cup of bitter humiliation was filled to overflowing. Instead of digging up a second corpse or any other incriminating object buried in the garden, the officiating dog, in breach of every regulation, allowed Emerence to stroke his head, wagged his tail anxiously, and then — the climax of shame — abandoned duty to gaze up at her with baffled, loving eyes. The whine he let out was a coded plea to his superior, begging forgiveness and explaining that he couldn't help it, a will stronger than any other had forced him to the feet of this strange woman. The Second Lieutenant roared with laughter. Emerence's face of thunder slowly began to clear, and she stopped shouting. Somehow, for the first time, they became aware of each other. The police officer rarely went into homes where people were so totally unafraid of him, and it was the first time Emerence had met a public official with a private sense of humour and a positive attitude. So each made a note of the other. The investigator apologised and left, but later returned with his wife. Their rare and beautiful friendship held strong even after the young woman unexpectedly died. The Lieutenant Colonel told me subsequently that Emerence had helped him through a very difficult time.
Ever since our days had fallen under the timetable coordinated by Viola and the old woman, I had come increasingly to doubt my earlier suspicions about the provenance of the christening bowl and the cup. After all, if the Lieutenant Colonel had become a regular visitor, and had himself examined what she had in there, he must have made checks on how she had come by it. If he hadn't arrested her, then it could well be that I was mistaken, and that the family had left her their belongings in return for something she had done for them. At that time, help often took such strange forms.
Meanwhile the number of our acquaintances continued to grow, and Viola and Emerence got to know more and more people, who began to greet us too. Emerence's three longstanding friends now stopped more often to exchange a few words with me. These were Sutu, who ran a fruit and vegetable stall, Polett, who did ironing, and Adélka, the widow of a laboratory technician. One summer afternoon, when the four of them were taking coffee with some temptingly aromatic pastries, Emerence beckoned me over to join them. I was out walking Viola and could hardly snub her and her friends, but the question was decided when the dog hauled me in and began to beg at the table. He crowned this achievement by refusing to leave when I was ready to go home, which made me very angry.
That evening, when the old woman arrived to walk him before he went to bed, I asked her if she would like to have him permanently with her. Our original intention had only ever been to give him a refuge, not a home. If she had him, she wouldn't have to keep her door locked, because the dog would need only a word from her to see any intruder off.
While I was speaking, the old woman stroked the dog's neck with so much tenderness and affection you would have thought she was caressing a flower or a new-born babe; but all the while she shook her head. It wasn't possible. If she were allowed to, she would have got a dog for herself years ago. But according to her lease she could only keep an animal inside the dwelling — and then only a chicken or perhaps a goose — while it was being prepared for the table, and she was almost never at home. A dog needed freedom, somewhere to move about, a garden; he wasn't a criminal in need of punishment. Being locked up wasn't easy for a cat, so you had to think what it would be for an animal like Viola — so full of curiosity, so eager to make friends and explore everything. That dog wasn't born to be a slave, even if he was happy to guard the house. And anyway, old people shouldn't keep dogs, because sooner or later they'd be orphaned and then what happened? They were kicked out and left to stray. But if it upset me that Viola was so
Ever since our days had fallen under the timetable coordinated by Viola and the old woman, I had come increasingly to doubt my earlier suspicions about the provenance of the christening bowl and the cup. After all, if the Lieutenant Colonel had become a regular visitor, and had himself examined what she had in there, he must have made checks on how she had come by it. If he hadn't arrested her, then it could well be that I was mistaken, and that the family had left her their belongings in return for something she had done for them. At that time, help often took such strange forms.
Meanwhile the number of our acquaintances continued to grow, and Viola and Emerence got to know more and more people, who began to greet us too. Emerence's three longstanding friends now stopped more often to exchange a few words with me. These were Sutu, who ran a fruit and vegetable stall, Polett, who did ironing, and Adélka, the widow of a laboratory technician. One summer afternoon, when the four of them were taking coffee with some temptingly aromatic pastries, Emerence beckoned me over to join them. I was out walking Viola and could hardly snub her and her friends, but the question was decided when the dog hauled me in and began to beg at the table. He crowned this achievement by refusing to leave when I was ready to go home, which made me very angry.
That evening, when the old woman arrived to walk him before he went to bed, I asked her if she would like to have him permanently with her. Our original intention had only ever been to give him a refuge, not a home. If she had him, she wouldn't have to keep her door locked, because the dog would need only a word from her to see any intruder off.
While I was speaking, the old woman stroked the dog's neck with so much tenderness and affection you would have thought she was caressing a flower or a new-born babe; but all the while she shook her head. It wasn't possible. If she were allowed to, she would have got a dog for herself years ago. But according to her lease she could only keep an animal inside the dwelling — and then only a chicken or perhaps a goose — while it was being prepared for the table, and she was almost never at home. A dog needed freedom, somewhere to move about, a garden; he wasn't a criminal in need of punishment. Being locked up wasn't easy for a cat, so you had to think what it would be for an animal like Viola — so full of curiosity, so eager to make friends and explore everything. That dog wasn't born to be a slave, even if he was happy to guard the house. And anyway, old people shouldn't keep dogs, because sooner or later they'd be orphaned and then what happened? They were kicked out and left to stray. But if it upset me that Viola was so
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