michael, brother of jerry-第28章

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Now　Michael　could　not　reason　to　this　conclusion　nor　think　to　this　conclusion；　in　words。　　〃Amity；〃　as　an　instance；　was　no　word　in　his　consciousness。　　Whether　or　not　he　thought　to　the　conclusion　in　swift…related　images　and　pictures　and　swift…welded　composites　of　images　and　pictures；　is　a　problem　that　still　waits　human　solution。　The　point　is：　　HE　DID　THINK。　　If　this　be　denied　him；　then　must　he　have　acted　wholly　by　instinctwhich　would　seem　more　marvellous　on　the　face　of　it　than　if；　in　dim　ways；　he　had　performed　a　vague　thought…process。

However；　into　the　taxi　and　away　through　the　maze　of　San　Francisco's　streets；　Michael　lay　alertly　on　the　floor　near　Del　Mar's　feet；　making　no　overtures　of　friendliness；　by　the　same　token　making　no　demonstration　of　the　repulsion　of　the　man's　personality　engendered　in　him。　　For　Harry　Del　Mar；　who　was　base；　and　who　had　been　further　abased　by　his　money…making　desire　for　the　possession　of　Michael；　had　had　his　baseness　sensed　by　Michael　from　the　beginning。　　That　first　meeting　in　the　Barbary　Coast　cabaret；　Michael　had　bristled　at　him；　and　stiffened　belligerently；　when　he　laid　his　hand　on　Michael's　head。　　Nor　had　Michael　thought　about　the　man　at　all；　much　less　attempted　any　analysis　of　him。　Something　had　been　wrong　with　that　handthe　perfunctory　way　in　which　it　had　touched　him　under　a　show　of　heartiness　that　could　well　deceive　the　onlooker。　　The　FEEL　of　it　had　not　been　right。　There　had　been　no　warmth　in　it；　no　heart；　no　communication　of　genuine　good　approach　from　the　brain　and　the　soul　of　the　man　of　which　it　was　the　telegraphic　tentacle　and　transmitter。　　In　short；　the　message　or　feel　had　not　been　a　good　message　or　feel；　and　Michael　had　bristled　and　stiffened　without　thinking；　but　by　mere　KNOWING；　which　is　what　men　call　〃intuition。〃

Electric　lights；　a　shed…covered　wharf；　mountains　of　luggage　and　freight；　the　noisy　toil　of　'longshoremen　and　sailors；　the　staccato　snorts　of　donkey　engines　and　the　whining　sheaves　as　running　lines　ran　through　the　blocks；　a　crowd　of　white…coated　stewards　carrying　hand…baggage；　the　quartermaster　at　the　gangway　foot；　the　gangway　sloping　steeply　up　to　the　Umatilla's　promenade　deck；　more　quartermasters　and　gold…laced　ship's　officers　at　the　head　of　the　gangway；　and　more　crowd　and　confusion　blocking　the　narrow　deck　thus　Michael　knew；　beyond　all　peradventure；　that　he　had　come　back　to　the　sea　and　its　ships；　where　he　had　first　met　Steward；　where　he　had　been　always　with　Steward；　save　for　the　recent　nightmare　period　in　the　great　city。　　Nor　was　there　absent　from　the　flashing　visions　of　his　consciousness　the　images　and　memories　of　Kwaque　and　Cocky。　Whining　eagerly；　he　strained　at　the　leash；　risking　his　tender　toes　among　the　many　inconsiderate；　restless；　leather…shod　feet　of　the　humans；　as　he　quested　and　scented　for　Cocky　and　Kwaque；　and；　most　of　all；　for　Steward。

Michael　accepted　his　disappointment　in　not　immediately　meeting　them；　for　from　the　dawn　of　consciousness；　the　limitations　and　restrictions　of　dogs　in　relation　to　humans　had　been　hammered　into　him　in　the　form　of　concepts　of　patience。　　The　patience　of　waiting；　when　he　wanted　to　go　home　and　when　Steward　continued　to　sit　at　table　and　talk　and　drink　beer；　was　his；　as　was　the　patience　of　the　rope　around　the　neck；　the　fence　too　high　to　scale；　the　narrowed…　walled　room　with　the　closed　door　which　he　could　never　unlatch　but　which　humans　unlatched　so　easily。　　So　that　he　permitted　himself　to　be　led　away　by　the　ship's　butcher；　who　on　the　Umatilla　had　the　charge　of　all　dog　passengers。　　Immured　in　a　tiny　between…decks　cubby　which　was　filled　mostly　with　boxes　and　bales；　tied　as　well　by　the　rope　around　his　neck；　he　waited　from　moment　to　moment　for　the　door　to　open　and　admit；　realised　in　the　flesh；　the　resplendent　vision　of　Steward　which　blazed　through　the　totality　of　his　consciousness。

Instead；　although　Michael　did　not　guess　it　then；　and；　only　later；　divined　it　as　a　vague　manifestation　of　power　on　the　part　of　Del　Mar；　the　well…tipped　ship's　butcher　opened　the　door；　untied　him；　and　turned　him　over　to　the　well…tipped　stateroom　steward　who　led　him　to　Del　Mar's　stateroom。　　Up　to　the　last；　Michael　was　convinced　that　he　was　being　led　to　Steward。　　Instead；　in　the　stateroom；　he　found　only　Del　Mar。　　〃No　Steward；〃　might　be　described　as　Michael's　thought；　but　by　PATIENCE；　as　his　mood　and　key；　might　be　described　his　acceptance　of　further　delay　in　meeting　up　with　his　god；　his　best　beloved；　his　Steward　who　was　his　own　human　god　amidst　the　multitude　of　human　gods　he　was　encountering。

Michael　wagged　his　tail；　flattened　his　ears；　even　his　crinkled　ear；　a　trifle；　and　smiled；　all　in　a　casual　way　of　recognition；　smelled　out　the　room　to　make　doubly　sure　that　there　was　no　scent　of　Steward；　and　lay　down　on　the　floor。　　When　Del　Mar　spoke　to　him；　he　looked　up　and　gazed　at　him。

〃Now；　my　boy；　times　have　changed；〃　Del　Mar　addressed　him　in　cold；　brittle　tones。　　〃I'm　going　to　make　an　actor　out　of　you；　and　teach　you　what's　what。　　First　of　all；　come　here　。　。　。　COME　HERE！〃

Michael　obeyed；　without　haste；　without　lagging；　and　patently　without　eagerness。

〃You'll　get　over　that；　my　lad；　and　put　pep　into　your　motions　when　I　talk　to　you；〃　Del　Mar　assured　him；　and　the　very　manner　of　his　utterance　was　a　threat　that　Michael　could　not　fail　to　recognise。　〃Now　we'll　just　see　if　I　can　pull　off　the　trick。　　You　listen　to　me；　and　sing　like　you　did　for　that　leper　guy。〃

Drawing　a　harmonica　from　his　vest　pocket；　he　put　it　to　his　lips　and　began　to　play　〃Marching　through　Georgia。〃

〃Sit　down！〃　he　commanded。

Again　Michael　obeyed；　although　all　that　was　Michael　was　in　protest。　　He　quivered　as　the　shrill…sweet　strains　from　the　silver　reeds　ran　through　him。　　All　his　throat　and　chest　was　in　the　impulse　to　sing；　but　he　mastered　it；　for　he　did　not　care　to　sing　for　this　man。　　All　he　wanted　of　him　was　Steward。

〃Oh；　you're　stubborn；　eh？〃　Del　Mar　sneered　at　him。　　〃The　matter　with　you　is　you're　thoroughbred。　　Well；　my　boy；　it　just　happens　I　know　your　kind　and　I　reckon　I　can　make　you　get　busy　and　work　for　me　just　as　much　as　you　did　for　that　other　guy。　　Now　get　busy。〃

He　shifted　the　tune　on　into　〃Georgia　Camp　Meeting。〃　　But　Michael　was　obdurate。　　Not　until　the　melting　strains　of　〃Old　Kentucky　Home〃　poured　through　him　did　he　lose　his　self…control　and　lift　his　mellow…throated　howl　that　was　the　call　for　the　lost　pack　of　the　ancient　millenniums。　　Under　the　prodding　hypnosis　of　this　music　he　could　not　but　yearn　and　burn　for　the　vague；　forgotten　life　of　the　pack　when　the　world　was　young　and　the　pack　was　the　pack　ere　it　was　lost　for　ever　through　the　endless　centuries　of　domestication。

〃Ah；　ha；〃　Del　Mar　chuckled　coldly；　unaware　of　the　profound　history　and　vast　past　he　evoked　by　his　silver　reeds。

A　loud　knock　on　the　partition　wall　warned　him　that　some　sleepy　passenger　was　objecting。

〃That　will　do！〃　he　said　sharply；　taking　the　harmonica　from　his　lips。　　And　Michael　ceased；　and　hated　him。　　〃I　guess　I've　got　your　number　all　right。　　And　you　needn't　think　you're　going　to　sleep　here　scratching　fleas　and　disturbing　my　sleep。〃

He　pressed　the　call…button；　and；　when　his　room…steward　answered；　turned　Michael　over　to　him　to　be　taken　down　below　and　tied　up　in　the　crowded　cubby…hole。


During　the　several　days　and　nights　on　the　Umatilla；　Michael　learned　much　of　what　manner　of　man　Harry　Del　Mar　was。　　Almost；　might　it　be　said；　he　learned　Del　Mar's　pedigree　without　knowing　anything　of　his　history。　　For　instance　he　did　not　know　that　Del　Mar's　real　name　was　Percival　Grunsky；　and　that　at　grammar　school　he　had　been　called　〃Brownie〃　by　the　girls　and　〃Blackie〃　by　the　boys。　　No　more　did　he　know　that　he　had　gone　from　half…way…through　grammar　school　directly　into　the　industrial　reform　school；　nor　that；　after　serving　two　years；　he　had　been　paroled　out　by　Harris　Collins；　who　made　a　living；　and　an　excellent　one；　by　training　animals　for　the　stage。　　Much　less　could　he　know　the　training　that　for　six　years　Del　Mar；　as　assistant；　had　been　taught　to　give　the　animals；　and；　thereby；　had　received　for　himself。

What　Michael　did　know　was　that　Del　Mar　had　no　pedigree　and　was　a　scrub　as　compared　with　thoroughbreds　such　as　Steward；　Captain　Kellar；　and　MISTER　Haggin　of　Meringe。　　And　he　learned　it　swiftly　and　simply。　　In　the　day…time；　fetched　by　a　steward；　Michael　would　be　brought　on　deck　to　Del　Mar；　who　was　always　surrounded　by　effusive　young　ladies　and　matrons　who　lavished　caresses　and　endearments　upon　Michael。　　This　he　stood；　although　much　bored；　but　what　irked　him　almost　beyond　standing　were　the　feigned　caresses　and　endearments　Del　Mar　lavished　on　him。　　He　knew　the　cold…blooded　insincerity　of　them；　for；　at　night；　when　he　was　brought　to　Del　Mar's　room；　he　heard　only　the　cold　brittle　tones；　sensed　only　the　threat　and　the　menace　of　the　other's　personality；　felt；　when　touched　by　the　other's　hand；　only　a　stiffness　and　sharpness　of　contact　that　was　like　to　so　much　steel　or　wood　in　so　far　as　all　subtle　tenderness　of　heart　and　spirit　was　absent。

This　man　was　two…faced；　two…mannered。　　No　thoroughbred　was　anything　but　single…faced　and　single…mannered。　　A　thoroughbred；　hot…blooded　as　it　might　be；　was　always　sincere。　　But　in　this　scrub　was　no　sincerity；　only　a　positive　insincerity。　　A　thoroughbred　had　passion；　because　of　its　hot　blood；　but　this　scrub　had　no　passion。　Its　blood　was　cold　as　its　deliberateness；　and　it　did　nothing　save　deliberately。　　These　things　he　did　not　think。　　He　merely　realized　them；　as　any　creature　realizes　itself　in　LIKING　and　in　not　LIKING。

To　cap　it　all；　the　last　night　on　board；　Michael　lost　his　thoroughbred　temper　with　this　man　who　had　no　temper。　　It　came　to　a　fight。　　And　Michael　had　no　chance。　　He　raged　royally　and　fought　royally；　leaping　to　the　attack；　after　being　knocked　over　twice　by　open…handed　blows　under　his　ear。　　Quick　as　Michael　was；　slashing　South　Sea　niggers　by　virtue　of　his　quickness　and　cleverness；　he　could　not　touch　his　teeth　to　the　flesh　of　this　man；　who　had　been　trained　for　six　years　with　animals　by　Harris　Collins。　　So　that；　when　he　leaped；　open…mouthed；　for　the　bite；　Del　Mar's　right　hand　shot　out；　gripped　his　under…jaw　as　he　was　in　the　air；　and　flipped　him　over　in　a　somersaulting　fall　to　the　floor　on　his　back。　　Once　again　he　leapt　open…mouthed　to　the　attack；　and　was　filliped　to　the　floor　so　hard　that　almost　the　last　particle　of　breath　was　knocked　out　of　him。　　The　next　leap　was　nearly　his　last。　　He　was　clutched　by　the　throat。　　Two　thumbs　pressed　into　his　neck　on　either　side　of　the　windpipe　directly　on　the　carotid　arteries；　shutting　off　the　blood　to　his　brain　and　giving　him　most　exquisite　agony；　at　the　same　time　rendering　him　unconscious　far　more　swiftly　than　the　swiftest　anaesthetic。　　Darkness　thrust　itself　upon　him；　and；　quivering　on　the　floor；　glimmeringly　he　came　back　to　the　light　of　the　room　and　to　the　man　who　was　casually　touching　a　match　to　a　cigarette　and　cautiously　keeping　an　observant　eye　on　him。

〃Come　on；〃　Del　Mar　challenged。　　〃I　know　your　kind。　　You　can't　get　my　goat；　and　maybe　I　can't　get　yours　entirely；　but　I　can　keep　you　under　my　thumb　to　work　for　me。　　Come　on；　you！〃

And　Michael　came。　　Being　a　thoroughbred；　despite　that　he　knew　he　was　beaten　by　this　two…legged　thing　which　was　not　warm　human　but　was　so　alien　and　hard　that　he　might　as　well　attack　the　wall　of　a　room　with　his　teeth；　or　a　t