The Avenues of the Soul

*****

It was the tapping that woke Tom. Dragging him unwillingly back to consciousness. He forced his eyes to stay closed, trying to burrow back into that warm place. The dream place, where Margie's warm body lay beside him. The place where life still held promise, but the thread was broken. Reluctantly he opened his eyes and sat up in his bed, trying to locate the source of the tapping. Outside, the wind gusted again, forcing the branch of a skeletal tree against the windowpane, to beat out its pathetic tattoo once more. Sighing, Tom rose from the bed and padded over to the window. The snow had fallen heavily overnight, creating the Christmas card scene that met his eyes. The high wind had played its own part, pushing the snow into deep drifts against the walls and outbuildings. Sighing again, Tom turned towards the bathroom, to prepare for another empty day.

Downstairs he filled the kettle and switched it on, then bent to try and coax some life into the dying stove. Once the ash was raked out and coal-scuttle emptied onto the embers, he was rewarded with a small flame. The fire grew in intensity as it discovered the fresh fuel. Satisfied, he clanked the metal door closed and picked up the scuttle for refilling.

Outside the snow crunch under his feet as he made his way to the coal store. Halfway there he stopped, frowning in puzzlement. There was something wedged into the tiny space between the cottage and the workshop, he could see the mound of its shape under the snow. He moved towards it, trying to discern what it was.

At first he thought that the animal was dead. It lay curled into a tight ball, beneath a blanket of snow. Tom reached out tentatively with his foot and nudged the animal's rump. The dog responded at once, raising its head and drawing back its lips in a weak attempt at a snarl as it staggered unsteadily to its feet. He surveyed the animal silently for a few moments. It was painfully thin and one of its hind legs was held away from the ground, as if it was injured in some way. He turned from the dog and went back into the cottage. Opening a cupboard he took out a plate of sausages, left over from the previous day. Back outside, he approached to within a few feet of the dog, who snarled at him in obvious fear. Breaking off half a sausage and laid it on the ground at his feet, then moved backward a couple of paces before laying down the other half. The dog gaze swung between him and the meat, hunger and fear fought a battle in its eyes. Tom left a trail of sausage halves leading to the cottage door. Back inside he took an old overcoat from a hook behind the door and spread it over the rug near the stove. The plate, with the two remaining sausage, he set next to the coat, then he crossed to the refrigerator and took out a bottle of milk and some eggs. As he heated the milk on the stove, he was aware of the animal hovering in the doorway. Without looking at the dog , Tom poured the warmed milk over two raw eggs and began to beat the mixture. When he was satisfied, he placed it carefully next to the sausages. He could hear the dog sniffing the air as the smell of the milk reached it. He turned and crossed back to the sink. As he prepared his own merge breakfast, he could hear the hesitant movements of the dog behind him. The scrape of the dish told him that the sausages had been devoured, followed by rapid lapping sounds as the egg mixture was consumed. He finished his tea and toast before turning to glance at the dog. She was sitting beside the fire attending to her injured paw, but her eyes were fixed firmly on him, as he was sure they had been since she entered the cottage.

He thought about the animal as he went about his business in the workshop. She had had a rough time, no doubt about that. She obviously needed rest and food. Well, he could provide both and then she could be on her way. Attachments were something he had no need of, he had learned that if nothing else and obviously the dog felt the same way. Putting the matter out of his mind, he turned his attention to the job in hand. The wood felt comforting in his hands as he etched out the shape he was trying to create. The work demanded all of his concentration, leaving no room for other thoughts, only the blissful numbness that he craved.

By the next morning the snow had started to ease a little. He restored the fire and prepared breakfast under the silent gaze of the dog. When he had returned the previous night, she had been sleeping by the fire, coming alert the moment he entered the cottage. He had left the door slightly ajar and started to concoct a stew from potatoes and corned beef. The dog had crept outside and urinated in the snow before quickly returning to the place of warmth. He had shared the meal with the dog, pushing the dish towards her with his foot. This time, although she had shied away at his approach, there had been no hesitation in attacking the food the minute he moved away. With a bit more weight on her she could be handsome animal. She was a collie and now that she had cleaned herself a little, the white fur on her face and neck contrasted nicely with the black torso. He stared out of the window. When the snow had finally disappeared, he would take her to the animal shelter in town. Surely they would be able to find someone to re-home her. Someone who could give her the love that he was incapable of.

It was almost noon when he heard the sound of the engine. Laying down his tools, he went outside to investigate.

The fair-haired woman, who was climbing out of the car, smiled at him timidly. He felt his stomach begin to churn.

" Hello Tom," her voice was tinged with nervousness. " Everyone has been worried about you. No-one has seen you for a while and we were wondering if you were OK?"

" I'm perfectly all right thank you," he said abruptly. "You have had a wasted journey." She hesitated at the coldness of his tone, the smile wavering on her face.

" I came to invite you over, it must get very lonely for you up here?" He felt the cold anger creeping over him.

" I don't have time to be lonely, I have far too much to do." His voice sounded very loud, even to him. "Now, if you will excuse me." He turned and pushed his way into the cottage, closing the door firmly behind him. His body felt hot with rage. Why couldn't they leave him alone. Why did they have to keep coming here, making him remember what he had done?

Outside, the woman was still standing by her car, her head lowered sorrowfully. Across the room the dog was watching him intently, her ears pricked. He waited, hands clenched, until the woman finally got back into her car and drove away. His legs were trembling. Crossing the room he dropped into a chair, his hands gripping the arms, trying to force down the fury that had overtaken him. He wouldn't think about it, couldn't think about it, but his brain refused to relinquish the memories. A stupid, stupid quarrel. Dear God, he had known that he was in the wrong, why couldn't he have backed down and told her he was sorry. He could have driven her to town early in the morning, hours before that drunken yob had climbed into his lethal car.

' Accidental death', the coroner had said, but Tom knew who was to blame. He and his stupid pride had killed her, as sure as if it had been him driving the car. His stubbornness had cost the life of the woman he had loved for thirty years. The acknowledgement brought a wave of remorse that pierced him like a physical pain. He moaned in despair, curling his body forward over his knees. Something rough and warm brushed his face, wiping at the tears running over his cheeks. Crying was something he hadn't done in the aftermath, almost as if it would confirm what had occurred. But now he felt as if his whole body was formed of tears and grief, which poured forth in a tidal wave. The dog lapped at his face, whining softly as if understanding his anguish. His hands slid around the animal's torso, as he buried his face into the soft fur of its chest. The dog licked his neck and ears, as he clung helplessly to the warm body.

They stayed that way for a long time. Two survivors of a shipwreck, seeking solace in each other.