Renni the Rescuer (26 page)

George thought, “He gave all he had—to the last breath.”

* * *

The next evening George and Renni were “gleaning” in a wood far from this meadow. It had poured all day long, and still the fighting had gone on. Now the evening sky showed blue and the sinking sun painted a rainbow. But George did not see the beauty to which he had always been so alive. He did not feel the peace which hovered in the air. That very air had been but now the scene
of murderous battles—like the soft earth, like the cool depths of the sea. Peace nowhere! Nowhere peace! All he felt was a feeble satisfaction that the rain no longer dripped on him, that he was done with searching over the wet ground in a wet coat. Now the “gleaning” only made him weary, bored him. There was a time when it had been full of shocks. But everything loses the keen edge of its hurt, even for a man as sensitive as George. Even dreadful things fade in their dreadfulness, and monotony breeds indifference to the horrors of warfare. The mighty, dramatic struggle, constantly repeated, ends by losing more and more of its power to appall.

War drives everything noble, everything spiritual, out of the heart, grinds it to a kind of dullness, makes it capable of inflicting frightful destruction without emotion, and capable of watching the ruin with as little feeling.

When George hurried along behind Renni in the work of mercy, he thought of Karl's words, “What is to be will be, and that's all there is to it!” Something in him tried to agree with them. But then he felt ashamed to
face his dog. Renni went as eagerly about his task as on the first day. His interest, his sympathy, his will power, his care in searching had not slackened in the least. No matter how exhausted, how hungry, how sleepy he might be, call him to work and he would wag his tail, leap forward and do with perfection all he was supposed to do. George was upheld by this example. Renni shamed him, spurred him on, brought him face to face with his better self.

So he loved his brave dog more than ever. If he failed to show it, or showed it but seldom and briefly, it was because no word or gesture could express his overwhelming love. Any caress would be empty and futile. Spare the effort, save the little energy it would take, for the absorbing job.

Renni also economised his energy, responsive to his master's mood. His signs of affection became rarer, too, more sparing.

But he watched George all the time, guessed a second beforehand what he wanted, what he meant to do, and was the first to move.

On this calm evening Renni ran in the underbrush under the shattered trees, sniffing with nose to the ground. The pigeon, unable to hold onto his lowered head, had shifted to his back. He ran swiftly, zigzagging, veering suddenly, his legs and body spattered with wet earth. George hurried after him, boots splashing through mudholes. He would think, “Why do they pick this mud to wallow in?” and then, ashamed, but more on Renni's account than from conviction, he would add, “The poor fellows!”

Renni had already found six, and George had sent them back to the first-aid station. This forest bore fruit.

It was growing very dark. Under the trees it was full twilight. George decided the search for this night was about over, and he and Renni made ready to go back. All at once the dog threw his head up, sniffed, took a few steps in an uncertain circle, tested the air again, and scurried through the brush toward a distant clearing. The pigeon on his back kept waving her wings. George was not particularly interested and followed without hurry. But Renni was very much in earnest.

When he reached the wounded man, George started.

“Flamingo!” he cried, kneeling down. “Is it you, Antony?”

Flamingo opened his eyes and smiled, “Yes.” His voice was very low. “I'm so glad someone I know . . . with me . . . ” His voice failed. He made an effort and went on, “Oh, it's nothing . . . . Don't . . . don't bother with me . . . ”

George tried to comfort him. “Why, we'll have you in a nice clean bed in a jiffy, and your pain will be over.”

“Pain? I have no pain.” Flamingo smiled. “I'm free, freer than I've been for a long time . . . freer . . . and happier . . . more at peace.”

George put his whistle to his lips.

“What are you going to do?”

“I'm going to call the men to take you out of here. I'll stay with you till they come.”

“Just leave me . . . . Don't worry about me . . . . I'm all right. Others need you more than I . . . others worse wounded . . . they need you more.”

His eyes followed Renni. He stopped talking. His
lips moved as though he were panting. And suddenly he was dead.

George tenderly closed his eyes. Then he waved to Renni, who had moved quietly over to one side, and walked softly away, saying to himself, “You too . . . all you had . . . to the last breath.”

A
LATER DAY FOUND THEM on a broad, spreading field, with little hillocks in it like waves rising and falling. Only a few hours before it had been ploughed, trampled, torn by a furious battle. The men of the Sanitary Corps ran with their stretchers to the ambulances, hurried back, fetching scores of wounded. George and Renni stood ready, waiting their turn. A stretcher was carried close past them. Their old friend, the colonel, lay on it. Renni waved his tail in greeting.

“Well, Renni, they found me without you this time!” cried the colonel. “I got caught this time, Corporal.”

George stepped forward. The bearers stopped. “I hope it isn't bad, Colonel.”

“Bad luck is bad luck!” His face was suddenly wrenched in pain. “My leg again, and the ankle again, too! A bad wound! And it hurts like blazes!”

“I'm sure the Colonel will soon be well again.”

“Yes, if God's willing. But a cripple likely, hobbling around.”

Renni crowded against the litter. He was beside himself with joy over the meeting.

“Wait a bit, Renni, wait a bit! Wait till I can crawl around and get rid of this pain! Then we'll have a frolic. All right, boys, forward march! Good-bye, Corporal. Good-bye, Renni. I'll be seeing you soon.”

George saluted and the bearers went on. Renni wanted to run after them.

“Easy, boy, easy,” George quieted him. “The colonel doesn't need you. You're right to love him as much as
you do. A good man! A real man! Pity he couldn't get home from this war without a scratch.”

It took a long while to clear this field. George and Renni had a wearisome time to wait. “They'll find them all today,” said George. “There won't be anything left for us to do.”

Renni swung his plume, looked up at his master as though he were begging, “May I? Let me!” He kept lifting, first one forepaw, then the other, a sort of dance in one spot. The pigeon balanced on his head.

At last came the command, “Go!”

The dog ran swiftly forward, drew small circles then larger ones, stopped to try the air, whirled around to follow a scent, gave it up, struck another trace.

Now Renni found a man hidden in low brush. He sniffed, scratched at the small bushes, made sure of his find, and started back to fetch George.

The man greeted them with a laugh. “I never saw anything so comical in my life as that dog and that bird. I had to go and get wounded to see a thing like that!”

“Yes, a pigeon . . . ” George said without thinking.

The man drew down the corners of his mouth. “Think I mistook her for an eagle? Don't tell me a pigeon's not a bird!” He went on talking at a clip. “
Columba,
the dove. My dear fellow, I am a schoolteacher! Every little snot-nose knows a dove when he sees one. But it's so startling to see that double-decker partnership, especially when . . . ”

George broke in: “You're pretty brisk but . . . ”

The other took no notice of the interruption. “. . . especially when a man is lying here as I am . . . . ” He straightened up painfully. “What I mean is . . . I called as loud as I could . . . I fairly bawled . . . but nobody heard me. You fellows must have cotton in your ears. It's scandalous! If it hadn't been for the dog . . . and the pigeon . . . ” He laughed again. “This is the first time I ever saw one of these Red Cross dogs. I didn't know anything about them. Do they all have pigeons on their heads?”

“I must go now,” George said resolutely. “I must arrange to have you taken back! Wait ten minutes, and they'll be here.”

Ever afterward George could remember what happened
then, but only in fragments, mistily, like a fantastic dream.

A heavy shell bored its way into the ground and exploded. The rush of its fall could be plainly heard, but panic fear left no telling which way to run.

It fell perhaps a hundred paces from where George stood. Like the bursting of a volcano, earth, dust and smoke towered to the sky. Steel splinters whizzed in every direction. Under the hail of clods and steel George saw Renni collapse and fall. Horrified, desperate, he screamed, “Renni! Renni!”

At that instant he felt a blow on the shoulder, as if someone had struck him with a club. He fell, and went unconscious. He did not see the pigeon rise from Renni's head and fly away.

* * *

When he awoke, he looked around bewildered, dazed. Where was he?

A small, snow-white room. A snow-white bed. Everything smelling of ether. Someone in a snow-white gown bending over him. It was the surgeon, the one
no longer young, who had recognised Renni when he reported at the beginning of the war. But George did not recognise him now.

“Well,” the surgeon smiled in a friendly way, “the operation's over.”

“Operation?” George was more fully awake. He tried to raise himself, but a blaze of pain in his shoulder stopped him.

“Be as quiet as you can! You mustn't . . . ”

George wouldn't let him finish. “Where's my dog?” he stammered, “my dog . . . my . . . ?”

“Keep cool! Here he is! Right here . . . beside your bed. You couldn't see him because you can't move. But call him and he'll come.”

A sharp nose rose over the edge of the bed.

“Renni!” whispered George, “dear, good old Renni. Come up here. I want to see your face.”

“He can't do that . . . not yet.”

“Are you wounded, Renni? You too?” George asked anxiously. “Are you badly hurt, friend? Where are you hit?”

The doctor answered for the dog. “A stone caught
him on the upper leg . . . the bone's injured. I had to bandage a small open wound. Nothing serious. You're far harder hit, Corporal.”

“Thank God!” sighed George.

“Now go to sleep!” the surgeon ordered.

George tried to say something.

“No. Don't argue! Go to sleep! You
must
sleep! You need sleep now. We'll talk later.”

He left the room. George whispered, “Good old boy . . . my Renni . . . you're still alive!” Then he fell asleep. A deep, dreamless sleep fell upon him like a benediction. Hours later he awoke with his mind perfectly clear. The surgeon was again at his bedside.

“How are you?”

All George said was, “Where's my dog?”

“He's all right. What about you?”

“I want to see him. Renni! Renni!”

Again the sharp nose thrust up over the edge of the bed. George tried to put out his hand, but could not. The pain in his shoulder went through him like a dagger.

“Is his nose cold or hot?”

“It's begun to get cooler, and it will be wet again before long. He's getting well faster than you are, Corporal.”

“Why did you have to operate on me?”

“You had a splinter from that shell sticking in your shoulder. It had to come out.”

“Really? What all happened? I don't know a thing about it, you know.”

“Sergeant-Major Nickel found you. Just after that crazy shell burst. Nobody else dared go in there. They were afraid more of them would be sent over.”

“Nickel?”

“Yes. He heard the dog howl. He kept howling for someone to come. Nickel knew his voice, it seems. The dog couldn't move, but his nose pointed to where you were. You were covered with earth. You had passed out. We couldn't wait till you came to. Besides . . . ” The surgeon paused.

“Besides?” repeated George.

“Well, they brought you in, and your friend Nickel spoke to you. You sort of woke up, half-way, but only
for a few seconds, and you were out of your head. So we . . . we took the necessary steps immediately.”

“Necessary . . . ?”

“Yes. The shot for tetanus. Then the anaesthetic and the operation, all at the same time.”

George thought for a moment. Nickel . . . brave man . . . good friend. “Where is Nickel now?”

“He was ordered away early this morning.”

“Too bad, too bad! Who knows when I'll get to see him again.”

“Oh, you'll see him all right.”