The Abandoned by Paul Gallico

Author:Paul Gallico
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi, pdf
ISBN: 978-1-59017-644-3
Publisher: New York Review Books
Published: 2013-03-20T16:00:00+00:00

LOST IN THE CLOUDS

TIME WENT BY; how much, Peter could not tell. In the distance he heard at last a clock striking six and then another and another, almost as though for some reason he could suddenly hear all the clocks in the world announcing the hour. But whether it was in the evening or in the morning he had no way of telling, for the shock of the sudden attack and escape had frightened him completely out of his wits.

Now they were beginning to return to him, however. Whatever the hour, the gloom of darkness, fog, and rain was still impenetrable and he was aware that there was nothing for him to do but remain perched where he was until he should be able to determine where it was he had got to in his frantic rush of panic.

At that moment he heard a faint call, a dear and well-remembered voice coming from out of the darkness, apparently a little below him. He shouted: “Jennie! Jennie, where are you? Are you all right?”

She replied at once, and although Peter could not see her, he could hear the relief trembling in her voice. “Peter! Oh, I am so glad I could cry. I was frightened to death they had caught you. Are you sure you aren’t hurt?”

“Not at all,” he replied, “except that I got terribly scared. But where are you? And, for that matter, where am I? I want to come to you.”

There was a moment of silence and then Jennie’s voice came through the fog, quite tense. “Don’t stir, Peter. We’re up in the towers of the Suspension Bridge. ’Way up high, I think.”

“Up in the towers,” Peter repeated in amazement. “Why, I don’t remember anything but just running—yes, for a moment I did seem to be flying. I say, how exciting!”

“Peter—” Jennie’s voice was a little plaintive now.

“Can you forgive me for leaving you that way? I couldn’t help it. It’s the one time when cats just don’t think.” And then before he could reply, she continued: “It’s all my fault—being so upset over that foolish Maltese, with all her talk about Turks and Knights of St. John and Lord Nelson. Of course, she doesn’t come from the island of Malta at all. Trying to pull the wool over my eyes with her grand ways. They just call those short-haired grays Maltese. And then the way she talked about you. But even so, I should have smelled those dogs long before they got close enough to surprise us, and we could have taken steps, except that I haven’t been myself these past days at all. Oh, Peter, I’m so sorry for all the trouble I’ve brought to you.”

“Trouble!” Peter repeated in amazement. “But, Jennie, you haven’t.”

“Peter,” she cried, her voice full of despair this time, “you don’t know what I’ve done. Everything is my fault.”

Peter didn’t know and, what was more, couldn’t even think what she meant except that something was troubling her about which she had not yet told him.

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