Together alone

Monday dawned warm and rainless. Peter has been lying on his bed sleeplessly for hours. The crying has started again around three o’clock. It wasn’t the aggressive or complaining crying of a baby, nor the accusative crying of the women he used to know, nor was it the cry of someone in grief. All cries he knew from before were somehow imperative, demanding solution or consolation. But this cry was in no way instrumental, in this cry only hopelessness echoed. It wasn't addressed to anyone of flesh and blood, neither to a patron saint. It was addressing the endless, empty space, without any hope for salvation, and this made it so unbearable to listen to.

If he knew that this will be going on in the neighbouring flat, he would have certainly not paid a cent for this apartment. But of course he didn’t know. When he thought about finding another flat, his headache strengthened, bawling for rest and peace. In the last couple of days he felt a tiredness he didn't know from before, a tiredness of the bones and the arteries. It took him seven months to find this apartment, seven month of calling strangers, visiting flats and driving hard bargains, seven months of constant frustration besides the never-ending struggle of anger and grief management, following the sudden death of his younger brother.

Even when the crying has stopped, trapped by his negative thoughts, Peter couldn’t fall asleep again. He woke up to drink a coffee on the balcony. By the sun rose, he felt deadly exhausted, so he went back to bed.

'Shut up, you evil beast! You make my life unbearable!' The yelling woke Peter up violently. He had to wait a few minutes for his heartbeat to slow down again.

- Silence, please. – He mumbled, before he fell back asleep.

The phone rang exactly at eight a clock. Peter's face distorted in pain. He pushed the phone under his pillow and covered his face with the blanket. The phone stopped ringing, but after a few seconds it started again, more desperate and demanding than before. Peter stretched himself and capitulated.

- Halo?

A female voice answered.

- You didn't pick up the phone when I called from my phone but you answered when it was from an unknown number.

Peter closed his eyes and sighed noiselessly.

- Are you there? – The woman asked.

- Yes. – Peter said. – I was taking a shower.

- Did you decide on what you want?

Peter's headache crept to the red, flickering level.

- No. – He said.

- Why don't you let me comfort you?

- I'm all right. – He said after some seconds of consideration.

- You have nothing else to say, after one week of silence? - She asked.

The gentle sadness in the voice of the woman created a sudden urge in Peter to hang up the phone without saying good bye.

- I'm too tired to speak. – He said. – Can I call you back later?

- Sure. – The woman said. – Talk to you soon then.

- Bye.

Peter switched off the mobile and closed his eyes again. The next time he woke up it was already eleven. People were talking in front of his door.

- My dog disappeared. – The man said. - Haven’t you seen my dog?

- I hope you will never find it. – A female voice answered, possibly the voice of an elderly lady wearing a light blue hat and holding a mahogany walking stick. - Poor dog, it will be much better alone. You have no idea what responsibility is.

- You don’t know anything. – The man said. - That dog is seriously ill.

- Why don't you put it to sleep then, for God's sake?

- Why don't you go back to sleep?

- Silence! – Peter yelled to the walls. He got up. He had the impression that something went fatally wrong in his body over the course of the night. He took a little, silver machine from the drawer of the bedside table, and measured his blood pressure. It was perfectly normal. He counted his pulse; it was all right. He went to the toilet. There was no blood in his urine. He looked at the mirror; his hair didn't turn white in the course of the night.

He packed his sport bag, had a short breakfast having great difficulties with swallowing, and got ready to leave.

When he opened the door, the dog was sitting just in front of him. There are a few moments in life, when decisions take themselves. Peter grabbed the lead of the dog, and walked down the stairs. The dog peacefully followed him. They didn't meet anyone in the stairway, nor on their street. Peter opened the back door of his car, and the dog jumped on the seat.

*

At the train station Peter bought two tickets to his home town. On the train, the dog lied down on the floor in front on Peter, and rested his big, black head on Peter's tennis shoes. He stroked the head of the dog. A woman wearing a yellow, sun shaped hat smiled at him.

They arrived to the house. Peter stopped in front of the gate and rested his forehead on the cold door post. The dog pushed his nose in a square of the fence, and sniffed the wet smell of the leave carpet. Peter feasted his eyes on the closed window shades, the scruffy garden and the 'to be sold' board, and pushed the keys back to his pocket.

He rented a single room in a hotel on the coast.

- You have to fill the dog's part too. – The country side girl at the reception said. Her voice was sharp and high, matching well her vibrating green costume. – What's his name? Or is he a she?

- Silence. – said Peter. - Her name is Silence.

- It's a strange name. - The girl said.

- It's a strange dog. – Peter said.

For the first time after many sleepless nights, Peter fell asleep smoothly.

The crying started in the morning.

- Silence. – Peter mumbled. – Silence.

A few seconds later, waken up entirely, he realized that the dog wasn't at the neighbouring flat, but it was there with him, sitting besides his bed. Peter stared in the dog's widely open mouth for some seconds.

- What is it, dog? – He asked finally. – Tell me, what is it all about?

The dog didn’t answer his question, but cried painfully.

Peter gave water to the dog and looked at the message that has been left on his mobile in the night.

‘Hey there. Call me back until two in the afternoon. I won't wait any longer.'

Peter looked at his watch; it was nine fifty-five. He set the alarm clock of his phone to half past one. Then, with the slow movements of someone who just woke up, he dressed up, grabbed the lead of the dog and opened the door. The dog peacefully followed him to the car.

- How do you want to do it? – Peter turned to the dog after he stopped the car in front of the white building. – Alone, or with someone who thinks he cares?

The dog didn't look at Peter.

- It’s the same damn thing, right? – Peter said. - It's the same damn thing.