Renni the Rescuer (16 page)

George made no comment. He had nothing against it, only he thought now and then of the objections that Vladimir's parents were bound to raise. But somehow George did not realise how much of the time he himself kept near Tanya, how pleasant the work was when she helped him, and how anxious she was to have Renni's good will.

He decided to resume practicing with Renni and asked Kolya and Mitya to be wounded men again. When they fixed on a day, Tanya asked unexpectedly, “May I go to the forest with you?” She blushed prettily as she said it.

“Why, of course,” George answered quickly and gladly. “I was just thinking of asking you.”

Kolya and Mitya suppressed a laugh. Vladimir asked, “Want to play wounded?”

“I'd like to,” replied Tanya seriously.

They went out to another forest, one where they had never been before. As he saw them start together, Renni guessed instantly what was afoot. He marched along beside George, as he was supposed to, for only a little way. Then he broke out in wild leaps around them, darted first to one side and then to the other, rolled in the grass, and carried on all manner of foolishness.

“Here you, what about discipline?” George called Renni and snapped the leash to his collar. The dog crept along, quite crestfallen. When Kolya and later Mitya turned aside into the woods, he sent a keen glance after
them. And when Tanya vanished, he lifted his head, pricked up his ears, and waved his tail with joy. Playfully he found them all—Tanya first, with special delight. No matter how desperately they pretended to need help, he was not to be fooled. He pushed his muzzle gaily against their hips and shoulders, washed their faces with his tongue and would not give up till they admitted they were in perfect health.

Renni had mastered his job and carried it out in the easiest possible way. Once he had found them he was through, and with such good friends as Kolya, Mitya and Tanya, especially Tanya, he felt it was time for a romp. He had been through serious trouble, real duties, bloody wounds. He knew the difference between actual need of help and this game his friends wanted to play.

Twice more he plunged from the road into the thickets.

The first time George and the others heard a woman scream and children crying near by. Renni had run onto a mother having a picnic in the woods with her family. He came back with his tail between his legs.
The second time they heard a roar followed by a man's angry curses. He had been taking a nap and the dog had woken him up. Renni was utterly downcast, his eyes full of trouble, after his second failure to be useful.

“This is going to ruin him,” said Tanya as they started home.

In a discouraged tone George said, “I just don't know what to do.”

But Nickel, the soap-maker, solved the problem when he came with his dog Hector to pay a visit. Everyone liked Nickel, and soon he was everyone's good friend. Mother Marie especially smiled at him and listened to him with approval, for not only had Hector exchanged cordial greetings with Renni, but he had spoken very politely to her beloved Kitty, too.

Kitty lay down on her back between the two dogs, shared her graceful, coquettish slaps with them both, and purred loudly and happily.

Mother Marie and the others were frightened when Hector took Kitty's head in his powerful jaws, so that it was quite out of sight and seemed in a fair way to
be crushed to bits. But Kitty herself did not seem at all worried; she clawed playfully at Hector and then let him wash her face, a task he performed with gravity and care.

“He won't hurt her,” Nickel assured them. “He always does my cats that way. A dog makes up these little tricks on his own.”

Mother Marie hid Kitty in her protecting arms; but in a moment the kitten wanted to get down to Hector again. She pressed close to his side, bracing her feet against Renni's breast.

When George asked his advice, Nickel laughed good-humouredly. “Why worry yourself and your dog? You'll only confuse him. Either a dog has it in him or he hasn't. Well, Renni has already showed that he has it all right! He won't ever forget any of it, lose any of it, not his whole life long. Look at my Hector. He's served in six manœuvres, six different years. All the time in between I've just let him play around and loaf as much as he pleased. And every year when the manœuvres begin, he acts as if he'd been in service no longer ago than yesterday!”

“That's just what I said,” said Bettina smoothly, though, to be sure, she had said just the opposite. George was very much relieved.

With just the faintest trace of his grin Vladimir said, “Bettina's the cleverest person I know.”

Nickel looked at them in some surprise, but heedless of Vladimir's and Bettina's embarrassment, he turned to George. “I'm really here because Vogg sent me.”

George felt jolted, but quickly pulled himself up and said carelessly, “He did? What does he want with me?”

“He sends you his regards and wants you to bring Renni to see him.”

“Well, he'll wait a long time.”

“Come now, don't be hard on him. He's an old man.”

“Does he expect me to swallow his insults and come running the minute he waves his hand? Not if I know myself!”

“He's an old man . . . ”

“We all get to be old men, if we don't die first. It's no particular credit to him, and it gives him no rights at all.”

“You ought to be grateful to him . . . ”

George started up, then bethought himself, and said coldly, “I owe him nothing! I had the highest respect and regard for him. I proved it over and over. But when he accused me of lying . . . all that was wiped out. Everything. Gratitude, respect, everything! We're even, Vogg and I!”

“I'd never have thought you'd hold a grudge,” Nickel said.

“Neither would I,” said Mother Marie quietly.

The others too were surprised at George's refusal. He defended himself. “You're wrong. If I nursed a grudge, I'd be trying to think up ways to get even with die old man, wouldn't I? Well, I don't dream of it.” He asked his friends, “Have you ever seen me do anything low or mean? He said right to my face that he wouldn't believe me on oath! That's enough for me! And you”—George looked at Nickel—“would you look up a man again after he'd told you to go hang yourself?”

Nickel answered after a pause, “He's sorry now.”

George shrugged his shoulders. “A bit late!”

W
EEKS PASSED. ONCE MORE the Russians were at Mother Marie's tea table. She and George had been to the Safonoffs' once or twice, but as Bettina was never invited, they did not go any more. The old innocent happy friendship had disappeared. Vladimir, who bore the brunt, seemed changed. His face had taken on a serious and sometimes a sad expression, and he had stopped his melodious whistling.

This afternoon at George's Ludmilla was free with her bitter remarks. Her smile, so charming and appealing, gave way to a tight, thin-lipped sneer. Once she said abruptly, “Back in Russia the servants never sat down at table with the people of the house.”

Without a word Bettina rose and left the room. Tanya followed her instantly, and Renni too slipped out. The others sat there speechless. George's anger boiled over. Vassili, visibly embarrassed, boomed solemnly, “You ought not to have said that, Millie.”

But Ludmilla went on: “You, George, you are to blame for this. We have you to thank for this . . . this person. If you hadn't brought the little flirt to your house, she'd never have had the chance to take my son in!”

Vladimir hid his face in his hands. Before Mother Marie or anyone else could utter a word George snapped out, “I don't mean to argue with you! You're always right about everything! As far as I'm concerned you can think what you please. But I don't see why you keep on coming to our house. And I certainly won't let you insult anyone in it!”

Before he finished Vassili was on his feet. “Let us go, Millie.” His voice was trembling. Ludmilla, pale, scared, tried to smile, to stammer an apology, but Vassili roared out, “Do you hear me! It is my wish that we go!”

He mastered his feelings, bowed low and ceremoniously, and stood aside to let Ludmilla pass out before him. She hesitated, gathered herself together from her worry and embarrassment, turned suddenly, strode hurriedly out as if in flight, and was weeping helplessly when she left the room.

For a moment Kolya and Mitya sat in petrified silence, then they followed their parents.

“You were too hard on her. I feel sorry for the silly little thing,” said Mother Marie. “Did you see the tears running down her cheeks, big bright round tears? She was just like a child, like a little six-year-old girl. And she is a child, too. You shouldn't be so hard on her.”

“The way she acted was unbearable,” George growled. He was already half-sorry he had gone so far.

“Well, let's say a spoiled child, but she's certainly a child,” smiled Mother Marie.

They both looked at Vladimir, who still sat cowering in his seat. Suddenly he sprang up, stood there for a moment, pale as a sheet, and then, painfully and slowly, forced out the words, “I . . . am . . . staying!”

Renni charged in, leaped up on George, on Mother Marie, on Vladimir, swung his tail like a swift pendulum, and repeated his attack as if he wanted to calm down the excitement and put cheerfulness in its place.

Tanya appeared, bringing Bettina with her. “Well . . . ” She hesitated. “Are . . . are they all gone?” Mother Marie told what had happened.

“Oh, that won't hurt Mama in the least,” Tanya said with great serenity. “If Papa hadn't been here she'd have asked everyone's pardon. Mama's good at heart. Only she hadn't any bringing up. Papa spoils her, pets her all the time and keeps her believing she can do whatever she pleases.”

George confessed that he felt bad about it. “After all, she was our guest.”

“Well, suppose she was! She broke all the laws of hospitality, ten times over!” Tanya argued. “Don't be
sorry for anything, my friend! Regret is a sign of weakness. If you go around regretting your actions, you'll take all the vigour and freshness out of them. You'll just dry up.” Her dark eyes were blazing.

“Well, sometimes the moment gets the better of you, and you forget yourself,” said George.

“You must stand up for what you do even then,” Tanya insisted.

“If you carry that argument far enough, you'll find excuse for criminals,” said Mother Marie.

“What I'm saying,” Tanya declared, “is true only of good people who are incapable of doing wrong. Criminals . . . there are criminals who are always repenting, the weak, addlepated creatures. They've fallen into a life of crime without intending to, and they go around whining. And then there are others who are criminals by instinct, by their own inner nature. They never regret anything! They're strong! And they should be put where they can do no harm!” She turned to Vladimir, who still sat there in silence, and ran her hand tenderly over his hair. “Poor brother!”

He hurried from the room. Tanya looked after him. “He always runs away. He acts as if he were afraid of himself. And yet he's got a strong will and, when the time comes, he'll stand up to anything or anybody!”

“I'm going with Vladimir. We didn't get our work finished,” said Bettina in a hard tone and, as she left the room, she closed the door with a bang.

Renni had listened closely to the whole conversation, looking each one in the eye as he spoke, and had tried to draw attention to himself by friendly gestures. Finally he had stretched out, acting a bit timid and showing plainly that he understood how tense everyone was.

Now, as George and Tanya started for the fields, he joined them, quite happy.

* * *

Two, three weeks went by. Renni went out to the forest with George every day. He was especially happy when Tanya went along, and if Vladimir and Bettina joined the party, his joy knew no bounds. He would run from one couple to the other, leaping and dancing. He had
entirely got over regretting the manœuvres, the feeling that he was out of a job. He was free, he was in vacation mood, he had nothing in the world to do but enjoy life.

Without mentioning it to anyone, George went to call on Ludmilla. He was received very stiffly. “I am astonished . . . . ” Vassily began after a curt bow.

“You . . . you come to our house . . . ?” Ludmilla asked sharply.

George said frankly, “I came to see both of you but you particularly, Madame. Won't you please forgive me for my rudeness? Forgive me, I beg you most sincerely.”

Ludmilla's eyes filled at once with big round tears.

“You ought to have come sooner. You ought to have come immediately,” said Vassili stiffly.

Ludmilla interrupted him. “But . . . but . . . dear friend George . . . how nice of you to come!” She turned on her husband. “What do you mean, sooner? Why sooner? If he had come sooner we would still have been angry at him. Now . . . is the time . . . dear, dear George.” In her gush of emotion her words choked her and then fell over one another and she gave him no chance to speak. “I'm
the one who should be begging your pardon . . . I . . . it was dreadful of me. I'm a wicked, wicked woman.”