Galina Petrovna’s Three-Legged Dog Story. Andrea Bennett
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floats,’ said Mitya, ‘despite the stones: she has risen.’
‘Now please, Mitya, there’s no need to take the dog. I’m sure we can come to some kind of arrangement,’ and again Vasya reached for the greasy wad of notes tucked into his shirt. No man could resist the call of real Russian vodka, and fish dried right there on the riverbank, surely.
‘Put your money away. Officer, this is the second time in four hours that this man has attempted to bribe me, a state official and dog warden. But, Elderly Citizen, this time we have a state enforcer of the law on hand to witness it and I have no distractions to stand between me and bringing you to justice. You cannot get away with such undemocratic and anti-establishment behaviour a second time.’
Mitya waited for the chubby policeman to take action. All three of them, plus the dog, stood expectantly, gazing at Kulakov and waiting for the cop to take his cue. As it gradually became clear to all, including Boroda, that the chubby policeman was far too interested in the fluff inside his whistle and other contents of his breast pocket to take any individual action, Mitya pulled him to one side and hissed in his ear.
‘Officer Kulakov, arrest the old man: he is trying to bribe me! He is trying to bribe you, too! He is corrupting the State!’
‘Arrest him? What for?’
‘Look, I’ll give you two bottles: just arrest him.’
‘For what?’
‘Bribery!’
‘But all the paperwork, Citizen Exterminator, all the kerfuffle: it’s really too much. It’s more than my job’s worth. Really, let’s just go home.’
‘But a crime has been committed, Officer Kulakov.’
‘Ah, a crime, what crime? Oh, OK, OK … what was it?’
‘Bribery!’
‘Ah, yes … well, make it three bottles, and then I might consider it.’
‘Very well, three it is,’ said Mitya, releasing the policeman’s arm and wiping a clammy, warm feeling from his hand on to his trouser leg.
‘You, Citizen Old Man,’ the chubby policeman snapped in a piercing tone at odds with his padded appearance and previous demeanour, like a Pooh Bear channelling Hitler at the Reichstag. ‘You are under arrest. Come with me, don’t struggle.’
The policeman lurched towards Vasya with quick, widely planted steps and deftly twisted the old man’s arm up behind his back with a cruelty that took even Mitya by surprise. Vasya yelped as the two began an unsteady march towards the stairs. Boroda, the quickest to react to this obviously unfair behaviour, launched herself across the hallway and tackled the policeman’s ankle just as he made the top of the stairs. Snarling, growling, snapping and yipping echoed from the stairwell walls as the policeman battled to free his ankle and Vasya struggled to free himself without tipping over the bannisters. Sharp white teeth sank into freckled sweating flesh and brought tears to the eyes of the policeman. Mitya could see that Kulakov was no match for this mutt and reached for his Taser, but couldn’t get a clear shot. He was tempted to shoot anyway, just to see what would happen, but was knocked to the ground face down by Galia who, after several seconds of total immobility, realized that things were looking worse for everyone, but especially her friends, and charged in to call Boroda off.
‘Boroda, quiet!’ Commanded Galia in a voice that shook the walls. The dog released the policeman and retreated towards the stairs. Mitya scrambled to his feet and, pushing the wailing chubby policeman out of the way, grabbed the dog by the scruff. She yelped as he lifted her high into the air and suspended her over the stairwell.
‘Quiet, Boroda,’ commanded Galia again as the dog twisted and turned in Mitya’s grasp, trying to get at least one fang into the sinews of his wrist. Mitya watched the dog’s efforts, and smiled, briefly.
‘Citizen Old Woman, the only thing stopping me from dropping this thing over the bannister is the mess it would make on my boots when I stepped through it on leaving the building. Uncontrolled canines are vermin, and this vermin must be controlled. I am now taking charge of this animal and it will be exterminated. You have the paperwork. It explains your rights.’
He started down the stairs.
‘What rights?’ shouted Galia after him, desperate.
‘To the body: you have none. It will be burnt, along with other vermin,’ with a half-smile, Mitya marched further down the steps with Boroda still held at arm’s length by the scruff of her neck, still twisting, still whining.
‘Please!’ wailed Galia.
‘Kulakov! Wake up and take that man to the station! Three bottles, remember?’ called Mitya from the next floor down. Vasya was, by this point, seeing to the injured Officer Kulakov, helping him back to his feet and offering him iodine and cotton wool, which he waved away with an oath.
‘My apologies, Citizen Old Man, but it seems you must accompany me to the station. Bring any medication you may need. This may take some time. I really must arrest you, you see.’ Leaning on each other, they began slowly down the concrete steps, Vasya supporting the wobbling policeman to the best of his ability. They passed Galia as she watched Mitya disappearing into the darkness with her dog.
‘Go inside, Galia, and lock the door. I’ll be OK. Don’t worry.’ Vasya shot Galia a worried look, but failed to catch her eye: she was still watching after Boroda, receding into the darkness, whimpering and afraid.
‘Don’t worry, Galina Petrovna, I’ll be OK,’ he shouted louder, ‘and I’ll free your dog! Don’t give up hope! We live in a democracy. Dogs must be free, just as people must be free!’
The words pierced Galia’s thick bubble of shock. ‘Vasya, be brave,’ she said. ‘We’ll get you out. You’ll see. We’ll get you out tomorrow. You and Boroda. I’ll make sure of that. They have no grounds for taking you!’
‘Tomorrow? We won’t even have started on the paperwork by tomorrow, Elderly Citizens,’ mumbled Officer Kulakov as he folded Vasya into the back of his Zhiguli police car and then took his position behind the wheel. ‘OK Citizen Old Man, we’re just going to have a little nap before we set off for the station, so just make yourself comfortable. There’s no point us getting there before six. Nothing ever happens there before six. We may as well sleep things off here a bit, and then go in with a clear head, don’t you think?’
Up in the apartment block, Galia stumbled back in to her flat and clicked the door shut. In the kitchen, with no company save the empty dog box under the table and Vasya’s tea glass, still half full, waiting for him to complete his toast to the bright future, she began to shake. The only sound now was the clock, ticking away the quiet, lonely night, with an occasional soft bong to mark the march towards dawn.
Galina Petrovna did not sleep well. After struggling to undress, feeling like an old woman, maybe the oldest old woman in the town, or even in the whole of Russia, she eased her way into her favourite, most comforting poplin night dress and lay on her bed, exhausted but wide awake. She was barely able to unwind her lids and shut her eyes, let alone nod off. Her eyeballs stuck to her eyelids; there was no comfort in her head, and no restfulness in her body. She lay taut on top of the covers and stared at the top of the wardrobe door. After several minutes listening to herself breathe, she sighed and gingerly pushed herself vertical. This would not do.
With a solid determination to be sensible and not give in to needless and unhelpful despair, she tried all the methods in her repertoire to relax into sleep as the night wore on. She started by sitting at the kitchen table, wrapped in a blanket, making scratchy lists of jobs to do in order to empty her brain; then she walked the floor with deliberate, certain steps, no doubt annoying the light-sleepers