the slightest attempt to escape. Now he picked himself up. "Say you're sorry!" I had no idea he knew how to take an oath, but it seems he did. He placed his left paw against his heart and with the right, like a patriotic statue, pointed to the sky. "Say it, Viola!" she directed, and Viola barked. "Again!" Again he barked, keeping his eyes fixed on his tamer to see how well he was doing. Instinct told him that his future depended on it. "Now promise that you'll be a good boy," I heard her say, and Viola put out his paw towards her. "Not to me, I already know; to your mistress." Viola turned to where I stood, and like those pictures of St Francis and the wolf, looking guilty and a little sly, he offered me his right front paw. I didn't take it, I was in so much pain from my knee, and so utterly furious with them both.
Seeing his entreaties were useless he tried a new ploy. Without instruction he saluted me, then again put his left paw on his heart. I gave up. Once again they had defeated me, and we all three knew it. "Don't worry about him," said Emerence. "Today he'll have lunch with me. I'll bring him home this evening. And wash your leg — it's bleeding. I hope you'll be all right."
The order came only through her eyes, and a slight movement of the head, but Viola understood. With clear articulation, he barked at me twice, thanking me. Emerence attached the lead to the fence and resumed her sweeping. I had been dismissed. Slowly I made my way home, alone, through the thickly falling snow.
FRIENDS AND NEIGHBOURS
With the addition of Viola to the family, our circle of acquaintances widened. Until then we had been in regular contact only with friends; now, if only superficially, we got to know the entire neighbourhood. Emerence walked the dog in the morning, at midday and in the evening, but there were times when she couldn't do the midday session because of some unexpected extra work, and then it was left to us. Either my husband saw to it or I did it myself, but Viola always led the way. He generally began by hauling his leash to Emerence's flat, where he would have to be taken right up to the door to make quite sure that she wasn't hiding inside. But his nose would soon tell him that she wasn't playing a trick, she really wasn't at home, and we were able to continue. Sometimes she was at home, but caught up in some task for which she had no need of his assistance. On these occasions we had to wait outside with the dog, shamefaced, until his whining and scratching finally produced her, muttering curses and ordering him not to pester her. Sometimes she wouldn't just smack him, she told him off like an over-insistent guest, shouting things like: "Why are you dragging me out? We were together this morning and we'll see each other again tonight!" Or she would pat him on the neck a few times, stuff something sweet in his mouth, play out the whole performance with him to its end, and only then chase him back into the street.
If we didn't find her at home, we had to look for her outside one of her houses. If she was found, the entire front porch ritual would be played out in the open air, and more than once Emerence took Viola through the performance with my husband or myself as the reluctant focus. This way we made the acquaintance of several of our neighbours whom we would not otherwise have met.
Whenever Emerence had company — this was only in good weather, at those times of the year when she put benches outside her door and it was possible to sit and chat — Viola would be ordered to find his food and water bowls, which the old woman hid in different places, while the guests watched his tricks in amazement. I was often struck by how readily everyone accepted her declaration of a Forbidden City, where they could be received only on the porch. Local acquaintances, close friends and even blood relations such as her brother Józsi's boy, all found that the closed-door rule applied equally to them.
The reception area to
Seeing his entreaties were useless he tried a new ploy. Without instruction he saluted me, then again put his left paw on his heart. I gave up. Once again they had defeated me, and we all three knew it. "Don't worry about him," said Emerence. "Today he'll have lunch with me. I'll bring him home this evening. And wash your leg — it's bleeding. I hope you'll be all right."
The order came only through her eyes, and a slight movement of the head, but Viola understood. With clear articulation, he barked at me twice, thanking me. Emerence attached the lead to the fence and resumed her sweeping. I had been dismissed. Slowly I made my way home, alone, through the thickly falling snow.
FRIENDS AND NEIGHBOURS
With the addition of Viola to the family, our circle of acquaintances widened. Until then we had been in regular contact only with friends; now, if only superficially, we got to know the entire neighbourhood. Emerence walked the dog in the morning, at midday and in the evening, but there were times when she couldn't do the midday session because of some unexpected extra work, and then it was left to us. Either my husband saw to it or I did it myself, but Viola always led the way. He generally began by hauling his leash to Emerence's flat, where he would have to be taken right up to the door to make quite sure that she wasn't hiding inside. But his nose would soon tell him that she wasn't playing a trick, she really wasn't at home, and we were able to continue. Sometimes she was at home, but caught up in some task for which she had no need of his assistance. On these occasions we had to wait outside with the dog, shamefaced, until his whining and scratching finally produced her, muttering curses and ordering him not to pester her. Sometimes she wouldn't just smack him, she told him off like an over-insistent guest, shouting things like: "Why are you dragging me out? We were together this morning and we'll see each other again tonight!" Or she would pat him on the neck a few times, stuff something sweet in his mouth, play out the whole performance with him to its end, and only then chase him back into the street.
If we didn't find her at home, we had to look for her outside one of her houses. If she was found, the entire front porch ritual would be played out in the open air, and more than once Emerence took Viola through the performance with my husband or myself as the reluctant focus. This way we made the acquaintance of several of our neighbours whom we would not otherwise have met.
Whenever Emerence had company — this was only in good weather, at those times of the year when she put benches outside her door and it was possible to sit and chat — Viola would be ordered to find his food and water bowls, which the old woman hid in different places, while the guests watched his tricks in amazement. I was often struck by how readily everyone accepted her declaration of a Forbidden City, where they could be received only on the porch. Local acquaintances, close friends and even blood relations such as her brother Józsi's boy, all found that the closed-door rule applied equally to them.
The reception area to
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