walking the dog

A Walk.

The nightly ritual of perambulating the dog has recently taken on a more …
The walk now stretches from the corner of Huashan and Changhshou all the way down to Huai Hai, for there, a little way along at the junction with Fuxing lies a little green space, a small triangle of shrubbery, grass and low pointless hedges, mapped into some kind of pattern that is imperceptible from anywhere except the flats at one corner.
I bring the dog here with the notion that some green open space will be prefereable to endless footpaths and urban concrete enclaves that usually comprise Fudge’s outdoor life. However, the dog apparenty prefers the latter, and has no deep seeded instinct to be amogst nature, as she spends the entire time sniffing at the corners of concrete pavement and paved areas by the roadside, ignoring the lush green pastures in favour of the more regularly urinated or poo encrusted concrete spots.

Last night the usual pantomie ensued, with me standing in the centre of the grassy knoll calling the ignorant dog- whose expression I am sure could be read as ‘yeah Ill be there in one second, just have to finish sniffing the amonia’d traces of this Pekingese…’ While I patiently waited, my attention was caught by a a stimulation to a sense not usually associated with pseudo-outdoor urban experience- the ears. Usually they, and the nose, are subconsciously closed to all stimulation as Shanghai streets offer little to either that one would usually want to experience. However last night mine ears were pricked by a sweet song, a lilting delicate voice issuing from some unknown siren in the darkeness amongst the small tree and shrubs. As I strained to see (that sense on which we fall back when things really matter) I could just make out the outline of a female form, at a guess middle aged, shuffling slowly backward and concentrically around a circular motif in the urban planning. Her song was unusually beautiful- not the usual caterwauling one might find from young domestic Opera hopefulls- the likes of which I have often seen in full stage make-up, pyjamas and flip flops on my morning run- but a subtle, elegant rondo. As she emerged into the pale orange fluorescence leaking across one slice of the park, she was for a moment visible- the usual attire of pyjamas, slippers and diamante encrusted acrylic polo neck. It was, then, only her song that distinguished her from the usual urban park circus-folk.

I stood watching for 15 minutes, and Fudge was treated to an extended unrianry olfactory treat at the roadside. The lack of visual information meant that it was impossible for me to make out if the singer had seen me or not. There was a strange feeling that she was aware of my presence, that she was raising her game somewhat self consciously, for her distinguished laowai audience (it is an embarrassing fact that foreigners are revered, feared and despised in more or less equal measure). However with the limited visual information meant that any interpretation of her motives had to be gleaned from the shuffling form of the silhouette, which looked cumbersome and graceless yet told me little of her higher intentions. Was she singing a little harder for me- was she genuinely pleased to have an audience for once? As she orbited the concrete circle, I tried and tried to decipher any interaction between us. At one time I was certain she was looking straight at me, then she would shuffle further and I would be convinced that she could see as much of me as I of her. This strange magnetism lasted for a few minutes, until I regained my composure, shouted at the dog and set off for home.
As I rounded the corner, leaving the park area and setting off up Wulumuqi Lu, I was aware that the singing seemed to follow me. Well not follow, but something about its pitch or timbre changed as such to catch my attention. I turned but could not see her. She had moved to somewhere outside her regular orbit. I thought little of it and continued walking.

As I got further though, her song began to intensify. With every passing step it became louder, more desperate- even beginning to rasp and become hoarse. As the park slipped from view, the song changed altogether- no longer a song, it became a series of yelps and – yes no other phrase quite captures it- barks. As I neared the next junction, All I could her was the disappearing sound of a woman barking.