Renni the Rescuer (19 page)

She went on to explain that she would very likely live with George's mother in case he and Renni went to
war. “Mother Marie must not be left without a dog. It would be too lonesome for her.”

“How do you stand on the subject of whipping?”

“Exactly the way George does.”

Vogg became confidential. “You seem a nice girl. Come, I'll let you see Laddie. Perhaps you'll suit him.”

He took her to the kennels. The old breeder's idea that the prospective owner must stand the test of a dog's approval amused Tanya. She thought it charming. They went into the room with doors opening on the garden. It re-echoed with joyful yelping and barking. A mother dog sprang up from her nest where she was suckling three puppies, drew hesitantly near Tanya, growled a little, and smelled her over carefully. Tanya stood perfectly still. The dog began waving her tail. Tanya patted her gently and begged, “Show me your babies.” Then the dog went calmly back to her bed and stretched out.

But Tanya did not get to look around, for in a second she was surrounded by a whole pack. She did not even notice that Vogg had left her alone. Eight or nine police dogs, brown, black, yellow, of all ages and sizes, crowded
around her, leaped up to put their forepaws on her shoulders, tried to lick her hands and face and treated her as if she were a long-expected guest. Tanya did not defend herself. In a few minutes she was scarcely to be seen in the tumbling mass of dogs.

Two or three were evidently the youngest, as she could tell by their prankish ways. One of them stood out because he was a little larger than the others. He had a beautiful tawny coat like a lion's. Tanya liked him particularly and the dog seemed to like her in return.

Then Vogg came in, helped her out of the tangle, got the dogs quiet and said, “Well, it's just as I thought. Laddie likes you.”

The lion-coloured dog crouched low, sprang high into the air, and then started dashing around in a mad circle.

“Is that Laddie?” asked Tanya, staggering from a new outburst of the dog's affection.

“Laddie!” cried the breeder, “that will do. Come here!” Laddie danced around with twinkling legs and ran up with his tail swinging violently.

“You see, he has a way with him.” Vogg put his hand under the dog's head and said to him, “This is your mistress. Pay attention.” There was a happy gleam in Laddie's dark eyes.

The pedigree which Tanya received showed that he lacked two months of being a year old.

When she reached the house, the delight of expectation changed to alarm. She found only Mother Marie there.

“George had to report at a moment's notice!” the mother sobbed. “Bettina and Vladimir are taking him to the station. I couldn't bear to go.”

Tanya turned pale. “Did he . . . didn't he . . . leave any word for me?”

“All he said was that you knew how he felt.”

Tanya burst into sobs. Laddie sat disconsolate, not knowing what to do. He whimpered softly.

After Tanya had with an effort controlled her feelings, she said, “This is one of Vogg's dogs. I bought him, so the house wouldn't seem so empty while Renni's away . . . ” She paused, choked, and then went on more
quietly, “I wasn't prepared to find everyone gone.”

Mother Marie petted Laddie. “I'm so glad you're here, old fellow. So very glad. I'm not being disloyal to Renni! I couldn't be! But you'll be a comfort and a sort of keepsake of Renni . . . of my son,” she added, striving to be calm.

Kitty came in to see what it was all about. She stood facing Laddie, her tail twitching, to let him sniff her over. He did the job thoroughly. Then he looked at Tanya with a question in his eye. She stroked Kitty and preached him a sermon. “See this nice kitten, this darling kitten? You must be good to her! You must make friends with her! Will you?”

Laddie listened closely, his head straight up and down, his big ears pricked up, his plume waving. Then, ducking down with his fore knees, he gave a short bark, challenging Kitty to play. She struck out at him with her soft paws and, as they started tearing around the room, she took the chance and sprang on his neck. He dropped to the floor. They rolled about together in a funny sham battle. They had made friends.

M
EANWHILE GEORGE AND Renni had arrived at the railway station. Bettina and Vladimir followed them through the huge crowd which filled the great building to bursting.

Crying of women, screaming of children, shouts of the soldiers, singing, echoes rolling madly down from the roof of iron and glass, whistling of locomotives, clanging of iron wheels, clashing of cars one against the other—the confusion bewildered, the gigantic noise
deafened. A thick haze lay over the excited, frightened crowd. The evil smell of gasoline, of coal smoke, of clothing, of food, of beer, of bad tobacco, had a sort of stupefying effect. Every individual here was, in a way of speaking, extinguished. The soul was cramped and crushed. It seemed to shrivel, to creep into itself, no longer capable of effort.

After the first few minutes George felt the brunt of this. Vladimir's cheerful words fell on his ears without effect, slipped off his mind as if they had no meaning. Only Bettina's glance caused a little twitching at his heart. Mechanically he kept hold on Renni, who crowded anxiously against him. He fought his way through the mass of humanity, swaying in waves of a feverish storm. Their resignation was broken by wails from the women, by loud cries from the men. They may have tried to seem assured, but they were really pursued by a secret fear.

At the car he returned Vladimir's handclasp only half-consciously. He held Bettina's hand a moment, and heard her say, “Good-bye. Hurry home.”

He did not know whether or not he answered her, but he helped Renni climb the steps.

The train set itself slowly in motion, with a barely audible sound, for the singing and yelling of the soldiers and all the bedlam outside swelled into thunderous volume, and only the shrill whistle of the engine could be heard above it. The living wall of people, wildly waving farewell, was gradually left behind. Their voices died away, and the soldiers stopped calling to them out of the windows. The train rolled into the open country.

The land lay fair in the soft sunshine, the peaceful peasant homes seemed to smile gently, the cattle grazed on the meadows, leafy trees lifted their tender green, doves fluttered in swarms, and from the church towers came the drone of bells broken by distance and the rumble of the train.

For a while everyone kept silence, as though they all, stowed away in this car like baggage, realised of a sudden that now the partings had really been said, a farewell to their old peaceful existence, perhaps forever. And when the soldiers began to sing and to chatter,
some still were silent, pensive, sunk in memories and dreams.

Renni wore his Red Cross band on his back, George his on one arm. The men made way for them. The decision which meant war or peace had not come yet. But when George reached his destination, the rumour went round that the ultimatum from the opposing nation would expire tomorrow. The word “enemy” was heard now.

Next morning came the order to march. So it was war!

“It was bound to be,” they said. “It couldn't be avoided.”

In vain George racked his brain. Why should war be unavoidable? Why was it natural? He could think of no plausible reason. “I guess I don't know enough about it. I've never thought these things out.” He stroked Renni. “Our job, old boy, is just to help the unfortunate. That's what we'll do, eh?”

Renni made his full agreement known by the look in his eye and the wag of his tail.

At Sanitary headquarters everything went as if by
clockwork, like everything else in the army. George reported briefly, in a very businesslike manner. The orders he got were equally curt. A surgeon, a man no longer young, when he heard George's name and Renni's raised his head and said briefly, “I've heard of you.” That was all.

A number of dogs, perhaps a score, were on hand, all with Red Cross bands. They waved their tails in welcome to one another, but stood quietly, without straining at the leashes, each beside his handler. Renni seemed visibly changed, more serious, less playful, perhaps not so affectionate as before, but dependable, and full of a tense expectancy.

Nickel stepped up, tapped George on the shoulder. “The fun's over now.” Renni and Hector exchanged greetings. “We and our dogs . . . ” Nickel blinked and tried to smile, but the effort ended in dismal failure.

“There'll be blood flowing, perhaps, before the day's over . . . a lot of it. Well, as I always say, fate is fate.”

George only nodded.

•  •  •

Finally came the word. Already the enemy had launched an invasion farther east, and orders were to march. The army moved over the border. Into the enemy country!

These villages, these fields, these meadows! . . . So that was what the enemy country was like. It looked much like home. The peasant houses, the barns, the stables—all empty. Before the invasion they had evacuated them all. They had thrown up hasty embankments and dug ditches as tank traps. Scouts and engineers, sent out ahead, found the ditches and hurriedly tried to fill them. The barbed-wire entanglements were flattened out by the armoured cars and trucks.

Then the artillery shells began to explode, sinking deep into the earth, hurling dirt high into the air, and human limbs and bodies with it. And as the dust and smoke thinned out, you could see them start slowly to fall back again to earth. Bodies lay around twisted into grotesque shapes. Even the hardiest shuddered at the sight.

The first sacrifices to War.

Then came the hollow droning of propellers. Enemy
planes soared high overhead. They dropped low, dark missiles, which struck the earth and exploded with an ear-splitting detonation. A wicked sound. Earth and fragments of steel scattered everywhere. Anti-aircraft guns replied. Everyone looked for a shelter. George and Renni found one. “Thank God!” He thought he was saying it to himself, but he had said it aloud. The bellowing of the guns had drowned his voice. He reached out his hand for Renni, who pressed close against him, and patted him reassuringly, for the dog, realising that this was in deadly earnest, was trembling from head to foot.

“There now, Renni,” George said, trying to cheer him. “Good old Renni, don't be afraid!” Hardly had he spoken when he noticed that his own knees were shaking, that his throat was dry.

A squadron flew out to meet the enemy and drive them off. A dogfight. Bark of machine guns, flashes from gun muzzles, whistle of falling bombs. Then an enemy plane staggered, slipped sidewise, crashed. A second turned nose down and dived sickeningly. Now one of their own fell. George in an excitement he could
hardly control, was still fascinated by the magnificent show, a sort of drama of heroic grandeur. It was not for some time that he realised this spectacle was the ravaging of death. When the two squadrons drew apart, it struck him with full force, this dreadful thing that had happened here.

A silence followed, shattered now and then by the rattling of tanks, by artillery fire, by the clash of weapons and the tread of tens of thousands. A moment of comparative quiet after the infernal tumult. A voice saying, “That was only the beginning, only a small beginning.”

George turned around and saw a mass of pallid faces, some smiling convulsively, most of them staring straight ahead. He did not know who had spoken, but an echo in his heart kept repeating, “This is only the beginning, only a small beginning.”

March, march, march.

Evening began to fall, turned to darkness, a gloom which settled on everything, as though it wanted to cast a veil over the horrors of strife, over the bloody strife between men who did not know one another, who had
never done anything to injure one another till this day. The stars twinkled peacefully in the heavens. The scent of freshly upturned earth hovered over their heads, mingled with the traces of burnt powder which drifted past from the exploded bombs and the fire from the anti-aircraft guns.

But the sheltering gloom was of no avail. Rockets lighted up the sky, and searchlights stabbed the dark.

Away at the very front infantry fire began to clatter. A quiver of expectancy ran along the ranks. No one asked a question, no one risked a guess.

The firing ceased.

March, march, march. Till late into the night. At last a few hasty bites of food, then the heavy sleep of exhaustion under the open sky. Renni, lying against George's breast, sighed deeply, twice. He fell to dreaming, with the slack twitching of the legs, the high-pitched, choking whine that dreaming dogs are used to make. George did not awaken.