Dogtective William travels the world. Elizabeth Wasserman
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I did as he asked. He finished it all and licked his lips.
“Too bad I can’t share with you. This will help me to sleep, and brandy keeps your insides warm.”
He curled himself into a ball, resting his head on his teddy bear’s tummy.
“Good night! See you in Turkey,” he called. I soon heard his snores, audible even above the noise of the engines.
Since there was nothing else to do, I closed my eyes and tried to imagine what Turkey would be like. Would it be warm over there? What food would there be to eat?
I drifted off to sleep.
The Grand Bazaar
Fortunately William had been clever enough to remind me to stick labels onto our crate that stated,
We were therefore speedily deposited at our destination without getting bashed around too much.
“What’s this?” I heard a booming voice enquire. “I didn’t order anything to be delivered to my shop!”
“Just sign this form, please, sir. The delivery is from someone in South Africa. The crate is clearly marked with this address.”
As soon as the deliverymen left, William started barking.
“Aha! I would recognise that bark anywhere!” exclaimed the voice.
Before the man could fetch tools to open the crate, I unlatched it from inside and William and I piled out. We were blinded by the sudden bright light.
“William! It is you!” cried the owner of the voice. William jumped into the arms of a huge man who could only be Achmat Marhammat. I could tell by their joyful reunion that the two of them were old friends. William wagged his tail and licked Mr Marhammat’s face until his enormous black moustache was drenched.
“But who is this boy?” asked Mr Marhammat, looking at me.
“I’m Alex Simpson,” I said, holding out my hand.
“Nice to meet you, young man,” Mr Marhammat said, shaking my hand with enthusiasm. “Any friend of William’s is a friend of mine!” He didn’t seem the least bit surprised to see me there, or curious about the way we had arrived at his door.
Mr Marhammat led us to the back room of his carpet shop. There were coloured rugs everywhere – stacked up in tall piles and displayed on the walls. We sat down on some pillows around a low table. The shop smelled wonderful, like cinnamon and fresh apples.
I stretched my stiff legs. It felt so good to be out of the cramped confines of the wooden crate.
A young man appeared, carrying a tray on which he balanced three glasses of steaming apple tea. It was the best tea I’d ever tasted.
“So William, tell me, what brings you back to Turkey?” asked Mr Marhammat, raising a big, bushy eyebrow.
Back to Turkey? I wondered. That meant my dog had been here before, while I thought he just came from the animal shelter. I’ve never even considered where he had lived previously, and now it turned out that he was Turkish! My mother would have freaked out if she had known. She’d be worried that William was carrying foreign fleas, even germs! Then I remembered that I, her only son, also happened to be in Turkey at that very moment. What would she do if she knew that? She’d probably faint!
“Well,” William replied to his old friend’s question, “let’s just say I have some unfinished business here.”
“Does this business by any chance have something to do with that parcel you posted to me from Amsterdam a few years ago?” asked Mr Marhammat.
Amsterdam too? My spaniel’s past was sounding more interesting by the minute.
“Have you kept it safe?” asked William. His whiskers bristled. It was the same look he got when he spotted a tomcat, or when he expected a ball to be hit in his direction when we played cricket in our back yard. He was on his guard.
“Of course I did,” declared Mr Marhammat. “It’s hidden in my house. I’ve kept it in the same safe where I guard my finest silk carpets. We can go and collect it as soon as you’re ready. I just need to lock up the shop. Can I assume you two will be my guests for a few days?”
“I’d rather assume nothing at this stage, my friend,” William replied. “There might be danger and we still have places to go.”
More travelling? Where to? William hadn’t warned me about any of this!
These last weeks had shown me that I hardly knew my pet at all. Before all this, I’d been in charge. I’d decided when to play a game, or to go for a walk. I’d been responsible for his meals and his baths. Now everything had changed and suddenly, he was the boss.
I was not sure that I liked that.
“William! I need to talk to you in private,” I whispered.
He took me into a corner while Mr Marhammat tidied away the tea tray. Gazing at me with soft brown eyes, he asked innocently, “Yes, Alex, what’s up?”
“I think you owe me a serious explanation,” I scowled.
“Oh, rubbish. We both know you could use some adventure in your life. All you ever do is study and do household chores, which isn’t good for you. Or for me, for that matter. Relax, we’re in Turkey! Let me show you around. I bet you’ll like it here.”
I had to admit I was rather curious to see more of this fascinating place. A sightseeing tour would be a great way to stretch our legs after the long flight. I did not know how we were supposed to go home again, but I wasn’t getting back into that crate!
As we headed out of the shop, Mr Marhammat called, “Don’t forget your fez, William! I kept it for when you returned.” He placed a funny-looking hat on William’s head. It was made of bright red velvet with a floppy silk tassel that dangled from its flat top. Mr Marhammat tied it on William’s head with a leather strap. The fez tilted jauntily above his left eye, but it was a perfect fit. It gave him a different look – he suddenly had that keen, happy glint in his eyes that dogs get when presented with a juicy bone.
We agreed to meet Mr Marhammat back at the shop a bit later that day and strolled out into the Grand Bazaar, the great market in Istanbul where all sorts of goods and artefacts are sold. It is housed in a great building with a very high roof. People were swarming everywhere. There was much to see – carpets, porcelain, clothing, spices, leather jackets and bags, all sold from the tiniest stalls. I loved the exotic smells, the bustle and the noise.
We stopped at a stall where William lectured me on how the yarn for Turkish rugs was carefully dyed and woven by skilled weavers. I knew I’d look at the carpet in my dad’s study with greater respect after that lesson. I certainly would never again trudge all over it with muddy shoes. My mum would be pleased.
As we walked, a few people approached us to give William a friendly pat. “What a lovely doggy! He looks like a spaniel that used to hang around here a few years ago,” some of them remarked. “That one was no ordinary mutt.”
William ignored them and just kept walking.
“No need to act so cool. They all recognise you!” I whispered loudly, following him as he trotted through the crowd. He just grinned. Then, as we rounded a corner, he lifted his leg against a rolled carpet. “Please behave!” I begged.
He could be such a dog.
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