The Town and the Dogs

At the beginning of the war, the streets resembled a promenade
of the most beautiful dogs, abandoned by their masters
who had run away from the burning town. Behind them remained
only the smell of gasoline and the horrified eyes of
dogs that had lost the battle of the trash heaps with strays
and eventually died out, retreating to the locked doors of their
apartments, meeting death with honor barking at the whistle
of every shell.

Once, looking for a sniper, we broke into an abandoned apartment
where we found the skeleton of an old woman stuck to
a kitchen chair. For a long time we debated the religion of
this old woman who had starved to death despite a pantry
full of canned food. Neither the photographs littering her
apartment, nor the unfinished tapestry of a knight in front
of a castle, nor the hundreds of perfume bottles revealed the
secret of her piously folded hands. When we carried her out,
lighter than our army packs, it was already dawn, and hungry
dogs were fighting on the trash heap . Someone remarked that
God would have his hands full after this war, and we were
silent, pretending we did not notice the can opener flickering
on the chain around the skeleton's neck-probably an old
woman from a rich family.