. Theres an eerie quiet in the air as we sit, watching. Using my hand as a visor, my eyes scan the woods as well. Shes out there. I have no doubt. My guide knows too. We are silent and the jungle around us is quiet as we wait for the bushes to rustle and the tiger to emerge. Shes crouching in the tall grass that hides her stripes. But Im willing to wait. In my own way Ive been waiting for a long time.

Brooklyn, 2008

ON A WINTER MORNING I turn to my husband over coffee. Lets go skating, I say. It is a clear, crisp daythe beginning of an eight-month sabbatical that Ive been looking forward to for a long time. My calendar is empty of obligationsdevoid of anything except the words JURY DUTY . It is jury duty that preoccupies me that morning. I received a summons the week before and I am obsessed with it. What if Im put on a case? I fear being tied down. Otherwise nothing stands between me and months during which I can do whatever I choose.

Ive spent seven years waiting for this sabbatical. Given that we change all the cells in our bodies every seven years, I am a different person than I was the last time I had a leave. And this is my first leave in more than twenty years when I dont have a child at home. Im looking forward to months of free time and travel. On sheets of paper Ive written wish lists of the things I plan to do, places Id see.

We are going to Rome, where Larry will run in the Rome Marathon and Ill take a watercolor classsomething Ive always wanted to do. Then on to a house swap in Spain. Our daughter, Kate, who is spending the year in Ireland, is going to join us for her spring break. Then well travel to Morocco. Soon well be taking a ferry across the Strait of Gibraltar. These journeys are my lifeblood. And at times they are also my livelihood. Im contemplating a year of nomadic roaming. I have things to do. Adventures await. Time lies before me like an open road, and I want to begin by going skating with my husband.

Sure, Larry replies, seeing how eager I am, lets go.

Ice-skating is something Ive done all my life. I grew up on skates and skated as an adult for years. Childhood friends of minebrother and sister twinscompeted at the national level in pairs and I loved watching them practice at our rink. I have fantasies of my own. I love zipping around as the three tenors croon or the theme song from