The Dog Who Could Fly (16 page)

The following morning he finally felt able to leave Antis to rest. He returned to the bombed-out ruins to investigate what might have happened to his dog. Paw marks in the mud led him to a deep crater thirty yards from the air-raid shelter. It had been made by a bomb dropped from the Dornier on its first run, while Antis and the Czechs were still in their hut. Yet on one of the heavy chunks of concrete at the bottom of the crater Robert found a handful of dog fur and dark smears of blood. From there he began to piece together the mystery of Antis’s fate.

The explosion that had lifted Robert off the ground on the Dornier’s second run must have blown Antis high into the air—high enough in fact to blast him over the roof of a nearby hut and into this crater. When that hut had been blown up, debris from it had been
blasted on top, covering but not quite suffocating the dog. That was how he had come to be so totally hidden from view.

Robert tried to imagine what it must have been like for him, lying dazed and frightened in the darkness. With no room to move, he must have felt walls of mud were pressing him into his grave. He would have been fighting for breath and struggling to rise to his feet, only to realize that the weight of the rubble pinning him down was too great.

Robert had never once seen Antis panic, but had he sensed in a moment of claustrophobia that he was about to suffocate? He must have pushed again with his head and legs to create the smallest of breathing spaces, even as the earth forced its way into mouth and nostrils. He would have heard Robert and the others whistling and calling his name as the buildings were searched all around him, but he must have been so crushed as to be unable to respond.

It would have been a nightmare for the dog, and doubly so when he heard his master and his friends giving up the search. How he stayed alive there for two whole days Robert couldn’t imagine. Perhaps an occasional draft of fresh air had filtered through. Some of the drizzle that had fallen the first night might have permeated the dog’s would-be tomb, providing the odd lick of moisture. But he would not have survived without being able to draw on the extraordinary inner strength that Robert had always known his dog possessed. In fact, he’d sensed it from his very first sight of the dog, as a tiny, growling puppy in no-man’s-land.

Antis’s will to live—the thing that had attracted Robert to him in the first place, in that war-blasted farmhouse in France—must have somehow seen him through. Maybe the heavy rain that had fallen had dislodged some of the debris, allowing Antis to breathe more easily and to lap up some much-needed moisture. Or perhaps he had finally realized that nobody was coming for him, and that only he could save himself.

Either way he must have mustered all his remaining strength for one last super-canine effort. The marks on his paws indicated that he had scratched, kicked, and clawed his way to the surface. There, he had been spotted by a couple of passing mechanics. He was so thin and his coat so matted with mud and blood that they had thought he was some stray dog that had wandered onto the base.

“Hang on a minute,” one of them had said. “Isn’t that Antis?”

“No way,” his companion had replied. “Antis’s much bigger and nowhere near that dark.”

It was only when the dog had limped toward them, his tail wagging feebly, that they had realized who exactly they had found.

•  •  •

Robert nursed Antis back to recovery, rejoicing in each sign of his return to good health. The wounds healed quickly enough and the spring gradually returned to the dog’s step, boosted by scraps of meat from his many admirers in the mess hall, plus even more sweet cookies than usual from the NAAFI.

The less Robert worried about Antis, the more he yearned to get back into the air. Thankfully, the long wait to go into action against the German enemy was almost over. Everyone knew that the ranks of Allied Bomber Command were dwindling fast. As the RAF’s raids on enemy territory intensified, their losses climbed at a dizzying rate. Bold, brave airmen were needed to fill the vacancies, and Robert had no hesitation in putting himself forward. Along with Stetka and Josef, he volunteered to join No. 311 (Czech) Squadron. Their base would be Honington, in Suffolk, where both Joska and Karel had served before they were killed. Their volunteering for duty would be driven in part by a desire to avenge the deaths of their friends.

The rules dictated that Bomber Command volunteers be given forty-eight hours with their wives or sweethearts before they moved to their squadron. Robert leaped at the chance to pay Pamela a surprise
visit. He hoped the delights of an unexpected two days together would soften the blow she would doubtless feel when he told her about his new assignment. The dread would remain with her every day until the end of his tour, but he felt certain she would understand.

Robert and Antis arrived at Lime Street Station in high spirits to catch their train to Cosford, in Shropshire. But as he paced up and down the platform, Robert was disappointed to find that there was little chance of getting a spot on the train where his recently injured dog would be out of the way of other passengers. The corridors as well as the carriages were full to bursting, with dozens of soldiers and civilians still pressing to clamber aboard.

Resigning himself to an uncomfortable journey, he headed for the baggage car, where at least Antis would not prove a nuisance to any passengers who disliked being smeared with dog slobber. Before he could follow Antis into the car, however, Robert was stopped by a porter. At first he thought he was going to be told that the car was out of bounds for passengers, let alone dogs. But the porter smiled in friendly fashion, beckoned him to follow, and led him to the far end of the platform, where the first-class cars awaited.

Turning his back to the crowd so he wouldn’t be seen, the porter thrust two first-class tickets into Robert’s hand, and with a raised finger to his lips—urging silence—he turned and walked away. Astonished, Robert stood there for a moment, fearing it had to be a case of mistaken identity. He tried checking the names on the tickets, but of course there were none—just the seat numbers. Feeling uncertain whether to board, he was startled by a voice as sleek and smooth as satin, speaking to him in his own language.

“This way, my friend,” the voice purred. “There’s plenty of room for you and that handsome hound of yours.”

Robert turned to see a young woman with striking, almost haughty features and perfect white teeth smiling down at him as she leaned from the carriage. Whether by luck or design, her cashmere
coat had parted at the neck to reveal just a glimpse of her femininity. Robert’s gaze fell momentarily on her tight, white blouse—he couldn’t help himself—before he flicked his eyes up to meet hers. He couldn’t quite fathom her mischievous expression and the heavy makeup, framed by chestnut-colored hair with the show-pony sheen that only a well-groomed woman can achieve by brushing one hundred times a day.

He opened the door and followed her swishing skirt as she led him up the aisle. What really entranced him, though, was the
click, click, click
of her black heels. If Robert was honest he liked a nice pair of heels, and these were high—much higher than anything he had ever seen on Pamela. As she seated herself opposite him in the plush compartment, he saw that those distinctive clicks had come from the type of shoe that was all the rage right then, called “peep toes.” The red polish on her immaculate toenails matched her perfect lipstick.

Robert felt an illicit tingle burn through him. He was about to introduce himself when Antis poked his head around the compartment door.

Forgotten someone?

“Antis,” Robert remarked, spreading his arms wide in welcome.

The dog barged in, took a couple of steps toward him with tail down, and flopped huffily onto the floor.

You! You left me on the platform. What’s going on? Who’s she? She’s not our Pamela, I know that much.

“Antis, I’d like you to meet . . .” Robert began.

“Ann Arbuthnott.” The woman stretched out a manicured hand and Robert shook it gently. Warm, smooth skin. Dazzling red nail polish, the same as the toes. He was going to have to contain himself. It felt like such a long time since he had touched a woman.

“Robert Bozdech.” He treated her to his most charming smile. “Thank you so much for the tickets . . . I presume you—”

“It’s nothing,” she interrupted, brushing his thanks aside with an
elegant wave of the hand. “In any case I must confess to an ulterior motive. You see, I spent eleven years living in Czechoslovakia. My father worked at the British embassy in Prague. When I saw the Czech flashes on your shoulders, I couldn’t resist the chance to show off my knowledge of your language.”

Robert smiled. “Fair enough. You do speak beautifully.” He hoped this did not sound too forward.

“I wish I could trust what you are saying is true,” she murmured.

Was she being coquettish? Fishing for compliments? He could only imagine that she was; her Czech was near perfect. In any case, he wondered, was this really all about a bit of impromptu language practice? After all, even if he said it himself, he did look rather dashing in his uniform, the one he had ironed specially for his forthcoming visit to Pamela. Plus Antis remained as handsome as ever, in spite of having been blown up and buried for several days in a bomb crater, one that by rights should have been his grave.

Normally, Antis proved an irresistible source of fascination and a draw to pretty women. On that note Robert decided introductions were long overdue. “This is Antis. Antis, meet Miss Arbuthnott.”

Ann reached out to pat the dog’s head and Robert waited for Antis to put on the killer show that he always did when he met an attractive woman. But instead of sitting up and offering his paw—which in turn gave Robert the chance to utter a few well-rehearsed jokes—he stared coldly at Robert’s new acquaintance with her peep-toe shoes. He flung his master a momentary look, one full of accusation and almost . . . of loathing.

So, I figure you’ve made no mention of who we’re actually off to see today—of PAMELA.

Ann tried to laugh it off, as did Robert, but she was clearly unaccustomed to being treated with anything other than rapt attention. She must have decided to bribe her way into Antis’s affections. Pulling a chocolate ration from her bag—something doubly precious in
the midst of this interminable war—she slit the wrapper with one of her red nails and peeled a piece away.

But it was as if the smell of the chocolate and the swaying of the railcar transported the dog instantly back to the south of France and the long and dangerous stop-start train journey he, Robert, and the other Original Eight had shared when they were fleeing from the Germans. He snorted in disgust at the slab she offered him, turned his head away, flopped onto his outstretched forepaws, and pretended to go to sleep.

Got the message, lady?

Robert flushed with embarrassment, like a father whose adolescent son has just been rude to a new acquaintance. He resolved to make up for his dog’s indifference by being as attentive as possible, but a part of him almost felt like laughing at his dog.
What is it, Antis?
he felt like saying.
Surely you can’t be jealous?

He recounted to Ann their French escapades fleeing from the Germans in such a way that he hoped it would half explain his dog’s behavior. For two hours the pair of them swapped stories in Czech, each warming to the other’s tales. The war had forced both of them to leave a country that they loved. They had led very different lives at opposite ends of the social spectrum, but they shared a deep affection for that country. Neither knew what the future might hold for Czechoslovakia, but they relished the chance to reminisce and to dream dreams of hope.

Antis kept snuffling and snorting as if in disgust at the growing closeness between them.
Please, get me out of here
. He tried whining softly, hoping to attract his master’s attention, but Robert was in no mood to indulge him.

“Be a good dog and keep quiet,” he said, turning back to Ann.

Antis’s whines increased in volume.
No, seriously—get me out of here. I need to go for a pee.

There was no response. Robert was so wrapped up in Ann that he
was ignoring his dog. Antis loped off up the corridor of the first-class compartment, his tail hanging unhappily between his legs, but there was nobody to heed his needs as his master should have done. In any case, the train was hurtling through the countryside, and there was no chance of stretching his legs until the next stop, or of taking a pee.

A few minutes later he was back at their seats, whimpering at his master with added urgency, and staring with renewed resentment at the woman who monopolized his attentions. He pawed at Robert’s hand, hoping that the deeply troubled expression in his eyes would elicit some kind of notice. But the woman was laughing at one of her own jokes, and Robert was joining in the laughter. Then he said something about her joke that made her laugh all the more.

Antis made one last go of it. He let out a long piercing whine—the one that meant
do something, now, or else
—but Robert didn’t break off the conversation for a moment, or even glance at him.

That’s it. I’ve had enough
.

For Robert the first sign that anything was amiss was when Ann’s smile vanished from her face. The perfect white teeth disappeared behind ruby-red lips that were curled in horror. The sparkle in her eyes was replaced by shock. She was staring down at her fabulous peep-toe shoes, and Robert was forced to follow her gaze, dreading what he was about to see.

Sure enough, a pool of steaming yellow fluid was spreading around Ann Arbuthnott’s shoes. The toenails had suddenly lost their luster. The click-click heels were half submerged. Those shoes had been Ann’s pride and joy, but now she couldn’t get rid of them fast enough. She snatched one of them off, only to give a little cry of frustration as she stepped with her stockinged feet into the puddle.

“For God’s sake, Antis, get out! Out!” Robert cried.