I, Houdini

  “There you are,” said Ben, in a not unfriendly tone. “That’s your natural habitat if you want to know. Sorry it’s not a real desert but it’ll have to do.”

  Of course! The Mother had read aloud to the boys from a big book about how hamsters have only been discovered quite recently, in some desert country far away called the Middle East. I hadn’t known till that moment what a desert was, but the minute I felt, saw, and smelled sand, I knew that a desert could be made of nothing else. How I longed to dig—to just dig and dig, burrow and burrow, till I had disappeared from view! I hadn’t known till then that I had this instinct.

  Now I knew, with utter certainty, that I must escape from Ben and come out into the Outdoors and find all this wonderful sand and make my home here. The great sadness I had been choking down for two days about my flooded, ruined nest under the platform just floated away. Who needed it? Here was where I belonged—Outdoors! Oh, beautiful, blissful place, where every sight and smell spoke to me of the ultimate in freedom! The largest house in the world would have seemed like a trap after that, I felt certain.

  Ben was crouching beside me, watching me run hither and thither. I stopped and looked at him. He was a stranger to me. My host, yes; a friend of my boys, yes; but a stranger, and—my jailer. He had introduced me to this miracle, and for that I should be grateful; but before that he had teased me. No. I must have no scruples. I must be ruthless.

  I made up my mind in that moment that I had to escape him, and that if I was forced to bite him in order to achieve my goal, then bite him I would.

  Chapter 8

  I have made the confession that I was prepared to bite Ben because I am trying to be an honest chronicler. One must not delude oneself. Even a hamster as altogether extraordinary as myself has his weaknesses, his—I must use the word—his vices. Biting is not my vice, but escaping, if you care to look at it in that way, is. The fact that I was prepared to compromise my deepest principle in order to be free is proof of it. The equivalent, for a human being, would be wanting something so much he was prepared to hit someone over the head and steal it.

  You see I don’t try to minimize or excuse my fault. It was only through good luck that I was not guilty in fact, as well as in intention.

  Ben let me play in the sand until it was beginning to get dark. He kept such a close watch on me that I had no chance to run. Then at last I heard a woman’s voice—his Mother, presumably—calling him: “Ben! Supper time!” He turned his head to answer: “Coming in a minute!” When he turned back, I was halfway to the garden fence.

  I’d already had a good look at it. It was old and as full of holes as a sock (I mean, of course, one that I’ve been chewing). I’d picked the particular hole I intended to make for, and the second Ben’s attention was distracted I was off like a streak of lightning. This might be my last chance of freedom Outdoors, for who knew if he would ever bring me out here again? My boys had never dared—they knew me too well. So I had made up my mind that if he caught me now, I would bite him.

  Fortunately—oh, how glad I am I haven’t got such a thing on my conscience!—in leaping up to give chase, he tripped over the sand and fell flat. His hand, flung out after me, just touched my little bald stump of a tail as I dashed to the fence. Before he could recover, I was through and into the next garden.

  You may imagine how speedily he raced out of his own back gate, and in through the gate of the garden I was now in. But it was far too late. I had summed up the geography in one glance, and shot into a big heap of sticks, leaves, and papers piled up in one corner. At once I was hidden, and with all that loose dry rustly stuff around me, you may be sure I lay still as a stone all the time he was looking for me, which he did, poor boy, until he was in a fine old state. At last his Father came, apologizing to the angry neighbor, and more or less dragged away the poor lad, who was weeping bitterly and crying, “He’s not even mine and I’ve lost him! What’ll they say to me? They’ll kill me!”

  To tell the truth, it was the first time I had thought of that angle. It gave me pause. Yes, indeed—my boys would be extremely upset. I didn’t care to visualize the scene when they arrived at Ben’s house to visit me and found me gone. For a moment I hesitated. I had only to nip back, now, through the fence, and I could make Ben the happiest boy in the world.… But in taking a deep breath, preparatory to doing this, I tasted again the wild, sweet air, heard again the call of natural things growing and living free—not the dead, made objects that had surrounded me all my life, but things with roots in the earth, or things alive, with breath and blood and instincts, like me. (Well, not really like me, of course—there was no living creature in that garden with anything like my intelligence—but you know what I mean.)

  It then became quite impossible for me to “do the decent thing.” Such a sacrifice was beyond me. I lay quietly in the heap of garden rubbish until I heard the two back doors slam. Then I crept out and began my first exploration of Outdoors.

  At first it was quite wonderful—almost, you might say, miraculous. I remember the Mother once reading to Guy the story of Aladdin, a little boy whose magic lamp enabled him to gain entrance to a cave full of treasure. The child’s wonder, amazement, and pleasure at the riches he saw heaped before him in the cave were no greater than mine at the marvels I found in that garden. Everything was so new to me. Not only the strange inhabitants—worms, beetles, woodlice, etc., not to mention birds, which nearly gave me heart failure at first … but the tastes. I think I ate more that evening, just out of curiosity, than ever in my life before. Grass, leaves, berries, seeds, nuts—I even tasted a flower or two. Some were naturally more agreeable to me than others, but it was obvious that whatever difficulties I might get into Outdoors, I would never be hungry.

  It grew dark, but of course that was nothing to me. There was much more light here than at night in the house. I gazed up at the sky with something close to rapture. I had heard all about the humans’ God, of course, and been quite puzzled as to what it might be, exactly; even for an animal of my exceptional gifts, it was hard to grasp the notion of something one couldn’t see. But now, crouched in the dark paradise of the garden, staring up into the limitless distances above me at the bright round face shining down kindly upon me and all my fellow creatures, I realized that this must be God. Whether it was the humans’ God or not, I couldn’t know; but I decided that it was definitely mine, and I sent it a Reverent Thought, which I carefully formed in my mind first:

  “Let me stay under You forever.”

  I am very sorry to have to add that, a few minutes later, I was sending up a contrary Thought, not so much Reverent as Frantic:

  “Quick! Quick! Get me back under a roof!”

  Chapter 9

  Some huge, block, lithe shape had leapt from above and pounced on me.

  I mentioned that the birds gave me a fright at first, when they flew down onto the lawn out of nowhere (as it seemed to me until I followed their flights). There was, in particular, one great big black bird which, unlike the other, smaller ones, did not fly away when I boldly ran up to it, but stood its ground with its beak agape and gave me a most evil glare. It did not actually attack me, though—it hardly occurred to me that two free creatures in the Outdoors would really wish to harm each other. Little did I know what Nature really is!

  But now, without warning, I was not only attacked but in imminent danger of my life.

  The villainous animal that had jumped on me with fell intent was, of course, a cat. Detestable creatures! Killers by nature—killers for sport, hunters, torturers—never, never are they to be trusted! Dogs are hunters and killers too, but they are not cruel as cats are. Excuse me if I sound prejudiced, but I have good reason. Any fears I had ever experienced in my short life till then were as nothing to the awful terror of those moments—minutes—hours?—when I was in that monster’s power.

  Perhaps the God above in the sky was protecting me, because otherwise, I imagine, the killer cat would have broken my poor spine with one bit
e. Or perhaps (here is an irony) I have the cat’s wicked nature to thank for my survival. It was the brute’s pleasure to keep me alive and active for a while before despatching me. Bite me it did, but not deeply enough to kill or paralyze. Just enough to make me wild with pain and fear—enough to make me run helplessly here and there while the cat jumped about, blocking my way and batting me with its paws, chiefly over the head, to keep me from thinking straight. Perhaps it had a suspicion that I was no ordinary prey, and that, if it didn’t keep me half stunned with blows, I would elude it through sheer brain power.

  How long this torment, physical and mental, continued, I can’t say. If it had gone on much longer, I think I should have died from sheer exhaustion. But suddenly Fate took a hand.

  All at once, a strong shaft of artificial light struck out into the garden, and a human figure, casting a long shadow ahead of it, strode down the path. My tormentor seemed to freeze for a second, its ugly head turned toward the figure and the light.

  Had I been in my right wits, I should have been off in a flash, but as it was, I simply crouched there, trembling in every limb, my eyes starting out of my head, unable to move or even think. The figure advanced, and suddenly a man’s voice said sharply, “Here! You! Be off with you!” When the cat, no doubt unwilling to abandon its prey (me), hesitated, lashing its tail, the man made a sudden sharp movement and the next moment some object clattered to the ground almost on top of the cat. It would have been on top of it, had the cat not leapt away at the last second and gone racing into the darkness. I caught a final glimpse of its hideous shape, appearing and disappearing at the top of the wall; then—thank Moon!—it was gone.

  Still I didn’t run. I couldn’t. I was beyond moving. If the man hadn’t spotted me as he came on down the garden, he might have trodden on me and that would have been the end.

  However, he did see me.

  “Ah, so there you are, you little villain!” he murmured. (Villain! Me! And that was without knowing that I’d been ready to bite his son!) He picked me up. “Poor little beggar—had a nasty fright, eh?” he said kindly. He put me in the big pocket of his coat.

  How warm and safe I felt in there! I made no effort to get out, though there was nothing to keep me except my own weariness and fear. For the moment I had no desire at all to be free, and my devotion to the Great Outdoors had been quite knocked from my mind. Later it would return. For the moment I simply wanted to be safe.

  When Ben’s Father had done whatever he had to do in the garden, he went back indoors and said to his wife, “I found the hamster.”

  “Thank goodness for that! Poor Ben was so upset! Shall I go up and tell him?”

  “No. Let him stew a bit. He shouldn’t have let him out. He’ll get a pleasant surprise in the morning. Now then—where’s the cage?”

  “In Ben’s room. I wouldn’t put him in there, though, you know what a racket they can make on their wheels. Pop him in with Oggi in her cage in the front room. Ben said he wants them to get together.”

  I stiffened. What! Spend a night with that fiend in female form? In my state of health? Never have I longed so strongly to be able to speak, to beg them to put me safely into my own cage! Didn’t the fools know anything about hamsters? How they are apt to fight to the death if you put them together in one cage? Surely I had had enough for one night without being thrust into the domain of another of my own kind who had already amply demonstrated that she didn’t like my company!

  I began to wriggle and jump in the pocket, but a firm hand was laid on me. “Now then, now then, none of that! We’ll soon have you right and tight,” he said.

  Horrors, horrors! I forgot the cat completely and could only think of those delectable, but razor-sharp, front teeth I had (was it possible?) so much admired at first. I must escape, I must!

  Cunning. Wits and cunning must come to my aid. First I stopped struggling, and at once the guardian hand was withdrawn. I waited, motionless, until he sat down for a minute and I sensed both hands were busy (lighting a pipe as it happened). Then, using all my climbing skills, I scrambled in one quick movement out of the pocket, down his trouser leg—and away.

  No time to study geography here. I just ran. Luck was with me—this was a modern kitchen, but there was a gap between the radiator and the floor. I knew those radiators can’t be moved. I flung myself under it just as the man made his dive.

  “Hell’s bells! He’s got away!” he cried. “What speed! Did you ever see anything like it?”

  No, I thought, and you never will. Nothing moves as fast as I do when the devil drives! I began to recover a little confidence, thanks to his kind words of praise.

  And I needed it in the next half hour. What they didn’t do, the pair of them, to coax me out from under that radiator! Fortunately it wasn’t on, or I’d have roasted, what with all the activity they drove me to, pushing broom handles and I don’t know what else under there. But I was myself again. I would watch the thing stealthily approaching, clamber over it as it came level with me, and then wait for it to slide back the other way. I had to be nimble but apart from that I really had no worries. Eventually, cursing and swearing, the man gave up. “Shut all the doors; he can’t get out. I want to get to bed,” he said bad-temperedly. And she must have been tired too, because in the end she left the kitchen door wide open.

  So that was how I got a second complete house to explore.

  It was rather different from ours. Ben’s family was richer, for one thing. Rich houses aren’t nearly such fun as humbler ones. Not only are appliances in the kitchen flush with each other, but the walls are smoother, the floors don’t have holes in them, and there are no chimneys or ways into the space between the walls. As to drawers with broken backs, or food cupboards that won’t close properly—those are right out of the question, of course.

  However, there were carpets; all the soft furniture in the living room had frills right to the ground, which enabled me to do a lot of mountaineering; and there was far more space for sheer running about. I spent the first hour or so looking for a piano, but when I found it, I was disappointed; it was what they call a “grand,” with nothing but thin shiny legs and no way at all to get into the works. Pity.

  I didn’t fancy going upstairs. Oggi the Female Fiend had her abode up there. Even if I hadn’t heard them say so, I would have known, for I could smell her. It made me feel very odd, to be aware every moment that there was another hamster in the house. I won’t pretend I wasn’t drawn to her in a primitive sort of way, but I wasn’t taking any chances.

  After a night of healthy activity I became aware that dawn was coming. It now behooved me to find a secure hiding place where I could lie up for the day. This presented certain difficulties in that sort of house. There were the wastepaper baskets, of course, but they were all smooth-sided and (unlike the ones at our house, which were allowed to fill right up before anyone troubled to empty them) had hardly anything in them. I began to turn against Ben’s parents. How could anyone stand living in such order, such unnatural perfection? Going around every night emptying wastepaper baskets and shutting cupboard doors—I ask you!

  Anyway, I found somewhere eventually. It was a narrow, uncomfortable space behind what I learned later was a cocktail cabinet, a hideous-looking thing made of shiny pale wood. It was just about the only thing I could get behind that I thought couldn’t be easily moved out. Having settled on this as a hiding place, and finding I still had a little time before the family got up, I decided to try something very difficult—to gnaw away the smooth, painted wood of the baseboard to make a bolt-hole in case I needed one.

  Well! You’d think, after chewing a hole in a lead pipe, I would find this quite easy, but it wasn’t. Partly, I suppose, because of the angle I had to work from—lying alongside my chewing surface and not head-on, so to speak. Besides, that paint was awful. I seemed to taste something in it that made me feel afraid. (I had felt the same about the lead, but there was no question of swallowing any of that by mistake. Little fla
kes of paint are different.) So after a while I had a rest from that and tried chewing the back of the cocktail cabinet instead.

  This was far and away easier. In fact I’d hardly got started before I was through. Rubbish, just built for show, not like the lovely solid old furniture in our house! Even though it made life easier for me, I couldn’t help despising that flimsy cabinet that let me in without even a token resistance.

  The moment I broke through, I smelled food! Wasn’t I ready for it, too! With a few quick chomps around the hole, I enlarged it until I could hop through, and there, conveniently on the bottom shelf among the bottles, were three packages of mixed nuts, one of nuts and raisins, a big bag of potato chips, and a bar of milk chocolate!

  What a feast! As I dug in, I couldn’t help feeling rather disloyal to my newfound enthusiasm for life Outdoors, but there is no denying that, while natural, fresh-gathered seeds and green stuff are much better for you, there is a certain decadent delight about manufactured goodies. I regret to say I overindulged, especially in the chocolate, stuffing myself until I nearly burst. Then I made a rather careless nest out of the torn-up bits of wrapper and fell asleep, with fragments of chocolate still clinging to my whiskers.

  Chapter 10

  Greed is not only disgusting. It’s foolish. How many times does even a highly intelligent creature have to have this proved before the lesson sinks in?

  Mind you, I don’t see how I could have known that Ben’s Father had a drinking problem. My boys’ Father hardly touches the stuff, other than the odd beer with meals, so I naturally supposed I would have ample time to sleep off my debauch and recover my wits before the cabinet was next opened. But no. I don’t think it was even lunchtime before the boozy old fellow was stealthily groping about in the interior of my hiding place for a bottle.