I shook the train of thought from my head and said, ‘But why can’t others remember? Why aren’t they the same as me?’
‘I can’t answer that, Fluke. You’re different and I don’t know why. Perhaps you’re the first of a new development. An evolvement. I’ve met others similar, but none quite like you. Perhaps you are only a fluke after all. I wish I knew.’
‘Aren’t you the same as me? Wasn’t Rumbo almost? And a rat we met once, he seemed like us.’
‘Yes, we’re a little like you. I suppose me more so than your friend Rumbo and the rat. But you’re special, Fluke. I’m special too, but in a different way, as I told you: I’m here to help. Rumbo and the rat may have been similar, but I doubt they were the same. I think perhaps you’re a kind of forerunner; everything may be about to go through a change.’
‘But why do I only remember fragments? Why can’t I remember it all?’
‘You’re not supposed to remember anything. Many creatures carry the characteristics of their past personalities, many may even have vague memories j but they don’t think as you do, not in human terms. There’s a struggle going on inside you — man versus canine — but I think it will eventually resolve itself. You’ll either become a dog completely, or a balance between the two will be reached. I hope it’s the latter — that could mean a development for all of us is taking place. But listen to me: you’ll never be a man again physically in this life.’
Despair gripped me. What had I expected? That some day, by some miracle, I might return to my old body? That I would live a normal life again? I howled into the night and wept as never before.
Finally, and with no hope in my voice, I said to the badger, ‘What do I do now? How can I live like this?’
He moved closer to me and spoke very quietly. ‘You accept now. Accept you’re a dog, accept you are a fluke — or perhaps not a fluke. You must live as a dog now.’
‘But I have to know who I was!’
‘No, it won’t help you. Forget your past, your family — they’re nothing to do with you now.’
‘They need me!’
‘There’s nothing you can do!’
I rose to my feet and glowered down at him. ‘You don’t understand. There’s someone evil near them. They need protection from him. I think he killed me!’
The badger shook his head wearily. ‘It doesn’t matter, Fluke. You can’t help any more. You have to forget your past, you might regret it if you go back.’
‘No!’ I growled. ‘Maybe this is why I can remember, why I’m different. They need my help! It stayed with me when I died! I’ve got to go to them!’
I ran from the badger then, afraid he would make me stay, afraid to hear more, but when I was a safe distance away, I turned and called back.
‘Who are you badger? What are you?’
There was no reply. And I could no longer see him in the darkness.
Sixteen
Pretty heavy stuff, right? A bit frightening? Well, it scared me. But do you see the sense of it? If there is this great goal we’re all reaching for — call it perfection, happiness, ultimate peace of mind, whatever you like — then it seems right that it doesn’t come easily; we have to earn it. I don’t know why and I’m still not sure I believe it myself (and I’m a dog who was once a man), so I don’t blame you for doubting. But, like I keep saying: keep an open mind.
I found myself in Edenbridge High Street a day or so later. I’m not sure just how long it took me to get there because, as you can imagine, my mind was in a turmoil after my meeting with the badger. I had to accept that, as a man, I was dead (if I were to believe the badger revelations), and there would be no return to normality for me. But if I were dead, then how did I die? Old age? Somehow, I doubted it. My wife seemed fairly young in my memories of her, and my daughter could have been no more than five or six. Illness? Possibly. Yet why did I feel so strongly against this mysterious man? Why was he so evil to me? Had he killed me?
I felt sure this was the answer, otherwise why should I feel such hate for him? I was determined to find the truth. First, though, I had to find my family.
The High Street was fairly busy with shoppers and delivery vans and the scene was vaguely familiar to me. I must have lived here, I told myself, or why else would I have been drawn to the little town? It wouldn’t click though, it just wouldn’t click.
The shoppers must have been puzzled by the thoughtful-looking mongrel who paced up and down that street, peering up at passing faces, snooping into shop doorways. I ignored all enticements, for I had more serious things on my mind than playing games.
By late afternoon I was still no better off. I just couldn’t remember clearly any of the shops, pubs or people, although everything appeared too frustratingly familiar! That old teaser hunger reminded me he was still around and had no intention of letting me off the hook just because I had problems. The shopkeepers shooed me away as soon as I put my sniffing nose through their doorways, and a sudden jaw-snapping thrust at an overloaded shopping-basket earned me a sharp smack on the snout and a lot of abuse.
Not wanting to cause a fuss (I didn’t want to be picked up by the police since I needed to stay around that town until something happened to restore my memory) I left the main street and wandered on to what looked like a vast council estate. Then something did click, although it wasn’t particularly helpful to me: many South Londoners had been moved down to Edenbridge over the last twenty or so years, away from their slums into modern estates surrounded by good countryside. Many had taken to their new environment, while others (like Lenny, the Guvnor’s man) had still yearned for their old surroundings and spent much of their time to-ing and fro-ing from the two vastly different communities. I was conscious of all this because I’d obviously lived in the town and knew of its history, but where had I lived? On one of those estates? No, it didn’t click; it didn’t feel right.
I followed a couple of small boys home, much to their delight, and managed to scrounge a few scraps from their scolding but kind-hearted mother. The food wasn’t much but enough to keep me going for a while, and to the boys’ disappointment I scampered out of their back garden and towards the High Street again.
This time I drifted down all the side-streets on one side, then all the side-streets on the other, but nothing jarred that tiny trigger in my mind which I knew would unleash a flood of memories.
Night fell and so did my spirits. Nothing had happened. I’d felt so sure that when I reached the town it would be easy to find my home, familiar things would guide me to it, but it hadn’t happened. I was still in the dark mentally, and now physically.
I wandered down to the very edge of the town, passing pubs, walking across a bridge, past a big garage, a hospital — and then the buildings ran out. There was only black countryside ahead. Utterly dejected, I entered the hospital grounds, found a quiet corner in the yard at the rear of the white single-storey building, and slept.
The smell of lovely cooking awoke me the following morning and I sniffed my way over to an open window from which it wafted. Rearing up on my hind legs, I rested my paws on the window-ledge. Unfortunately, the window was too high for me to see into the room beyond, but, sticking my nose into the air, I drank in the delicious smells, then cried out in appreciation. A huge round brown head suddenly appeared above and white teeth flashed a startled welcome at me. Reds and oranges shimmered in the woman’s huge face as she grinned even more broadly.
‘You hungry, fellah?’ she chuckled, and I wagged my tail in anticipation. ‘Now don’ you go away,’ she told me.