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Yann Martel: Life of Pi
meerkats struck me as a tragedy too unfair and too ridiculous to bear.
They meant me no harm. They climbed up to me, over me, about me-and past me. They settled upon every
branch in the tree. It became laden with them. They even took over my bed. And the same as far as the eye
could see. They were climbing every tree in sight. The entire forest was turning brown, an autumn that came
in a few minutes. Collectively, as they scampered by in droves to claim empty trees deeper into the forest, they
made more noise than a stampeding herd of elephants.
The plain, meanwhile, was becoming bare and depopulated.
From a bunk bed with a tiger to an overcrowded dormitory with meerkats-will I be believed when I say that
life can take the most surprising turns? I jostled with meerkats so that I could have a place in my own bed.
They snuggled up to me. Not a square inch of space was left free.
They settled down and stopped squeaking and chirping. Silence came to the tree. We fell asleep.
I woke up at dawn covered from head to toe in a living fur blanket. Some meerkittens had discovered the
warmer parts of my body. I had a tight, sweaty collar of them around my neck-and it must have been their
mother who had settled herself so contentedly on the side of my head-while others had wedged themselves in
my groin area.
They left the tree as briskly and as unceremoniously as they had invaded it. It was the same with every tree
around. The plain grew thick with meerkats, and the noises of their day started filling the air. The tree looked
empty. And I felt empty, a little. I had liked the experience of sleeping with the meerkats.
I began to sleep in the tree every night. I emptied the lifeboat of useful items and made myself a nice treetop
bedroom. I got used to the unintentional scratches I received from meerkats climbing over me. My only
complaint would be that animals higher up occasionally relieved themselves on me.
One night the meerkats woke me up. They were chattering and shaking. I sat up and looked in the direction
they were looking. The sky was cloudless and the moon full. The land was robbed of its colour. Everything
glowed strangely iin shades of black, grey and white. It was the pond. Silver shapes were moving in it,
emerging from below and breaking the black surface of the water.
Fish. Dead fish. They were floatimg up from deep down. The pond-remember, forty feet across-was filling up
with all kinds of dead fish until its surface was no longer black but silver. And from the way the surface kept
on being disturbed, it was evident that more dead fish were coming up.
By the time a dead shark quietly appeared, the meerkats were in a fury of excitement, shrieking like tropical
birds. The hysteria spread to the neighbouring trees. It was deafening. I wondered whether I was about to see
the sight of fish being hauled up trees.
Not a single meerkat went down to the pond. None even made the first motions of going down. They did no
more than loudly express their frustration.
I found the sight sinister. There was something disturbing about all those dead fish.
I lay down again and fought to go back to sleep over the meerkats' racket. At first light I was stirred from my
slumber by the hullabaloo they made trooping down the tree. Yawning and stretching, I looked down at the
pond that had been the source of such fire and fluster the previous night.
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