I walk lightly on her wrist in what I know will be a fruitless attempt to comfort her. But, Rebecca suddenly is quiet, and stares at me. She stretches her arm before her. She blows on my wings. I fly to the wall. She is calm. I don’t know what to think!
Rebecca puts on her cardigan, takes her basket of peas from the kitchen and goes to the back step to shell peas. Here she’s away from the kitchen confusion, the clanging pots and pans, outside where she prefers to be, surrounded by the shelter of the hedges, away from hurtful people.
Shelling peas is her favorite chore. Sitting on the back step, alone, head down, she shells a bushel of peas every afternoon. She rolls the peas between her fingers and counts them over and over. They eat the peas for supper. I believe she likes that she’s being useful. Everyone does, don’t you agree?
It’s just another day, like every other day, really. But I remember this day like it happened only yesterday. I’m exercising on the screen door, marching up and down, watching Rebecca.
Rebecca sits on her step shelling peas when she accidentally drops a pod. We see a black furry paw reach out of the bushes and pull in the pea pod. I buzz over to the hedge for a better look. Rebecca’s intrigued and stares. So do I. If this is a hedgehog, it’s the biggest hedgehog in the world.
She drops another one, not by accident, this time. She watches and waits. Before too long, the black furry paw stretches out for the pod. It’s too far away. The paw can’t reach it. The creature crawls out on its hairy belly until it reaches the pod. He snatches it up and quickly scoots a backward retreat to the hedge.
The next day Rebecca drops a few peas in a straight line from the bush to her step. Soon the furry paw reaches out and gathers the first pea. A second furry paw gathers in the next pea. The creature crawls out on his belly. We see a black shiny nose, followed by a skinny, dirty creature with long, shaggy hair. He eats the peas and finds himself face to foot with Rebecca. Rebecca, of course, says nothing. I stay where I am. This isn’t a hedgehog.
I recognize the creature from the garbage dump. He and I go way back. But Rebecca hasn't seen him before. She keeps her head down and continues shelling her peas. She peeks at the creature from the corners of her eyes, avoiding direct eye contact. The creature pretends to look at the ground, avoiding eye contact, also. But he is watching her. She appears safe, but he’s wary. She’s watching him. He’s not coming close enough to touch her. That’s good.
When she finishes shelling her peas, Rebecca, who doesn’t like others to make sudden moves toward her, stretches her hand slowly out to the creature. He sniffs the back of her hand. She turns it over slowly, and the creature sniffs it again. She opens her hand and offers him the peas she holds in her hand. He snatches them quickly and disappears into the bushes.
Every day the creature comes to Rebecca’s hand to eat the few peas she saves for him. She holds her hand quietly and the creature hears her hand speak of gentle kindness and friendship. He comes at the same time every day. He too, likes every day to be the same with no changes or surprises. He and Rebecca seem to be alike in several ways.
The creature eats his peas, Rebecca motions for him to sit in front of her. He looks at her hands. He hears her hand say, ‘sit.’ And he sits.
She lines peas in a straight line. Little circles in a straight line are her favorite design, after all. The creature admires her presentation, and he licks his lips in appreciation.
After the creature learns to sit in front of her, Rebecca reaches out her hand and touches him lightly on the shoulder. Perhaps she’s curious what his hair feels like. I drop down briefly onto the creature’s back. I’m also curious. His hair is just like hers, dirty, stringy, and matted. He backs away a little, but Rebecca is still, so he returns. She touches his shoulder again. He feels her hand say ‘I like you.’ Rebecca feels his shoulder say, ‘I trust you.’ My little heart vibrates like it’s Valentine’s Day all covered in chocolate and jelly. Rebecca has a friend.
The creature comes to our steps every day. He sits, eats peas from her hand, and lies down at her feet. His tail thumps happily against the step until she returns to the kitchen. Then he pads silently back to the hedges.
Did I mention I’ve known this creature for a long time? He probably doesn’t remember too much of his puppy life. But I remember when he was tumbling around the garbage dump with his mother and the other pups. Their mother didn’t have enough milk for them so someone in the litter was always hungry, whining, and crying. Sometimes it was him.
I remember the day the humans came and picked up the pups. One by one the puppies disappeared. When the last pup was left, he was put on the farm wagon and given a ride to the woods beyond the farm. At the edge of the woods the puppy was tossed off. The wagon drove off without him. For two days and two nights he waited by the road for the man in the wagon to come back.
The mother of the pups had been the guardian for a herd of cattle on the farm; the pups’ father was the half-collie, half-shepherd on a nearby farm. This young creature had gotten his thick, hairy coat from his mother, her intuitiveness and her quiet, patient watchfulness. From his father he’d inherited confidence, intelligence, and an excellent nose. With these gifts alone, the little creature walked into the woods, and, amazingly, survived.
He put his gifts to good use and managed to escape bobcats, boys with sling shots, mean men with large boots and loud guns, horses, and vehicles, hunger, and cold. He learned to read the body language of every human in this end of London. He learned to tell evil from good by their unique smells and movements. His nose knew where to find the best garbage dumps and occasionally something fresher, which is how I got to know him.
He wandered alone all his life, and believed he was a loner. Some orphaned creatures run in packs, but he’s a pack of one. I believe he’s been searching for something, maybe a pack of his own. He searched his way through the industrial park and into the hedges surrounding Somewhere Else. Here it is that he meets the small, quiet human, a pack of one, who seems to want him around. She feeds him strange little balls of food. They trust each other, and they keep each other company. From where I sit, I think a friendship is born. It is Rebecca’s first friend. Not counting me.
One afternoon the creature shows up to find that Rebecca isn’t here. Sad and lonely, he returns to the bushes. After dark, he feeds himself from the garbage dump behind the building with only a fly for company. He sleeps in the bushes.
He doesn’t know the reason Rebecca doesn’t come is because the head mistress made an exciting announcement at breakfast. Her voice was giddy with joy.
“A man and woman from the city who made a visit to Somewhere Else have invited Rebecca to their home to live with them,” she announces. “Let’s be happy for Rebecca.”
I hang to the underside of the serving table. The girls clap their hands slowly without much happiness.
“Her? Why her? Why not me? I’m prettier.”
“I’m smarter.”
“It’s not fair. She’s odd!”
“Why would they want her?”
Instead of shelling peas, Rebecca has to wash herself, launder her few belongings, and pack them into a big box she found in the garbage dump. The man and woman would come for her tomorrow. She misses seeing her new shaggy friend.
She can’t sleep. She’s both frightened and excited. What would they do with her when they no longer wanted her? What if there were no peas to shell? Would there be other girls who would touch her or laugh at her? Would they like her? Would they find her odd? Would they want a girl who was odd? Could she come back here if she wanted to? She mumbles all this to herself under her cover.
I can understand her anxieties, can’t you? Who isn’t afraid of the unknown?