A young chestnut-coloured dog, a dachshund-mongrel cross with a foxy muzzle, was charging up and down the pavement, glancing around anxiously in every direction. She would stop now and then to lift up one frozen front paw followed by the other, whimpering as she tried to work out how she could have got herself lost.
She had a clear recollection of how she had spent the day, and how she had eventually landed up on this unfamiliar bit of pavement.
The day had begun with her master, Mr Luke the carpenter, putting his cap on, sticking a wooden object wrapped in a red cloth under his arm, and calling to her, ‘Come on, Chestnut Girl, we’re off!’
When she heard her name the dachshund-mongrel cross came out from under the bench where she slept on wood-shavings and ran after her master. Luke’s customers lived an awfully long way away, so, before completing his visits to them one by one on his round, the carpenter had to slip into a pub several times to fortify himself. Chestnut Girl could remember behaving very badly on the round. She was so delighted to be taken out for a walk that she kept frisking about, barking at the horse-trams, running off into side-yards and chasing after other dogs. Every so often, when the carpenter lost sight of her, he would stop and call her name angrily. Once, with impatience written all over his face, he had even grabbed her by a foxy ear, yanked it and told her off in no uncertain terms.
‘Drop… dead… you… damn… little… pest!’
After visiting all the customers, Luke had slipped in to see his sister, staying to have a drink and a snack. From her place he went on to a bookbinder of his acquaintance, and from the bookbinder he went into a pub, and from the pub he went to see one of his old mates, and so on. To put it plainly, by the time Chestnut Girl found herself on unfamiliar pavement evening was coming on, and the carpenter was three sheets to the wind. He was waving his arms about, sighing deeply and mumbling to himself, ‘Born in sin from me mother’s womb. Oh, my sins! What sins! Here we be walkin’ down the street lookin’ up at the lights, but when we dies we’m set to burn in hellfire…’
Either that, or he would go all sentimental, calling Chestnut Girl back and talking to her.
‘Here you are, Chestnut, not much more than an insect. ’Longside a man, you’m like a joiner ’longside a cabinet-maker…’
While he was chatting to her like this they suddenly heard a blast of music. Chestnut Girl looked round and saw a regiment of soldiers marching down the street straight towards her. She couldn’t abide music – always too much for her nerves – so she galloped off, howling. To her amazement the carpenter, far from looking terrified, and yelping and barking, gave a big grin, came to attention, and saluted with all fingers raised to his cap. Seeing that her master was making no protest, Chestnut Girl howled even louder, lost her head and dashed across the street to the opposite pavement.
When she came to her senses the music had stopped, and the regiment had gone. She crossed back to the spot where she had left her master, but alas! He was no longer there. She ran forward, ran back and crossed the street again, but the carpenter seemed to have vanished into thin air… Chestnut Girl set to, sniffing the pavement in the hope of tracking her master by the scent of his footprints, but just before that some blighter had walked past wearing new rubber overshoes, and now all the subtle smells were mingled in with the sharp stink of rubber so she couldn’t tell what was what.
Chestnut Girl rushed up and down without finding her master, and by now it was getting dark. Street lamps came on down both sides of the road, and lights lit up the windows of the houses. Snow fell in thick, fluffy flakes, leaving a white covering on the road surface, the horses’ backs and the cabbies’ caps, and as the air got darker the objects stood out all the whiter. Chestnut had her view blocked and her body jostled by the legs of unknown customers walking hither and yon in an endless stream. (Chestnut divided humanity into two very unequal sections, masters and customers. There was one essential difference between the two: the first lot had the right to beat her, but she had the right to snap at the heels of the others.) The customers were in a hurry, and they were all ignoring her.
When it was quite dark Chestnut Girl was full of fear and despair. She huddled up in a doorway, crying bitterly. She was exhausted from walking about all day with Mr Luke, her ears and paws were frozen, and on top of that she was desperately hungry. She had only had a couple of things to chew all day: at the bookbinder’s she had been given a bit of paste to eat, and in one of the pubs she had found a small piece of sausage-skin by the bar – and that was it. If she had been a man, she would probably have been thinking, ‘No, this kind of life is impossible. Time to shoot myself!’
But Chestnut Girl wasn’t thinking about anything, she was only crying. When the soft fluffy snow had completely covered her back and head, and she had fallen into a deep snooze from sheer exhaustion, suddenly the door behind her squeaked, creaked and banged against her side. She jumped up. A man in the customer category walked out through the newly opened door. When Chestnut Girl yelped and got under his feet he could hardly ignore her. He bent down and spoke to her.
‘Where’ve you come from, little doggie? Did I hurt you? Oh, you poor little thing! Now, don’t get cross with me… I’m sorry.’
Chestnut looked at the stranger through the snowflakes over her eyelashes, and she saw before her a short, tubby little man with a chubby, clean-shaven face, wearing a top-hat and an unbuttoned fur coat.
‘What’s all this whining about?’ he went on, brushing the snow off her back with one finger. ‘Where’s your master? You’ve got lost, haven’t you? Poor little doggie! What shall we do, then?’
Cottoning on to the note of warmth and affection in the stranger’s voice, Chestnut licked his hand and treated him to an even more pitiful whine.
‘Good dog. You are a funny little thing,’ said the stranger. ‘Just like a fox. All right, there’s only one thing to do – you’re coming with me. You might even come in useful.’ And he made a funny little whistling noise. He smacked his lips, and gave Chestnut a hand-signal that could only mean, ‘Come with me!’, which she did.
Within half-an-hour she was sitting on the floor in a large, bright room, with her head cocked to one side, a picture of tenderness and curiosity as she watched the stranger eating his breakfast at the table. As he ate he threw bits of food down to her. First he gave her some bread and a piece of green cheese-rind, then a bit of meat, half a pasty and some chicken bones, and she was so ravenous that she gobbled the lot down without tasting anything. And the more she ate, the hungrier she felt.
‘Your masters haven’t been feeding you very well!’ said the stranger, noticing the furious greed with which she gulped down the un-chewed morsels. ‘You aren’t half thin – all skin and bone.’
Chestnut ate a lot, but without stuffing herself; she just became a bit woozy from eating. After her meal she sprawled in the middle of the room, stretching her legs out and letting her whole body luxuriate in the feeling of happy relaxation. She gave a wag. While her new master flopped into an armchair and smoked a cigar she carried on wagging and started to weigh things up: where was she better off – here with the stranger or back with the carpenter? With the stranger the whole set-up was mean and unsightly; apart from the armchairs, a sofa, one lamp and a few bits of carpet he owned nothing, and his room looked empty, whereas the carpenter’s place was crammed with all sorts of things: he had a table, a workbench, a pile of wood-shavings, planes, chisels, saws, a little bird in a cage, and a wooden tub for washing things… The stranger’s room had no smell, whereas the carpenter’s was always filled with a haze and the magnificent smell of glue, varnish and shavings. But the stranger had one big advantage: he gave her lots to eat, and, to do him justice, when Chestnut sat at his table and looked at him pleadingly, he had never once hit her, he didn’t stamp his feet, and he never shouted, ‘Get gone, you blasted bitch!’
When he had finished his cigar the new master went outside and soon came back holding a little mat.
‘Over here, dog!’ he said, putting the mat down in a corner. ‘This is your bed. Go to sleep here!’
Then he put the lamp out and left the room. Chestnut Girl sprawled across the mattress and closed her eyes. From the street came the sound of barking, and she wanted to respond, but suddenly she was overcome with a feeling of sadness. She remembered Mr Luke, his son Fedya, and her cosy corner under the bench… She remembered the long winter evenings when the carpenter was doing a bit of planing or reading aloud from his newspaper, and Fedya would play with her. He would drag her out from under the bench by her back legs and put her through such a routine of tricks and games that her vision turned green and she ached in every joint. He would make her walk about on her hind legs, use her like a bell, which meant pulling her tail until she yelped and barked, and give her tobacco to sniff. One trick was particularly painful: Fedya would tie a bit of meat onto a length of thread and give it to Chestnut, and when she had swallowed it he would yank it back out of her stomach, roaring with laughter. And the clearer her memories became, the louder and more pathetic was her whimpering
But it wasn’t long before weariness and warmth won out over sadness… She began to doze off. In her imagination she saw dogs running around, and there racing past her was the shaggy old poodle she had seen that day out on the street, the one with blank white eyes and hairy tufts round his nose. Then came Fedya, armed with a chisel, chasing after the poodle, and suddenly he was covered in shaggy hair, barking away happily, and he fetched up close to Chestnut Girl. Chestnut Girl and he sniffed noses nicely, and ran out onto the street.
When Chestnut Girl woke up it was light outside, and the noise that came in from the street was the kind you only hear in the afternoon. There wasn’t a soul in the room. Chestnut stretched, yawned and set off, gloomy and irritated, to inspect the room. She sniffed the corners and the furniture, and glanced into the hall without registering anything of interest. In addition to the door leading into the hall there was another one. After a moment’s reflection Chestnut scratched at it with both paws, opened it up and walked through into the next room. There, on a bed, covered with a flannelette blanket and fast asleep, lay the customer whom she recognised as yesterday’s stranger.
‘Grrrr…’ In mid-growl she remembered yesterday’s meal, wagged her tail and started sniffing.
She sniffed the stranger’s clothes and boots, and discovered that they had a strong horsey smell. Another door led out of the bedroom, but it was also closed. Chestnut scratched at that door, shoved against it with her chest, and immediately scented something unusual, something suspicious. Anticipating an unpleasant encounter, still growling and on the qui vive, Chestnut walked into the dingily decorated box-room, and then recoiled in alarm. She had seen something unexpected and horrible. With its neck and head pressed down to the floor, spreading its wings and hissing, the thing walked straight towards her – a greylag goose. Just to one side of it, lying on a mat, was a white cat, which, when it caught sight of Chestnut Girl, jumped up, arched its back, raised its tail, stood its fur on end, and also began to hiss. The dog was scared – this was no joke – but, not wanting to show any fear, she gave a loud bark and rushed at the cat. The cat arched his back even higher, hissed again, and smacked Chestnut Girl on the head with his paw. Chestnut leapt back, and shrank down on her four paws, extending her snout towards the cat and barking and yelping at him at the top of her voice. Meanwhile the goose had gone round to the rear to give her a good pecking down her back. Chestnut leapt up and ran at the goose.
‘What’s all this?’ came a loud, angry voice, followed into the room by the stranger, in his dressing-gown and sporting a cigar in his mouth. ‘What’s the meaning of this? Back to your places!’
He went to the cat, tapped him on his arched back and said, ‘Master Freddy, what is the meaning of this? Fighting? You old scallywag! Lie down!’
Then he turned to the goose, and shouted at him. ‘Master Johnny, back in your place!’
The cat lay down obediently on his little mat, and closed his eyes. If the expression on his snout and whiskers was anything to go by, he was annoyed with himself for having lost his rag and got into a fight. Chestnut Girl whimpered, as the offended party, but the goose stuck out his neck and spoke rapidly, passionately and with careful enunciation, saying something quite incomprehensible.
‘That’s quite enough,’ said the master with a yawn. ‘We’ve all got to live in peace and friendship.’ He stroked Chestnut and went on, ‘And you, rusty, you’ve nothing to be frightened of… These are nice people. They won’t hurt you. Hang on a minute. What are we going to call you? You can’t go about without a name, old pal.’
The stranger thought for a while, and said, ‘That’s it. You’re going to be “Auntie”. Have you got that? Auntie!’
And then, after repeating the word ‘Auntie’ several times, he walked out. Chestnut sat down to take stock of things. The cat sat on his mat, showing no movement, pretending to be asleep. The goose, stomping up and down on the spot and still sticking its neck out, had gone on annunciating at full tilt and with great passion. He seemed to be a highly intelligent goose; after every lengthy outburst he would pull back with an air of bemusement and look thoroughly pleased with what he had been saying.
Chestnut was listening and responding with her ‘Grrr…’, but then she set off to have a good sniff in all the corners. In one of them she came across a little wooden tray with some soaking peas on it and some sopping rye-bread crusts. She sampled the peas – not very nice – then the bread, which she tucked in to. The goose was not at all put out by watching a strange dog lay into his food; quite the reverse, he spoke out with more passion than ever, and, to demonstrate his trusting nature, he came over to the tray and helped himself to a few peas.
After a while the stranger came back in carrying a funny object that looked rather like a gateway-frame based on the Greek letter pi (Π). There was a pistol tied to the crossbar of this wooden pi mock-up, and a big bell hanging down from it; a string hung down from the tongue of the bell and the trigger of the pistol. The stranger put his pi down in the middle of the room, spent quite a while untying and re-tying things, and then looked at the goose and said, ‘Master Johnny, you’re on!’
The goose came over to him, and stood there with an air of expectation.
‘Right,’ said the stranger, ‘Let’s start at the top. First thing, you’ve got to bow and curtsey. Do it!’
Master Johnny stuck his neck out, nodded right, left and centre, and slapped his foot on the floor.
‘Good boy! Well done! Now… die!’
The goose lay on his back and stuck his feet in the air. The stranger ran through a few more simple tricks like these, and then suddenly clutched the back of his head, and shouted out with a horrified look on his face, ‘Fire! Fire! Help! Help!’
Master Johnny ran across, took the string with his beak and rang the bell.
The stranger looked well satisfied. He stroked the goose’s neck, and said, ‘Well done, Master Johnny! Now, I want you to imagine you are a jeweller dealing in gold and diamonds. Then imagine that you arrive at your shop and surprise some thieves. What would you do in those circumstances?’
The goose took the other string in his beak and pulled it, the immediate result of which was a deafening bang from the pistol. Chestnut really took to this sound; when she heard the bang she was so ecstatic that she ran round and round the letter pi, barking.
‘Auntie! Back in your place!’ the stranger yelled at her. ‘And keep quiet!’
Master Johnny’s work was not over just because he had fired a gun. For a good hour after that the stranger had him running around on a lead while he cracked his whip, and the goose had to jump a hurdle or leap through a hoop, or ‘show his hind legs’, which meant sitting back on his tail and waving his feet in the air. Chestnut Girl couldn’t take her eyes off Master Johnny; she whimpered with delight, and once or twice she went rushing round after him, barking the place down. When he had worn them both out, the goose and himself, the stranger mopped his brow and called out.
‘Marya, call Miss Harriet!’
A moment later there was a grunting sound. Chestnut growled, putting on a brave face, but, as a precaution, she edged up a bit closer to the stranger. The door opened, and an old woman glanced in, muttered something and ushered in an extremely ugly black pig. Completely ignoring Chestnut’s growls, the pig cocked its snout in the air and grunted with delight. It seemed overjoyed to see them all again, its master, the cat and Master Johnny. When it walked over to the cat and gave him a gentle prod under his belly with its snout before getting into some kind of conversation with the goose, you could sense a great fund of good will in its movements, its voice and its quivering tail. Chestnut Girl immediately realised there was no point in growling and barking at characters such as these.
The stranger removed his pi construction, and called out, ‘Master Freddy, please!’
The cat rose, slowly stretching, and walked over to the pig reluctantly, as if he was doing someone a favour.
‘Good. Let’s begin with the “Egyptian Pyramid”,’ the master began.
He spent some time explaining things, and then he gave the word of command.
‘One… two… three!’ At the word ‘three’ Master Johnny flapped his wings and jumped up onto the pig’s back… Once he had steadied himself, using his wings and neck, and settled on the bristly back, Master Freddy, with lazy, languid movements and obvious insouciance, as if he was sneeringly dismissing his own prowess, thinking nothing of it, climbed onto the pig’s back, scrambled reluctantly up on top of the goose and lingered there, rearing up on his back paws. They had achieved it – what the master called his ‘Egyptian Pyramid’. Chestnut squealed with delight, but at that moment the cat yawned, lost his footing and fell off the goose’s back. Master Johnny also wobbled, and fell off. The stranger cried out, waved his arms and went off again into long explanations. After a good hour spent on the pyramid, the indefatigable master took it upon himself to teach Master Johnny how to ride on the cat’s back, then show the cat how to smoke, and so on, and so on.
The training session came to an end when the master mopped his brow and left the room. Master Freddy gave a snort of disgust, settled down on his mat and closed his eyes, Master Johnny headed for the tray, and the pig was escorted off by the old woman. Given the abundance of new impressions, the day had flashed by unnoticed for Chestnut Girl, who that evening was installed in the box-room along with her mat and the dingy wallpaper, and she spent the night there in the company of Master Freddy and the goose.
A month went by. Chestnut Girl had got used to being given a delicious dinner every evening and being called ‘Auntie’. She had also got used to the stranger and her new flat-mates. Life was flowing by so smoothly.
Every day had begun in the same way. Master Johnny was almost always the first to wake up, and he would come straight over to Auntie or the cat, unwind his long neck and launch forth with passion and conviction on some subject or other, but as always what he said was incomprehensible. Now and then he would hold his head up high and declaim long monologues.
In the first days of their acquaintance, Chestnut had thought that he talked so much because he was highly intelligent, but as time went by she lost all respect for him; when he came up to her with his long speeches, she no longer wagged at him, and she looked on him as a boring old windbag who kept her awake. Unceremoniously she answered him with a ‘Grrr…’
Master Freddy, though, was a gentleman of a different order. He was a person who woke up without making a sound or moving a muscle, without even opening his eyes. He would have been just as happy not waking up because one thing was obvious: he was no great lover of being alive. He had no interest in anything; his attitude to all things was one of bland indifference, he was full of disdain, and you could even hear him snorting with disgust as he ate his way through a delicious dinner.
When she woke up, Chestnut would do a walking tour of the rooms, sniffing all the corners. She was alone with the cat in having access to the whole suite of rooms. The goose was barred from crossing the threshold into the room with dingy wallpaper, and Miss Harriet lived outside somewhere in a pen, putting in an appearance only when training was on. The master was a late riser, and once he had had a good drink of tea he got straight down to his tricks. Every day the pi construction was wheeled out into the room, out came the whip and the hoops, and every day they ran through virtually the same routine. Training lasted for three or four hours, by which time Master Freddy was more often than not reeling about like a drunk from fatigue, Master Johnny was opening his beak and gasping for breath, and the master was getting red in the face and incapable of wiping the sweat from his brow.
The training and the food made the days very interesting, though the evenings dragged a bit. Most evenings, the master went off somewhere in a carriage, taking the cat and the goose with him. Left alone, Auntie would take to her mat and think sad thoughts… The sadness would steal up on her almost unnoticed, and gradually take over, like darkness coming into a room. It would begin with an awareness that she was a dog who had lost all inclination to bark, eat, run around rooms and even look at things, but then a couple of shadowy figures would appear in her imagination, half-dog, half-human, with nice features, kind but not quite making sense. When they appeared Chestnut would wag her tail, and it was almost as if she had seen them and known them at some time, in some place… And as she dozed off, she would invariably sense that these figures smelt of glue, wood-shavings and varnish.
When she had completely blended in with her new life and been transformed from a skin-and-bone mongrel into a well-fed and cosseted proper dog, one day before the training session the master stroked her coat and spoke to her.
‘Auntie, it’s time for us to get down to work. You’ve done enough skiving. I want to turn you into an artiste… Would you like to be an artiste?’
And he started to train her in several different ways. In the first session she learned how to stand and walk on her hind legs, which she greatly enjoyed. In the second one she was expected to hop along on her hind legs and grab a sugar-lump held by her trainer high above her head. Then in subsequent sessions she did dancing, circling on a long lead, howling to music, ringing the bell and firing the gun, and before a month was out she had become a capable stand-in for Master Freddy in the Egyptian Pyramid. She was a willing learner, who liked to succeed. She derived the most exquisite pleasure from circling on the lead with her tongue lolling out, jumping through hoops and riding on old Master Freddy’s back. Every successful trick she accompanied with a loud yelp of delight, and her amazed trainer, who was no less delighted, ended up rubbing his hands.
‘Talent! Real talent!’ he said. ‘No doubt about it! You’re definitely going to be a hit!’
And Auntie got so used to hearing the word ‘talent’ that when her trainer said it she would jump up and look round as if it was her own nickname.
Auntie had a dog’s dream in which she was being chased by a yard-keeper with a broom, and it was fear that woke her up.
The room was quiet, dark and terribly stuffy. Bugs were biting. Auntie had never been afraid of the dark, but this time she felt scared for some reason, and she felt like barking.
In the next room the master gave a deep sigh; a little while later the pig grunted out in her shed, then there was nothing but silence. When you think about food your spirits get a lift, and Auntie turned her mind to the previous day when she had pinched a chicken-leg from the master and hidden it in the drawing-room between the cupboard and the wall, where there was a lot of dust and spiderweb. Not a bad idea to go and have a look, just to check that it’s still there in one piece. The master might well have found it and eaten it. But you can’t leave the box-room before morning – that’s one of the rules. Auntie closed her eyes to get to sleep a bit faster, knowing from experience that the sooner you get to sleep the sooner morning comes. But suddenly, quite near to her, there was a strange cry which made her jump and get up on all four legs. The cry had come from Master Johnny, and it wasn’t his usual chatty and confident noise but a wild, piercing, unnatural sound like the squeal of a gate being opened. Seeing nothing in the darkness and greatly puzzled, Auntie felt even more scared, and she growled.
‘Grrr…’
A little time went by, about as long as you would need to finish off a nice bone, and the cry didn’t come again. Auntie gradually settled down, and dozed off. She dreamt there were two big black dogs, with their haunches and sides covered in clumps of last year’s hair, greedily slurping slops from a wooden basin with white steam and a delicious smell rising from it. Now and then they would stop to look round and snarl at Auntie, and growl, ‘You’re not getting any!’ But then a peasant in a fur coat came running out of a house and used a whip to drive them away. Then Auntie went to the basin and tucked into the slops, but the moment the peasant walked out through the gate, both of the black dogs came at her, roaring away, and that was when the piercing cry came again. ‘Oooh! Argh!’ cried Master Johnny, gagging.
Auntie was now awake, and she jumped to her feet; without leaving her mat she sang out, half-howling, half-barking. She had an idea that it wasn’t Master Johnny calling out, but someone else, an intruder. And for no apparent reason the pig gave another grunt out in her little shed.
But then there was shuffling of slippers, and into the room walked the master wearing his dressing-gown and holding a candle. A flickering light jumped about on the dingy wallpaper and across the ceiling, chasing the darkness away. Auntie could see that there weren’t any intruders in the room. Master Johnny was sitting on the floor, not asleep. His wings were spread out, and his beak was wide open; he looked exhausted and thirsty. Old Master Freddy was awake too. He must have been woken up by the racket.
‘Master Johnny, what’s up with you?’ the master asked the goose. ‘What’s all this noise about? Do you feel poorly?’
The goose said nothing. The master felt his neck and stroked his back, and spoke again.
‘Funny chap. You can’t sleep, and you stop the rest of us sleeping.’
When the master walked out, taking the candle with him, the darkness came back. Auntie was scared. The goose wasn’t calling out, but she still had the feeling there was somebody else standing there in the darkness. The scariest thing of all was that she couldn’t get her teeth into whoever it was because she couldn’t see him, there was nothing to him. And she had an inexplicable feeling that tonight something terrible was going to happen. Master Freddy was upset too. Auntie could hear him tossing and turning on his mat, yawning and shaking his head.
Outside on the street somebody banged on a gate, and the pig grunted in its shed. Auntie whined, stretched her front paws out and laid her head on them. In the darkness and stillness the banging on the gate and a grunt from the pig (why wasn’t she asleep?) seemed just as gloomy and scary as the cry from Master Johnny. It was all very frightening and upsetting, but why? Who is that intruder who can’t be seen? Then, not far away, two pale-green sparks lit up in a quick flash. It was Master Freddy, making an approach to her for the first time since they had got to know each other. What did he want? Auntie licked his paw, and, without asking what he had come for, she sang out with a soft howl, varying her musical pitch.
‘Oooh!’ It was Master Johnny, crying. ‘Argh!’
Once again the door opened and in came the master with his candle. The goose was sitting there in the same position, with his beak wide open and his wings spread out. His eyes were closed.
‘Master Johnny!’ said the trainer.
The goose did not stir. The master sat down with him on the floor, looked at him without speaking for a while, and then spoke.
‘Master Johnny, what is all this? Are you dying – is that what it is? Oh dear, now I remember! Yes, I remember!’ he cried out, clapping one hand to the back of his head. ‘I know what it’s all about! It’s that accident yesterday when that horse trod on you. My God, Oh, my God!’
Auntie had no idea what the master had been saying, but she could tell from his face that even he was expecting something terrible to happen. She pushed her snout forward in the direction of the dark window, almost certain that an intruder was looking in at them, and she gave another little howl.
‘Auntie, he is dying!’ said the master. ‘That’s what it is. Death has come into your room. What are we going to do?’
Ashen-faced and quite distraught, the master went back to his own room, sighing and shaking his head. Auntie felt scared of being left behind in the dark, and she followed him out. He sat on the bed, repeating over and over, ‘My God, what are we going to do?’
Auntie walked about round his legs, and, without understanding why, she felt so unhappy and everyone was so upset, she tried to understand it all by following all his movements. Master Freddy, who rarely left his mat, also came into the master’s bedroom, and began to rub up against his feet. He kept shaking his head as if he wanted to dislodge any nasty thoughts, and he kept looking suspiciously under the bed.
The master took a saucer, poured out some water from the washstand, and went back to the goose.
‘Drink this, Master Johnny!’ he said softly, putting the saucer down in front of him. ‘Have a drink, old chap.’
But Master Johnny did not stir and did not open his eyes. The master brought his head to the saucer and dipped his beak into the water, but the goose did not drink, his wings just spread out even wider while his head stayed there, lying on the saucer.
‘No. There’s nothing more we can do!’ sighed the master. ‘That’s it. Master Johnny has gone!’
And shining drops rolled down his cheeks as they roll down windows when it is raining. Without knowing what was wrong, Auntie and Master Freddy clung to him, looking with horror at the goose.
‘Poor old Master Johnny!’ said the master with a deep sigh. ‘And there was me, dreaming that this spring I would take you out to the cottage and go for walks with you out on the green grass. Dear creature, such a good friend of mine, you are no more! How am I going to manage without you?’
Auntie began to imagine that this would happen to her – one day, without anybody knowing why, she would close her eyes, stretch out her paws and bare her teeth, and everyone would look at her with horror. The same thoughts were obviously going through Master Freddy’s head. Never before had the old tomcat been as gloomy and sombre as he was now.
Dawn was coming on and by now the invisible intruder that had given Auntie such a scare had gone from the room. When it was fully daylight the yard-keeper came in, picked the goose up by his feet and took him away. Soon after that the old woman came in and went off with his tray.
Auntie went into the drawing-room and took a look behind the cupboard. The master had not eaten the chicken-leg; it was still there, in the dust and cobwebs. But Auntie felt weary and saddened; she was on the brink of tears. Without so much as a sniff at the chicken-leg, she sat down and began whining in a soft, thin voice.
‘Boo-hoo… Boo-hoo…’
One fine evening the master came into the little room with the dingy wallpaper, rubbed his hands and said, ‘Well, then…’
It seemed as if he wanted to speak further, but he didn’t do so; he walked out. During her training sessions Auntie had made a careful study of his face and manner of speaking, and she could guess that he was excited, worried and apparently annoyed. It wasn’t long before he returned, and spoke to them.
‘Today I am taking both of you with me, Auntie and Master Freddy. For the Egyptian Pyramid, Auntie, you are going to stand in for the late Master Johnny. God knows how it will turn out. Nothing’s ready, nothing’s been properly worked on, we’re under-rehearsed. If we flop, we shall drop!’
Then he went out again only to return a minute later wearing his fur coat and top hat. He walked over to the cat, picked him up by his front paws and hid him on his chest under the coat, while Master Freddy showed his total indifference by not even opening his eyes. It obviously made no difference at all to him, lying down or being picked up by the legs, sprawling on his mat or reclining on his master’s chest under his coat.
‘Come on, Auntie. Let’s go,’ said the master.
Completely at a loss and wagging her tail, Auntie followed him out. A minute later she was sitting in a sleigh at her master’s feet, listening to him as he huddled up against the cold and kept muttering, ‘If we flop, we shall drop!’
The sleigh stopped outside a great big house that didn’t look quite right – it was like a huge soup bowl turned upside-down. The big wide entrance with its three glass doors was lit up by a dozen bright lamps. The doors sang as they opened like mouths swallowing people who had been swanning around outside. There were plenty of people there, and lots of horses came cantering up to the entrance, but there was no sign of any dogs.
The master picked Auntie up and tucked her away on his chest under his coat, where Master Freddy was already ensconced. It was dark and stuffy in there, but warm. For an instant two pale-green sparks lit up in a quick flash as the cat opened his eyes, disturbed by the cold, hard paws of his new companion. Auntie licked one of his ears, and then, struggling to make herself more at home, she wriggled about awkwardly, crushing him under her cold paws, and inadvertently stuck her head out of the coat, only to dive back inside with a growl of exasperation. She thought she had caught sight of a huge, badly lit room full of monsters. Lurking behind barriers and bars down both sides of the room horrible faces had looked out: faces of horses, ugly mugs with horns or long ears, and a huge, fat one with a tail instead of a nose and two long bare bones sticking out of its mouth.
The cat gave a strangulated miaow from under Auntie’s paws, but at that moment the coat was flung open, the master called out, ‘Hup!’, and the two of them jumped down onto the floor. They were now in a small room with grey boards for walls and nothing in it but a little table with a mirror, a stool and some tattered cloths draped in the corners. Instead of a lamp or candle there was a brightly burning, fan-shaped wall-light fastened to a narrow pipe. Master Freddy groomed his coat, which Auntie had ruffled up, then took himself off under the stool and lay down. The master, still agitated and wringing his hands, started to get undressed. He undressed as he normally did at home when he was getting into bed under his flannelette sheet, stripping down to his underwear, and then he sat down on the stool. With one glance in the mirror he proceeded to do the weirdest things to himself. First, he put on a wig with a parting down the middle and two curls of hair that looked like horns, then he daubed his face with a thick smear of white stuff, and he painted eyebrows, a moustache and red cheeks on top of it. This did not exhaust his fund of crazy ideas. Having made a mess of his face and neck, he began to attire himself in a most unusual costume that looked like nothing on earth – Auntie had never seen anything like it indoors or out. You must imagine the baggiest pair of trousers, made from chintz decorated with large flowers (the kind of material used in low-class homes for curtains and upholstery), trousers buttoned up right under the armpits, with one leg of brown chintz and the other bright yellow. Almost submerged in them, the master then put on a jacket, more chintz, with a gold star on the back, along with a high, pleated collar, stockings that didn’t match and green shoes…
Auntie was dazzled in body and soul. This faceless, baggy creature smelt like her master, its voice was also familiar, his, but for minutes on end Auntie had her agonising doubts, and then she was ready to run away from this multicoloured thing and start barking. The new situation, the fan-like lights, the new smells, the master’s transformation – all this filled her with a vague feeling of dread and a premonition that she was going to meet up with something horrible like an ugly fat face with a tail where the nose should be. Besides, somewhere through that wall the most ghastly music was being played, and now and then there came a meaningless roar. Only one thing kept her calm – Master Freddy’s imperturbable spirit. He was dozing in complete tranquillity under the stool, and he didn’t open his eyes even when the stool was moved.
A man in evening dress with a white waistcoat put his head round the door, and spoke to them.
‘Miss Arabella is on next. After that it’s you.’
No answer came from the master. He pulled out a small suitcase from under the table, sat down and waited. You could tell from his lips and hands that he was worried stiff, and Auntie could sense that even his breathing was nervous.
‘And now… Monsieur George!’ someone called out on the other side of the door.
The master got to his feet, crossed himself three times, picked up the cat from under the stool and put him in the case.
‘Auntie, here!’ he said softly.
Auntie walked towards his hands without knowing what was going on. He kissed her on the head and put her in alongside Master Freddy. Then – darkness… Auntie stamped all over the cat, scratched at the inside of the case, too scared to make a sound, while the case rocked about and shook like a boat at sea.
‘Coming!’ yelled the master. ‘Coming!’
After this shout Auntie felt the case bump against something solid, and it stopped rocking. There was a loud, echoing roar followed by someone being slapped – that someone, probably the ugly thing with a tail where his nose ought to be, was roaring and guffawing loud enough to shiver the locks on the suitcase. In response to the roar someone shrieked with the kind of laughter that went right through you – it was the master, who never laughed like that when he was at home.
‘Aha!’ he shouted, trying to make himself heard above the roar. ‘Honourable ladies and gentlemen! I’ve come here straight from the station! My granny’s snuffed it and left me a legacy! There’s something heavy in this suitcase – must be gold… Aha! I’m about to become a millionaire! Let’s open it, and see…’
A lock snapped on the suitcase. Dazzling light hit Auntie straight in the eyes, she leapt out of the case and, with the noise deafening her, she galloped flat out round and round her master, barking at the top of her voice.
‘Aha!’ shouted the master, ‘Good old Uncle Freddy! Auntie, my dear old thing! My beloved family. What the devil are you doing here?’
He threw himself on the sand belly-down, took hold of the cat and Auntie, and gave them a hug. Squashed in his embrace, she managed a quick look at the world into which fate had suddenly plunged her, so shocked by its magnificence that for a moment she froze from amazement and delight, though she soon freed herself from the master’s clutches, still wildly impressed and excited, and whirled round like a spinning-top. The new world was huge and brightly lit; wherever you looked, on every side from floor to ceiling, all you could see were faces, faces and more faces – and nothing else.
‘Auntie, please sit!’ shouted the master.
Remembering the meaning of this, Auntie jumped onto a chair and sat down. She glanced at her master. As always, his eyes looked severe but kind, though his face, especially his mouth and teeth, were hideously twisted into a broad fixed grin. He was chuckling, hopping about and jiggling his shoulders, as if he was thoroughly enjoying himself in front of these thousands of faces. Swept along by his sense of enjoyment, Auntie suddenly felt with every bone in her body that these thousands of faces were looking at her, so she lifted her little foxy muzzle and howled with delight.
‘Auntie, stay!’ said the master. ‘Uncle and I want to do a little dance.’
Master Freddy, knowing he would have to do some silly things, stood there glancing nonchalantly in all directions. He put on a feeble performance, too casual, too grumpy, and you could see from his movements, his tail and his whiskers that he thoroughly despised the crowd, the bright lights, the master and himself… He did his bit, then yawned and sat down.
‘Now then Auntie,’ said the master, ‘First off, you and I are going to sing together, and then we’ll do some dancing. All right?’
He took a little pipe out of his pocket, and started to play. Auntie, no music-lover, shifted uncomfortably and howled. A roar of approval and applause came from all sides. The master took a bow, and when the noise died down he played on. He was just tackling a particularly high note when somewhere way up in the audience a member of the public gave a loud shout of ‘Hey!’
‘Daddy,’ came a child’s voice. ‘Look, that’s our Chestnut Girl!’
‘It is, you know!’ The confirmation came from a slightly drunken, tinkling sort of voice in the light tenor register. ‘It’s Chestnut! Chestnut! Fedya, as God’s my judge, it’s Chestnut!’ And he made a whistling sound.
Someone in the gallery had whistled to her, and two voices, a boy’s and a man’s, were calling.
‘Chestnut! Here, Chestnut!’
Auntie jumped, and looked out to where the sound was coming from. Two faces dazzled her just as the bright light had dazzled her before – one of them hairy, drunken and grinning, the other chubby, red-cheeked and anguished… She remembered them, fell off the chair and struggled on the sand, then she jumped up and dived off towards the two faces, yelping with delight. There was a deafening roar cut through by whistles and a piercing child’s voice calling out, ‘Chestnut Girl! Chestnut!’
Chestnut Girl leapt over the guard-rail and then over somebody’s shoulder, ending up in one of the boxes. To get one tier higher she had to jump up over a high wall; she had a go at it, fell short and dropped back, scrambling down. Then she was helped along from hand to hand, licking people’s hands and faces, getting higher and higher until she finally made it on to the little gallery…
Another half-an-hour saw her walking down the street behind some people who reeked of glue and varnish. Mr Luke was unsteady on his feet, but, helped along by experience and instinct, was just managing to keep out of the gutter.
‘Wallowing in the depths of sin from me mother’s womb…’ he muttered. ‘And you, Chestnut Girl, you’m like a joiner ’longside a cabinet-maker…’
Little Fedya strode along with him, wearing his dad’s peaked cap. Chestnut Girl followed on, watching their backs, and soon it was as if she had been following them for ages, and she was so pleased that her life hadn’t stopped for a minute.
She still had a memory of the room with the dingy wallpaper, the goose, Master Freddy, delicious dinners, training sessions, the circus. But all of that now came back to her as one long and crazy bad dream.
1887