PeeWee and Plush

by Johanna Hurwitz

  “And where was that?” asked Lexi.

  “In Central Park, in New York City.”

  “True enough,” said Lexi. “But could you have found your way back to PeeWee’s hole again?”

  “Why would I want to go back there?” Plush asked. “First he bit me. And then he let you come looking for me while he took a nap.”

  “Just a minute,” I protested. “I was looking for you until Lexi took over. And I didn’t mean to bite you. Honest. Please forgive me,” I begged Plush.

  “I’ll think about it,” she responded.

  “How long will it take?” I wanted to know.

  “Stop quarreling,” scolded Lexi. “I just saw something delicious to eat. Save your mouths for food and not for angry words.” He ran out from the bush and returned a minute later dragging a round piece of bread with a hole in the middle that had been dropped by a careless human.

  “Who gets the hole?” asked Lexi as we all began to nibble on this tasty find.

  “Help yourself. It’s all yours,” said Plush.

  That was the first time I’d heard her make a joke. There was so much about her personality that I had yet to learn. But I guess she had much to learn about me. One can’t become the best of friends in just a few hours. Even Lexi and I needed a bit of time to get to really know and appreciate each other.

  As far as I knew, Plush and I were the only guinea pigs in all of Central Park. We had to trust and understand each other. Otherwise, how could we have a family together someday?

  CHAPTER FOUR

  A Night at the Opera

  One good thing came from my biting Plush. She wasn’t eager to return to my hole with me. After a morning of trying to get her out into the park, I discovered that now I couldn’t get her back into my cozy hideaway.

  “Show me the park,” Plush said to Lexi after we finished eating. It stung that she didn’t ask me.

  “Not now. An afternoon rest is always best!” Lexi told Plush. It was another of his mother’s sayings.

  “I’ll rest tonight,” Plush said. “If you don’t want to show me the park, I’ll just make my own discoveries.”

  I looked at Lexi with alarm. Now that he had found her, we couldn’t possibly let her out of our sight.

  “Come along,” said Lexi good-naturedly. He led the way, and Plush and I followed. “We’ll go to Turtle Pond,” he said, turning and winking at me. Turtle Pond was quite a distance away. Lexi’s wink told me he planned to tire Plush out so we could all stop and take a rest en route.

  “Turtle Pond?” said Plush eagerly. “There were several turtles in the pet shop where I used to live.”

  “I’ve never seen a turtle here,” said Lexi. “It’s just a name, not a creature.”

  “Too bad,” said Plush. “Turtles are quite wise and very gentle, unlike some animals I can name. I enjoyed speaking with those in the shop.”

  Was that a crack at me? I couldn’t tell.

  We walked from one bit of protected shrubbery to another. “It’s important not to be seen by humans,” Lexi instructed Plush.

  “Why? In the pet shop I saw dozens of humans every day. It was a human who cleaned my cage and fed me. Humans were always good to me and none ever hurt me,” she said.

  Was that another crack?

  “These humans will be surprised to see a guinea pig in the park. They’ll want to catch you and take you away to their home,” Lexi explained patiently.

  “Is that bad?” asked Plush. “All guinea pigs want a warm, clean, safe home.”

  She’s saying my hole is damp and dirty, I thought. How could I have lost her trust so quickly? I felt miserable.

  Just then a child’s rubber ball came flying through the air and landed inches away from us. We all froze in our spots. Then clever Lexi ran around in a circle near the ball while I pushed Plush under a thick hedge. A moment later two small children, followed by an adult, came to retrieve the ball. We kept still until they turned away.

  “I hope I didn’t hurt you,” I said to Plush. “I wanted to help you hide quickly.”

  “Just keep your paws off me,” she said coolly. “I can hide or not hide as I choose.”

  I sighed. To think this day had begun with such joy. Now it was turning into a nightmare.

  We walked on toward Turtle Pond. I knew our slow pace was frustrating for Lexi. From time to time he would rush up a tree and greet a cousin or two on a high branch. Then he would make a huge leap and return to us.

  “How much farther?” asked Plush.

  “We’re halfway there,” said Lexi. “Do you want to rest for a bit?” he asked hopefully.

  “No,” Plush said firmly. But her small steps grew even smaller as we continued.

  To get to Turtle Pond we had to cross a wide road built for cars traveling through the park. “Keep to the edge under the leaves,” Lexi told Plush. “I’ll tell you when it’s safe to cross.”

  Squirrels are lucky enough to have two choices. They can run quickly across the road, or they can jump above it on tree limbs. But it’s never safe for a guinea pig to cross a road. We have to wait until there’s no traffic and then move as fast as we can. That’s why I usually only cross the road very, very early in the morning or very, very late at night when the fewest cars are driving through the park.

  Lexi climbed a tree to get a better view. “Wait till I tell you to go,” he called down to us. Plush and I stood ready at the edge of the road and hid in some tall grass. Suddenly Lexi called out, “Now! Go for it!”

  Plush and I raced as fast as we could. We had just made it to the other side when I heard the sound of car tires whizzing past. It would be so easy for us to be beneath them. But thankfully, we weren’t. We lay on the grass panting for breath.

  “We did it!” I said to Plush. “That was good running you did.”

  “Thanks,” she said. And for the first time that day I felt as if we were a team.

  “Ready?” Lexi called to us.

  I looked at Plush. She seemed exhausted, but I knew she was too proud to admit it. We were very close to Turtle Pond, but I didn’t think she could make it. “I need a break,” I shouted to my squirrel friend. “Let’s rest here for a few minutes.”

  Nearby there was a deep shrub and I urged Plush to hide in its shaded safety with me. She came willingly enough but still made a point of settling down as far away from me as possible. It was better than nothing, I thought.

  Lexi stuck his nose under the shrub. “I’ll be back in a while,” he said. “Now you know why squirrels like to travel alone.”

  By the time Lexi returned, Plush and I felt refreshed by a long nap. The sun was moving westward in the sky, and we could see the feet and legs of many people walking across the area. There seemed to be hundreds and hundreds of people all heading in the same direction.

  “What’s going on?” I asked Lexi. In my weeks in the park, I had learned a lot. But there was still so much I didn’t know. I’d seen Sunday crowds before, but I’d never seen this many people so late in the day.

  “There’s an activity tonight over on the Great Lawn,” Lexi reported. “I don’t know what it is but all these people carrying so many blankets and bags can only mean one thing: garbage. We’ll certainly have a wonderful feast when they all go home.”

  “But what can we eat now?” asked Plush. “In the pet shop I could eat pellets whenever I wanted. They might not taste as good as the food here in the park, but they were always available.”

  “No problem,” said Lexi. He ran off and within a minute came back holding a couple of seeds. “Dig, dig, and you’ll find something big,” he told us. These seeds weren’t exactly big, but Lexi came back several times with more. They were crunchy like pet shop pellets, but their taste was much more delicious. I looked over at Plush. Her fur was a little disheveled from sleeping in the dirt, but she was still the most beautiful guinea pig in the world.

  Rested and full of food, we sat together talking. Lexi told Plush stories about the park. He told
her about how we had become friends and said many fine things about me. She seemed especially impressed when Lexi told her that I was the only animal in the entire park who knew how to read. On another day I might have felt embarrassed hearing so much praise, but now I was glad. I needed all the help I could get to regain Plush’s trust and win her affection. And from time to time, I noticed her looking at me with renewed interest.

  The sky was still quite light when we began to hear a sound that was unusual in the park. There was human music playing very loudly nearby.

  “Oh my heavens!” shrieked Plush, suddenly looking very alert. “That’s the overture to Tosca.”

  “What’s that?” I asked.

  “Tosca. It’s an opera by Giacomo Puccini. It’s one of my favorites. I love everything by him: Tosca, La Bohème, Madama Butterfly. . . . They’re all so beautiful.”

  Lexi and I looked at each other, puzzled. I’d heard music coming from the boom boxes that some of the people carried in the park, but I’d never heard it so loud and it never sounded like this. Personally, I prefer birdsong to human music.

  “Mr. Josephi, who owned the pet shop where I used to live, always had the radio on,” Plush explained to us. “He especially loved to listen to opera. I’ve heard many of them in his store.”

  “Would you like to see the opera?” I asked Plush.

  “You mean we could actually do that?” she asked incredulously.

  “It’s just a short walk from here to the Great Lawn. That’s where the performance must be.”

  And so that’s why we didn’t go to Turtle Pond, and it’s how I got to see my first opera. There were men and women wearing long outfits that looked incredibly uncomfortable to me, singing in voices that were unnaturally loud. Although I could hear them perfectly well, I couldn’t make out a single word. Whenever the singing stopped, the hundreds of people sitting on blankets or folding chairs would break into loud applause. Plush tapped her paws together in delight too.

  “Why can’t I understand them?” I asked Plush.

  “They’re singing in Italian, silly,” she told me.

  “Do you understand Italian?” I asked in amazement.

  “No,” she admitted. “You don’t have to understand all the words to enjoy an opera. You can feel the emotion in the music. Imagine! I’m hearing a live performance of Tosca here in the park,” Plush said happily. “Who could believe it? I only wish Mr. Josephi were here too. He would be so delighted.”

  “Maybe he is,” I wondered aloud. I’d never seen so many humans before in my life. There were hundreds of them.

  “Oh, what a good thought,” said Plush, looking at me. “You’re right. Perhaps Mr. Josephi is out there somewhere.”

  As we sat under a shrub, I saw sheets of green paper with words printed on them on the ground around us. With everyone concentrating on the scene before them, I dared to venture out and grab one with my teeth. Then sitting back under the bush, I studied it. Plush was so involved with the opera performance that she didn’t notice me poring over the green page. From it, I learned the names of all the singers and all of the people who had sponsored this event.

  Much later, when the opera was over and the audience had left, the sky was dark. Only a few park lights and the moon above cast any light on the Great Lawn.

  “Now we can feast,” said Lexi. “The park personnel will be cleaning up early tomorrow morning, so this is our chance.”

  Plush ate her first grape and a wheat cracker. I had a piece of peach and some salted peanuts. Lexi kept busy eating and hiding food in holes that he dug all around the field. Many of his relatives snatched up food that had been dropped by the humans too. Not far from us, I saw Lexi’s fat old uncle Ninety-nine munching on a piece of cookie. I even noticed an old acquaintance, a raccoon named Sewer Drain, busy devouring a sandwich which had been left behind. There was plenty for all of us.

  “Why do you make holes and bury food?” Plush asked Lexi.

  “I can’t eat it all,” Lexi said, “and I hope by burying some of it that I’ll be able to find it later in the year when winter comes and there are no nuts and seeds and leaves available.”

  “What is winter?” Plush asked.

  “It’s many moons away from now. But when it comes, the days are short, the nights are long, the air is cold, the ground is hard, and life is harder.”

  I shuddered at Lexi’s words. But on such a warm, moonlit summer night, it was hard to imagine a time called winter. So I turned my attention back to the food in front of me.

  When we had eaten as much as we could possibly manage, it was too late to begin the long trek back to our homes. “Let’s spend the night right here,” suggested Lexi, and both Plush and I agreed.

  Lexi climbed up the nearest tree. Plush crawled under a nearby bush. She was making a funny sound in her throat. It took me a moment to realize that she was trying to hum one of the melodies from the opera. I crawled in beside her.

  “I have some good news for you,” I whispered in the darkness when she stopped humming.

  “What is it?” she asked. Her voice no longer held the anger of the afternoon. Where had I read the words music soothes the savage beast? Guinea pigs aren’t savage, but all animals get angry sometimes. And the opera had worked its magic on Plush.

  “I saw on the program that a different opera will be performed here later in the summer. It’s called La Traviata. Have you ever heard of it?”

  “La Traviata? That’s another wonderful opera. It’s by Giuseppe Verdi,” exclaimed Plush. “Oh, it would be amazing to have a second experience like tonight. Will you come with me?” she asked.

  I wanted to jump for joy. I knew I was forgiven. Thank you, Giacomo Puccini, wherever you are!

  CHAPTER FIVE

  What Is Winter?

  That began a very happy time for me. Each day Plush and I grew to know each other better. I learned which seeds and leaves were her favorites and saved them for her. Plush was eager to learn more about park life and asked me a hundred questions a day. Best of all, we played together in the tall grasses that grew all around us.

  It had always been impossible for me to join in Lexi’s games of tag, chase, and hide-and-seek that he played with all of his siblings and cousins. I couldn’t keep up with squirrel speed and I couldn’t climb trees or jump from limb to limb. But Plush and I were evenly matched for playing games. We hid in the grass or in small crevices in the earth or under rocks. We chased each other at our slower guinea pig pace and tickled each other with long flower stems and grasses. Each day brought new pleasures.

  There were surprises too. It didn’t rain until Plush had been living in the park for ten days.

  “What is this leaking from the sky?” she asked in alarm when she stuck her head outside. She had never seen rain before.

  “Rain? Is that another name for water?” she asked.

  “It’s water from above. It won’t last long. Perhaps a few hours. Perhaps all day.”

  Plush walked outside and took a morning drink from a nearby puddle. “I don’t like it,” she informed me. “I like water to hold still so I can drink it. I don’t want it falling on my head.”

  “Then stay inside,” I told her.

  “But what can we do? There’s no room for any of our games in here.”

  I knew how we could spend our time. Until now there hadn’t been an opportunity to show off my reading. My mother had taught me from the paper scraps that lined our cage in the pet shop. And thanks to Lexi, I own a collection of small books that have been left behind by people who visit the park. So Plush and I passed many pleasant hours in my hole as I read poems from one of my books.

  “Read that again,” Plush asked after I finished one of them.

  “The north wind doth blow,

  And we shall have snow,

  And what will poor robin do then,

  Poor thing?

  He’ll sit in a barn,

  To keep himself warm,

  And hide his head under hi
s wing,

  Poor thing!”

  “That’s a very sad poem,” said Plush. “And I don’t understand all the words either.”

  I didn’t understand all of the rhyme myself. I knew about robins, but barn? snow? These were words I didn’t know. But I had a feeling that it had something to do with what Lexi had told us about winter. Wasn’t that a time of snow?

  Later, while Plush was napping, I found another puzzling poem. I read it slowly. It was called “No” and the poet was Thomas Hood.

  No sun—no moon!

  No morn—no noon!

  No dawn—no dusk—

  no proper time of day—

  No sky—no earthly view—

  No distance looking blue—

  I shuddered at these words. It sounded like the end of time. I breathed deeply and tried to be brave as I went on. But the words seemed to bring more and more gloom. And finally the poem concluded:

  No warmth, no cheerfulness, no

  healthful ease,

  No comfortable feel in any member—

  No shade, no shine, no butterflies,

  no bees,

  No fruits, no flowers, no leaves,

  no birds,

  November!

  Where had I heard that word before? November? I said it over and over to myself trying to remember and then suddenly I knew. Back when I was a young guinea pig and my mother was teaching me how to read, she had also taught me some of the rhymes and songs that she knew. One of them was about the months: Thirty days hath September, April, June, and November. . . . November occurred during one of the moons and from the words in Thomas Hood’s poem, I could guess it was not his favorite time of the year. I guessed it would not be mine either.

  Later that day the rain stopped and the next day was another bright and sunny one. I forgot my fears once again. But it wasn’t for long. A couple of days later, Lexi dragged a heavy magazine over to our hole.

  “A woman left this,” he told me. “There’re lots of black squiggles in here for you.”