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

With four matted mongrels already caged and whining in the back, Mitya spotted a lone dog, thin and lank, sitting in a square just off Engels Street on the corner with Karl Marx Avenue. Lone dogs were bad news: even their own canine kind could not stand them. A group of children played nearby. Mitya’s stomach quivered: the dirty dog was salivating, panting like an animal, preparing to savage one of the innocents, there and then. It was Mitya’s duty to spare the child and bring the dog to justice.

‘Master and servant,’ whispered Mitya as he dropped the used wet-wipe into a plastic bag he kept in the van specifically for this purpose, and sprang quietly on to the pavement. He took a few steps into the square and concealed himself behind a set of bins, resting his mini-binoculars on the rim, the better to observe his quarry. He watched, while the dog licked its forepaw, and he blinked, confused: the animal appeared to be a tri-ped.

‘Excuse me?’ a female voice behind him made him jump and drop his mini-binoculars into the open bin with a soft clunk.

‘Christ! Look what you’ve done!’ Mitya thrust his arm into the bin after the binoculars. His fingers came into contact with slime, grit, and soft-boiled cabbage and he winced. He pulled out his hand and turned on the owner of the voice.

‘Oh! It’s you!’ He put his dirty hand behind his back and tried to wipe off his fingers on the edge of the metal bin. It was the angel from the smallest room, Katya. His gaze bounced off the golden hair crowning her head and rested for a moment on her toes, which peeped out from a pair of slightly dog-eared wedge sandals. He found himself imagining his tongue curling around them, and bit on his free knuckle.

‘Oh, I’m sorry! I didn’t realize you were… what were you doing, actually?’

‘I’m working, female citizen.’ Mitya aimed for clipped tones, and tried not to look at the curve of her jeans.

‘Oh, you can call me Katya, you know. You asked so nicely, after all.’

Mitya felt the skin on his face and neck flush hot red, and almost stuttered his response, ‘Yes, but I’m working, and you made me drop my binoculars.’

‘Oh shucks, I am sorry.’ The girl looked genuinely contrite, her brown eyes large and serious.

‘It’s OK. They’re only the regulation ones. Not the special night-vision ones.’

‘Ooh, night-vision binoculars. Wow! Are you spying on those grannies over there?’

‘No, I am not.’

‘What have they done? Are you in the Spetznaz ?’

‘No, of course I’m not in the Spetznaz —’

‘But I suppose you wouldn’t be able to tell me if you were!’ She smiled at him and winked in her lopsided way.

‘I’m not in the Spetznaz , Katya. Look, I’m busy right now. What do you want?’

‘Oh, it’s nothing really. To be honest, I just wanted to talk to you.’

‘Why?’

‘Well, I’m new in town, and I don’t really know anyone, except my cousin, and I like to chat. You know, just chat. And I know you – sort of. And I was just curious about what you were doing sneaking around like that—’

‘I wasn’t sneaking around.’

‘And you remind me of someone.’

‘Who?’

‘I’m not sure. But it’ll come to me.’ Katya smiled self-consciously and scraped her sandal across the corner of the flower bed, watching intently as the dry earth broke like brown sugar over her toes. She looked up and caught Mitya’s stare.

‘Look, I just wanted to know if you could tell me how to get to the cinema?’

‘The cinema?’ Mitya asked flatly, his face blank.

‘Yes, the cinema. I’ve never been and I’m having a bit of trouble finding it. I’ve been round this block at least three times and no sign. But the tourist map says it should be here. Look – see?’ She leant towards Mitya and pointed to a blob on the badly reproduced map that was supposed to represent the location of the cinema. He observed her golden hair and the way the streetlight picked up slight reddish tones in it around her ears and the nape of her neck.

‘Ooh, what’s that smell?’ she squealed, looking up suddenly, her golden head nearly colliding with Mitya’s nose.

‘Sewers!’ Mitya bit out, jumping back to a safer distance. ‘It’s always the sewers, and the bins. Look, I’ve never been to the cinema, but I can tell you that it is that way.’ Mitya indicated the boulevard to their left with a slightly shaking finger. ‘Your map is clearly out of date. Or maybe you’ve got it upside down – I hear women often do that. Now, I have important work to do, so, please be on your way.’

Katya looked him up and down slowly, her eyes seeming to reach into every nook and crevice of his body, through his clothes. Mitya shuddered slightly and again felt his skin flush.

‘OK, thank you. But you should go to the cinema some time. They have some good films these days. You could learn a lot! Oh, and,’ she stepped towards him slightly, leaning in conspiratorially, ‘your flies are undone, soldier!’ With a tinkling laugh and a wink she turned and ambled off up the boulevard, her hands swinging slightly, everything about her looking light and fresh and clean and happy.

Mitya yanked up his flies with his sticky hand and for a few seconds watched her progress up the street, wishing he had his binoculars: the binoculars that were languishing in the bottom of the rancid bin. He turned to examine the square: the dangerous tri-ped was still sitting there and the children were still in danger. He turned for one final glance at Katya’s receding backside, and then stared at the patch of earth disturbed by her tiny, perfect foot a minute ago. There was nothing else for it: he was going to have to retrieve his equipment.

‘Hey, you, Citizen Child!’ he called out to a small boy playing under a bench on the edge of the square. ‘I’ve got a task for you. I’ll give you five roubles if you’ll get my binoculars out of this bin.’ He pointed to the bin.

‘Get them yourself, stinky!’ replied the small boy, before running off to find his babushka .

Mitya sighed, and cautiously set about climbing into the bin.

Ten minutes later, like a cabbage-encrusted stay-pressed sheriff from the old Wild West, Mitya loped into the courtyard towards the dog, his pole over one shoulder and a few streaks of pork fat in the opposite hand. He had egg stains on his trousers and something unmentionable sticking to the sole of his left shoe, but he didn’t care: the binoculars were again his, and now he was fully primed to bag this three-legged son-of-a-bitch.

‘Here doggie doggie doggie!’ he called in a strange, soft, high-pitched voice.

The children on the swings looked up at Mitya’s approach. Old ladies buried their stories mid-grumble and sucked in their gums, while the little ones at their feet moved back, their snot-sticky fingers forgotten half-way between nose and mouth. Masha, the tallest and the leader of the gang, stopped stirring her dirt pie and dropped the stirring stick back on to the dusty ground, hands hanging by her sides, watching. The Exterminator’s steps were unhurried, taking him gently over the ground that separated him and the dog in his sights.

‘That dog isn’t stray,’ said Masha, bravely.

‘Hush, Citizen Child. This dog has no collar.’ Mitya stepped forward, and extended his hand towards the canine.

‘Yes, but she’s not a stray,’ she persisted, doubt and fear making her voice wobble slightly, and she frowned.

‘Yes, she’s right – this dog is no stray!’ Baba Krychkova broke in.

‘It has no collar. It is illegal. And it is dangerous.’ Mitya approached ever nearer, moving carefully, his feet barely making a sound.