Renni the Rescuer (22 page)

Then a pigeon fluttered past. She flew along very close to the dogs, alighted right in front of Renni, and walked back and forth nodding her little head and glancing warily to this side and that. Fox, who had been lying full-length beside Renni, charged at her. She flew up in alarm, but not very high, and came back to earth right
beside Renni. Again and again Fox made her fly but every time she returned to Renni in this way. George finally put the terrier on the leash and now Fox had to look on helplessly as the pigeon strutted back and forth. He quivered, yelped impatiently, and at length lapsed into an astonished silence. But his quivering went on.

George and the other trainers were amazed at the pigeon. She tripped closer and closer to Renni until she almost touched him, looking up at him with sidewise motions of her head.

Renni bent down, sniffed at her curiously and thoroughly, and she took it in utmost serenity. She seemed to have no fear, but rather to enjoy Renni's puffing breath. She rocked her back, gleaming sapphire and gold, from side to side, as though it were being stroked, and closed her eyes for a few seconds. Renni had no idea of doing her harm. His investigation satisfied him. A complete and friendly understanding prevailed between dog and dove.

“It's as if she wanted to bring him a message,” laughed Nickel.

“Perhaps she has,” George answered.

Now with two strokes of her light grey pinions the pigeon swung herself up on Renni's head. He calmly allowed her to perch there as though they had agreed on it.

“I bet it's a carrier pigeon,” said Marly.

“See if you can catch her,” Nickel advised.

The dove crouched without struggling, as George took gentle hold of her. To his astonishment Renni growled softly at him.

“But, Renni, don't you know who I am?” George reproached him. He examined the pigeon which lay perfectly quiet on his hands.

“No band on her foot,” he reported. “No roll of paper under her feathers. Just an ordinary country pigeon.”

Waving her wings, she balanced on his finger, which her claws clasped tightly. Renni looked at them, not growling now, but still not quite at ease. George lowered his hand with care. The dove fluttered down on Renni's head again and he stretched out satisfied.

“Well now, what does this mean?” Nickel asked. “Where did she come from?”

“Why, of course I don't know where she came from,” said George. “War frightens and confuses a lot of animals, numbs them. Dogs and cats wander around in bewilderment, looking for refuge. It's as clear as can be that's what this lone dove was seeking.”

“And finds it with your dog.” Nickel smiled. “Maybe you're right. One thing's certain: man and beast trust Renni.”

Renni turned over on his side. The dove was now perched so close to his ear that he kept twitching it. She seemed to realise she was bothering him there, so she moved on to his neck. With great ceremony she cleaned her breast feathers and wings. Then she stuck her head under a wing and went to sleep.

George tried an experiment. He set Fox free. Instantly the little dog leaped at the pigeon, but Renni snapped at him so viciously that he darted back in fear. He came on again cautiously, with rapid waggling of his tail to show he had no evil intent and only wanted to play. But Renni was in no joking mood. He warned the terrier off and it was some time before he permitted
him, now very humble and completely at a loss, to lie down beside him as he was used to do.

Undisturbed, the grey pigeon slept on.

From that day she stayed with Renni, sitting sometimes on his back, but generally on his head, not stirring from her perch even when he looked for the wounded. If this happened at night she might wake up but would soon go back to sleep.

Renni was so careful with her that he never really touched her. He was content to sniff at her and blow on her gently when he was at rest and the dove strolled back and forth between his forepaws.

Fox learned to put up with her presence. The pigeon treated him fearlessly and with a little condescension. She ignored his invitation to play. If he came too near she pecked him, and that was not very much to his liking. In the end he reached the point where he would have nothing to do with her.

If circumstances let the animals rest at night—of course they put in the days sleeping whenever they had the chance—they always presented the same picture. Renni lay
stretched out on his side, Fox crouched down close against his breast, and the pigeon perched on his neck.

George did not interfere. “That's Renni's business and the dove's. I don't understand it, for I'm only a man.” He smiled at his words and added: “But I must confess it pleases me to see animals friendly. It's a good sight even if I can't understand it. Indeed, it's strange what a charm things always have for you when you can't understand them—mighty strange.”

Renni, Fox and the pigeon, that strangely assorted trio won a great deal of attention. Their reputation spread. Commissioned and non-commissioned officers and some of the men in the ranks came to get a quick look at them. With everyone Renni was friendly, gentle, reserved. Fox was so lively he made a nuisance of himself. The pigeon was very haughty. She took no notice whatever of human truck, and gave everyone to know that she was a lady of high social standing.

The soldiers laughed whenever these droll companions came into view. It was not the loud laughter that follows a joke. Nor was it at all the laugh of ridicule. It
was rather an audible smile, a smile of cheerful approval. The sort of helpless smile you give when you see something strange and strangely appealing. The laugh you resort to before something you cannot explain, because you can think of nothing, nothing whatever, to say.

Even at the dressing-stations the surgeons would look up for a moment to give Renni and his pigeon a fleeting smile before they turned again to their grim and pressing work.

E
VENTS TOOK THEM ONCE MORE to the little town. They had won it back after a bitter struggle, and they found it far more forsaken and hopeless than before. They got a short rest here, for the troops had to recover from their weariness. The armoured cars and the heavy artillery moved out, supported by powerful squadrons of aircraft. The infantry kept in constant touch with them, ready to follow at any moment. It was now largely motorised. Even the Sanitary Corps had been provided
with motor vehicles, and George and his animals could ride.

With the other dog-handlers he had his quarters in the roomy ground floor of the city hall. He got no pleasure from seeing the little town again. More houses were in ruins. The streets were full of debris. Signs of destruction were everywhere. The shops were all closed, for they had nothing left to sell. If one walked along the sidewalks, splinters of glass ground under the foot at every step, for there was none to sweep away the broken panes or all the other litter. It was very depressing.

With his first look George noted how terribly the number of people had shrunk. No children, no young boys and girls. Just the old women and a few old men. They slipped about pale and stricken, shabby, ragged, dirty. They seemed not to have washed for days and days. Some begged for bread, and if any got a piece, more would come hurrying up. George gave away as much as he could.

Fox, who always looked askance at anyone poorly dressed, barked and barked and raised a terrible row.
Renni, the pigeon perched on his head, would gaze at the people with the quiet kindliness characteristic of him. The poor folk were surprised at him and his companion, and in spite of their poverty, their timidity and fear, the glimmer of a smile would light their troubled faces.

George's gloom soon vanished. His personal work with the dead and the wounded, work carried to the point of utter exhaustion, had made him harder, more thick-skinned. Otherwise he could scarcely have endured the terrible experiences of war. He was, so to speak, not more than half-alive. He could not pull his thoughts together. He could not afford the relief of worry. So he became as unresponsive as a vegetable and looked forward only to the little satisfactions of the rest periods, of getting to his quarters, of eating and sleeping. It took the innocence of his animals to arouse emotion in him. Renni's confidence always touched him. His heart was moved by Fox's playful tricks. And he was still stirred by the strange way in which the dove had placed her trust in Renni.

•  •  •

When Nickel called out to him once, “Don't give all your bread away! These people are just pretending to be so poor to keep us from taking things from them!” George smiled and said, “Well, you hardly think they're millionaires, do you?”

* * *

He met three old acquaintances again, one right after the other. Accident often brings such meetings about, but these three cheered George enormously, because, coming so close together, they seemed to him arranged by a kindly Providence.

A corporal was marching by, stiff as a ramrod, with ferocity written on his face. He stopped before George, pointed to Renni and the pigeon, and snarled out, “Circus act?”

“Karl!” cried George. “I'm so glad to see you again!”

Ignoring his courtesy, Karl said mockingly, “Oh, so here you are! With the Brothers of Mercy, of course. Just like you! A real man would be fighting. Fighting!”

“Yes,” George answered cheerfully, “but while he's fighting many a man is wounded, or maybe killed . . . so . . . ”

Karl interrupted him, “What is to be will be, and that's all there is to it!”

“But you can't leave the wounded to die!”

A scornful gesture. “Nonsense! You're as soft-hearted as a pretty nurse!”

“Well, we have to have nurses, my dear Karl. And it doesn't hurt if they're pretty!”

“Perhaps. But I'm talking about men, not women. You're the same old milksop. You go to war and you don't even carry a gun!”

“Oh, yes I do!” George pointed to the pistol at his belt.

Karl touched the pistol with his finger. “Have you shot anybody yet?”

“Not so far.”

“Well, I have! Plenty! I really couldn't tell you how many poor devils I've mowed down! Yes, old boy, a man like me is no such good-for-nothing as you!”

“Well, the best I can wish for you is that you'll never need the services of a good-for-nothing like me!”

“That's one thing I won't do! That would be a pretty picture, wouldn't it! When I fall, if I do, just
leave me there! Don't disturb me. Just let me go!”

The conversation pained George and he tried to give it a different turn. “What's become of your Pasha?”

“He's done for!”

“Oh, I'm so sorry! How did it happen?”

“I don't feel sorry for the beast! He gave me too much worry!”

“Did he get sick?”

“Not he! Sound as a nut. But I couldn't take him into battle with me, and after all the trouble I'd had with the big cur . . . well, I just put a stop to it—and to him.”

George felt ill, but made no comment.

Karl was plainly in a temper. He turned to go. “Say, are you going to try to make me believe you worked up this circus stunt without whipping?”

“I'm not trying to make you believe anything. And I never did try to. Not you! Nor anybody else!” George flared up. “I had nothing to do with that.” He pointed to Renni and the pigeon.

All this time Renni had been looking off to one
side, perfectly indifferent. Fox held very still, though the hairs on his back stood stiff and straight.

Nickel put in his oar. “I can be witness to that. And so can all the rest of us. The friendship between Renni and the pigeon—no person had a hand in it.”

Karl looked him over arrogantly. “Who asked you?” He saluted carelessly and went off.

“The big blowhard!” growled Nickel.

George too was angry. “He was always big-mouthed, always had a mean streak in him.”

Nickel made a wry face. “I wouldn't be too sure about his courage.”

“You're probably right there,” smiled George.

“So, you know that side of him, do you?” said Nickel.

“I know a good many sides of him—all bad.”

“Oh, ho!” Nickel slapped his thigh. “A coward! A dirty coward!”

“Well,” George said, attempting to soften his words a little, “maybe he's brave enough. You never can tell. Fighting really ought to be his element. From the way he brags about it . . . . ”

“Stop! Don't go on!” Nickel insisted. “A dirty coward is all that he is. You can tell it just by looking at him! He claims to be a hero. No, sir! A hero never brags.”

And that was that.

* * *

After a while Renni got up, began swinging his tail faster and faster, and sniffing eagerly. Fox took his place by his side; he did not know what Renni was up to, but it looked like a greeting, so his stump of a tail started violently wagging.

It was the colonel. “There you are again!” he cried, coming to a halt with a whole group of officers around him. Renni was so enthusiastic that the pigeon on his head had to flap her wings to keep her balance. Fox smelled around at all the uniforms and seemed satisfied with what he found.