The Tiger Rising Read Online Free PDF

on the back of the tiger. And suddenly, he couldn’t bear the thought of watching her disappear again.
    “Wait up!” he shouted. “Wait up!” And he started to run toward her.
    Sistine turned and stopped. She waited for him with her hands on her hips.
    “Well?” she said when he got close to her.
    “She’s dead,” he told her. The words came out in short, ragged gasps. “My mama’s dead.”
    “Okay,” said Sistine. She gave a quick, professional nod of her head. She stepped toward him. And Rob turned. And together they walked back in the other direction, toward the tiger.

The cage was made out of rusted chainlink fence; there was a wood board that served as a roof, and there was a chainlink door that was locked tight with three padlocks. Inside the cage, the tiger was still pacing back and forth, just as he had been the last time Rob saw him, as if he had never stopped pacing, or as if Rob had never gone away.
    “Oh,” said Sistine in the same voice that she had used when she saw Rob’s carvings. “He’s beautiful.”
    “Don’t get too close,” Rob ordered. “He might not like it if you stand too close.”
    But the tiger ignored them. He concentrated on pacing. He was so enormous and bright that it was hard to look directly at him.
    “It’s just like the poem says,” Sistine breathed.
    “What?” said Rob.
    “That poem. The one that goes, ‘Tiger, tiger, burning bright, in the forests of the night.’ That poem. It’s just like that. He burns bright.”
    “Oh,” said Rob. He nodded. He liked the fierce and beautiful way the words sounded. Just as he was getting ready to ask Sistine to say them again, she whirled around and faced him.
    “What’s he doing way out here?” she demanded.
    Rob shrugged. “I don’t know,” he said. “He’s Beauchamp’s, I guess.”
    “Beauchamp’s what?” said Sistine. “His pet?”
    “I don’t know,” said Rob. “I just like looking at him. Maybe Beauchamp does, too. Maybe he just likes to come out here and look at him.”
    “That’s selfish,” said Sistine.
    Rob shrugged.
    “This isn’t right, for this tiger to be in a cage. It’s not right.”
    “We can’t do nothing about it,” Rob said.
    “We could let him go,” said Sistine. “We could set him free.” She put her hands on her hips. It was a gesture that Rob had already come to recognize and be wary of.
    “We can’t,” he said. “There’s all them locks.”
    “We can saw through them.”
    “Naw,” said Rob. The mere thought of letting the tiger go made his legs itch like crazy.
    “We have to set him free,” Sistine said, her voice loud and certain.
    “Nuh-uh,” said Rob. “It ain’t our tiger to let go.”
    “It’s our tiger to save,” Sistine said fiercely.
    The tiger stopped pacing. He pricked his ears back and forth, looking somewhere past Sistine and Rob.
    “Shhh,” said Rob.
    The tiger cocked his head. All three of them listened.
    “It’s a car,” said Rob. “A car’s coming. It’s Beauchamp. We got to go. Come on.”
    He grabbed her hand and pulled her into the woods. She ran with him. She let him hold on to her hand. It was an impossibly small and bony hand, as delicate as the skeleton of a baby bird.
    They ran together, and Rob felt his heart move inside him — not from fear or exertion but from something else. It was as if his soul had grown and was pushing everything up higher in his body. It was an oddly familiar feeling, but he couldn’t remember what it was called.
    “Is he behind us?” Sistine asked breathlessly.
    Rob shrugged; it was hard to move his shoulders up and down and keep hold of Sistine’s hand at the same time.
    Sistine said, “Stop shrugging your shoulders at me. I hate it. I hate the way you shrug all the time.”
    And that made Rob remember Willie May saying that when he shrugged he looked like a skinny bird trying to fly. It struck him as funny now. He laughed out loud at the thought of it. And without asking him what he