Each dawn, an elderly lady drifted into the courtyard of our block of flats. She seemed about eighty, always dressed with a quiet precision, as if the very air around her were folded neatly. I had moved into the building at the close of autumn, and every morning on my way to the office I spotted her. Sometimes she perched on a bench beneath a towering lime tree, other times she shuffled slowly, her cane tapping a soft rhythm against the paving.
After a while we fell into a gentle ritual of greetings. I would pause, ask after the health of Mrs. Evelyn Harper, and wish her a pleasant day. She would smile, her face warm as a hearth, and thank me with a nod.
At the end of December a new resident materialised in our courtyard: a dog. It was small, its coat a tangled thicket, its breed indistinguishable. No one knew where it had come from. When Evelyn tossed it a scrap of sausage, the creatures fate sealed itself; from that moment it lingered, a stray that might never have survived elsewhere given its sorry appearance.
Most of the tenants were displeased. They shouted, Off you go, you rascal! whenever it approached, its eyes pleading, silently begging for food. Yet it sometimes managed a morsela thrown crust of bread here, a tiny bone there. Evelyn fed it stale biscuits or yesterdays loaf, patting its head and calling it Paws.
When the snow melted almost entirely in spring, I met Evelyn one morning in the courtyard. She announced that she would leave that evening with her granddaughter for the countryside, staying there until autumn. Possibly even till the end of autumn, she added. Theres a stove out there, and by its fire it stays warm even on the coldest nights. She asked me to promise a visit.
In late August I finally made the trip to see her. After buying a modest gift£5 for a pretty handkerchiefI boarded the bus for the village where she was staying. I arrived to find her seated on a verandah, peeling large, rubyred apples. Lying on the wooden step beside her, a dog rested peacefully.
Paws, come greet our guest! the old lady called. The dog leapt, its tail a jubilant banner, and raced toward me. It was a splendid animal now, its fur sleek and rippling, catching the sunlight like spun silk.
Mrs. Evelyn, is this truly the same shaggy Paws from our courtyard? I asked, astonished. Yes, thats him! she replied, smiling. Hes turned out to be a real beauty. Come in, have a cup of tea. Tell me everything thats happened in the town!
We lingered at the table, sipping cherryinfused tea and swapping stories. After his porridge, Paws curled into a ball by the hot stove, sighing softly in sleepperhaps dreaming of something unknown. Outside, a gentle breeze coaxed the apple trees branches to sway, and ripe, red apples drifted down, landing quietly among the grass.
