Every day an elderly woman steps out into the courtyard of our block of flats. She is about eighty and always dresses neatly and with care. I move into the building at the end of autumn. Each morning on my way to work I see my neighbour. Sometimes she sits on a bench beneath a big oak, sometimes she shuffles slowly, leaning on her cane.
After a while we start exchanging greetings. I pause briefly to ask after Eleanor Smiths health and wish her a good day. She always smiles warmly and thanks me.
At the end of December a new resident appears in the courtyard: a dog. It looks young, being rather small, but no one knows where it came from.
It is a scruffy, dirty creature, fur tangled, with no clear breed. As soon as Eleanor offers it a piece of pork sausage, its fate is sealed: from that moment it stays in the courtyard. It probably wouldnt survive elsewhere, given its miserable appearance.
Most of the flatmates arent pleased with its presence. Many try to shoo it away, shouting Go on, get off! whenever it waddles over and looks at them with pleading eyes, silently begging for food.
Still, it sometimes manages to get something someone tosses it a crust of bread, another a small bone. Eleanor also brings it stale biscuits or crusty loaf, speaks softly while patting its head, calling it Twig.
In spring, when the snow has almost melted away, I meet Eleanor one morning in the courtyard. She tells me she will leave that evening with her granddaughter for the countryside and will stay there until autumn.
Maybe even until the end of autumn, she adds. There we have a woodburning stove, and by it it stays warm even on the coldest nights.
She makes me promise to visit her.
At the end of August I finally decide to go see Eleanor. After buying her a small present I hop on a bus toward the village where she is staying.
When I arrive I find her sitting on the veranda, peeling large red apples. Lying on the wooden step beside her, a dog rests peacefully.
Twig, come on, greet our guest! the old lady calls.
The dog leaps, wagging its fluffy tail, and runs toward me.
It is a magnificent animal, coat glossy and wavy, glittering in the sunshine.
Mrs. Eleanor, is that really the same scruffy Twig from our courtyard? I ask, surprised.
Yes, thats him! Hes turned out to be a real beauty! Eleanor replies with a smile. Come in, have a cup of tea. You must tell me all the news from town!
We sit at the table for a long while, sipping cherryinfused tea and chatting. After eating his porridge, Twig curls up near the hot stove, sighing softly in his sleep perhaps dreaming of something
Outside a light breeze makes the appletree branches sway, and large, ripe red apples drift gently onto the grass.
