THE RED BOW by SUSAN HALE
“Stop barking, Precious, please,” Mabel fumbled in her handbag for the packet of doggie treats at the same time as she carefully made her way down her front steps. This was difficult because she was also clutching a large wicker basket featuring a black pug nose poking out of one corner. Precious continued to bark as he smelled his favourite nibbles close by.
“I was saving this for when we got there … to make you happy … to distract you.” Mabel set the basket down on the bottom step and unwrapped the packet. She gently fed the bone-shaped snack to the long pink tongue that was now snaking out of the basket lid.
“Just keep quiet now or they will throw us off the bus. Good thing the bus stop is not a far walk away.”
She could hear satisfied crunching as she picked up the basket again. Soon, Mabel was patiently waiting in line with people boarding the bus heading for the Bay Area.
“That dog won’t pee, will it?” The bus driver spoke sharply. “Last time, I had to clean up that mess and I ain’t doing that again!”
“No, don’t vorry,” Mabel said breathlessly as she struggled to hoist herself up onto the bus while balancing the basket under her left arm. “I’ve put a diaper on him. I promise zere will be no mess.” She mused that her practiced East European accent somehow did not seem so sexy in this context. Precious whimpered in protest at the awkward movements of his carrier.
“You all right, ma’am? You need any help up the steps?” the driver said with concern, watching her stumble onto the platform.
“Zat’s okay. I’m here now,” she said, showing him her bus pass already clasped in her right hand.
“Just take it easy, okay? You’re looking quite shaky today.” He waited for her to move down the aisle before driving off.
A youth wearing a vest and displaying numerous tattoos stood up, and offered her his seat.
“Sank you, young man.” Mabel eased herself down, arranging Precious in the basket on her lap. The boy’s edgy look combined with unexpected kindness reminded her of someone. Francis had tattoos like that, she thought. 
Precious let out a shaky ‘woof’ as she opened half the lid to expose his blond, fluffy head.
“Shush, my darling.” Mabel rubbed the dog’s fur between her fingers and bent to try to kiss him but she couldn’t quite reach his head.
“Like her red bow, Lady,” the youth said. “Matches your sweater. My granny used to dress her dog to match her clothes, too.”
Mabel smiled wanly at the reference to her age. She appreciated his attempts at friendliness but wasn’t in the mood to converse. Normally she would have corrected the young man’s assumption that her pet was a girl. Boy dogs like to look well turned-out too! She looked away. The bus had left the run-down neighbourhood where she lived and was now easing itself up one of San Francisco’s famous roller coaster hills.
How my life has changed, she thought, adjusting the large, velvet bow tied around the neck of her pet who was now licking the back of her hand. Here I am in this old bus when I was accustomed to travelling in limousines in the old days. I had handsome and wealthy men fighting for my favours back then. Oh, how lucky I was for the jewellery, clothes, holidays that they showered upon me! To think that I lived with business magnates, television producers, famous authors – such interesting people. I took it all for granted. At least I have my memories – those fabulous parties, the witty conversation, and all that lovely attention. Age is a beast that sneaks up on you and takes you unawares. It’s taken my beauty and my life away. Mabel observed the neat but stark post-modern structures streaming past the bus window.
They didn’t care what happened to me when they forced me to retire. Now I have to live on government handouts, even meals-on-wheels. What I wouldn’t give for a last meal at Angelino’s! She closed her eyes for a moment, almost tasting their house specialty – Crab Florentine Cannelloni.
Mabel looked out the window at the passing shops and strolling people. She winced as she recalled that day nine years ago when Mrs. Bezzina turned up unexpectedly at Bezzina’s Ladies Fashions, an upscale boutique on Sando Drive. Mrs. Bezzina had tried to be diplomatic in telling Mabel that she was being replaced by a younger, more qualified person.
“More qualified, my ass,” Mabel had retorted, forgetting to use her exotic accent. “A degree in fashion can’t match my international experience! How could someone with eight working years know as much as I with nearly fifty …” That’s when it hit her. She was too old for the image of the dress shop. Mabel walked out with her head held high, but she felt like dying inside. Her life was changed forever.
Thank God for Precious, she thought.
“You’re old, just like me, aren’t you, Precious?” she whispered to him. “But you still love to look good with your pretty bow. Fourteen dog years is ninety-one years old. You’re seventeen years older than me! I guess I’ll be snoring and peeing everywhere when … if … I get to your age.”
Mabel thought back to when she first saw Precious in the pet store window. He was just a puppy, a tiny bundle of flaxen fur, with that cute Pekingese pug-face and huge, black shiny eyes. She had to have him. She carried him everywhere as a fashionable accessory in her designer handbags. Precious became her confidante, her best friend, who never complained or judged.
You are my raison d’être, my darling, now that I have to live in a shabby part of town. If I didn’t have you to love and keep me company, then what would I have? She ruffled his head as he slept in the basket. She observed the elegant Queen Anne homes passing by. She wondered what they were like inside.
All those objets d’art from my bountiful days were supposed to give me some style and comfort in that awful cramped apartment. But it hasn’t helped. What’s the point? You can’t talk to things. I really didn’t mind when Precious knocked over and broke my Ming vase or scratched at one of Francis’ paintings, even though I shouted at him at the time. He’s more important to me than anything. I’ve had to sell a few of those paintings anyway to pay bills. Mabel wiped a tear from her cheek.
She looked down fondly at her pet. It hurt her to see him in pain, like when he struggled to get up from his blanket. He would limp slowly to his food and water bowls then back to his bed where he spent most of the day. He could no longer wait to be taken outside and would defecate and urinate wherever he was. She was finding it very hard to keep cleaning up behind him. Age is a beast, she thought again.
She remembered her feeling of dread at seeing the blank look on the dog’s face when she found him stumbling repeatedly against the bathroom wall this morning. It was like a light had gone out inside his head. She had decided then that the kindest thing was to let him go.
But you and I are a team, she thought. If you go then so will I. What’s the point of me carrying on until I get batty like you? I’ve nothing left to live for.
The ocean came into view. Mabel gazed out of the window in anticipation. She could just make out a few sailboats dotting the horizon while tiny ‘white horses’ ruffled the otherwise calm water. The green hills lining the bay looked tranquil as the setting sun bathed them in copper light. A perfect setting, she thought while the bus slowly negotiated the winding, hilly road.
Mabel opened her ancient red designer hand bag and took out her compact mirror. She checked that her red lipstick hadn’t smudged too much. It was hard to keep the colour within the lines of her lips these days. She grimaced at the wrinkled face peering back at her, though her hair was perfectly arranged and was the right shade of brown with subtle highlights, reflecting the style of her youth. She looked at her hands, spotted and crinkled, but beautifully adorned with large ruby and diamond rings on most of her fingers and jangly gold bracelets on her wrists. Mabel brushed a speck of dirt from one of her red shoes. When the bus came to a stop, she stepped out gingerly, carefully balancing her now-closed basket.
“Have a good day,” the bus driver said cheerily. She considered giving a response in case he cared enough to miss her, but decided against it.
It was a short walk to the bridge but this was difficult with the extra weight. After a few minutes, Mabel stopped to rest against a wall and set her basket on the grass beside her. Precious whimpered, not liking the confinement.
“It won’t be long, sweetheart. Everything is going to be fine. Maybe we’ll meet up with my Mummy and Daddy soon.”
Thinking about her parents, she wondered if she would recognise them if she were to meet them in the afterlife. She was only three when they were killed trying to escape from Poland during the war. It was quite an adventure for the survivors of that group who somehow made it to England carrying a small child. She wished she could remember – it would have been an incredible story to tell. Her early life was just a blur of orphanages and foster homes.
“We had a good life though, didn’t we?” Precious nosed her leg through a space in the wickerwork, as if in agreement. “You would have loved London in the sixties. It was certainly swinging! I was so lucky to borrow those fabulous outfits from that boutique where I worked in Kensington and go to the top West End clubs and discotheques and dance all night. Oh what fun we had! That’s where I met my first love, Howard; the one with the moustache and short hair when everyone else’s was long! He owned a fleet of ships.
“ ‘Let’s go to Brazil!’ Howard would say, and we would make love in the luxury of the Owner’s Cabin while delivering cargo to far away locations. It was Howard who brought me to New York. Precious, you would have loved New York in the seventies! That’s where I met my second love, Francis. Howard introduced us and it was sparks at first sight! Poor Howard didn’t take this very well, but c’est la vie! Francis was an artist, a master painter. He had a pony tail and brought me to San Francisco, and that’s where I met you, though many years and many lovers later.”
Mabel struggled to lift the basket.
“And we have had great times together, Precious, even though I can’t afford to keep you in the style that my lovely men kept me. But we’re too old to have fun anymore.”
She sighed, pondering on what could have been. Should she have married Francis as he had begged her so often to do? He was really the love of her life but she didn’t want to be tied by kids and he wanted lots. She remembered her shock and heartbreak when she found out that he had married someone else, someone who was to bear him five children! Now she had no one to care what happened to her. I could’ve gone for love and security but I chose a selfish life of fun and irresponsibility; a life that has shriveled with my skin.
She looked at the red suspension bridge, shining golden with the sun dropping into the ocean behind it. This was how she wanted it to be, surrounded by splendour…. as a testimony to her life. She trudged slowly onto the walkway. Once over the water she stopped, feeling doubtful when she saw the high railing that she would need to surmount. Seeing the spreading sunset, she decided to wait a little longer and laid down the basket. Precious was protesting again so she opened the top of the basket enough for him to stick his head out. They both stared at the blazing ball as it sank below the horizon.
“Oh, look, Precious, did you see the green flash? I’ve never seen that before, and believe me, I’ve seen some spectacular sun downs in the most exotic places you could imagine!”
Maybe this was a sign, but of what? She looked down at the basket. Precious was snoring gently and looked so …. precious! How could I throw him into the air, into that cold water? He wouldn’t understand what was happening. Why wasn’t his mother protecting him? She just couldn’t do it. Life is too precious! Mabel turned around and headed for home.
That night, Precious died in his sleep.
