A Flesh Wound

1.

The building was quiet, aside from the faint hum of the air being recycled. Most people took the chance to leave early on a Friday, to start the long-awaited weekend as soon as they could. Richard Denton would have liked to do the same but the report he’d been asked to write took somewhat longer than he’d anticipated. It was finished now though and he walked down the long corridor with a feeling of satisfaction, his black leather shoes squeaking on the polished floor. He was a smallish, unremarkable looking man in his late 30s with already-thinning brown hair, but he carried himself with the self-confidence of someone much more imposing.

As he passed the countless open doors that punctuated the length of the corridor he glanced absent-mindedly into each office. All were dark, the winter night having long drawn in, and all were empty. Swivel chairs sat neatly beneath paper-strewn desks and telephones were silent. The standby lights beneath the blank screens were the only outward sign that, beneath the somnolent appearance, technology was still alert, poised to react when called upon.

Through the last open door before the exit Richard saw, in the small finance office, a solitary red balloon stuck to the top of a screen and, taped below it, a message that read ‘Welcome Dave!’ in large-font printed lettering. He wondered to himself whether Dave would come into the office full of enthusiasm for his new job on Monday and how long that enthusiasm would last. Or perhaps Dave was being reluctantly moved from another office and his new colleagues were making a pre-emptive attempt to win him over. Or perhaps…

The cold February air swept over Richard as he swung open the glass doors. It acted like an alarm clock, waking him to life beyond the confines of the office, and he soon forgot about any thoughts about Dave. He walked across to the car park and realised he was hungry. He was looking forward to getting home, eating and opening a bottle of wine. He wasn’t, though, looking forward to Saturday night. He’d promised to go round to an old friend’s house for dinner. Alan’s wife had just left him and Richard knew that the evening was going to be an uncomfortable one, made worse by the fact that Alan lived in a converted barn out in the Sussex countryside, so he would have to drive there and wouldn’t be able to drink. He consoled himself with the thought that Alan, who had always been unreliable, might cancel it. But as it turned out, Alan proved to be remarkably reliable for once.

2

Richard yawned and shook himself back into concentrating on the road. The single carriageway was winding and unlit and, although there were few other cars around, he was impatient to get back onto the main road. Once I get to Steyning, he thought, it will be an easy run. He checked the dashboard clock; it was almost midnight. All in all the evening hadn’t been too bad and he’d managed to get away earlier than he’d feared. Alan had been in better spirits than Richard expected, at least on the surface, and the meal itself was surprisingly good considering that Alan’s wife had always done the cooking. But, still, he was relieved to be on his way home.

As a light drizzle began to fall Richard turned on the windscreen wipers. A car approached from the opposite direction and Richard dipped the headlights and eased off the accelerator. He cursed the driver of the other car for not doing the same and squinted back at the wet road as the car passed. A moment later he felt a dull thud, or a kind of double thud, on the nearside of the car. He braked, pulled over as far as he could and stopped about 30 or 40 metres further on. Grabbing a torch from the glove compartment, he opened the door. The air had a damp chill and the night sky was overcast. Dense woodland reared up on either side of the road and only a narrow grass verge separated tarmac from trees. He shone the torch down the verge but its beam was too weak to illuminate back as far as where he’d heard the thud. Moving to the front of the car, he shone the beam on the front nearside and saw that the indicator light was cracked. He began walking back along the soft wet grass, the torch guiding his slow steps. He saw his breath manifest in the cold air and realised that he was breathing heavily. No other car passed in either direction now.

He’d gone about 25 metres when he heard a low animal growl. He froze and slowly raised the torch’s beam. A few yards ahead of him stood a large dog, its tail held low, its eyes shining. Richard wasn’t afraid of dogs at all, but he’d never encountered a large one in the pitch dark in the middle of nowhere before. He advanced cautiously and began talking to the dog in a low, soothing tone.

“Hello there. Its okay. Good dog. Good dog.”

He repeated these words several times as he inched forward. Gradually he was close enough to see that the dog’s expression was one of shock and fear rather than rage. It was a German Shepherd Dog and looked a little undernourished, its haunches narrow and its neck scrawny. Obviously must be a stray, thought Richard. Reaching forward, he beckoned the dog to him but it stood still. It was no longer growling though and Richard felt emboldened to step closer. As he did so the dog began walking round in a tight circle, a barely audible whimper emanating from its mouth. He could see now that it was a male. He could also see that it had a large red gash at the top of its upper hind leg, the thick blood streaking down to its paw and matting on the black and brown hair, which had a damp sheen.

“Good boy, good boy. Its alright.”

The dog stopped moving. Richard reached out and stroked its back, feeling the coarse wet coat and, beneath it, the backbone. He moved his hand to the dog’s head and gently stroked it. The dog responded by muzzling its nose into his hand. Richard was surprised to see that the dog had a collar on and he slipped his fingers beneath it and gently pulled the dog towards him, back towards the car. The dog wouldn’t move and kept looking towards the dense trees.

“Come on boy. It’s okay, come on.”

After a couple of minutes of gentle coaxing, the dog eventually relented and allowed itself to be led meekly to the car. Richard opened the boot and took out an old blanket which he laid on the back seat. With a little effort, and a helping hand, he managed to coax the dog into the back seat where it lay silently for the whole journey home, its eyes never leaving Richard.

3

After enduring a fitful night’s sleep, Richard got up early and rang around to find an emergency vet. Eventually he found one who would see the dog around midday. He had done nothing to the wound for fear of making it worse but the dog itself seemed okay, if understandably subdued. It limped badly but eagerly ate the can of dog food which Richard brought back from the corner shop. He thought that seemed a good sign.

This optimistic analysis was confirmed around three hours later by the vet.

“Its nothing serious, just a flesh wound. A nasty one but it will heal okay in a couple of weeks or so and the limp will soon go. I do notice though that he’s rather on the thin side and his coat’s not in great condition.”

The vet, a tall young man who looked like he’d just got out of bed after a heavy night, gave Richard a reproachful look as he said this, his voice rising in pitch as a hint at an accusation.

“Oh, I only just got him, from the RSPCA kennels. He’d not long been brought into them. He’d been a stray for a while I think.” Richard tried not to sound overly defensive.

The vet looked dubiously at Richard.He’d heard enough lies from uncaring owners not to take answers like that at face value. And of course he was right to suspect Richard of being economical with the truth, but not in the precise way that he imagined. It had, though, been a long morning of emergency cases and the vet was too tired to take the matter further, even if he could.

“Well in that case you should bring him in for a full check up as soon as you can. I don’t have time to do any more than treat the leg now. If you bring him back next week I can re-dress the wound at the same time. You can make an appointment on your way out.”

“Yes I certainly will. Thank you very much.” Richard was aware of the vet’s mistrust of his version of events and over-compensated by firmly shaking the startled vet’s hand several times. But he was just thankful that everything was okay.

“Goodbye then Rex” said the vet as the dog limped slowly away. The dog of course ignored the vet as it had never been called Rex before.

As Richard left he made an appointment with the receptionist for the Wednesdayy afternoon. He knew he could take that afternoon off work. It then occurred to him, for the first time, that somehow he seemed to have made a decision to keep the dog. He wasn’t aware of having had any inner dialogue with himself on the matter. But the decision seemed to have been made and, to be honest, he was quite pleased that it had.

4

It was not the most handsome German Shepherd that Richard had ever seen, even allowing for its present poor condition, but the dog had ‘character’ he felt. Its markings, its spread of brown and black hairs, was rather haphazard. In particular, the dog had a curious blotch of black hairs around its eyes which gave it the appearance of wearing a mask. Now that the dog was to be his though, the imperative was to find out its name. It must have one. The vet had told him that the dog was probably about two years old. There was no clue on the collar – well clearly not as it was stray, he reminded himself. He tried out a few obvious names on the dog – Rover, Max, Buster, Rocky, Sparky, Sam, even Lucky - but it registered no recognition to any of them. He realised that a more methodical approach would be needed.

He went on to the internet and typed ‘dog names’ into the search engine. He was amazed to find just how many sites there were on the subject. He was further amazed, as well as disheartened, to discover that there were at least 2,000 possible male dog names. Clearly this wasn’t going to be as easy as he’d thought. He printed off pages and pages of names, on an A – Z basis, and resolved to work his way through them alphabetically. Obviously, there were some he could ignore – he couldn’t see that anyone would call a German Shepherd Angus for example – but it was still a dauntingly long list. By the time he went to bed on Sunday night he’d got as far as Conan without success.

5

At work on Monday Richard decided not to mention to any of his colleagues that he’d acquired a dog. He wanted to wait until he’d established its name, as that would obviously be one of the first things that people would ask and he didn’t want to pretend to anyone else that it was called Rex. So he pretended, instead, that his weekend had been quiet and uneventful. At lunchtime he went home to let the dog out in the garden, but the afternoon seemed to pass interminably slowly and he found himself eager to see his new companion again. As he finally passed down the corridor at the end of the long day he noticed that, in the darkened finance office at the end, just before the exit to the stairs, the red balloon and ‘Welcome Dave!’ message were still in place and seemingly untouched.

By the time he went to bed that night he’d got as far as Frisky in the A – Z list. The dog’s ears had resolutely failed to even flicker in response to anything. By the following night he’d got as far as Inky with the same lack of reaction. The failure of its new master to call it by its name had not deterred the dog from settling into its new home, however, and its appetite was voracious.

On Tuesday Richard managed to get away from work a little earlier than usual. On his way out he’d been surprised to see that the red balloon, though slightly deflated, was till on top of the monitor and the sellotaped message welcoming the mysterious Dave was still waiting to be removed. Equally surprisingly, the finance office was empty, its screens resoundingly blank.

He’d left early as he wanted to go to the large edge-of-town pet store on the way home. He ended up spending much longer there than he’d anticipated as he hadn’t realised just how many canine accessories the modern world could offer. He settled for a large wicker basket, complete with blanket, a couple of large dog bowls, a couple of chewy toys and a collar and lead, ready for when the dog could go out again. He only wished that he had a name for the dog already, so that he could have it inscribed on the collar disc. The girl behind the counter had obviously assumed that he only said no to this service because he was too mean to pay for the engraving. Her resultant surly manner irked Richard greatly.

The dog took to its new basket immediately, after eating yet another huge bowlful of dog food, and even wagged its tail a little as Richard threw it a chewy toy. He was really happy to see it improving so quickly but he was less happy when he went to bed three hours later, having got as far as Muncher with the familiar lack of response. He had held out great hopes for that name, given the dog’s seemingly insatiable capacity for food of any kind.

6.

Wednesday was the day of the appointment at the vet and Richard decided, as he sat in the kitchen having his breakfast, that it would be a good idea to try to get the dog to answer to Rex, in case the vet became suspicious this time. He tried to bribe the dog into accepting the name by plying him with even more food and by opening the second chewy toy, but the dog remained resolutely deaf to the name. Richard was dreading the appointment.

He couldn’t concentrate at work that morning and left even earlier than he needed to. On his way out he noticed that the finance office was now occupied but that Dave’s intended seat remained resolutely empty. The balloon and message had gone at last though. Richard felt a mild sense of intrigue, but the dread of the visit to the vet soon overtook that in his mind as he drove home. The dog was pleased to see him and got into the back seat with a minimum of fuss. The hind leg seemed to be healing well.

The vet confirmed this an hour or so later and also said how pleased he was to see that Rex was gaining weight. In fact the vet, who looked a lot healthier himself this visit, was so pleased with Rex’s progress that he failed to notice that the dog didn’t seem to recognise its own name. Richard left the building feeling very relieved. At last, he thought to himself, I can relax. Only the continuing lack of a name still bothered him. He was only half way through the alphabet and it might not even be on that list. He wondered whether he should just persevere with Rex.

7

By the time Richard left for work on Thursday morning he’d got as far as Rory. He now took the lack of success for granted. The vet, though, had said that the dog could go out for a walk at the weekend and Richard spent much of the day thinking about where to take him on the first outing, as well as how to deal with the lack-of-name problem when they encountered other dog owners, as they surely would. These thoughts, and a required re-write of the report, kept him busy. His colleagues wondered what he was so pre-occupied with, but he was too pre-occupied to notice their interest. So it seemed to Richard that he’d hardly arrived before he found himself walking back down the harshly-lit corridor, whistling happily to himself, looking forward to seeing ‘Rex’ again.

Deep in his reverie, he almost didn’t look into the finance office at the end but, just at the last possible point, something made him glance to his left. The office was occupied by a small woman with short blond hair, sitting at her computer, with her back to him, typing away. The desk allocated to Dave was still empty. Richard stopped abruptly. Maybe it was his good mood, but something made him feel that this was the time to finally satisfy his curiosity. He knocked on the open door. The woman half-turned round to look at him. She was in her 40s and her face looked pale and tired, framed as it was by her thick dark hair. But this may just have been the effect of the harsh office lighting and her black blouse. The woman didn’t seem at all pleased to be interrupted anyway.

“Excuse me… I was just wondering… er, whatever happened to Dave?”

Richard smiled broadly as he said this. The woman said nothing. Her face seemed to betray an element of annoyance. Her dark eyes studied him. Richard felt uneasy. He sensed the need to say something more, by way of explanation.

“Er … it was just that I couldn’t help noticing, you know… the balloon and the message, whenever I passed, and then they’d gone. But no-one was sitting there. No Dave.” Richard nodded his head in the direction of the vacant desk and brown-upholstered swivel chair as he said this.

The woman seemed to be controlling her breathing, as if trying to stay calm. Richard’s unease had turned to regret at his intrusion. After what seemed an inordinately long time the woman replied.

“Dave is dead.”

The woman had a slight trace of a foreign accent that Richard couldn’t place. Eastern European perhaps. He immediately felt awful and wished he’d thought about the possibility that Dave’s absence might have a tragic explanation of some kind.

“Oh, oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t realise…of course… forgive me for interrupting.”

He was about to turn and go when the woman began speaking again.

“He was killed by a car, a bloody hit and run driver who didn’t even stop.”

Richard at least now understood her reaction, though this didn’t make him feel any less uncomfortable. He also realised that, having opened the wound, he would have to now stay and show some concern.

“That’s terrible. How did it happen?”

“He was out walking his German Shepherd dog late at night, last Saturday, when he got hit. The actual contact didn’t kill him but it sent him flying through the air and he hit his head on a tree trunk. It was the head wound that killed him. Even if the driver had stopped it probably wouldn’t have saved him they say, but still… how could anyone not stop?”

She looked up at him with a quiet anger. Richard had gone pale. The woman assumed that he was as appalled as her.

“I… I… don’t know. Terrible. Where… where… did this happen?”

“Somewhere on a country road near Steyning so the police said. Dave lived in the middle of nowhere, he loved the peace and quiet apparently. There were no streetlights. Maybe he should have been more careful… I don’t know…”

Her voiced trailed off. Richard felt hot, felt the sweat on his forehead. He put his hand to his collar, loosened his tie and tried with shaking fingers to undo the top button. The woman was looking blankly at the floor now and didn’t notice his strange demeanour and curiously reddening face. He cleared his throat and did his best to speak in an even voice.

“And the dog… do you know what happened to the dog?”

The woman looked up again. It wasn’t the first time she’s been asked that; by now she was used to the curious British sentimentality about animals.

“They never found the dog. I understand that Dave had only recently got it, from the RSPCA I believe. So the police think it just ran off. Scared I suppose”

Richard felt his legs want to give way. His head felt unbearably light. He apologised and turned back into the corridor, where he leaned against the wall and breathed deeply. His heartbeat began to settle. His head felt cooler but was swirling with thoughts, all of them fighting to be pre-eminent in his consciousness. He struggled to make sense of them. He wondered why he didn’t notice. He wondered what he could have done. He wondered what he should do now. He wondered why on earth he’d even stopped to ask about Dave. Pulling himself upright again, he adjusted his collar and tie and wiped the cold sweat away with the back of his sleeve. Turning back into the doorway of the small finance office, he spoke as calmly as he could under the circumstances.

“Erm, excuse me… sorry to interrupt again, but do you by any chance happen to know the name of the dog?” Richard smiled weakly and insincerely.

The woman swivelled slowly round in her chair and looked at him in utter bewilderment. Then, mustering all the considerable scorn that she could manage, she replied.

“The dog, I believe, was called Zorro.”