The Puppy’s Mom
By: Suleiman dilsoz
Translated by: Tara Modarresi
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I feel like there’s no air left in the room.
I open the window. However, instead of fresh air a disgusting smell is filling up the room.
A few weeks ago, a stray dog had given birth to four little fluffy black and white puppies. The neighbours put food in little cups for them and left it on the side of the street. As we were walking beside them, they would run away and hide under the bushes then right after we passed them, they would come back to our pathway. One of the pups was ill and we realized from that strong smell that the pup is dead. It’s been three days since the dead body of the little dog was laying there and no one had the courage to pick it up and throw it away.
I go to the basement and grab an empty coal sack along with a shovel. Nazdar, my wife, gives me a pair of gloves and two masks. One for me and one for Lawa, my neighbour, but it seems like Lawa is not home now. Lawa’s wife, Nashmil says she can help instead.
“Wouldn’t you be grossed out?” I ask.
“There’s no other way” she says.
I give the sack and the gloves to her. I pick the shovel and shove it underneath the corpse. It has been swollen. Flies with bugs have covered all over the body. It doesn’t look like the same pup that was running and jumping around the streets until a week ago. The corpse slips down the shovel a couple of times and I’m having a hard time picking it up. When I’m eventually able to put it in the sack, Nashmil quickly ties up the sack. I put on the gloves and I take the sack from her. The big garbage containers are two streets down near the mosque. I walk fast but It feels like forever getting to the garbage container. With my other hand I press the mask against my nose as I walk. I’m about to pass out from the sickening smell. I get to the garbage containers. I throw the sack first and then the gloves into the garbage. I get away from the garbage container as quickly as I can and take the mask off my face. I realized that all this time I haven’t swallowed my saliva. As I spit, I get nauseous, but I can’t throw up.
When I’m back I see that the women washed down the shovel and the street where the corpse was. They don’t get satisfied with water and soap only. They shovel the ground in order to wash off the curse.
Rojia, Lawa and Nashmil’s daughter, asks me with her soft voice tone: “what did you do to the puppy uncle Sal?”
Rojia is almost two years old.”
“I threw it away.” I say.
“With whom?” she asks.
As I don’t know why she is asking me this question, I look into her little curious eyes and answer: “Alone.”
Rojia and I are in front of our door now. Nazdar and Nashmil are busy with talking in the back. Rojia is knocking on the door and yells:
“Pada, Pada, open the door please.”
She calls my daughter, Parang, by this nickname. I hear my 9- year old daughter’s voice from the garden as she yells: “Push the door, it’s not locked”.
Rojia gets inside before me. Nazdar comes inside after me but Nashmil has gone to her house. Parang pushes Rojia on the swing. We made the swing ourselves with rope and a wood board and hung it on the big berry tree that we have in the garden so Rojia can enjoy it.
I hear cheerful talks from Nazdar, Rojia and Parang. Nazdar laughs at Rojia’s talks. As she kisses her cheeks says: “What will I do after you leave Rojia?”
Rojia responds with all seriousness “I don’t know” as she looks at Nazdar. Then she says: “We will go to Norway with a plane.”
Nazdar feeds her. While sitting on a small stool, I enjoy watching Rojia eating her food. I put her on my lap and kiss her while her cheeks are full of scrambled eggs. She wraps her arms around my neck and squeezes it tight. Her little arms around my neck and the good smell of her soft blonde hair gives me a heavenly feeling. Then, suddenly she jumps off my lap and yells excitingly: “Mommy! Mommy!”.
Nazdar says “wait, I’m going to call her from the top of the short wall”. After a while Nashmil comes and takes Rojia back. Soon after she leaves, our door gets knocked. The knock is familiar (it’s knocked with the metal door knocker). Nazdar opens the door. Nashmil is back. They both run towards the short wall. They are looking down the street and both yell with a feminine tone: “Oh my god.”
I ask: “What’s going on?”
They answer: “The puppy’s mom is back. She is smelling the place where the pup’s corpse was.”
