The Abandoned, page 20
How very much like Jennie for her to put it that way! Did he mind her coming back! And dismissing with the simple declaration that she had been a free cat too long to be able to return to domestication the depth of the sacrifice she was making for him.
For Peter had no doubt whatever that had the Pennys understood that he and Jennie were together and taken him in with her, she would have been happy to remain there with the child who had been her first and only real love among human beings. What she was saying so simply and without any fuss whatsoever was that she was giving up everything she loved for him.
And he was deeply touched by it. But since he still thought like a little boy, he could not help thinking of the sorrow and disappointment that must be the share of Buff, the girl with the long, brown ringlets and the sweet face.
Aloud he said to Jennie: “Jennie, dear, it was so lonely without you. Nothing seemed the same any more, and I thought that was how it was always going to be, and I didn’t know what to do. But won’t it be just too dreadful for poor Buff? She was so happy to have found you again. Jennie, why does someone always have to be unhappy?”
Peter saw the shining in Jennie’s eyes before she turned her head away for a few washes that seemed indicated by the emotional content of the moment, and they were brighter and more glistening than even the moon could have evoked. But after she had smoothed her fur down somewhat and gained control of herself and her voice she said:
“Buff isn’t a child any longer, Peter, and doesn’t need me as much as she once did. She is almost fifteen now. People change too, Peter, and as they grow older, things no longer mean the same to them. She will cry when I don’t come back, but she will get over it, because she has other things that interest her now, and above all she will remember that I did come back once and that I understand that she didn’t abandon me on purpose. And actually,” she added with that queer and sometimes frightening wisdom she seemed to possess, “what made Buff most unhappy all the three years was the thought that I believed she had deserted me. As of course I did, because I was a fool, until you came along and taught me what people really can be like.”
She gave herself a long stretch and an inverted “U” bend and concluded: “Well, anyway, that’s all over and done with. And now here we are together again. But oh, Peter, for a little you gave me a bad turn. I was so afraid you might be going to do something foolish for my sake and not keep your promise to come and meet me here. Never, never do that, Peter.”
Peter thought it best not to say that he had been tempted for Jennie’s sake. Instead he gave a great sigh. He was very happy now. They lay down side by side, curled up together, and soon fell fast asleep. As the disk of the moon slid away from the opening of the roof, the soft light went out from the inside of the bombed house, and all its ruins and sleeping cats vanished in the shadows of the night.
LULU, OR FISHFACE FOR SHORT
THE NEXT MORNING was fine. Peter awakened to find Jennie curled up in a tight ball, one paw over her eyes to keep out the light, and emitting just the tiniest of snores. Although the roof overhead was now the blue sky, and soon the sun would be streaming into the hostel, she was still fast asleep. Most of the other cats were already up and about their business. Some had departed, others were sitting about, making their toilet with a serious wash, or giving themselves a lick and a promise, depending upon the state of their personal pride and how low they had come down in the world.
Peter thought he would go out and forage. It would be nice if when Jennie woke up, there he would be with maybe a mouse if he could find one, or perhaps a bone dug out of last night’s refuse from some of the better houses on the square, or even a bit of melon rind, of which Jennie was extraordinarily fond.
And so, moving quietly in order not to awaken her, he stole away from her side, bade an amiable good-morning to Putzi and Mutzi, who were tidying up close to the door, slipped through the narrow spot at the bottom, and found himself in Cavendish Square just as the All Souls’ clock struck nine.
Simultaneously with the chime of the steeple clock, Peter was aware of a little shriek close by, and then the most extraordinary voice he had ever heard: “Oh, I say. You did give me a turn. I wasn’t expecting anyone. Lumme, but you are tall, white, and handsome. Whooooooooeee! Where do you think we all ought to go, then?”
Peter himself was startled, because the voice was so deep, husky, and disturbing, and he turned around quickly to see who it was had spoken. And what he saw was the most astonishing and beautiful creature on which he had ever laid eyes, either as boy or as cat. She was a small puss, much smaller than Jennie, but with a wonderfully firm and compact body that was colored a kind of smoky pearl, or biscuit, or maybe it was more cream-colored, or the color of coffee with a lot of milk in it, and he had never in all his life seen a cat exactly that shade.
But this was only the beginning of the surprises for Peter, for she had a seal-colored face and mask, a dark triangle of a nose, cream head, dark-brown ears, and seal-colored feet and tail. But most marvelous and beautiful of all, out from the middle of the dark face gleamed two of the loveliest shining, liquid, and deep blue eyes he had ever seen. They weren’t violet, and they weren’t sapphire; they weren’t really the color of the sea, nor did they quite match the sky; one couldn’t exactly describe what shade of blue they were, but having once seen them, one could only think of blue being that color thereafter. Peter also noticed that they were slightly crossed, but this in a way added to rather than detracting from the interest and beauties of her countenance. He was quite aware that he was standing there struck dumb, staring at this lovely vision, and also that it seemed as if he could do nothing else.
The spell was broken by the little creature herself, who skipped three steps sideways and three steps back again, bushed her tail, and said: “Good evening! I know it’s morning, but I don’t care. I say what ??1 please. In the evening I say ‘Good morning’ if I feel like it, and I never say ‘Good afternoon.’ Well?”
The last being a direct question addressed to him, Peter felt he must reply, but he was so bewildered by the charm of the cat as well as her odd way of speech that he could think of nothing to say but “Good evening, miss,” which brought another shriek from her, and this time she jumped straight up into the air. When she came down, she cried: “Oh, I say, you are going to be fun. My name is Lulu, but all my friends call me Fishface for short. That’s because when I eat bloaters or kippers, or have a little hake, brill, cod, or pollock, my breath always smells of fish. Here, I’ll show you. Smell?” And she came over quite close to Peter and breathed in his face. The aroma of fish was unmistakable, but somehow, perhaps because now he was a cat, Peter did not find it unpleasant.
He smiled and said: “My name is Peter, and—” but could get no further, for Lulu made a backward and forward dash almost simultaneously and cried: “Peter, Peter! There was a poem that started that way, but I’ve forgotten the rest. Anyway, I think up my own poetry. I am thinking of a poem now about thimbles. Very well, then, I’ll recite it for you.” And here she sat down with her tail folded about her and a most sanctified look on her face that reminded Peter of some of the saints he had seen on the stained-glass windows in church, and recited as follows:
“Thimble,
Thimble,
Thimble,
Thimble,
Thimble!
“You see,” Lulu explained to him after she had finished, “unlike most poetry, it all rhymes. Whoooooeeee!” With a leap and a bound she was away, chasing a wholly imaginary leaf, whirling, striking at it with her swift dark paws, then finally imagining that it had been blown back close to Peter, where she landed on it with a terrific pounce and crouched there, looking up intensely into Peter’s face as she said: “Do you like tea? Do you like coffee? I love olives. Wasn’t it a nice day next Thursday? Never mind answering!” she cried in her deep voice before Peter could even so much as think of a reply, and she got up and danced away from him with one shoulder all hunched up and crooked. “Come on, dance with me, all sideways and twistabout. Up you go, and down you go, and around you go; now RUN!”
Swept away, Peter found himself dancing sideways beside her, then leaping up into the air and turning all about before he came down, and then when he landed on the pavement, running, running, running with her as hard as he could. He could not remember when he had ever had so much fun or been in the presence of such a wholly fascinating and enchanting creature.
They did this several times, after which Lulu threw herself down on her side, stared at Peter out of luminous blue eyes, and announced: “Of course you know I’m Siamese. My father was a king and my mother a queen, and all my brothers and sisters princes and princesses. I am a princess myself. Aren’t you glad?” And again, before Peter could reply that he was indeed very glad, she half sat up and recited as though it was something she had once learned out of a book: “I’m not like a cat; I’m not like a dog; I’m more like a monkey, really, but mostly I’m like me, and nothing else. I get along with everybody.” Then she concluded rather irrelevantly: “I can wear hair-ribbons.”
She got up and began walking down the block in the direction of Portland Street. When she had proceeded some distance, she stopped and looked back over her shoulder.
“Coming?” she called to Peter.
Without a second thought—indeed, he could not have helped himself had he wished it, so enchanted with her had he become—Peter went trotting after her.
“Where are we going?” he asked.
“Oh,” cried Lulu with one of her little side jumps, “how can we tell until we get there? Some place exciting. I haven’t been off like this for ages. I’m so glad I found you. We can do everything together. . . .”
Progress with Lulu, Peter found, was wonderful, enthralling, exciting, and somewhat nerve-racking. One moment she would be shrieking with laughter and leaping along the street stiff-legged, or flying along the top of a fence at full speed, her ears laid back, tail streaming out behind her, commanding Peter to a game of follow-my-leader, and the next she would be sitting down in front of a perfectly strange house, miserably sad and woebegone, with the tears streaming from her magnificent eyes and announcing to Peter in heartbreaking tones that she was all alone in a strange country, thousands and thousands of miles away from Siam and all the Siamese. “You don’t know, you cannot know, what it is to be so far away, so very far away from everyone.”
Peter felt his own heart would break too, she was so pathetic in her plight and her separation from her loved ones. He tried to comfort her by saying: “Oh, poor Lulu. Tell me about your far-off home and where you were born. Perhaps talking about it will make you feel better.”
“Who, me?” Lulu chirped, her tears drying up as suddenly as they had started. “Why, I was born in London, of course. Where else would anybody of any importance be born? My whole family too. We have a pedigree longer than our tails. I told you, all kings and queens, didn’t I? Have you a pedigree? Well, never mind. Your being cute makes up for a lot of things. You came along at just the right moment. You know, I was so bored.” Here her hoarse voice sank to a quite confidential whisper. “I live with very rich people on the square. Number 35. Very rich. He has Shares. Don’t look so sad, Peter. I’m really quite marvelously happy now.” And off she would go, leaping, twisting, dancing, and shouting at the top of her lungs, and of course Peter would be after her full tilt, laughing madly at her funny ways.
Thus, after many starts and stops, they found themselves at last, after climbing steadily for some time and proceeding up many curvy blocks of small houses one just like another, on a sort of plateau, an open space with a rail around it, almost like the top of a mountain. For when you looked over the edge, there was all of London spread out beneath your feet and stretching for mile upon mile—streets and houses and spires, and the silver winding of the Thames, and the millions and millions of chimneypots on the roof-tops, the endless rows of gray houses, and in the distance the occasional spots of green that marked the little parks in the squares. There were the big patch of green that was Regents’ Park, another that was Hyde Park, and a third that was Kensington Gardens, tall chimneys and cranes far off that marked the docks and factories and warehouses on the Thames, and after that the whole trailing off and vanishing into a kind of bluish haze of distance and mist and smoke.
“Hampstead Heath!” Lulu announced. “Isn’t it picturesque? I often like to come up here just to meditate,” and with that she threw herself down on the ground, closed her eyes, and was quiet for just five seconds. Then she was up again, gave herself a couple of fierce and energetic washes on both sides of her neck, and said: “There! Now that I’ve meditated, where shall we go next? Oh, I want to have fun, fun, fun! One can’t be serious all the time, you know.”
It was well on toward noon, for the journey up to the heath had taken considerable time, and Peter ventured to remind Lulu that it was getting late. “Oughtn’t you to be thinking about getting back?” he asked. “I mean, your people, you know. Won’t they miss you?”
Lulu stopped and looked at him as though she could not believe her ears.
“Miss me? Of course they will. They’ll bust when I don’t come back. Why, that’s half the sport. What fun would it be if they didn’t care? I’m sure they’ll have notified Mr. Wiggo the constable, already. They hate me to be out. Sometimes I don’t come back for days if I don’t feel like it. I think I don’t feel like it right now. I think I feel like staying away for maybe three whole days, just to see what that would be like. I’ve never done that before. They will be upset. Oh, listen, Peter, it sounds like music somewhere. Let’s go there!”
It was quite true. As Peter pitched his ears forward to listen, he could hear borne on the wind the strains of the gay and strident music that sometimes comes from a carrousel. Somewhere in the vicinity there was a funfair.
They set off, following the direction of the sound, and sure enough, pretty soon they came to a large collection of tents from which gay pennants were flying, booths, roundabouts, coconut shies, ice-cream counters, airplane whirls, auto dodgems, shooting galleries, shove-ha’penny boards, darts games, side shows with dancing girls, fortune-tellers, strength-testing machines, and all the gay and noisy paraphernalia of the itinerant carnival.
Crowds of people were thronging the fair grounds. “Hurry, hurry!” Lulu shouted to Peter, scampering along and looking back over her shoulder at him every so often. “Isn’t this luck? I’ve never been to anything like this. I’ll bet there are all sorts of good things to eat inside. Here we are. You lead the way, just in case anything should go wrong, and I’ll follow you.”
Peter had been to a small fun-fair once when he had been by the seashore on holiday, but he had certainly never been to one by himself—that is, without somebody holding him by the hand and telling him where to go and where not to go; and of course he had never been anywhere in the company of a creature so beautiful, charming, and wholly captivating as Lulu.
They went by a man who specialized in selling big inflated balloons attached to a stick colored red, yellow, blue, and green for the young folk, and of course Lulu had to reach up and bat one with her paw, and since she had neglected to pull in her needle-sharp claws, or even out of pure mischief had refrained from doing so, the balloon, a large crimson one, went off with an appalling explosion, knocking Lulu head over heels and frightening her so that when she got to her feet she tried to go in three directions at once, with the result that she went nowhere at all, but remained practically in one spot, causing Peter to shout with laughter. But the man who was selling the balloons did not think it was at all amusing to have a sixpenny one ruined, a limp bit of torn rubber dangling on the end of a stick, and he snatched it up and would have beaten Lulu with it if at just that moment she had not acquired traction and gone darting away like an arrow out of a bow, with Peter after her, still laughing. When he caught up with her finally, she was furious at him, not only for laughing at her, but also for breaking the balloon, as she accused him of having done just to frighten her, which of course was quite untrue.
But so under her spell was Peter that he did not even mind that, though when he had been a boy, nothing had made him quite so miserable or unhappy as to be unjustly accused. Instead, he apologized to her just as though he had done it, and to make up for it he offered to take her where they might get some ice cream.
Lulu, who never seemed to be able to stay in any mood very long, at once stopped being angry and even rubbed up against Peter twice most lovingly and said: “Ice cream! Oh, ice cream! I just love ice cream. If you can get me some ice cream I’ll never forget you as long as I live.” Then she added quickly: “You know, we have ice cream every day at our house, every single day and twice on Sunday. That’s because my people are so rich. Shares, you know. Or did I tell you?”
Peter did not quite believe this, else why would she be so very eager to have some, but he was not able to find fault with anything that Lulu chose to do or say, and besides he did think he knew where to get it. His sharp eyes, now trained never to miss an opportunity for a snack or a full meal, had noticed that right in the vicinity of where they had stopped was an ice-cream booth served by a girl in a white apron, with bright yellow hair the color of straw, jaws that never stood still, and eyes that also moved constantly, roving over the crowd. The jaw movement no doubt was due to the use of American chewing gum, but since her eyes were constantly wandering over the crowd looking for a personable young man, she did not pay strict attention to what she was doing with the result that every time she served up a gobbet of ice cream, which she got out of a cylinder-shaped tin with a metal scoop and flopped onto a wafer cornet before handing it to a customer in exchange for thruppence, large dribbets of it would fall to the floor behind the counter at her feet. It was on these drippings that Peter intended to concentrate.
