THE HOME FRONT
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him to talk about the contents of his days; he would break off sud–
denly and pointing to the blackbirds in the dead tree would say,
"See them? I don't want 'em but I could have 'em all if I did." And
the doctor would look up at the crowded branches, object of
his
dreamy contemplation every day. "They're dumb birds," Freddie
would say as he threw a pebble into the tree and they all disbanded.
"They don't know where they're at." Dr. Pakheiser would reply, "I
don't think any birds at all know where they're at." They had come
to this conventional rite through a mutual understanding: the doctor
disliked birds, the boy disliked cats. Neither spoke of his aversion,
but the seriousness underlying their banter implied, "Your pet stays
where it belongs, or else."
Milenka was soon prospering. His coat came in soft and shining;
his
purr cleared and his eyes lost the milkiness that had clouded them
when he first came home. He was full grown now and, obliged to
assume the responsibilities of a male animal, sometimes missed a meal
and spent the time with a plump old tabby who howled for him on
the stone wall. But good friend that Milenka was, if he failed to
come one evening, he sneaked through the door early the next morn–
ing when someone went out to the day-shift. The doctor came to
enjoy these morning visits even more than the evening ones. He would
go back to bed after he had poured out the cream and lie there
watching; when the cat had finished, he would jump to the bed,
walk carefully up Dr. Pakheiser's legs to the thigh and there establish
himself. But there was one drawback to his coming in the daytime.
Ironically, a pair of wrens had built a nest under the eave of the
comer window and Milenka, hearing them rustle and chirp, would
sit up,
his
whiskers twitching, his sleek little body poised for a leap.
And whenever this happened, Dr. Pakheiser felt a thrill of disquiet,
afraid the cat would commit a crime during the day while he was
at his office and could not intercede for him.
Just as Milenka thrived, so did Freddie's successes multiply and
by the first of June, the clumsy home-made cages in the garage were
half full of orioles and robins and finches and fl ickers which, at
feeding time, gave out a dissonant and reedy clamor. One Sunday
afternoon, when school was over for him and the skies were full of
birds, Freddie stalked a robin in full view of the doctor's windows.
He crept across the lawn on his hands and knees towards the large
unmoving bird. The advance cculd either have been for the purpose
of murder or for ministration to an injured wing. It was beautiful to
watch. There was no sudden nervous jerking, no change of pace.
When he was within two feet of the bird, his hands left the ground
