Little Grey Mice Read Online Free PDF Page B

to shout at her daughter.
    There was still no response, no relaxation of the crushing grip.
    Elke grabbed for the red emergency button, pressing it again and again, seeing Poppi’s eyes roll up into his head. Careless of being bitten she tried again to loosen Ursula’s hold. The dog was past snapping now, but Ursula looked up. There was no focus at all in her blank eyes. She kept crooning, monotonously.
    Elke wasn’t aware of the attendants’ entry, only of being pushed aside. It was a man and a woman, both white-coated. Their understanding was instantaneous. They ignored the dog and any direct attempt to free it. The woman cradled Ursula’s head against her chest and began to rock back and forth in unison with her, even appearing to match the croon. The man increased the volume of the tape player and stroked the arms that held the now unmoving form of the dog, all along her arms at first but then just where the dog lay. Finally he got his fingertips against the child’s finger ends but still smoothing, not trying to force her hands apart. Elke stood with her arms across her body, holding herself against a collapse: she blinked to clear the blur from her eyes, lip bitten closed against any sound. She could feel herself shaking.
    It seemed a very long time before Poppi was released, and Elke was sure he was dead. When Ursula did let go it was sudden, a simple parting of her arms: the dog stayed where he was, unmoving, although a final gush of air came from him, making his tongue loll further from his mouth. The male attendant moved the body slowly and calmly from the child, putting it on the conveniently nearby bed. As he did so, Dr Schiller came into the room. The principal did not waste time asking for explanations. He said: ‘Bad?’
    â€˜No,’ said the male nurse.
    â€˜Is she in spasm?’
    â€˜No,’ said the comforting woman. ‘She’s quite all right.’
    Schiller looked at last to Elke, who shook her head without knowing why and said: ‘The dog … it was the dog … she wanted …’
    â€˜It’s breathing,’ reported the attendant, from the bed. ‘I thought it was dead, but it isn’t. It’s breathing.’
    There was immediate confirmation from Poppi. The animal whimpered, still short-breathed, then raised and dropped his head. He remained lying where he was.
    â€˜It was awful … terrible …’ blurted Elke. ‘She just sat there, crushing him.’
    â€˜She didn’t know she was doing it,’ said the principal, patiently. ‘Won’t ever know. It has no meaning … no importance …’ He hesitated, to correct himself. ‘Only to the unfortunate animal.’
    â€˜I thought it meant something,’ admitted Elke. ‘She reached out for him, as if she recognized him. I’m sorry … very sorry.’
    â€˜There’s nothing to be sorry about… no blame,’ insisted Schiller. ‘It was an accident, that’s all. A regrettable accident.’
    â€˜The dog might have died! Look how he’s lying there: he’s probably injured!’
    â€˜An accident no one could have anticipated,’ said Schiller, still with patient insistence. ‘Here we care for people. Maybe it would be a good idea to take the dog where they care for animals, to see if it is hurt.’
    Which was what Elke did, eventually, after further reassurance from Schiller and failing to say goodbye to an unknowing, blank-eyed Ursula and finally letting the male attendant help her to the car with Poppi cradled, alive but softly complaining, in the centre of a towel carried hammock-like, held at both edges. That was the way she supported the dog into her apartment to telephone through the veterinary surgeons listed in the directory. The fifth agreed to see her on a Sunday: fortunately he was in the city, in the centre quite close to the cathedral.
    The man, who was short and thin and