They have been together for five years, since his wife, Elise, died unexpectedly of a ruptured brain aneurysm. He claims he is doing his best to keep his promise to his wife, but the rundown shack in which he now lives tells a different story. He admits he was reckless spending his money on rum rather than on his rent, but now says all that is history. He likes to boast about his sobriety, credit for which he seldom concedes his now only regular companion deserves more than given.
“Can’t you walk faster, lazy boy?” Fred tugs the twine he calls a leash, the knot he ties at its end sometimes loose, this time even worse.
“Are you going to strangle me now, Mister?”
“What?” He looks round searchingly, and then continues his trip to Daniel’s home. “I can’t be bothered with you guys,” he says, and apparently notices he now lags behind Toti.
“That’s good. That’s what you should have been doing a long time now.”
“Yeah right,” Fred does not appear alarmed this time. At Daniel’s place, Toti settles in one corner of the veranda watching the theatrics of two men in their early sixties who last saw each other twenty years earlier.
“Fred the Fred,” Daniel reels forward, seemingly floor-bound, which the timely bear hug he gets terminates.
“Thanks God it’s not the bread.” Fred manages to respond as he struggles to free himself from his friend, who is slapping his back with zeal and seems to want to ensure he steadies himself before letting go. The hugs, hand pumps, back slaps and hearty laughs soon stop, both men clearly out of breath as they sit next to each other on cushion-less wooden chairs. “Any bread today?” Daniel bellows moments later, with a wide grin.
“I can’t even afford that these days.” Toti sneezes and turns away as Daniel leans forward past Fred apparently to catch a glimpse of the dog.
True, Fred can hardly afford to feed himself now, let alone a dog. His meagre fortnightly welfare now funds his cigarettes first, and then everything else, except as it seems a leash and collar for Toti. Fred and Daniel reminisce about their drinking days and their buddies, some even deceased.
“So you made it, too?” Fred asks first, as usual obviously eager to advertise himself. Toti, a petit, silver-coated somewhat laidback pug makes a long panting sound that apparently unsettles Fred, who gives the dog a contemptuous glare.
Daniel seems to have remarkable acuity. He must have noticed the dynamics between Fred and Toti as he again, steals a glance at the dog.
“What are you looking at?” Toti slightly changes direction, its creased, diminutive squashed face right on Daniel’s.
“I beg your pardon?” Daniel at first appears to address the dog, but swiftly shifts position, now directly facing Fred, who responds, “What?” Daniel says nothing. He shifts in his chair, stretches and yawns, his interlocked fingers gently placed over his bald pate.
“Do you still have those experiences? Mine stopped long ago.” Fred apparently knows what Daniel is talking about. “Mine, too.”
“Yeah, right.” Fred shakes his head, and looks briefly in the direction of Toti, sprawled on the floor nearby seemingly oblivious to goings on, only its ears twitching from time to time. “Yes, the voices stopped a long time, ago when I quit drinking.” Fred smiles apparently pleased with that.
“Congratulations. Two weeks is such a long time isn’t it?” Fred again looks in the dog’s direction, his smile instantaneously turning into a scowl.
“What’s up with the dog?” Daniel seems ever keener to know, and getting up with much difficulty, announces “Let’s have something to drink.”
“No beers for me.”
“Great.”
“Shut up.” Fred stares straight ahead this time but tugs on the rope. Toti growls, but remains on the same spot.
“Are you ok?” Daniel looks concerned.
“I’m fine. It’s this crazy dog, hmm ehhh sorry, it’s nothing.” Fred it seems forces a cough and leans back on the chair. Moments later, Daniel is back with two glasses of orange squash, Fred promptly gulping his.
“Easy, mate. Eaaasy” Toti makes that long pant again, and scratches its cryptic snout.
“I’m going to get you.” Fred is audible albeit subdued.
“Do we still do that? I’m broke now myself, Fred. It’s all dried up.”
“I don’t play anymore either. No more games for me.”
“Liar, liar.” Toti is now on its feet. Its gentle sideways motion aligns its trunk with the setting sun, and reveals the shimmer of its coat.
“There goes your dinner, buddy.” Fred is still staying calm, although it is visibly a struggle.
“What dinner? When last did we have dinner?” He now seems no longer able to keep calm. He gets up and pulls on the rope, its knot tightening round Toti’s neck, which starts to bark furiously.
“Gottcha.” Fred seems surprised to hear this, and it only seems to infuriate him even more. But he manages to control his anger. He sits again, Daniel quietly watching from a distance, where he retreated when Toti started to bark.
Fred beckons to his friend who shows him a large scar on his right calf. “Remember that?”
“I remember it alright. I got a bite myself, though mine was not as bad.”They then talk about how drunk they both were the night a German shepherd chased them on their way home from the club.
“Good for you.”
“Did you hear that?” Daniel queries and seems genuinely scared. “I must go see my doctor again. Those voices seem to be coming back.”
“Really?” Then there was silence, both men poised as if waiting to hear some more.
Daniel sips his drink, and moments later, stealthily glancing at Toti, asks Fred to tell him about the dog. “I seem to like your dog,” he says, a sardonic smile on his face. Toti growls briefly. Daniel rocks his chair backward.
“It’s not my dog.”
“Who cares?”
“It’s Elise’s dog. All it does is sleep. That’s why it’s so fat and lazy.”
“Tell me about it.”
“Will you shut up?”
“I think you need to see the doctor too, Fred.”
“No, No, No. I’m ok. It’s the dog that needs to see a doctor.”
“It’s the dog that needs a doctor?”
“Imagine.”
“Who said that?” Daniel is clearly agitated.
“It’s the dog,” Fred responds right away, and just as quickly, coughs and clears his throat, his mien sheepish but he says nothing. Daniel surveys him in wonder, and then Toti, even more bewildered.
“Toti is a pest and a lousy dog. It even got me arrested as an accomplice to shoplifting when it stole a bone at a grocery store the other day.”
“You’ve been watching too much TV, Fred. Get a life.” Toti prances across the veranda, Daniel’s curious gaze in slow pursuit. “Interesting creature,” he says after a while. Fred is frowning at Toti and hissing, but he remains in his chair. If Fred intended to upset Toti, it is apparently not working, and he seems to know that as not long afterward, he tells his friend he is leaving. He looks at the corner where Toti sprawled. It is not there.
“Where is it?” Fred gnashes the few teeth strewn in his jaws perhaps piqued that Toti is at some prank again, as he often says it is.
“Right here.” Fred looks across and spots Toti in the living room, perched comfortably in the laps of Jane, Daniel’s wife, who is legally blind and does not speak. Toti is laughing again. Jane is smiling, and stroking Toti’s fluffy overcoat. Fred seems transfixed for a moment. He then just turns round, and walks away, perhaps relieved he can now resume the nomadic life he lived prior to that with Elise and to which he promised her never to return.
