The Man with the Little Dog

They only see an old man walking the dark street with a small, arthritic, weak-bladdered dog. They can't know the young dandy with the waxed mustache who danced through the night at Carnival and once spent his entire week's pay on cut flowers which he strewed in front of the door of a girl with flashing eyes with whom he was in love for two months.

They can't know the young soldier who wore his country's uniform with resolve, if not pride; who tended to close his eyes when he fired his weapon and who hoped he would be brave if it turned out to be necessary but feared he would simply be practical; who, by the grace of God or good fortune, was spared having to be either brave or practical by spending the last months of the war in the infirmary after contracting dysentery from eating unwashed fruit.

They can't know the young man who returned home after the war and took a job with an ink maker, who fell passionately in love with a lively young beauty named Lotte and wooed her desperately, who shaved off his fine mustache when she complained it tickled, who briefly considered suicide after she rejected him because she was embarrased by his ink-stained fingers, and who eventually married a pleasant woman with a kindly face whose fiance had died during the war.

They can't know the devoted father who loved his two daughters but never understood them, who always felt awkward and clumsy around them, who took a second job to pay for their music lessons and to save for their weddings. They can't know the good husband who grew more deeply in love with his wife each year and who softly kissed his wife every night after she fell asleep and whispered to her "I love you so very much," and whose dreams were filled with flower-strewn hallways and dark-eyed Lotte held with unstained fingers.

They can't know the widower who lives alone on an adequate pension with the small dog his youngest daughter couldn't take with her when she moved, who gives the dog the affection he was unable to show his daughters, who laughs at the little dog's excited barking when he shuffles a few tottery dance steps in the living room, and who has decided once again to let his mustache grow.

posted by greg @ 8:36 AM