THE WOMAN AND THE DOG

(A short story)

PROF. WILLIAM HOOKENS

For the few years that I have lived in Manchester I have seen a good few things, and those of my countrymen who have visited it will agree that of all places in Lancashire, Manchester is a good place and the people fairly, sympathetic and understanding. But one cannot generalise – any more than one can call Indians good, simple or kind. And times have changed.

Of course, one sees more of other countries than one’s own, unless one is absent from one’s country and comes back to it after a good few years. One notices not only the pretty faces in Britain but also the legs and the different shapes that they are. One does not notice legs here because they are covered–often for very good reasons–but then do legs matter so much? And as for faces, aren’t there some very pretty ones here?

There are, thanks to God’s creation, beauties the world over, and one wonders what poor man would do without them. He would not only do his work monotonously and inefficiently, but his life would be short, because there would be nothing to inspire him. For, at the bottom of all great art is a woman…..

Such a woman was Helen. She was more than twenty-one, and had the looks that might have burnt a modern Troy, but there was about her a haughty disdain, and by her side a dog, that looked as haughty as herself. Those who saw them felt they were made for each other; others thought it was a fashionable idea of hers to attract people’s attention. Anyone who saw her and the dog would reject the second idea immediately, for neither the dog nor her mistress seemed conscious of anyone but themselves. They were not absorbed, as children are, with themselves and their playthings, but were sufficiently conscious of their surroundings, including the roads and the people. The thought that therefore struck anyone on seeing the two together was: “How they understand each other!”

On the face of it, it looks absurd. But would you blame Hilaire Belloc for giving a pen-picture, in one of his essays, of the poet and the dog that were so much together that the poet acquired the qualities of the dog and the dog in turn acquired his, and sighed at the sun and the moon and the stars! There is another story of a dog and a man. But then there are so many, and friendship between humans and animals is not a rare thing. The Arabs love their horses more than they love their women; and there are certain places where hospitality is so great that even one’s wife is not so much of a treasure as a quest. It all depends on people and

places...

One could see that Helen had changed her environment and had come to another which knew her not. If ever you were close to her and her dog you’d realise that if you attracted the dog’s attention, she would be upset, and if ever you tried to ask Helen anything, the dog would look on you as to say: “Hands off! I’m in charge of Helen, my beauty, my queen!” And you would feel by the look on the dog’s face that Helen was safe from any harm once Ceasar was with her.

Strangely enough, a month after I returned from London I got a flat that was not only cheap but made me feel poor. But I could not help this any more than I can my extravagance. I had spent a good deal of my money and I was left with precious little. So I took a job that would keep body and soul together and managed to get a flat which others would not want. But since it was a temporary measure I did not mind it. I would soon be getting some money from home.

But it was fun living there. There were all nationalities there–Poles and Irish and Jews, Negroes, Indians and Chinese and there was quite a babel of tongues once these nationalities got together. The Poles, by the way, came to England as refugees and have now flats of their own and being poor and good Catholics they see in Asians people who make good friends but are not always good paymasters. The Irish herd together as the Chinese, Indians and Negroes do, and all work as hard as they can and on Fridays all are so merry and wish the English people the very best. On other days however they are all curses.

The long and short of it was that I was given the bottom rooms and Helen and the dog (as I realised, when I was going upstairs to the toilet) were living on the first floor. The door of her room was open and I espied the dog and the woman reading a woman’s magazine. When she saw me pass her she shut the door, calmly.

No one had anything to do with her. Soon I learnt that she was a woman whose husband had left her the moment he had married her. She had no occupation and was on doles. Not even the landlady, who came once a week to take the rent, ever smiled or talked to her. The dog acquired overnight a frightful personality. It was said to have a possessive nature and that Helen could not resist it. Some went so far as to think that Caesar was the one who once loved her. People saw in them both something to be ashamed of and even wondered what the country was coming to if humans took recourse to loving animals abnormally! So whenever an occasion arose the dog was shouted at by irresponsible people and the woman given ugly looks and even abused...but neither cared! And why should they care when there was nothing wrong in their relationship? The look on the woman’s face, besides, showed that she knew better and the dog watching her reciprocated the feeling. He too had good, canine sense! I did want to see the mistress as much as the dog, for I had always seen them together and saw in them personalities that were unique: the woman had as much personality as the dog, and yet they had so merged their personalities as to feel an indivisible one.

It was Christmas, and a happy occasion to meet anyone. So to Helen I went. I took her a box of chocolates. I did feel for her. Maybe, she was an orphan and had none here to go to. Maybe, she was so weary with life that she dragged. Maybe, I’d invite her to my place and get her to eat a wholesome meal when I had ordered for two. Being away from home does make one feel homesick. Talk with her would have pleased me as I was not feeling too good what with the intense cold and the fog and the mist.

I tapped the door once, then again, and I heard a voice say, “ Coming!” There was no dog, I was sure, or it would have barked. She opened the door and looked rather surprised. “I thought I’d come and give you this box!” I said. “Happy Christmas!”

She ignored my salutation, took the box of chocolates and closed the door. “That’s a pretty picture!” I thought and felt mad with myself for going to her. Maybe, she had misunderstood me. But I should not have been such a sentimental fool...but then we Indians, like the Irish and the Italians, were a darned sentimental lot. But why ever did she take the chocolates? She could have been pleasant. That look in her eyes froze me. There was the look of death in them. There was no light in them, I knew and, for all I could imagine, she might have been sleep-walking!

I went to my room and shut it. I fell for the meal. It was good. I drank some wine. It made me feel good and happy with myself. Then I began to weep as though I were a child. I had spent so many Christmases away from home and though I was invited by friends to spend the Christmas week with them I yet felt nostalgic about home. For Christmas was essentially a home-festival! But there it was. I had come to Britain which was almost seven thousand miles away from India, my birth-place and the country where I had spent some of the finest Christmases, and then it all changed! I switched on the wireless and got absorbed in the singing.

Then I heard a tap at the door. There was Helen and the dog with a ‘May-I-come-in?’ look on their faces. “Won’t you two come in?” I asked. Helen smiled and I loved to see her smile. She looked human and lovable. She sat on a chair farthest to me while her dog curled near her feet. “Good companion!” I ventured. “He’s been with me since Donald left me...and that’s seven years ago.” “But you can’t be that old,” I said, looking rather surprised. “Yes, seven years ago when I was fifteen.” She wanted to tell me more but she broke down. She looked haggard and the dog caught up with her looks and gave out a moan that made a cold shiver go down my spine. “He too came with a chocolate box on Christmas morning and said a ‘Happy Christmas and left me...I had his child and told him that, but he wanted to hear nothing from me. I gave the child to someone who’d look after him and I left the place with the dog he had given me. He wanted to take the dog away but I pushed him out. He went mad because he also loved the dog. He pulled me out and sent me flying down the stairs. He took the dog away but it came back to me. I was in pains...but I had the dog and I loved it. At first I hated it because it brought me memories of Donald. He was an artist and called me his inspiration. Then he met another woman who had probably better legs and a figure than mine. But then age heals sorrows and the dog became a part of me.”

So Donald had kicked Helen on Christmas day after he had brought her the box of chocolates! How strange men are–and how fickle! One moment they are all adoration towards a woman and next moment they topple her down and go for another! And what a day of the year to choose for parting! But then one could not say much of those who happened to be good artists but no good men!

“You know why I did not allow you in?” she asked me.

“No!” I said.

“You know,” she said, like one wanting to explain an intricate point, “Caesar does not allow any male to come in nor talk to me...and it’s surprising how he allowed you!” and she smiled.

I went and tapped the dog that had allowed me this singular privilege. But the dog was not accustomed to such familiarity. He put me on my guard with a low growl. I moved away.

“You’ll have some wine with me,” I said.

She had a distant look in her eyes and I came closer to her and asked her again.

“You know I killed him when, he came for the dog,” she said...”Yes, please, I’ll have some!”

It was my turn to show fright, but instead, I took the bottle and gave it to her. Poor thing! she was driven to it! And she had felt it acutely. She had told no one but me. The dog, Helen and I, felt a strange unity that instant.

Next moment the dog jumped out of its place and ran to the door. Helen followed the dog. I opened the door and let them out.

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