Free New World in the Morning by Stephen Benatar Page A

smiles.
    Don’t Fence Me In .

9
    We returned home at roughly ten. At roughly eleven I took Susie on her evening walk. “Is it necessary?” asked Junie. “She’s been charging around so much I would have thought she was exhausted.”
    â€œBut, darling, she was shut up for over an hour this afternoon, and, hearing all the screams and laughter, must have thought, What on earth have I done? And, anyway, just look at her!”
    Susie had gone to the front door and was gazing back with soulful trustingness in the integrity of man—and with a tail that wagged in tentative anticipation.
    Added to which, I myself was fancying a stroll: a short time in which to ponder without interruption, to plan, to dream, take stock…or simply be. I often meant to do all this in bed but either fell asleep or was distracted by Junie’s frequent resettlings or—sometimes—gentle snoring.
    â€œAh, Suze,” I said. “ I know your evening walk is one of the few simple pleasures you can really count on. How could your mistress be so rotten as to want to deprive you of it?”
    â€œOh, Susie. Is that what I was wanting? To deprive you of one of the few simple pleasures you can really count on? Then isn’t it a good thing somebody here has a heart?” To me she said: “But you won’t be going far?”
    â€œNo, only round the block. Won’t even take the lead.”
    In fact I’d been considering returning to the beach, to sanctify my day with a tranquil half-hour listening to the ebb and flow of the ocean. But the beach was too far. So now I chose to wander through the back streets. At this time on a Sunday these were wholly deserted, their houses all in darkness. But at least I could smell the sea. And I loved that smell. I’d always been a son of Neptune, even before I’d been a son of Richard Widmark. The sea had made the setting for some of my greatest exploits, both actual and imaginary, but sometimes I’d felt I should simply like to swim out as far as I could, mile after mile after mile—sun-dappled and serene—until either my strength gave out or else I finally walked ashore, all glorious and shining, with muscles now pleasantly tired, onto some lush tropical island with silvery sands, exotic fruits and Gauguin’s available maidens. The sea was purifying; it was a transmuter of base metals. It seemed eminently right that beside the sea, and underneath the stars, I should have been brought face-to-face again with love.
    The car came quickly and it didn’t stop.
    For a second I couldn’t adjust. One moment I was attending some glamorous cocktail function with Moira, being introduced to many of her sophisticated friends, arousing wonderment and envy. The next, I was staring down at Susie’s bloody and broken body. Separating the two had been the heart-stopping thud of impact…and then the bastard’s tail lights were already burning into the distance.
    Yet she was still alive. The whimpering and the slavering and the frenzied breathing, the bared teeth and the smell of panic, all testified to that. I knelt beside her and laid my hand on her head and spoke her name softly and repeatedly, whilst trying to work out what I should do. And she gradually gave over snarling and attempting to struggle up.
    I knew that the vet lived on the seafront, in a flat over his surgery. We were halfway there and I thought it would be better to carry Susie straight to Mr Dodd than carry her back to the house—also quicker and less frustrating than my trying to get a lift. No lights had been switched on; no windows had been thrown open. Everything remained as silent as before…almost …the only difference being a crying baby and a whimpering dog. Nobody had come to his front door.
    I would have come to my front door.
    So would Junie, Ella, Matt and nearly everyone I knew. They would all have come to their front door.
    I felt an urge to