by Felix Salten
“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.”
Chapter XXX
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.”
“But something might happen to him.”
“Nothing’s going to happen to him.”
“But, say! Where’s that pigeon Renni had? What became of her?”
The surgeon shrugged. “I’ve no idea.”
“Do you hear, Renni? Your pigeon’s gone.”
Once more Renni’s muzzle came over the edge of the bed, and a slight tapping told that he wagged his tail.
“Anything else?” asked the surgeon.
“Yes, one thing more.” George thought again. “If I remember, I was with a wounded man . . . a jolly fellow . . . . Who brought him in? . . . And how’s he getting along?”
“He’s past suffering. A shell splinter struck him in the head.”
“Poor chap! He was so gay, not a bit worried over his wound.”
When the surgeon left, a pretty young nurse brought in some warm milk. A glass for George, a bowl for the dog. Renni, who had been used to this for some days, began to lap loudly. When George started drinking, he realised he was hungry. It was the first food he had had.
“Thank you,” he said, and gave back the empty glass. The nurse smiled and pointed at Renni. “He likes it.”
“So do I,” said George. He thought a moment, and then went on, “There’s one thing I don’t understand. I’ve a room all to myself, and the dog’s allowed to stay with me. How does that happen?”
The nurse smiled in friendly fashion. “Our staff surgeon ordered it.”
“Such a favour . . . . After all I’m only a corporal . . . Why?”
“The staff surgeon is a man first, a soldier after.” She smiled in a still warmer way. “He thinks your distinguished services deserve distinguished treatment. And we’re all of his opinion! We think it’s wonderful of him to give the dog medical treatment himself, instead of calling a vet.”
“He . . . himself . . . the staff surgeon?”
“Don’t be so surprised, Corporal. The surgeon’s right. He says this dog has done so much for so many men, let men do something for him.”
“Was there a great deal to do for Renni?”
“Quite a lot.”
“Nurse, do you know . . . is there a colonel here? . . . ”
“With a wound in his ankle? Yes, and he’s going to get well soon. Corporal, do you remember that enemy soldier who loved your dog so?”
“Why, of course. The fellow who wanted a smoke. Did he die?”
“Oh, no, he’s perfectly well. Before we moved here, we sent him to the prison camp.”
“A prisoner? But he was so friendly with everyone!”
The nurse smiled. “It’s a rule of the game.”
“Rule?” George shook his head. “In this man’s war, they don’t stick much to rules.”
In a few days he could sit up in bed with a support at his back. He could look Renni in the face now, could see those clear, bright eyes whose gaze rested tenderly, trustingly on him. Through the nights and through the days they had both slept, master and dog alike, sometimes dreamlessly, sometimes oppressed by the terrible visions which spread before them, the confused and ghastly panorama of their war experience. Often George had been awakened by the peculiar high-pitched, choking cry that Renni gave in his sleep.
“How much longer have I got to stay here in the hospital?” George asked the surgeon.
“Two or three weeks. Can’t say exactly yet. But don’t let that worry you. When you get well, you’re going home.”
“Home!” George was astounded.
“Certainly. You’re no longer fit for active duty. Nor your dog, either.” The surgeon pointed to Renni, who had come limping to meet him and stood waving his tail, his left hind leg drawn up tightly against his body. “He has found and saved his full share. He can’t do more of that, not with his wounded leg. Oh, it will get better in time, much better, but never quite the way it was!”
George dropped his head in a sudden fear. “How about me? Am I going to be a cripple too?”
“Not a bit of it.” The doctor’s denial was emphatic and convincing. “Don’t go fancying any such nonsense! You’re going to be as well as anybody. But, you know, there’s quite a difference between the hardships of war and your duties at home!”
Home! Home! It began to come back to George that he had a home.
The word sang through his soul like a ravishing melody. Home! To go home!
Out of the dreary waste of gory images that had blinded him to every part of his real self, images which he now thrust resolutely from him, there gradually arose, in his memory and his hope, a host of lovely scenes . . . the garden, the fields, the house . . . Mother . . . Tanya, beautiful Tanya.
Renni was trying harder and harder to get into bed with him. The nurse, watching his vain efforts, asked, “Does that bother you?”
“Oh, nurse,” was the answer, “I would be as happy to have him at my side as he would be to get here.”
She understood, and helped the dog onto the bed. Renni was mad with joy. But even so, he shielded his lame leg, and he was careful about his wounded master. So there he lay, pressed close against George, washing his hands and face, tapping the bedclothes with his waving plume.
“We’re going home, Renni! Home! Know what that means, to be home again?” He said the words slowly and carefully to him, “Mother . . . Tanya . . . Kitty! We’ll be seeing our friends—Vogg . . . and Bettina . . . and Vladimir.” At each name Renni’s ears went up, he gave a little happy whine, and his tail wagged so it sounded like a drum.
The two of them spent long, peaceful days together on the bed. Eager yearning, pain growing less and less.
The war went on, somewhere in the distance. But for them, dog and master, it was over. They had done their duty as far as they could, had even shed their blood. Now they were free to go home.
Free!
Now with clear conscience they could yield to their natural, peaceful longings. They could forget the horror—or try their best to forget.
War had given them back the right to think of their nearest and dearest. The future was open, paid for by all they had done and all they had suffered. They two together.
George could never think of life without Renni. They had been united from the first, in their play, in their training, through deadly dangers, through all the work of rescue, through all the pain they had shared.
So now as the hours passed and George repeated softly, ten, twenty times, “Home! Mother! Mother!” Renni shared his joy. He would lift his beautiful head from George’s breast as often as his sharp ears went up to catch the words.
Indeed, he raised his head even when George just thought “Mother” to himself.
And in Renni’s innocent eyes shone the visible reflection of loyal hope, clear for all to read, the hope which flowed like a stream through George’s being. And the same stream warmed the dog’s heart too.
FELIX SALTEN was an author and critic in Vienna, Austria. He was the author of plays, short stories, novels, travel books, and essay collections. His most famous work is Bambi.
ALADDIN
Simon & Schuster, New York
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Also by Felix Salten
Bambi
This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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First Aladdin paperback edition June 2013
Copyright © 1940 by The Bobbs-Merrill Company
Copyright Renewed
Interior chapter spot art copyright © 2013 by Richard Cowdrey
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Designed by Hilary Zarycky
Cover designed by Karin Paprocki
Cover illustration by Richard Cowdrey
The text of this book was set in Yana.
Library of Congress Control Number 2012949910
ISBN 978-1-4424-8274-6 (hc)
ISBN 978-1-4424-8273-9 (pbk)
ISBN 978-1-4424-8679-9 (eBook)