Pinky Pye (6 page)

So after luncheon Uncle Bennie sauntered out of the cottage and went around to the side where the long grass grew. He sat down to await a cricket or some live bug. My! What luck so soon! There was a sandy-colored grasshopper sitting as still as though it were a part of the reed it was on. The grasshoppers here were not as green as those in Cranbury. That was natural, since the grass here was not as green either.

"Come, grasshopper," Uncle Bennie begged, moving an inch. But it is one thing to see a grasshopper and another to catch it. And this one hopped so fast that Bennie had no idea where it had hopped to. Just one big hop and it was gone. That was all.

Uncle Bennie lay down on his stomach and peered through the faded grass, hoping for a return of the grasshopper. That grasshopper didn't come back but a neat little cricket came along. It looked at Uncle Bennie sideways, out of one eye. Uncle Bennie eyed it back. He cupped his hands and waited patiently. He lay very still hoping the cricket would jump into his hands. The cricket didn't jump into them but a ladybug did. Something was the matter with one of her wings. It was out of order, so she couldn't fly very well. Well, she could be bait for the cricket. Uncle Bennie had not asked for any bait, but bait had come to him.

From the windowsill, inside the house, Pinky had observed Uncle Bennie with great interest as he tried to catch the sandy-colored grasshopper. She had seen its farewell leap, and she knew how disappointed Uncle Bennie must be. Seeing that the noisy fellow, as she had named Uncle Bennie, was after more prey, she decided to enter the game. She had not had one single cricket or grasshopper to eat since she had entered this house of refinement, just milk, oatmeal, and food that was terribly tasteless after the baby crabs and minnows she was used to. She thought to herself,
It's no wonder the noisy fellow gets tired of never having a cricket or a grasshopper to eat. I do too.

Pinky was quite adjusted to life in this house now, and, aside from the tasteless fare, she liked it. However, she was not used to being waited on hand and foot, and when she made a decision, as now, to go out, she was not going to ask someone to let her out. She had often observed how the food giver, as she had named Mama, unfastened the hook on the screen to shoo out flies and then fastened it again. Pinky knew she could get out that way, and who cared about getting in? Not she.

So now she worked and worked on the little hook until at last she unlatched it and could push the screen open. The screen swung up, and with it resting lightly on her thin bony back she balanced on the sill for a moment and then leaped silently to the ground. The screen swung down and closed behind her, giving only the slightest sort of squeak.

Daintily and quietly Pinky sidled along in a roundabout route to mislead any watcher as to her true destination. Finally she landed right next to Uncle Bennie, who was so absorbed he had no idea he now had company in the hunt. His companion took up her position nearby in a small clump of wispy grass, and she, too, waited. She watched the ladybug crawling over Uncle Bennie's hands, for nothing was too small or trivial for her complete and earnest study.

Then, aware that Uncle Bennie's eyes were fixed unblinkingly on something, she looked where they were looking and saw the cricket. The cricket was eyeing the ladybug. The ladybug in lovely innocence was only trying to put her wing in order. Uncle Bennie was eyeing the cricket and now Pinky was eyeing the cricket likewise. Pinky's stomach was full and she was in no great hurry for food. Right now education was what Pinky was interested in. How a boy caught a cricket. She watched, now the cricket, now the ladybug, and now Uncle Bennie, approvingly.

Uncle Bennie decided that just lying on his stomach with a ladybug tickling his hand would not catch the cricket. He began wiggling, squirming, lying still, feigning sleep, yet, inch by inch, making a little headway toward the cricket. When he was quite close, he leaned on his elbow, held out the hand that had the ladybug in it toward the cricket, and hoped the cricket would be tempted to hop into this hand.

At last the cricket did jump. Pinky's tail gave a twitch and her eyes followed the cricket, but otherwise not a muscle moved. The cricket had not jumped into the palm of the noisy fellow but over his head somewhere. Both Uncle Bennie and Pinky slowly revolved. Hurray! There was the cricket. He had hopped right behind Uncle Bennie and was brightly eyeing him again.

He likes me,
thought Uncle Bennie.
He wants to be my pet.
"Come here," he coaxed.

Until now Pinky had not had a very great respect for Uncle Bennie. He was so noisy! But now he was being as quiet as she was, and she found herself admiring him. He was pondering his moves carefully, he was in no hurry, he was persistent, and she had a feeling he would win. His pleasing, rather husky voice apparently made a favorable impression on the cricket, for all of a sudden it hopped right into the palm of Uncle Bennie's hand. This happened just in the nick of time, for Pinky, deciding not to let admiration lead her out of the bounds of reason and drooling for too long over a postponed treat, had leaped for the cricket at the very same moment that it had hopped. But she missed it because, like a tiddlywink, it had already popped into the cup of Uncle Bennie's hands, which were gently closing together, and Uncle Bennie had caught his first alive Fire Island pet, a cricket, rather small and with a pretty voice. It gave an inquiring little chirp as though to say, "Oh, where am I?"

"Don't worry," said Uncle Bennie softly. "You are going to be my best pet. I won't let the cats get you—go away, Pinky!—and all you need to do is to eat and drink and sing."

Pinky was smugly cleaning her white paw. She was pretending that she had meant for her pounce to send the cricket into Uncle Bennie's hands and that otherwise she had no interest in the cricket. Then, paw suspended in midair, she cocked her head and studied the uncle. He really had done well. Was he going to eat the cricket? No. Not now. He put it in his pocket, a rather torn airy pocket in his short pants. Well, quite often she, too, did not eat what she had caught the minute she caught it. Tuck a battered mouse under something, pretend to go away—mouse would come to life, attempt to escape—pounce on it again, play with it some more, and then, eat it up! That was a very good game.

Uncle Bennie was talking to his captive. "I'm naming you Sam, after Sam Doody, the Boy Scout boy."

Uncle Bennie happily wandered off with Pinky following furtively. He searched in all the clumps of grass around the cottage looking for another pet. He fell into what he hoped was not poison ivy. In case it was, he rubbed his hands off good on his legs, so he was sure he had rubbed the poison away. He just couldn't catch another cricket. But he didn't care. He had this one wonderful cricket.

"Hello in there, Sam," he said to the inhabitant of his pocket.

As Uncle Bennie returned to the cottage, Pinky bounded along behind him. Rachel caught Pinky up in her arms and spoke softly in the kitten's ear. "Where have you been?"

Pinky purred. All day yesterday and so far this morning whenever Rachel came near her, Pinky purred. "She loves me," said Rachel.

"Well, don't let her get my cricket," said Uncle Bennie.

"Let's see it," said Rachel, looking in Uncle Bennie's pocket. The little brown cricket looked up at Rachel. "Oh, he's real cute," she said.

"He sings," said Uncle Bennie proudly.

Uncle Bennie carried the cricket around with him all day, and the cricket seemed to like it. Now and then he chirped. Uncle Bennie liked him.

During the afternoon Papa worked very hard putting up a huge green umbrella he had bought from the Army and Navy store. It was oblong in shape, more like a roof than an umbrella, and strong ropes on all four corners tied to staves in the ground held it securely down. Papa had put it up on the ocean side of The Eyrie, and it was spacious enough for all the family and even some guests to sit under on a hot day and look out over the wide Atlantic. While Papa was finishing up, Uncle Bennie sat nearby on the sand and spoke occasionally to his cricket.

Papa was very interested in the cricket.
He likes my cricket because, even though its not a bird, still it can fly,
thought Uncle Bennie.

"In China," said Papa, "the boys have cricket cages and exchange crickets with one another, trying to get the best singer or fighter."

"Mine is a good singer," said Uncle Bennie proudly. "I don't know about the fights."

"Where are you going to keep him at night?" asked Mama, who was standing by with hammer and screwdriver to help Papa with the big umbrella.

"Oh, I know where," said Uncle Bennie secretively.

"We don't want Gracie or Pinky to get him," said Mama. "Cats love crickets and grasshoppers, but they are bad for the cats. They make cats thin and scrawny, too many of them do."

"Well, the cats are worse for the grasshoppers," said Uncle Bennie. "To be eaten alive is worse than to be thin and scrawny."

Uncle Bennie told about the faded sandy-colored grasshopper that had escaped. "They are not as green here as in Cranbury," he said. "Do you remember how green they are there?"

Then Papa told about the greenest grasshopper he had ever seen in his life. It was out in California and, "I'm sorry to have to say it," said Papa, "but this very green grasshopper was the evening meal of that baby owl of Hiram Bish's I told you about; and that little owl ate up that green green grasshopper as though it were celery, with a cru-unch."

"Oh-h-h," groaned Uncle Bennie. "Well, he can't get my cricket. Because he's there and we're here."

In the evening, after supper, Uncle Bennie fixed up a little box for his cricket cage. He drew black bars on it so it would look like a real cage. He put some ants in it for the cricket to eat and a few drops of water in a tiny tin doll's plate for it to drink. "Pretend it's dew," he said to Rachel. He also put a little clump of grass in to make the cricket feel really at home. Then he whispered good night to his new pet and asked Rachel to put it up in the eaves for him, so Rachel put a chair on a table and climbed up. Then she shoved the cricket in his cage inside the little swinging doors.

It was cool in the eaves, but Rachel had not noticed that nor had she noticed that the little porthole window was still open because she had not stayed up there long enough even to look in.

So far no one had remembered to remind Papa to close that porthole window. Often Papa had said, "Remind me..." And then he would stop. Everyone would wait for him to go on with what they were supposed to remind him about. But he never went on. That was the way with Papa. He would start to say something and then he would stop, forgetting that he had everyone alerted for some remark or another, forks halfway to mouths, glasses suspended in midair. Papa was really very absentminded. If someone asked him a question, he might have to speak to Papa three times before Papa said, "What?"

"Are you listening?" the person would say and would not go on with the conversation until Papa would answer gently and as though from far away, "Yes?" The person would then speak quickly before Papa went inside himself again, far, far away. "With his birds," explained Rachel.

So the porthole window was still open. But the weather was nice, so it really didn't matter whether it was open or not.

Now Uncle Bennie got into bed. He sucked his thumb. This was the last night for that. The cricket gave one or two plaintive chirps. "Did you hear those?" he asked Rachel.

"Mm-m-m," she said.

"Sleep tight," Uncle Bennie called to his cricket. "Sing. And then, sleep tight."

Today was the Fourth of July. It had been an important day for that reason and for many other reasons. For instance, the kitten had typed "grog." ("I think she meant to say 'frog' but 'grog' is pretty good, isn't it?" said Rachel.) And the family had had their first swim of the year. In the morning it had been a little cloudy. "Oh, don't rain, don't rain," begged the children. They had been here forever and had not gone in swimming yet!

But the clouds had blown over and the children had had their first swim. The surf boomed and roared, and Rachel and Jerry soon learned to ride in on the waves and to dive through them. Swimming was impossible, but Jerry and Rachel called jumping in the surf swimming, and Uncle Bennie said to the biggest waves, "Watch out for Uncle Bennie," and tore way back to the dune in delighted terror when they came pounding in.

"We'll come every day in the afternoon," Mama promised them. "That is, every day that is nice," she added, and took one last dive herself through a mountainous wave.

What a wonderful mama!
thought Rachel when Mama staggered out on the beach, blinded, laughing, dripping. People called her mother frail because she wore a size-two shoe.
She might look frail but she isn't frail,
said Rachel to herself. Mama had a lovely voice and tra-la-la, you could hear her singing as she went about her work.
Does that sound frail?
She even stroked Papa's head in the evening when the dishes were washed and Papa had had a hard day of thinking.