Private Universe

He's Got a Long Dog

Jack woke to find the sky just barely beginning to lighten and himself alone. They’d managed three times during the night and then fallen into exhausted sleep. Eleonora had clearly woken before him and left for her own room before anyone had the chance to find her in his.

Yes. Sensible. Not what he wanted, but sensible. Jack’s body wanted to turn over and go back to sleep, but his mind refused to lie down. It wanted to think and he wanted to move while he did. He got up, dressed and crept out of the house.

***

He walked by the river, the day still so new it felt like cut-glass, each sound etching onto the world like a mark. The dew was forming and he felt a chill seeping into his bones. He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his pea jacket. The early morning was beautiful. Water avens, wild parsley, and campions crowded around him, and flags of the yellow and purple iris towered over all. He watched the doings of the reed-sparrows deep down in the flags, and saw a water-ouzel as it rummaged among the pebbles at the bottom of a brook flowing into the river.

Thinking was hard and watching easy, so he promised himself a good think, but concentrated on the landscape. There were pines near here; he could smell the odour of resinous gum wafting from them. There were diminutive goldcrests flying around too. Some had probably hung nests from the slender sprays of the pines.

 Today, he thought, is going to be a good day. Today I am in love with life and very enamoured of women. Though how he was going to explain things to Fanny… wait a moment, though, hadn’t she told Eleonora about them? That could be very bad, but somehow didn’t feel as if it was. Would he have to choose between them? How would he? Would they give him a choice? Bugger, but this is hard.

His bladder started to insist, so he stepped off the path and peed a relieving stream onto a young tree. As he was fastening up afterwards, he saw something moving in the trees, close by the river. It wasn’t clear, but seemed to be lurching, as if dragging something – itself?- along towards him. He fastened himself up and moved quietly towards it. Was this what he’d seen under the trees in the night? The shape was shaded by the trees and hard to make out. Jack stepped around one last tree and saw… The postman. Old Tom. He was pulling on a rope that ran from the tree to the river, hauling it in.

The old man turned to look at him. ‘Ar, morning young master Jack. I be getting deaf as I be getting old. Didn’t hear you coming. Can’t have that, now, can we?’

A dog came out of the trees and ran to Jack, sniffing around him.

‘Shepard. Shepard! You come here now, Shep.’

The dog returned to its master and sat by his feet. The postie looked at Jack, waiting, it seemed, for him to say something. Jack looked on. Something about this scene made perfect sense; he just couldn’t think what it was. He looked at the dog again.

‘That’s a cross, isn’t it? What is it? Part collie?’

‘Ar. ‘Er dam was collie, sire saluki.’

Somewhere in Jack’s head a light came on.

‘That’s a long dog.’

‘Dunno ‘bout that. Calls ‘em lurchers round here.’

‘You’ve got a long dog. You’re a poacher. You’re taking fish from the river. Hang on. Is that where the trout came from before?’

‘Ar. Just so. ‘Cept it’s eels I’m taking today. Had the fyke nets out through the night and bringing ‘em in now. Gunna give an ‘and are you?’

Jack laughed. The red-haired old rogue had no shame at all.

‘What do you want me to do?’

Tom passed him a line and told him to pull slowly. The net came up, a long sausage of a thing, held open by hoops, with long black, wriggling shapes in it. Tom eased the hoops over the grass onto the bank and, when they were all clear of the water, started to take the eels out and stow them in a hessian bag.