Penetrate the darkness which clouded over the fate of one girl

This story begins in a sheepfold — it associates with kids — gropes its way through dreadful life mutilation, and stops where only death reigns. – Olya Aman

I reveal this tale in the first person — the way it was told to me by my cousin, let it be written. I’ll use all my mastery over the written word to give it the voice and mood of the people involved.

I was guilty of an act of naughtiness every time I had any chance to tax my parents’ patience. How mischievous I was — matters of no moment. You can laugh at my awkwardness, my stammering, and slowness at some other time. My parents were too much absorbed in daily hassles to fight against my whims and screams. I wanted a dog, and when my mom agreed with few objections, I chose the ugliest little creature ever existent. I always was the black sheep of the flock, and my dog was no better. Not any child but me could have picked such a nasty little beast. When my mom was holding my hand in front of a cage with the eight offsprings of our neighbor’s huge German King Shepherd, I saw her scowl at the little baldy black pup — and I knew instantly which one to take home with me.

He was the smallest of the brood and, surprisingly, grew up to be the biggest of the eight. He did everything with a bang; he barked in season and out of it. Dundee, the name I picked to commemorate my love for the famous movie Crocodile Dundee, was mad with rage at cats and rats, and mad with love for kids and chickens. Don’t even ask me why? He had that hearty, downright kindness towards little lady-girls. He would let all children do what they pleased with him, ride on his back, drag him by his tail, pull his ears. Try what not — he was patience and good humor personified. But Dundee licked the faces of girls and only the hands of boys.

It was our second year together when I began to suspect that Dundee was unfaithful to me. I discovered that he had fallen in love with the prettiest thing in our village. The cunning, flirtatious creature was a girl of my age. She had the biggest blue eyes and that rosy mouth of a doll that made people think she constantly was blowing the air out or getting ready to kiss every living thing. But Alisa, that was the name of the girl, was somewhat handicapped. She seemed to live in a dream, talking about flowers and imagining herself to be a dandelion, the abundance of which was a calling card of our place. She danced, not walked, sang instead of talking, and was dressed only in green, and with her hair of a sunny yellow shade, she reminded of the wretched weed indeed.

Her father was a simple and naïve widower. About a month before the dreadful scene, Victor set us all by the ears by bringing the most heartless and deceitful person of the entire region to our remote village. I searched back through the labyrinth of my past to bring back to you the rumors about this vile person because every one of them later, when he’d paid for his deeds, proved to be the truth. He was known to beat his wife when liquor got into his head, which happened way too often. There was definitely a screw loose in his head when it came to pretty young ladies. People saw him quadrupedal in the grass close to the school, doing no one knew what. Victor, Alisa’s father, considered this brutal man to be his friend. Women and men alike scolded Victor for associating with this vile person. We knew the gossips and believed it. But Alisa’s father turned a deaf ear to all those warnings. Victor repeatedly stated that he was saved from robbery and brutal bitting by this man. He paid the debt with respect and trust. Later, we suspected that the man himself organized the attack to get closer to the father of the most charming little flower in our parts.

Victor was overprotective of his stunning little daughter. She was a living proof that one time in his life, a woman loved him and bore him a child paying for this deed with her life. When my scary-looking Dundee saw the pretty thing, he lost his head. From then on, he ran off to her garden and came home only to satisfy his appetite for the leftovers of my mother’s delicious cooking and to spend the night, as was a custom between us, by my bedside. Dundee was devoted to me but, at the same time, adored Alisa. He couldn’t help being always close to this flowery creature. Alisa knew to the smallest detail the unsparing anatomy of my dog’s heart. Somehow they looked like a perfect pair — A Beauty & The Beast. Dundee brushed up his manners and looked a perfect gentle-dog, always smoothing away the creases of her dress and holding in his vast mouth the dandelions she picked.

Try as I might, I couldn’t rummage through my memory for the exact date for the dreadful incident. The closest I can get is to recollect that it happened sometime after my twelve’s birthday. I remember that my mother was still riding the high horse, angry with me for a broken vase and an adventure of a ruined birthday dress. 
The date is of no importance, though, as now we are at an unspeakably delicate distance from the heart wrecking events. Those I couldn’t wash from my memory hard as I tried.

Victor never left his precious daughter home alone. Wherever he went, he always took Alisa with him. He had no regular employment, leaving his job as a welder when his wife died. Being a skilled man he was never left without work, helping everyone in the village with everything anyone needed assistance with.

That unfortunate day, a call from his malicious friend forced him to go out late at night. As we learned later, he called at ten p.m. and requested urgent help in some simple but important matter, claiming the occasion not worth explaining on the phone and demanding to see Victor in person. He only said that it would not take long, that they just needed to talk it over in the nearest village pub. Victor should have refused point-blank, but the man insisted, saying he would consider this favor as a payment of the old debt. Victor looked in his daughter’s room. The girl was fast asleep, and he thought somehow it would be ok to leave her for a couple of hours unattended. Little that he knew about the mischievous plot set up by his fraudulent friend.

At the same time, in my room, my furious beast was out of all sorts. It was the only hour when my dog was invariably by my side. I can admit now that I forced Dundee to sleep by my bedside when he would have rather preferred a hut outside in our garden. I was getting ready to sleep and could not get him to calm down. Something stirred him up. Dundee was continuously whining and scratching at the closed door. He never behaved like that before. I gave in and let him go, wondering what the matter with my dog was. We learned from Victor the account of the events that followed. Let me present it in his own narrative.

“I heard the loud barking when I was halfway to the pub where I had the arranged meeting. Dundee almost knocked me to the ground. I should admit, I was scared. The bruit was huge and behaved strangely, pulling the sleeve of my coat and dragging me homewards. I tried to fight Dundee, imploring him to let me go, but to no avail. The creature was out of his mind. Then I had a notion, you know, a tightening in the heart and a loss of regular breath at my throat. Something was amiss with my girl, I thought. Everybody knew about this dog’s devotion to my daughter. How I got back home, I barely can tell. I was running with my heart in my mouth.

“When I approached the house, I saw the light in my daughter’s bedroom and struggled for the key to the door. Not finding one in my pockets, I violently pressed on the door with my whole body and almost cracked my skull when I fell on the floor. The door was not locked! The dog rushed past me, barking viciously all the time. When I entered the room, Dundee was on top of that man. My Alisa was sitting on her bed with her nightdress on the floor and her pretty little face agitated. I covered her in a blanket and ran out of the room to prevent her from seeing the scene of a murder. My side vision couldn’t mistake it for anything else. The villain managed to utter only one frightful cry, and then it was only the sound of growling and chattering. The hip of bloody mass under the fierce dog was past all doctoring.

“I couldn’t help the man. Even then, being so much shaken by what happened, and with my sluggishly working mental powers, I admit, I thought he richly deserved his cruel fate. I needed to save the fragile mind of my precious daughter. By now, she was drawing her breath convulsively. I brought her to my bedroom. Holding her in my arms, I rocked her to and fro, whispering words of tender consolation. I was crying like a baby, hiding my face in the creases of the blanket.”

That was the first thrilling sensation of which all the people of our village were talking for months. The developments that followed began to alter fast. Victor called the police and the ambulance. The death from fatal wounds inflicted by a German King Shepherd named Dundee was stated. The dog, though, was nowhere to find. The law said to put the beast to sleep in a case like that. Police officers and volunteers searched through and through, but they didn’t find Dundee. Alisa was not seriously harmed. I don’t think she realized that her father’s friend, as the man referred to himself when implored the girl to open the door, was about to offend her in any way. He asked her to undress, saying he had a new gown for her, and if she would be a good girl, he would let her try it on. Her mind luckily blotted the other events of that night. She continues to be a beautiful dandelion in her green dress, walking the fields and singing her songs even today.

We seldom talked about the dog. I felt as if treading on the delicate ground each time I mentioned his name. I believed him alive, hiding somewhere. My father told me some years past the true fate of my brave Dundee. At the time of the accident, he and Victor kept it a secret between themselves to make sure the police would not get any notion of what happened. That horrid night Victor called my father, and only when my dad took the dog out of the house and into his van, aiming at his brother’s farm a hundred and fifty miles away, Victor called the ambulance and the police. Shortly after my discovery, I went to my uncle’s farm to learn about my friend’s further life. Here what my uncle said, revealed in his own words.

“Your dog was worth his weight in gold. Take my word for it, dear. He lived a solitary life on my farm, running after the rats and cats and affectionately mothering the chickens. He never expressed any even slight attachment to me or any human being. His heart was forever given to that little flower girl, I think. I often saw him wandering among the fields with a bunch of dandelions in his mouth. He seemed to pass his later years cloudy in the head. Very quiet, very sad. Do you want to see his grave?”

I saw the earth’s elevation under the only tree in a vast field quite far from the house. It was his favorite spot, my uncle said. The very silence of the place seemed to be exaggerated. I battled out of my lethargy and laid a bouquet of dandelions on his grave.

Stay tuned…