When the Tiger Came Down the Mountain (The Singing Hills Cycle, #2)

by Nghi Vo

You can only praise a mammoth when you are alone with her and no one else can hear.”

“Oh, Singing Hills isn’t very strict on that,” Chih said vaguely. “And we’re meant to take the charity of others where we find it. It’s significantly worse to turn down genuine charity than to momentarily put aside the strictures of your order, or so I was taught.”

“Why are we talking to tigers?” asked Si-yu. “Because they are talking to us,” Chih said, stifling a somewhat hysterical giggle. “They can talk, and now they’ve seen that we can. That’s—that means that they’ll treat us like people.”

“But there’s still a chance that they’re going to eat us.” “Oh yes. Some people are just more . . . edible than others if you are a tiger.”

“She didn’t know that Ho Thi Thao was flirting with her! She was being so sweet and romantic, and Scholar Dieu didn’t even appreciate it!”

“When she shared the food that Scholar Dieu offered her rather than eating it all, she was expressing . . . fond feeling and fascination. When she offered her name without asking for Scholar Dieu’s, she was opening the door.”

“To any number of things. To a courtship. To a single night of love. To something that would last far longer. To an opportunity to know her more and better. For more.”

“And so you came to my house on the soft pads of a midwinter kitten, the whisper of your black tresses sweeping your heels, and so you came to my heart just as quietly. Why, then, did you make such a terrible noise when you let go of my hand and departed, a great trumpeting of horns, a great beating of drums? We had always kept our home in the sweetest of silence, broken only with a dropped spool of scarlet thread or a soft cry from your lips early in the morning. Now your departure crashes like a thunder, and the timbers of the house shake with the force of the space you left behind.”

It came to Ho Thi Thao that perhaps she wanted to learn how else the scholar was beautiful, and even in what ways the scholar might be ugly, which could also be fascinating and beloved.

“If you bring me out of this place, I will share every meal that I ever have with you. I will let you eat first from every dish and drink first from every cup.”

“And I don’t care about poetry. It’s nice, but . . . the first bite of every meal that Dieu eats? That’s good. That’s how the old warriors who don’t like to use words like love talk. My grandfather still says I will always give you the first bite of my dinner, you terrible woman, to my grandmother. I didn’t know that tigers said it too.”

My love has gone from me, and I will never again laugh. My love has gone from me and she has taken all light with her.”

“I am yours, and so I will be your light and your laughter. I am yours, so open your eyes to look at me, and open your mouth so that I may kiss it. I am yours, I am yours, and nevermore will I leave.”