The Abandoned (Jennie)

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX: Jennie Come Out

AND just-well, almost as though nothing had happened, Peter and Jennie resumed life amongst the Napoleon furniture in the storage bin.

Without mentioning why she had left the hostel on Cavendish Square by herself, Jennie merely recounted that she had made her way back to the warehouse almost directly, and to her surprise when she arrived there had found all the furniture back again and the bin exactly as it was before. It seemed probable that it had been removed originally to be presented at some exhibition or other and had been returned when the exhibition closed.

She did not tell Peter the reason why she had come there, namely because this was where they had first met, as it were, and where they had been so happy together in the early days of their friendship when Peter was learning how to be a cat. But there was no need to do so, for Peter quite well understood, and he was ashamed that he had not thought of the same thing, and had not come back to their first home immediately to see if she were there instead of running almost blindly and unreasoning about London, searching for her everywhere she was not.

He was of course too young to understand that there was an essential difference in the way that she thought about things as compared to the way that he did and that could not be accounted for. Nevertheless he was instinctively wise enough to permit her to labour under the little white deception that having exhausted all the other familiar and remembered places where she might have been, he had come to their own home on purpose, instead of staggering upon it almost by accident in a kind of dream-delirium induced by not having enough to eat.

Important was that they were together again and that Jennie seemed to bear him no grudge of any kind. She listened with great interest to the tales he had to tell her of what he had overheard Buff say to her mother, of the melancholy change that had come over the shack of their departed friend, Mr. Grims, and the new and unpleasant occupant thereof, and about the Countess of Greenock and Mealie, and she laughed when he told her of Mealie's complaint that there were again plenty of mice and rats aboard and that they were wanted back on the job.

No, the difference, and Peter was quite well aware that there was a difference, lay not in Jennie's comportment and demeanour towards him, but in a certain preoccupation, an occasional absent– mindedness and staring off into the distance with a worried expression on her countenance, certain un– explained absences from their home by herself from which she returned even more disturbed and filled with an underlying sadness.

If anything, she was even kinder and more loving towards Peter than she had been before, more generous, thoughtful and solicitous about his welfare and health (which now that he was eating regularly again, bloomed up quite rapidly), quick to smile upon him or try to anticipate anything he might wish to do. Sometimes, he noticed, that for what appeared to be no particular reason, Jennie might suddenly get up and come over to him and give him two or three little licks over his eyes or the sides of his cheeks, or between the ears. Then she would look down upon him with the tenderest and most loving expression imaginable, but also with a great sadness that seemed to lie behind her lustrous liquid eyes. It was clear that Jennie again had something preying on her mind, something secret that was troubling her deeply and Peter could not fathom what.

And it was also true that since the episode of his adventure with Lulu a certain shyness and reserve had come between them in that they did not care to inquire too closely into one another's thoughts lest they invade some compartment marked `Private,' the opening of which might permit the escape of old and wounding memories. And for this reason Peter felt in a way shut off from coming right out and asking her what was the matter and whether there was not something he might do to help. For as the time went by she seemed to be growing more and more unhappy.

And then one day, after Jennie had been away for a particularly long time, she returned home more than usually troubled. She greeted him kindly, but almost immediately retired to a corner of the bed and crouched there, her forefeet tucked under her, staring straight ahead, the way he knew one did as a cat when one was miserable or did not feel very well. Only from time to time would she turn her head slightly to look at him, and then Peter noticed that her eyes were swimming with tears and that she was looking utterly despairing.

Thereupon, he could stand it no longer. He went over to her and washed her face tenderly, tasting the salt of her tears on his tongue, and said to her: 'Jennie, dear. What is the matter. You are so unhappy. Won't you tell me? Perhaps there is something I could do to help you. There is nothing I would not try to do to make you happy again …'

But Jennie only cried the harder and crawled nearer to him and gave herself up to his ministrations for a little until he had soothed her. She seemed then to recover somewhat and also to come to a decision, for she arose, shook herself, and made a few tongue strokes down her back as though to win herself a few more moments of respite to reflect over what she was going to say. Then at last she turned to Peter, her face grave and filled with concern, but now backed with what seemed to be a decision that could be no longer postponed, and she said:

`Peter…. Listen to me and do not be hurt. Something has happened…. The time has come when I must leave you …'

Peter felt a pang at his heart as though a knife had been inserted in it at these words.

'Leave me, Jennie? But why? How can you? I don't understand. Where would you go? Why can't I come with you? Wherever you go, that's where I want to be …'

Jennie hesitated before replying as though she were searching within herself if there were yet not some way of escape, or even some manner of telling it that might hurt Peter less, or which he could be made more easily to understand. Then she sighed and said:

`Peter, I cannot help it. I must. Dempsey has spoken for me. I must go away with him.'

For a moment, Peter did not even know of whom or what she was speaking. And then suddenly he emitted a long, low growl and his tail began lashing furiously. For now he remembered the big, cruel yellow cat he had encountered in the grain warehouse right at the beginning of his strange adventure, the lean, hard fellow with the scar on his face. He recalled his arrogant, truculent voice and his brutal attack upon him. He was reliving the stunning buffets and the terrible charge that had bowled him over, the sharp teeth that had ripped his ear and the claws like a hundred knives tearing at his chest and stomach, and in particular there came back the mocking, sneering cry of the big tomcat as Peter had painfully dragged himself away, torn and beaten to within an inch of his life: `… and don't come back. Because next time you do, I'll surely kill you …'

But mixed in with his anger at the memory of the pain and humiliation he had suffered was still bewilderment at what Jennie was saying, for he did not quite understand. He said: 'Jennie! Go away with Dempsey? But I don't understand why. I don't want you to leave me …'

She replied: `It's our law, Peter. When you are spoken for by Dempsey or someone like him you must go with him. He refuses to wait any longer, and so I must.'

`But, Jennie,' Peter protested, `I will speak for you. I have, long ago, haven't I? You belong to me …'

Strangely, Jennie made no reply to this, but just stared at Peter miserably. He asked her: 'Jennie, do you want to go away with him?' and this brought an anguished wail of protest from Jennie.

`Peter! How can you ask such a thing? I hate him. I have begged him to let me go a hundred times, but he will not. He says his mind is made up and I must come with him, and this is the law. Don't you see, Peter, I can do no other than obey…’

And now for the first time Peter had the odd feeling that there was something that Jennie was holding back, that she was not telling him the whole story, and that in some manner she was still protecting him. He knew many of the laws that regulated the life and living of cats that Jennie had taught him through their days together, and all of them seemed right and logical and were easy to understand after you learned the reason why they were made, all except this one, and he felt certain that there must be something else about it that Jennie had not told him.

He said, 'I don't want you to go. I won't let you go, Jennie, because I love you. What can I do under the Law to make you stay with me? Jennie, tell me the truth, or I will go to Dempsey and ask him. . .'

And now Jennie saw that Peter had grown and changed. He loved her very dearly, and because of this she could no longer conceal the truth from him, much as she would have wished to do so, and she replied finally in a small, frightened voice: `If you really want me, Peter, under The Law, you may fight Dempsey, and if you beat him then I need not go with him, but can come with you wherever you go,' and with that she began to cry bitterly again.

Peter, however, said at once: `Then I will fight with Dempsey, because I want you to stay with me always, Jennie. I can fight, because you taught me how.'

And here, to his surprise, Jennie wept more miserably than ever until he begged her to stop and tell him why, whereupon she explained: `I'm so frightened, Peter … if you fight him. For this is different from anything else. He has spoken for me, and you must either kill him or he will kill you. It can end in no other way. And oh, Peter, Dempsey is so big and strong and terrible, and no one has ever been able to beat him. If he were to kill you, I should die. And that's why I think it would be better if I went away with him. Peter, I couldn't bear to have anything happen to you, don't you see? Let me go …'

'I am strong, too,' Peter said.

'Of course you are,' Jennie said quickly, `but oh, my Peter, you have a secret that only I know, that you are not really a cat, but a boy, which, perhaps, I think is why I love you all the more. Dempsey is all cat and knows every foul trick of fighting and killing. No Peter, I won't let you. You'll be able to forget me in a while after I'm gone …'

'No,' Peter said, `I will not let you go. I will fight for you under The Law, and I will kill Dempsey, and then he added, in spite of himself, `or he will kill me.' because the truth was that he did not feel too confident that he might win. A certain understanding had come to him and he knew now that it was one thing to engage in play fights or even half serious ones in arguments over priorities or squatters' rights, or passage through certain disputed territories, in which the battles were all conducted strictly under the Rules of the Game, and could even be broken off, and quite another to face Dempsey to decide with whom Jennie Baldrin was to remain for ever.

Ah yes, this would be quite different. For in this one there would be no rules or etiquette whatsoever, no pretending, no looking away, no washing when it was needful to call a halt, no playful giving of handicaps or advantages to make the sport more thrilling and exciting, no generous gestures or chivalrous behaviour just rip and tear with tooth and claw, until one or the other was finished for ever– kill or be killed.

And he understood now, too, everything about Jennie Baldrin's behaviour, how much she loved him, her terrible dilemma and how she had tried to solve it by giving up every thing to shield him. But he knew also that there remained nothing else for him to do but fight Dempsey and, for Jennie's sake as well as his own, strive with his utmost to the very last that was in him, to conquer.

And Peter was conscious of yet another emotion. Although he was not at all certain that he could triumph over such a seasoned and formidable opponent, as he thought back over the hurt, humiliation and indignities that Dempsey had inflicted upon him in their first meeting, Peter discovered that whatever the outcome might be, destroy or be destroyed, he was not at all averse to the encounter and, almost, he looked forward to it. It would be something to get a little of his own back from Dempsey before he perished….

`Don't worry, Jennie,' Peter said. `You shan't have to go away with Dempsey. I'm not afraid of him.'

And here it was that Jennie turned quite suddenly from protectress to the protected, for she stopped crying and came over and looked up at Peter with almost a worshipful expression in her eyes as she said; `Oh, Peter, I know you are not. You never were afraid of anything, right from the beginning. I am sure that is what I first liked about you. Oh, it is so good to have someone upon whom one can rely.'

At her words, something transpired in Peter now, a kind of calm acceptance of whatever it was that fate had in store for him. For not only was a life lived without Jennie unthinkable and certainly not much worth preserving, which he had known from the very first and which had been confirmed over and over during the long days and nights of his search for her, but there was also the personal matter of the little score he had to settle with the big, ugly yellow tom who was a sneak and a bully as well as a tyrant and despot. For he, Peter Brown, for all of his white tail, four feet and furry ears, his cat's eyes and whiskers and body, was still inside of it and in his thoughts and ways very much the human being, a small boy and the son of a soldier. His father had taught him never to accept an insult and to fight for what he thought was right and against any kind of oppression, no matter what the odds were. Important was that here was clearly a case where he must fight, and therefore the consequences became quite secondary.

He explained this to Jennie, or at least tried to as best he could, and to his surprise, once he had put it that way, she dried her tears, ceased her objections and self-accusations, and almost from one minute to the other became an entirely different person. What Peter had won back by the moment and method of his decision was his old comrade, partner and standby, the Jennie he had first met and knew and come to love—loyal, steady, faithful, coolly intelligent and as always wise and efficient, and thoroughly capable and self-possessed.

`Very well, Peter,' she said in quite a different tone of voice, for the time for weeping, fretting and sentimentally lamenting was over for her now, `there is at least one way in which I can help you. I can show you a few things you won't find in the book, and maybe that Dempsey hasn't seen either, and prepare you. You will have to harden yourself, Peter, and forget everything, because I am going to hurt you and you must be prepared to hurt me, for this is serious. When the time comes, and you face him, there will be no quarter given or asked. We have a little less than three days, for that is when Dempsey has said he will be coming to get me. It isn't much, but at least we can get in some training and hard work. Dempsey doesn't know about you, so he won't prepare, though he's fighting nearly all the time and is always in condition. Still …'

`When and how will it be when he comes?' Peter asked.

`At night,' Jennie replied. `At night of the third day. He will come and call to me at the mouth of the iron pipe from the street. He will be angry and impatient for me to come. Anything or anyone who gets in his way at that moment he will try to kill.'

'Ah,' said Peter, 'I see. You won't come out, but I will. There's room in the street …'

`That will be in Dempsey's favour,' Jennie said, `he's the greatest street-fighter ever seen in this neighbourhood for generations back. But that can't be helped. He's too experienced an old campaigner to be lured in here. Otherwise you could try to ambush him in the tunnel and kill him there.'

Peter stared for an instant in astonishment at his friend and companion, and then said-`But that wouldn't be fair. I couldn't do that.'

Jennie said: `Oh, Peter, in this kind of battle there is no such thing as fair and unfair. There is only life and death, the vanquished and the survivor. Rest assured that Dempsey won't trouble about being "fair" …'

`Well,' said Peter, 'I don't care about him. I shall.'

Jennie emitted a great sigh. There were certain things in Peter, certain facets of being human that she could never learn to understand. They just had to be accepted.

`Very well,' she said, `let's go into the gymnasium and begin …'

The gymnasium proved to be a large and wholly empty storage bin about five down from where they had their home, and to which they repaired at once.

`Now,' Jennie said, withdrawing a slight distance from him, 'I'm coming at you. Give a little with the charge, and stop me with claws out. Hit hard, Peter!' She flew at him like a small cannonball of furred fury.

Peter yielded ground as she had directed, but he countered her attack with no more than a gentle play– pat, a buffet only half delivered with all talons sheathed. He on his part suddenly felt a sharp stab of pain in his right flank and a stinging in his nose. He backed away, blinking. His tender nose was scratched, and when he turned his head to look, a small fleck of red was already showing near his shoulder where Jennie's claws had dug.

Jennie was standing a few feet away from him, her eyes narrowed down to slits, her tail bushed and lashing. `I warned you!' she said. And then, only for an instant, and the last time, she softened and the love-sound was in her throat. 'Oh, my Peter,' she said, `you must…. It's for YOUR sake . . .' Then she cried-'

'Ware!' and charged in again.

This time Peter defended himself with tooth and claw.

Then began what was a kind of nightmare to Peter—three days of grim and bitter lessons in the art of self-preservation and other-destruction. From the lore of cats from time immemorial culled from jungle, rocky mountain caves and desert, Jennie brought up her memories of every trick of attack and defence, augmented by her deep knowledge and experience of the seamy side of London and the hard-bitten customers to be encountered there.

It was not that Peter could not take it, but when he first saw the telltale flecks of crimson on Jennie's white throat and sweet muzzle and mask, for which he knew he was responsible, he came close to breaking down and weeping because so deeply and tenderly did he love her that he could not bear to hurt her.

But she was as hard as steel, and far more tough than he at that moment, for she knew that her own skin was of no account at this time and that he needed the training if he was to survive the battle to come. And she was merciless to him, too: she made him protect his vital spots, or suffer the consequences. Herself, her own person, she offered to the augmenting of his skill in combat almost as a sacrifice to ensure his victory. Since she could not by their Law enter the fray and battle at his side, she took her hurts in this manner and cherished them, because each drop she shed, each nick or bite, cut or scratch she suffered for him and thus it was no suffering at all.

At night they lay down side by side on the great Napoleon bed and washed and licked one another's wounds so that they would be clean and healed by the next day when the horrid lessons were resumed, and Peter, learning quickly, now improved by leaps and bounds in speed, deadliness and agility, … And if he noticed that he was less injured now during the training affrays, while Jennie's face and body was a mass of bites, cuts, scars and bruises, he said nothing, for she had likewise managed to instill in him a feeling of the danger and the deadly earnestness of the fight into which he was going. Time was so short, and it would be for her happiness as well as his that he would be doing battle.

But the third day there was no training, nor would Jennie let Peter eat anything, for she knew that one fought best on an empty stomach. But all day long she made him sleep, curled up and relaxed on their bed, and when he showed signs of being fretful or restless as the hour approached she soothed him with washing and massage until he slept again.

And so the sun girded that part of the hemisphere and the light faded away from the broken pane of glass in the tiny window in their bin and Peter slept, calmly and deeply, the sleep that repairs all ravages to mind and body and brings renewed strength.

It was shortly before Dempsey came and called that Peter roused out of the depths of his sleep at once, and awake all over, alive and clear-headed and tingling in every nerve and muscle. It was pitch dark, but the light of a single star that came in through the broken pane was enough for his cat-sensitive eyes to orient themselves. Jennie was nearby. He felt her presence rather than saw her. He stretched once, and then crouched and listened.

Then he heard it, muffled by its passage through the walls and windings of the warehouse, via the tunnel and aisles, but unmistakably the voice of Dempsey. Peter remembered it now. He would have known it anywhere. And it was calling to Jennie. `Come out . . . Jennie come aaaaaaout naaaaow! Naaaaaaaow Jennie come aaaaaaout …'

A low, deep, nearly inaudible growl formed itself in Peter's throat. He flattened himself almost on to his stomach and began to slink forward. The last thing he heard was Jennie's deep sigh from the bed, and he felt rather than heard her wish to him-`Good hunting, oh, my Peter. . .'

Then, he was down from the bed, and with the fur from his belly almost brushing the floor, every movement controlled so that he seemed to flow along the ground, he went down the dark aisle of the warehouse in the direction of the tunnel from whence came that call that raised every hackle and hair on his body

`Jennie, come aaaaaaaaaout naaaaaaow, come aaaaaaout, come aaaaaaaaaaout!'