Blood-drenched Beard

It is sunny again on the Sunday morning, and he puts Beta to the test in her first long walk since the accident. He carries her to the start of the beach and accompanies her slowly. She has a strange limp. Her fractured front paw is stiff, and her back legs are still a little atrophied, but she walks more quickly than he expected and shows no sign of wanting to give up. On the contrary, she gains confidence. From time to time she wanders close to the water, and on more than one occasion he has to rescue her so that she won’t be knocked down by a wave washing up on the beach with greater momentum. He can hardly believe it, but Beta seems to have developed a taste for the sea. He walks with her to the start of the beach promenade, sits on the steps that lead down to the sand, and strokes her head, thinking he’ll let her rest a little, but she takes off in her jerky trot toward the water. He goes after her, and by the time he catches up, she already has her muzzle in the waves. Hey, crazy girl. He picks her up, returns to the sand, strips down to his black boxer shorts, piles his clothes up on a small dune, and wades into the water with Beta under his arm. The waves are stronger here than at the end of the beach, but she doesn’t seem to mind. It is so cold that it doesn’t even feel like cold water, but more like abrasive heat, as if the outer limits of hot and cold temperatures can’t be told apart. He keeps both hands under her belly the whole time to help her float but lets her work her paws, and the waves wash lightly over her. Beta, you’re a crazy girl, he says through chattering teeth. You think you’re a whale now? Do you want to be the world dog-paddle champion? She sneezes and swims, sneezes and swims. When his limbs start to hurt and tingle, he takes her out of the water and dries her with his T-shirt, then puts the rest of his clothes back on and heads home. He is stiff with cold. A short distance from two fishing boats raised up on planks of wood on the beach, he hears Jasmim’s voice calling his name. She is sitting by herself on a bench on the promenade, drinking maté. Her silhouette is plumped out by a navy-blue padded jacket and a wool scarf wrapped around her neck. She walks over to him.

There were some guys here staring at the water saying that some lunatic was swimming in his underpants with a dog. I stopped to take a look and thought, hmm, I think I know that guy.

It was me.

Don’t you feel the cold?

I’m freezing. But this sun’s helping a bit.

You’re lucky there’s no wind.

Wasn’t there an excursion today?

No, we didn’t have the numbers. Frota, the owner, stayed in the office, and I went to church early today. I stopped off here for a maté before going home.

Do you go to church?

On Sundays. I’ve been going to the chapel on the square there. It’s gorgeous. Have you ever been inside?

No.

Don’t you have a religion?

No. Do you?

Oh, I believe in God. That’s all. I was brought up that way. Church on Sundays ever since I was a child. It does me good to pray. The act of going and praying. I know it’s irrational. I wish I could stop, but I can’t.

I wanted to believe at some stage, but I couldn’t.

It doesn’t matter. God doesn’t care about that. But I doubt he likes it when people play with life like you do. You’re blue. Blue people tend to wake up in a hospital with hypothermia. You should get home quickly.

I think I’d rather stay here a bit longer.

She stares at him, and despite his best efforts he ends up looking away.

Then have a maté to warm up.

She presses the button on the Thermos, and the stream of steaming-hot water gurgles noisily through the maté leaves and into the gourd. Beta was following her own nose, already a distance away, but now she is returning to her owner with her crippled gait. Jasmim hands him the gourd and watches her, intrigued.

What’s your dog’s name?

Beta.

What’s wrong with her?

She was run over. The vet wanted to put her down, but I didn’t let her, and in the end she pulled through. She’ll have to have physiotherapy to see if she can walk properly again, but I had the idea to put her in the water to exercise. There was a guy that used to come and exercise his pit bull in front of my apartment almost every night. It’d spend hours fetching a plastic bottle from the water. It got me thinking. I know a little about post-op hydrotherapy. It’s helpful with spinal injuries, and it can’t be very different for veterinary purposes. That’s what gave me the idea. I think it was a bit of intuition too. And she reacted well. When she was released from the clinic, she couldn’t even wag her tail. And not only is she improving, but she’s taken a liking to water. Did you see her? She’s learning how to break through the waves.

He sips the hot maté, and his body relaxes a little.

Do you go in the water with her every day?

Yep.

She stares at the dog and doesn’t say anything else until he finishes the maté and returns the gourd.

I have to go now. It’s really cold. Look, I—

I’ll call you next week to arrange something.