A short story by Rob Walters

This is part of a collection of stories entitled Turkey Trove

Copyright 2006

It was yet another sizzling day. The walk to the palace had been hard, uphill all the way with little shade and a relentless sun scorching the earth and all who walked on it. For all of that I decided to walk back to the town. It was still hot, but I had plenty of water and the descent would surely be easier than the ascent. Looking down from the palace walls I could see the walled garden. I had spotted a cheap sign to it on my way up and had passed by thinking it one of those tourist sideshows that attach themselves to major attractions. Now, seen from above, it looked interesting, extensive, cool. Interesting also were the remains of the Urartian township immediately below me, a ruinous contrast to the palace's crisp air of renovation and imaginative renewal. I elected to shun the road that I had taken to get here and return across country. I felt strong, fit, glad to be alive. Wandering around this country enlivened me; I was looking for adventure.

As I picked my way through the low stone walls that depicted the neglected settlement, I mused that the Urartians must surely have been a healthy lot. No need for them to jog in the mornings. Their houses, storerooms, communal halls, and whatever, had been built on gradients that would challenge a modern builder. I supposed that they had chosen this spot for the same reason that motivated the architects of the palace, it commanded a fine view of the great plain to the North meanwhile, in the South, the sharp walled valley was easily sealed with just a few guard emplacements.

Leaving the ruins behind me, I soon found another reason for their placement. Here the hillside was lush with long grass and, every now and then, awash with spring water. Though I disliked the idea of placing my feet where I could not see them - who knows what might be there - my sandled feet were regularly cooled by a surprise immersion and I enjoyed the refreshing dampness.

The garden kept its tantalising distance; I looked at it often and began to give it a rather unimaginative, but wholly fitting, mental label - the secret garden. It was much greater in extent than I had previously thought. I could now see the track that led to it from the roadway together with a footpath that branched off to the left, leading down the hillside and back in the direction of the town. Good, this provided an alternative way back to the hotel - I hated using the same route for going and to returning.

I descended into the stony stream bed that defined the valley. The going was not easy but progress was fairly rapid and I had soon reached the track, heading up it and to the right. Soon I passed the footpath that led to the town, and then came alongside the walls of the secret garden. They were surprisingly high - easily two metres and quite impossible to scale. They were well-built, employing the same smooth grey stone that formed the remains of the Urartian town now well above me; perhaps this was their origin. The trees from within overhung the wall, and the garden promised to be as luxuriant as it had appeared from the palace.

Walking quickly now, I soon reached the gateway. It was set nicely into the wall with brick piers on either side blending into a flattened arch. Unfortunately the effect was ruined by the doors, rusting dented and distorted things upon which the word "welcome" was sloppily painted in various languages. The entrance fee was also announced - a small sum, though numerically large in the local currency. I looked around for someone to give my money to, but there was no one in sight. Beside the gateway was a motorcycle and sidecar, but there was no one near it and it may well have been abandoned there.

Thinking that the owner might be working somewhere within and that I could pay when we met, I walked through the rusty doors into the secret garden. It was shady and green, just as I had anticipated. Water could be heard trickling along stone beds in front of me and the sun speckled the garden with its leaf-filtered light. I walked forward and slightly to the right, there was a path here and I followed it, passing various minor constructions all concerned with directing and storing the water that made this charming place possible. The trees were mainly locusts and poplars, but they were cleverly interspersed with other species. The day was windless, even the leaves of the poplars barely moved. I stopped to peer through the trees into an open grassy area that lay ahead. It was there that I first saw the dog.

Surprisingly I saw it before it saw me. It was a very large beast, wolf-like, but light brown in colour and possessing an enormous head. It was loping over the grassy area, but suddenly stopped and turned as if sensing that it was being watched. I swung my bag before me, an insubstantial shield but my only means of defence, and started to back away - backing up towards the entrance. I had no desire to anger this creature in any way. As I retreated it turned and headed back up the grassy slope and into the trees. I continued my retreat and walked out of the garden entirely.

Standing outside the entrance my fear of the dog was, to a large degree, replaced with anger. I wanted to see this garden, the desire had grown steadily as I made my descent from the palace. Now, having tasted its delights, I was keener than ever. I began to shout in the hope of attracting the attention of the owner - surely the man wanted people to come in, he advertised access to the place both at the roadside and again here on the rusty doors. There was no reply; my shouts were quickly absorbed by the silence of the garden, almost as if they were an unwelcome intrusion. I decided to enter the place again, maybe the dog was just passing through, maybe my mind had exaggerated its menace.

I took a similar route, trying to recapture the magic of the place, but finding that fearful thoughts of the dog now absorbed my whole consciousness. Then, suddenly, I saw it again! It was standing in roughly the same place. This time it was facing me and this time it had seen me first. It did not move. It simply watched me. Again I retreated, walking backwards, keeping my eyes on the dog just as its eyes followed me. As I reached the entrance it turned, this time loping down the slope and away into the dense knot of trees below.

On my first expedition into the garden I had reasoned that the dog might just be passing through, now I was sure that it guarded the place in some way. I was certainly not going to risk a third confrontation. I was alone and unprotected. I was dressed for walking, my bare legs and bare arms seemed particularly vulnerable as I thought of the dog's huge head and jaws. I decided that the only course open to me was discretion, I began to return along the track beside the wall in order to pick up the path into town. I soon spotted the path and felt a surge of relief, but my relief was transient. I walked a little further and then, on a bank sandwiched between the track and the path, I saw something that brought me to an immediate halt. It was the dog!

I was not sure whether the brute had seen me. It was sniffing the ground and occasionally scratching at it. I scrambled up a gradient to my left from where I was able to look down onto the bank and its surroundings, here I could better decide what to do. It was immediately clear that I could not go on without confronting the dog, I also believed that if I returned to the secret garden the dog would somehow be there. My only option seemed to be up, up towards the Urartian remains and the palace from whence I had come. This was something I certainly didn't relish, it would be a cowardly retreat and an exhausting walk with no rewards.

As I watched the dog completed whatever business it was about. It seemed to look at me for a split second then loped away down into the valley. It stopped at the stream for a drink before ascending the slope on the other side at an incredible pace, there to vanish amongst a group of outbuildings surrounding a solitary house. I assumed that this house belonged to the owner of the garden, it was placed near the road and near to the sign that I had seen advertising the place on my ascent. Besides, it was the only place around.

Relieved that the dog had departed I reflected that I could now enter the garden. But I did not. I was spooked by the three interactions with the dog and knew that I would not enjoy the visit. I regained the track and soon turned off onto the footpath that led into the town. I glanced at the wall as I turned the corner. However had the beast surmounted it? Surely it could not jump that high? I continued walking at a lively pace, glancing regularly and nervously at the house, now some five hundred metres away on the opposite side of the valley. The valley here was steep sided, I could no longer see the stream that flowed through it. There was no sign of the dog and I began to relax a little. I began to wonder whether I had over-reacted, after all the dog had not actually behaved at all aggressively towards me; the fact that it looked frightening owed more to its size, and the circumstances in which we had met, rather than any of its actions.

The garden was now coming to an end. As I walked towards the corner I noticed that the height of the wall was dropping away. At the very corner it was not much more than a metre and half high. From the path I could not see over it, but the temptation to go closer and have one last look into the place was overwhelming. I stepped off the track and took a few steps towards the wall.

Whether I reached it or not I cannot recall. What is clearly burned into my memory is the chilling howl that arose from the direction of the house across the valley. Whirling around I saw not one, but two, dogs bounding towards me. One of them was the dog from the garden, the other a large German shepherd dog - a big dog in its own right but not as big as the other. They charged down the side of the valley at an alarming pace, their feet kicking up puffs of dust as they brushed the ground. Soon the dogs had vanished from sight as they descended rapidly to the valley floor in their haste to get to their prey - me! Out of sight but not out of sound, I could hear the howling and barking growing rather than receding in strength. This was decidedly the worst few seconds of my life, those seconds really did seem to last for minutes................

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