Andrea Bennett - Galina Petrovna's Three-Legged Dog Story

He had tossed and turned for hours the previous night, his head full of doubts, but then he had come to some conclusions, and once that was done, he had slept like the dead, straight through. It was only Katya’s knock around ten a.m. that had brought him to a gluey consciousness. He was aware that he had dreamt and that the dreams had been deep and threatening, but the details scampered away like mice from a hungry cat when he awoke. He had washed, shaved and combed his hair according to his usual schedule as best he could, but the results were patchy and not at all pleasing: stubble remained in red raw clumps on the tender bruises about his face, and a ridge in the middle of his hair stuck up like a little coxcomb no matter how much water he applied to it. He had dressed, slowly and painfully, in the new clothes bought at the commission shop the previous afternoon: blue T-shirt, white knee-length shorts, white socks, and then his brown lace-up casual shoes. He had a vague suspicion that the shoes didn’t go. He would have liked to have asked Katya, but felt he shouldn’t. She had not said anything about his attire: but then, she did not know that it had all been bought with her in mind.

Mitya still ached. In fact, every particle in his body seemed to be raw and swollen. He could not fit sunglasses over his bruised eyes, so he opted for a sunhat, leant to him by Katya. He would take it off upon their arrival at the remand institution: it was orange, purple and white and bedecked in psychedelic swirls, and Mitya suspected it was too small for him.

‘So!’ said Katya with a brightness to challenge the sun. Conversation in the car had been a little lacking.

‘So,’ croaked Mitya, looking out of the window at nothing.

‘We’re going to the SIZO, puppy, like you wanted.’

‘It’s not something I want, Katya. It’s just… necessary.’

‘OK. Can you tell me why?’

‘Well…’

‘Give me a hint?’

‘It’s a long story. I have some unfinished business.’

‘Is it a crim, who owes you something? Are you going to threaten him? Blackmail, maybe? You have to know, I’m not sure I like that kind of thing. It’s not very nice. It can get you in to trouble. Believe you me, I’ve—’

‘Blackmail?’ Mitya looked at a cow, standing forlorn in a parched field, flicking its ragged tail among the flies that buzzed around its haunches. ‘Well, that’s a fine idea.’

‘But, you know, you shouldn’t really get involved in that kind of thing, I don’t—’

‘There’s always money to be made, Katya. It’s just that old Mitya here never seems to be at the money-making end of things. Maybe I should give it a try, I don’t know: it seems to work for policemen, after all.’

‘But technically, puppy, I think it is illegal.’ Katya was frowning. ‘Blackmail, that is. I know everyone does it, but I’m just saying. It’s not a friendly thing to do.’

‘Katya, I’m teasing you! I’m sorry, you didn’t get my joke.’ Mitya looked forlornly at his knees.

‘Oh, OK – you were joking? Ha! Well, Mitya, good for you!’

Mitya smiled, then stopped, as his bottom lip split again and his tongue curled under the metallic taste of blood. The little car traversed a pothole the size of Siberia and flung both its passengers up in the air till their heads touched the roof, and then back in to their seats until their coccyxes kissed the floor. Mitya bit his bleeding lip as pain lurched from his buttocks up through his stomach and all the way to his aching head.

‘Oops!’ said Katya, struggling to keep her hands on the wheel.

‘OK, stop the car. I think I have to stretch my legs. Right now, Katya!’

They pulled over on to the side of the track, into the cool shade of a linden tree. The sudden stillness washed over them, until Katya began to speak.

‘It’s beautiful here. We should have brought a picnic. That would make you feel better, puppy. Some sausage and black bread, hard-boiled eggs, tea. Maybe a little bonfire and some shashliks? You know, when I was little, my Uncle Borya took us to the woods every week and…’

Mitya nodded absently and made his way into a little green copse to pee in peace. Katya liked to chat, and he liked it too, but this morning he needed a little quiet to clear his head. He felt the summer all about him in this little copse, verdant and seething. A small blue butterfly landed on the back of his hand as he stood, swaying slightly, peeing into the vegetation. He felt the vague tickle of its body on his skin and looked closer, his eyes taking in its tiny papery wings and bobbing antennae. Instead of brushing it off, he gently raised his hand to eye level and looked at it, face-to-face, man-to-man… being-to-being.

‘Why?’ said Mitya. ‘Why are we here?’ The butterfly opened its wings, and then slowly closed them. ‘What is it all for?’ The butterfly uncoiled its proboscis slightly on to Mitya’s damp skin. He was filled, all at once, with the strong impression, strong like the smell of lavender in clothes drawers, or bleach on toilet floors, that he had met this butterfly before. There was something familiar in its gaze, in the way it licked his hand, something that spoke to him through its silence, through the deliberate opening and closing of its wings, the uncoiling and re-coiling of its proboscis. The butterfly cocked its head slightly, and raised one tiny leg.

‘Sharik?’ breathed Mitya, and his swollen eyes filmed over with tears. The butterfly opened its wings, caught the breeze and gently fluttered into the air above his head. Dancing for a few moments before his eyes, it gained height, bobbing towards the branches of the tree as they, in turn, nodded downwards to meet it. The sunhat fell from Mitya’s head on to the wet grass. His eyes searched the branches for the butterfly, but it had disappeared into the green canopy above. Sunlight filtered through the branches and enveloped Mitya in a warm honey glaze. His heart swelled and filled his chest.

The butterfly silence faded as Katya’s story-telling broke through the skin of his consciousness like a pebble into a woodland pond. Her voice called him back. Mitya shivered slightly in the sunshine, picked a frond of long green grass to chew, and followed Katya’s call out of the copse and back towards the dusty dirt track.

‘—And do you know what? She was never the same again! Just the sight of a melon was enough to do it! Of course he apologised, but still. Are you OK, puppy?’ Katya stopped talking and eyed him quizzically. ‘Where’s your hat?’

‘Who says we’re better than butterflies, Katya?’

The girl was stumped by the question for a moment.

‘Who says a man’s life is worth more than that of an… an ant, for example? Why is a human worth more than a dog? Why are there different rules for the animals and us, Katya?’

‘Are there different rules, Mitya? Just treat everything and everyone properly, and everything will be OK, puppy.’

‘Everything and everyone?’

‘Yeah, well, you know. Just be good, I guess.’

‘Be good. Yes. But what about dirt?’

‘What about it, Mitya? It’s kind of in the eye of the beholder, isn’t it? Well, it’s not actually in your eye, obviously. Pigs love it, old ladies mostly don’t. Whatever makes you happy, I guess, as long as you hurt no-one else. Where’s my hat, hun?’

‘But animals make dirt. Disorder. That’s what I… I can’t abide. Can animals be orderly, do you think?’

‘Animals have their own order, Mitya: they’re animals. They have their own code. They do what comes naturally, until humans get in the way. It’s only humans you have to watch out for. It’s only humans who murder and torture, after all.’

They stared at each other for a moment across the bonnet of the car.