Every morning, an elderly woman stepped out into the courtyard of our block. She was about eighty, always dressed neatly and with careful attention. I had moved into the building at the end of autumn. On my way to work each day, I passed her. Sometimes she sat on a bench beneath a towering lime tree; other times she shuffled slowly, leaning on a polished oak cane.
After a while we began exchanging greetings. I would pause briefly to ask after the health of Mrs. Margaret Hughes and wish her a good day. She always returned a warm smile and a grateful nod.
At the end of December, a new resident appeared in our courtyard: a dog. It seemed young, small, and nobody knew where it had come from.
It was a scruffy, filthy creature, its coat tangled, without any clear breed. As soon as Margaret tossed it a piece of pork sausage, its fate was sealed: from that moment it stayed in the courtyard. It likely would not have survived elsewhere, given its pitiful condition.
Most of the tenants were not pleased with its presence. Many tried to drive it away, shouting, Off with you, you mongrel! the instant it shuffled close, pleading with mournful eyes for a morsel.
Nevertheless, it sometimes managed to get somethinga resident would fling a crust of bread, another a small bone. Margaret also brought it stale biscuits or dayold bread, speaking softly while stroking its head, calling it Paws.
When spring was melting the last of the snow, I met Margaret in the courtyard one bright morning. She told me she would be leaving that very evening with her granddaughter for the country, staying there until autumn.
Possibly even until the end of autumn, she added. There we have a coal stove, and by its fire it stays warm even on the coldest nights.
She made me promise to visit her.
In late August I finally decided to see Margaret. After buying her a small present, I caught the bus to the village where she was staying.
When I arrived, I found her seated on the veranda, peeling large red apples. Lying stretched out on the wooden step beside her, a dog rested peacefully.
Paws, come greet our guest! the old lady called.
The dog leapt, wagging its fluffy tail, and bounded toward me.
It was a beautiful animal now, its coat sleek and wavy, glinting in the sunshine.
Mrs. Hughes, is this really the same shaggy Paws from our courtyard? I asked, astonished.
Yes, thats him! Hes turned into a true beauty! Margaret replied with a grin. Come inside, have a cup of tea. Tell me everything about the city!
We lingered at the table, sipping cherryflavoured tea and chatting. After his porridge, Paws curled up by the hot stove, sighing softly in sleepperhaps dreaming of something.
Outside, a gentle breeze made the apple trees branches sway, and ripe, crimson apples drifted slowly onto the grass.
