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

A rope collar was placed over her head and tightened around her neck, and then she was tugged slowly along the long dark corridor. The human smelt strongly of spirit and decay: it filled Boroda’s nostrils, and she sneezed loudly as she walked hesitantly beside him. The man seemed to wobble as he walked, taking a zig-zag route and hiccuping as he went. He was talking to no-one, and seemed somewhat distracted. Towards the end of the corridor, his shoulder hit the wall with a smack and he swore as the impact swivelled his body and snapped his face into the concrete with a loud, wet sound. He dropped the rope lead as he reached up to stem the blood now dripping from his nose all over his black boots. Boroda felt the weight of the rope hit the floor, and saw the door at the end of the corridor standing ajar.

‘Mitya, what sort of conversation can you need to have with Vasya Volubchik? Surely the business of my Boroda is being dealt with by the police? You’re not going to press separate charges, are you? He didn’t touch you, Mitya, you know that he didn’t. And I have a piece of paper—’

‘No! No, Galina Petrovna, nothing of that sort. Please, just wait a moment. Perhaps I can explain.’

‘Oh, I wish you would!’ Kommandant Krapivin leapt from his chair and hopped around the desk to sit on the front edge, the better to hear Mitya’s words.

‘My father… my father—’

Mitya was interrupted by an extended groan from his mother as she crossed herself twice.

‘My father—’

Again the old woman groaned and crossed herself.

‘Is that strictly necessary, Baba?’ Kommandant Krapivin gave her a stern look.

The old woman put her hands in her lap and clamped her toothless jaws shut.

‘My father was a chronic alcoholic.’

‘Well, that goes for half the country, Mitya,’ said the Kommandant breezily.

‘I accept that, yes, but that doesn’t make it right. That is how we end up with people like Petya Kulakov and my neighbour, Andrei the Svoloch .’

‘Is that really his name?’

‘No, Kommandant.’

‘Kommandant, please be quiet. We need to hear from Mitya.’ Galia turned to the Exterminator. ‘Go on, Mitya. We’re listening.’

‘Thank you, Galina Petrovna.’ Mitya looked down at his fingers, still swollen and sore, and took a breath. ‘Well… it’s like this. My father beat both me and my mother often. Many things made him angry. If we made any noise, or the dinner was not on the table at the right time, or we attempted to hide his home brew, we were in for it.’

‘We got it!’ The old woman nodded her head, and started to weep silent tears that got caught up in the wrinkles around her eyes.

‘My only consolation, my only joy, at this young age, was my dog, Sharik.’

An almost visible shockwave travelled around the room, bringing tears to Galia’s eyes and wobbling the hairs on the top of Zoya’s head.

‘But, Mitya, I don’t understand. You… you hate dogs. To you they are vermin, to be exterminated: that’s what you said? You wanted to kill my Boroda – you probably have done…’ Galia broke off, unable to continue.

Mitya bit his lip, and caught Katya’s eye. She was serene, swaying in her chair slightly, slowly twirling her hair around one narrow finger and smiling slightly to him.

‘We lived in a little wooden house: a hovel, really. We hadn’t qualified for modern housing, mostly because of my father’s drinking. One day, he came home late, and in a terrible temper. He was already drunk, but demanded more when he got home. He had drunk us dry; there was nothing in the cupboard, so Mother sent me round the corner to one of the neighbours to beg some spirit. I had to try many doors: we were well-known already, and most wouldn’t give us the time of day. Eventually, I managed to borrow half a bottle, and Sharik and I made our way back.’

‘What’s this got to do with Vasya?’ croaked Zoya.

‘Sshh, you old goat!’ whispered Galia in return.

‘Go on. Here, would you like a piece of fruit, perhaps?’

‘No fruit, Kommandant. On returning to the house, we heard a commotion in the yard: my father had my mother by the throat, and was attempting to strangle her. Old Sharik couldn’t bear it, and leapt on my father, snatching at his neck with his teeth, and barking like a mad thing. I can still hear it now.’

‘Brave dog!’ said Galia. ‘Like my Boroda! Brave and loyal.’

‘Brave, yes, Galina Petrovna, but also old. He did his best, but Father was too strong for him. They wrestled in the yard, on and on. But Father was possessed by the devil. Sharik became exhausted, but Father wanted total victory. He couldn’t abide disobedience. He staggered across the yard, the dog’s scruff in his hand…’

‘And?’

‘And, I have to tell you, that he threw my Sharik down the well. We heard the splash when he hit the bottom. We heard him swimming for dear life, around and around in that awful pit. And later… howling, for hours, treading water. Father wouldn’t let us near: he made us sit on the bench in the kitchen, made Mother cook his dinner, and all the while we could hear our beloved Sharik calling to us. Father sat in the yard all night, listening to him suffer, making sure we couldn’t save him. It took him all night to drown.’

A silence thick as felt fell across the room.

‘And the next day, he was gone. I… I went to school, and hated everybody. I couldn’t bear to look at anyone. I couldn’t bear to think. Mother never drank water again, and me – I made sure I would never be close to anyone again: not animals, and not humans.’

A large tear rolled down Kommandant Krapivin’s face, and he drew an unsteady breath.

‘That is very sad, very sad indeed. You know what I felt, then, when you held my dog over the railings?’ Galia leant forward and looked into Mitya’s eyes.

‘But I still don’t see how this connects with Vasya Volubchik?’ broke in Zoya, from her corner. ‘Your daddy was a bad one; that seems clear. He killed your dog, which was unforgivable, but that doesn’t explain—’

‘No, well, let me enlighten you, if you don’t already know, Comrade Krasovskaya. The thing is… the thing is that I remembered who gave us Sharik in the first place. All this week I’ve been remembering things. Something sparked the memories off: maybe it was… maybe it was love,’ he turned to Katya, ‘or maybe it was rescuing those puppies in the park, the way they cried… or maybe just concussion… I don’t know. But I remembered what happened to Sharik, and the reason I’d started hating animals. It was tucked away, in the back of my mind, in a place I didn’t know was there. I remembered Sharik, and how he’d been my best friend. How I’d laid beside him at night, his warm fur keeping me cosy even in wintertime. How he’d always walked to kindergarten with me, and then waited for me at the gate. And I realized that I’d dealt with my loss by closing my heart and turning what I’d loved so much into something to hate.’

‘That’s a terrible thing, Mitya,’ said Galia, kindly.

‘And when I was lying in a pool of my own blood and vomit outside the Smile Bar!, after a disagreement with Kulakov, I had a vision. It was very vague – just scraps of memory, like jigsaw pieces, but on one piece there was Sharik, full of life and playing with a new red ball, and on another piece, there was a kindly man with a big smile who held my hand while we patted the dog and played. And that man… I realized that man was Vasily Volubchik.’

‘Hell and damnation!’ Baba Plovkina cried out and then got back to grinding her gums and mashing her handkerchief in her lap.

‘And he gave us that dog, I think, because he felt guilty.’