Excerpt from What We Fed to the Manticore by Talia Lakshmi Kolluri, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

"Actually, they're both that way now," the leader goes on. "It was the airstrikes. They hit part of the zoo and much of the grounds were destroyed.

"You know," he starts up again, tapping ash off his cigarette, "I was surprised to hear there was a zoo in Gaza City. I thought it closed."

"It did," says Hafiz. "I'm reopening it on the old site. It's just down the road. I used to take my nieces there." Hafiz glances back at me and then turns to the leader. "Children are still children, you know. Even in times like this."

The leader nods at Hafiz, times like this being what they are. "I went there, you know," he says. "To the university. The one south of the zoo."

"Oh?"

"Yes, three semesters."

"What did you study?" Hafiz scratches his nose and looks around. He never went to university, which is fine with me. "

Philosophy," says the leader, laughing, "which disappointed my father. He wanted me to be an accountant."

"And you didn't finish?"

"No," a pause while the leader smokes, "but, you know, now I do this." He reaches his hand out in a sweeping motion to take in my stable and me, as if we make up the whole of his life.

"And what does your father think of that?" Hafiz asks.

"My father is dead." Hafiz and the leader stare at each other until Hafiz looks down. "Come, let me tell you what I know about how to take care of them." The leader puts a hand on Hafiz's shoulder and leads him away from me.



Eventually, the strangers all leave. Hafiz absentmindedly pats my flank and then goes back to his own house, and I'm left here to figure this out by myself. The two bundles take up every inch of space on my hay. Where am I supposed to go now?

I stare at the two of them. One of them is moving more, and a gap in the fabric has started to pull apart. A large, tawny-haired paw emerges with dusty black pads on the bot- tom. The paw swipes at the fabric, pulls it away, and reveals an unmistakable head.

He blinks warily, yawns widely, and then pulls at the fabric enfolding his companion. Another head appears, and they both fully emerge, stretching lazily and kicking the rest of the fabric away to reveal the full length of themselves.

The male has a mane, so he's grown, but the mane looks shabby. He's emaciated. They both are, actually.

"What are you supposed to be?" asks the male.

"I'm a zebra," I say. I stand up a little straighter, stretching my neck out as long as I can. I flick my tail a couple of times. I don't know them, and honestly this is none of their business.

"I don't think that's true," says the male.

"Are you calling me a liar?" I ask.

"He didn't finish you," says the female. She is so quiet I can barely hear her, but she is loud enough for me to know I'm being insulted. "Your face is convincing enough. He did a nice job, but your back end isn't done. I can see it. And it's dripped onto your hoof."

"Yes, I know." I look down and see that the tear of white paint that had run earlier has dried. I knew it would be this way.

Hafiz. He forgot about me.

"It doesn't matter," I say loudly. "What's important is that when Hafiz is done, the children won't know the difference. They will be happy anyway. And that's what's important, you know. The children."

I haven't seen any lions in years. I wouldn't say that I've missed them.



Hafiz is late with my breakfast. When he finally comes in, he is carrying a bunch of oats under one arm and struggling to carry a bucket full of soapy water and a brush with the other. A bag is slung over his shoulder and a towel hangs around his neck.

"We have to wash all that off and start over," he says without even greeting me.

"Hello," I say.

"Yes, yes, hello, yes. Hurry up and eat. I need the paint to dry before I take you and your things over."

"Over where?" I didn't sleep well. Those lions were snoring. And I didn't like looking at them when they came in. I didn't like seeing all their bones jutting out everywhere. It wasn't nice. Hafiz wets the brush and swoops it down my flank in long strokes.

Excerpted from What We Fed to the Manticore Manticore by Talia Lakshmi Kolluri. Published with permission from Tin House. Copyright (c) 2022 by Talia Lakshmi Kolluri.