Dogs of the Palace

I try to hold back my tears, but she is clever. The moment our eyes meet, she will know. There is no escape, no way to hide the truth from her. "My dear, you know that we are almost starving, you and I. I cannot refuse this job. They told me there is plenty of good food, and they pay well." I run my hand through her soft, blonde hair. She listens quietly, as if trying to absorb the sadness in my voice—a tone she has never heard from me before. Despite all our despair and misery, she and I were happy. Will she forgive me? Or will she see me as a traitor? She—the loyal one—who never rests, who never closes her eyes before ensuring everything is safe. How can she accept my departure after all these years? After all we’ve shared—laughter, tears, hunger, despair? She never left my side. Never disobeyed me. Always loyal—whether I was right or wrong. How could I leave her now? What can I say to her? What promises can I make when I don’t even know where I’ll leave her or when I’ll return? They said I might never return. Before starting the job, I must agree to all conditions: loyalty, complete secrecy, absolute compliance—no questions, no curiosity, no hesitation. Total obedience to the master. Strikes are forbidden. Betrayal is punishable by death. I promised myself I wouldn’t get drunk tonight, but I can’t do without hash. It’s the only thing that helps me cope. As I slice the hash by the dim candlelight, an old tune drifts from the radio. The door creaks open. Rafika steps inside. "You’re here? As usual—alcohol, hash, old songs, and a blonde staring at you quietly. A truly poetic picture." Her voice drips with sarcasm. "Will you take care of her until I return?" "Who? Me? Nooo!.. " I don’t lift my eyes from the knife, its blade moving up and down, slicing the hash. Rafika watches me, surprised. She expected me to yell, to kick her out, as I always did when her sharp tongue cut too deep. But she continues, her voice measured: "Even if I wanted to, my mother wouldn’t allow it. Have you forgotten what you and the blonde did to us? She’ll never agree. And how do you expect me to feed her when I can barely feed myself and my mother?" My face lights up. Now I’m certain—Rafika is open to negotiation. Despite everything I’ve done—divorcing her, selling her jewelry, leaving her and her mother with nothing—she still comes to check on me. She even nursed me when I needed her. She knows I love her, but she also knows I am not the man who can give her security. The truth is, we are both products of the slums, bound by misery. The difference is, Rafika fought to rise above it. I surrendered to hash and alcohol. "I’ll send enough money from time to time. You won’t need to work anymore." She laughs bitterly. "Are you working in Ali Baba’s cave? Or did they give you Solomon’s ring?" I smile. "It doesn’t matter where. What matters is that they pay well." I leave the blonde with Rafika, swearing to keep my word as long as I can. The car struggles through bushes and winding mountain roads. Darkness thickens as we climb and descend. The driver seems to know the way well. Gradually, lights emerge, revealing a massive building—a palace, almost Royal in its grandeur. I have never seen anything like it, not in real life, not even on television. My eyes widen in disbelief. "Me?.. I’ll work here!" A year passes. I am well-trained now, trusted by everyone, even the dogs. The master is pleased with my work and loyalty, promoting me to head of the guards. The palace is quiet by day, but at night, it comes alive. A place of indulgence—wine, gambling, drugs, slaves, concubines. Here, you could meet Cinderella, Scheherazade, and even Abu Lahab. Everything is luxurious and beautiful. The only thing missing is the blonde. When I am ordered to bring in new servants and guards, I seize my chance. I bring her. "The master is coming. Stay quiet. Don’t expose us. I’ll go meet him." My heart pounds. "Sir, do you want to see her now?" He waves dismissively. "It doesn’t matter. I just need to hear her bark." Relief washes over me. I return to her, crouching beside her. "You’re safe, for now. Just bark well. He thinks you’re a dog. I was ordered to bring a dog. I disobeyed him. I betrayed his trust. If he finds out, I don’t know what he’ll do." I lower my voice. "Don’t get close to Zeus, the German breed. He carries Hitler’s blood. He’s cunning. He’ll abandon you. He won’t protect you from bullets." But she doesn’t listen. She falls for Zeus. And soon, her belly begins to swell. What will I do if the master finds out? I share my worries with a guard during the day. That night, the master orders me to bring the blonde to him. She lies at his feet, silent, resigned. I stare at the gun beside him, my pulse hammering in my ears. Will he empty the bullets into her? Or into both of us? The silence stretches. Then— "Take good care of her. We need more dogs." My knees give out. The blonde barks, her cries echoing through the palace halls. I realize, too late, that she was never truly mine. She belongs to this place now. Like I do.