Read Online Remember Why You Fear Me by Robert Shearman - Free Book Online Page A

having a rotten day already. Since he couldn’t shave the tufts of fur round his horns, he’d set about plucking them out with a pair of tweezers. This only succeeded in drawing attention to them still further, and the overall effect made him look a bit camp. He rather suspected—accurately, in fact—that behind his back in the staff room the piss was being ripped out of him quite mercilessly.
    Martin wondered how he should break the news to Woofie. But that was the one thing he needn’t have worried about. He was waiting for him when he got back, the body unnaturally tense. Martin thought he might have been crying.
    “Hello,” said Martin, for want of anything better to say. Then, “I’m sorry.”
    “Was it something I’ve done?”
    “No. No, that’s not it.”
    “What is it? Just tell me what I ever did that was wrong.”
    “It’s not you, Woofie. I’m sorry. It’s me. It’s my fault, it’s
me
, I’m sorry.”
    Woofie looked so sad, with his big dog watery eyes boring into him. Martin wished he’d be angry—bark at him, nip at his ankles,
anything
. Anything other than this quiet and this hurt.
    At last Woofie said, “Is it because of the whole Hitler thing?”
    “No,” Martin hastened to reassure him. “It’s because you’re a dog.”
    Silence.
    “It’s nothing personal.”
    Silence. For the first time since he’d met him, the dog made Martin itch.
    “So it’s not because of what I’ve done. It’s because of who I am.”
    “Well. Yes. Sort of.”
    Woofie stared at him. “That’s sick.”
    “Yes,” said Martin. “It is. I’m sorry. Is there . . . is there anything you’d like? Anything I can do, or . . .”
    “No,” said Woofie. And then he changed his mind. “Yes,” he said gently. “I’d like my bunk back. The top bunk. My favourite bunk. And all to myself. Please.”
    So that night Martin slept on the bottom bunk. Woofie hadn’t spoken again all evening, and he stared up at the little sagging mound from the bed above him, and he wanted to touch it,
prod
it, just to get some sort of reaction, even to have an argument, just so there could be an ending to this. But he didn’t dare. In the morning, Woofie seemed kinder, even to have forgiven him.
    “Best of luck, Martin,” he said, and offered him his paw.
    “And best of luck to you too,” said Martin warmly. “And thank you for everything.” He made to give him a little pat on the head, but Woofie stepped backwards instinctively. He’d gone too far.
    Martin’s new roommate was a human called Steve. Steve was very polite and almost friendly. He didn’t give Martin the top bunk, but really, why should he have? It turned out that Steve was a rapist. But, as he told Martin, it had only been the once, and it was a long time ago, and he felt very sorry about it. And besides, Martin didn’t know the child in question, so he decided not to be bothered about it.
    And Steve let Martin hang out with his friends. At the shopping malls, at the cinema, at the bowling alley. It had been a long time since Martin had spent time in the company of humans, but he soon adjusted. Inevitably there were occasions when he’d almost run into Woofie: the first time was a bit awkward, and he could see that Strudel would happily have jumped at his throat. But Woofie barked something in his ear, and with bad grace Strudel turned his back on the fair weather human and got back to his ten pin bowling. And that was the worst of it. After that, whenever Woofie or Martin realized the other was near, they’d simply not make eye contact as discreetly as possible. It was never not embarrassing—but it was an embarrassment that Martin could handle with increasing ease as the years went by.
    It may have been on his third or fourth Christmas in Hell that Martin received a card. “Something addressed just to you,” said Steve with a sniff, as he handed it to him. Most of the cards would say “Steve and Martin,” and one or two might be for