The Evening of the Black Dog Lavinia Andrei Jennings

The dog scrutinized her through the glass door of the high-rise building. His wet pitch black coat shone smooth as glaze over metal, and for an instant she perceived him as a bad omen, a gigantic raven, haunting her. And yet, his gaze was benign, his attitude tentative and curious at the same time. Flakes of snow settled continually on his muzzle and shoulders, shriveling and melting, like grains of sand measuring his time out in the cold.  Irene, still and uncertain, eyes squinting from the sunset glow, met his gaze, then promptly switched her attention to her own reflection in the door, her curly hair in disarray, her arms hanging pointlessly along her body. She had nearly tripped over the dog who approached her unexpectedly as she arrived home earlier, lost in her usual musings. Their eyes locked for a moment, in a question and answer one-two. She moved away, though, determined to ignore him.

Soon, the dry air and the prickly silence in the apartment caused her to reconsider, and she stood filled with the urge to embrace that dog and assimilate him into her life, at least for that round, frozen,  snowbound instant.  The intention overcame her whole body and motioned her arm towards the door. He promptly entered and halted, ready for a follow up command, which he immediately deciphered  firmly uttered by her pointed gaze, and he ambled behind her, partly stiff from the cold, as they both snuck into the apartment like two trespassers.

Now that they faced each other in the hallway, the dog’s glistening eyes latched on to hers, wide and hopeful, she was at a loss. For a moment, as she had contemplated the stray in the deep snow, clearly hungry and lost, she felt less alone, more independent, completely the human the dog thought she was: powerful, unlimited, rich in every way.

In fact, at the age of thirty Irene lived with the owner of the apartment, a twenty-year old, who had inherited the expensive place from her father. Irene paid one third of her teaching salary in rent for a single room. The girl refused to accept any pets. And in the end , Irene shook her head in protest while reluctantly submitting to the younger woman’s wish. She felt she had a boss both at home and at work.

The dog had not moved, and dared not advance further in, and Irene remained unsure as to what was to follow her bold move. She searched for the right language, a body language, perhaps. One simple gesture was to search the fridge, where she found a few hotdogs. Which  she fed him , slowly, bit by bit, to draw out the moment. Much more down to earth, the dog gratefully chomped away, dropping bits, picking them up, clearing the floor. She caught his neck in her arms, held him close, sniffing his wet coat, as if he had been her pet, her old, soulmate, as if they had had a colorful and adventurous history of roaming the hills together. Irene’s every move was a good bye gesture, of which her companion didn’t seem aware. Teary, she led him to the door, by pushing him gently around, since there was no collar to grab onto. She headed to the main entrance and nudging him out, the door closed by itself and Irene stood on one side, while the dog faced her, expectant, on the other. He seemed to think there would be a next scene. The light went on in the main hallway, and her reflection appeared more pronounced than the image of the dog, her arms crossed over her chest, her shoulders raised and tight. His eyes questioned her face, she swallowed hard, cleared her throat as if preparing for a speech, and suddenly the determination to confront her landgirl, as she called her, rose, rebellious and spiteful. She yanked open the front door again; the docile canine didn’t wait to be called in, he naturally stepped over that threshold and confidently pranced towards her door. Inside again, she almost burst into a nervous guffaw she suppressed to spare the dog her madness. You’re trespassing, you know, she hissed, giggling. Happiness was a point in time, a one dimensional thing, she thought.

The girl, who worked as a preschool assistant, was due to arrive any minute. Irene felt this affair she had with the idea of keeping the dog against all rules, was becoming serious, and she spoke to him again: I would, I love you, but I am not allowed. Do you understand that? Not allowed. I can’t. The dog met scanned her face, still trusting, yet puzzled, a bit curious even. Irene fed him the left over hotdogs, threw out the wrapper and became nervous. Her fingers on the handle, she battled her wish and her fear. Why did she fear this girl? She had become an authority figure almost, and Irene was displeased with her regression into some childhood pattern. She glanced at the wall clock, drew a loud breath and started turning and pushing the dog out. This time he was reluctant. No, you don’t want to do that. I know you don’t, he struggled to convey to her with his intense stare. They stepped out together, and then again, she exited the building as if they were headed somewhere, petted his head in a dismissing manner and reentered decidedly, ready to throw this whole incident into oblivion.

For a long while, she remain inside, faltering, clearly in need of that dog’s companionship. The wall clock was ticking its discreet warning. She could care for him herself, she could keep him in her narrow room, although a medium toward large size animal would cram her over furnished lodgings. She tiptoed out of the apartment, the dog still on the other side of the front door, snow settling on his coat, in the glow of the street lights. Irene burst out of the building, he followed in, less assured, and they were back to square one in the apartment hallway. Out of hotdogs, she fed him some bread, to keep him occupied and unaware of her dilemma.

Now she was cutting it close, the girl could arrive any second and find her with  a dog there. She realized what she feared  was the humiliating obedience that would follow, Irene having to give up the dog, like a child whose parents wouldn’t allow it. This is what she hoped to avoid. It was a familiar humiliation, just as the one following her break up with her older, married boyfriend. She withdrew, or she was pushed away, she couldn’t remember. Somehow, she obeyed another’s dominion again and again. Somehow their syncopated, secret encounters, her love delivered in sparkling crumbs were spent. Just like her lost love, this eerie creature didn’t belong to her.

Still one more instance with what she felt was her dog felt like a minute victory. She held him, dug her fingers into his soaked coat, rubbed his ears, and then, more firmly and almost rudely she led him back into the snow. Outside her door, the dog paused, eyes turned up at her, narrowed, his head lower, as if an amorphous weight oppressed him, as if the impure snow of rejection had fallen over him again. Something unknown, and incomprehensible was on.

Irene accompanied him out of the building again, this time, she thought, for good. I can’t explain it to you. I am stealing here, I am tasting the forbidden fruit. I am not toying with you. I own nothing and no one, I am nothing, understand?! The dog stood in front of the door, watching it closing slowly by itself. He understood, she thought, satisfied. She turned her back to him and to her own vivid reflection, ready to resume her evening alone.

As she passed the wall calendar, wondering why the girl was not home yet, she noticed a PTA meeting penciled in. There was still time! She could grab more fun, and sketch on at this new relationship. She rushed out, threw the front door open, exhilarated as if in the middle of a most exciting team game, and shouted out at the dog. He didn’t move. She stretched her arm to grab him by the neck, but the dog resisted and took two steps back. Suddenly, Irene felt judged and condemned. Worthless. A dog’s rejection was harsher, more painful than a human’s, because a dog will bear much, forgive much. And yet, even a dog had a limit.

And then, as she lingered there, he turned his graceful, ebony body in the most dignified manner, and stepped through the snow, at a measured pace, without hurry, yet decidedly. She called after him, tried to lure him back, after all each time he had returned he was fed some more, why weren’t those treats enough? The dog took one look over his shoulder and his shape so well defined in the clear snow moved away and away at a steady pace. Once he crossed the boundaries of the parking lot and reached the small grove with pristine snow, he bounded carelessly, as if relieved, finally free of the strange human and her convoluted psyche.

Irene remained frozen, shame creeping up her body like a poisonous vine. The shame to have led on, used and failed to genuinely love the poor creature. And even more, the shame to have been found out. She intended to shrug it off, but the dog’s final glance at her was laden with disdain. His whole frame spelled disappointment. Just another failing human like all the others.

After the girl returned, she presented her with an altered version of the story, all set outside, expecting the girl to have sighted him, as well. By evening she had cooked a pizza for the two of them and the girl withdrew to her room to read. Irene snuck out with two slices of pizza in a napkin, and stepping carefully on the crunchy frozen snow, searched for the dog. She wished he would notice her from his hiding place, and hungry enough, would forgive and accept that that was all she could offer. The building turned silent in the dark, and Irene continued to pace back and forth, animated by shy expectation. She spoke softly a few times, sending her voice ahead as a promise. Nothing happened. The breakup was final.

She returned to her room, her attention attracted by one corner the dog could have slept in. Alone again, she sniffled and whimpered, unable to muster a full blown sob, like an abandoned animal, until sleep overcame her with  dreams of nameless dogs and men withdrawing from her in a slushy parallel universe, with dirty snow and obsessively dripping eaves.

She never encountered the dog again. And more and more she feared it had all been a trial which she had failed and he had passed. He may have found more decided, better people, faithful perhaps, freer than her, less submissive, less lost. He may have even forgotten her. Irene never could.

Lavinia Andrei Jennings

Image by 41330 from Pixabay – a pile of small hot dogs.