A Dog Called Bingo
When I was in my late teens, we received a shepherd dog from one of my parents’ friends. They were from some embassy or other. I cannot recall which. They were being transferred to another country, and it was difficult to take the dog along. We had moved several times, first from a spacious flat in the city, then to the outskirts of the city into a ranch. They were both rentals. Since we had escaped from Iraq because of religious unrest, my father was leery of investing in property, just in case we would have to flee once more. I don’t know why he finally decided it was time to buy a house. It was a lovely home. It was light and airy and rather spacious. My favorite part was the swimming pool shaded by the majestic weeping willow. In summers, I spent hours by the pool, underneath the shade of that tree, swimming and reading.
In the back of the house, there was another building which housed the staff. There was Sultan and her stepdaughter, Khatoon, Khatoon’s husband, and her toddler daughter. In the main house lived my parents, my siblings, myself, and my Uncle Selim who came from England. He lived with us for quite a long while. He was working with my father and my youngest uncle. There is a reason I am explaining all this, which you will understand later on in the story.
So now we added another member to this large household, a pup. He was a sweet dog with a light beige and light brown coat. He was young, under a year old, when he became part of our family. We immediately bonded and formed a loving relationship. We called the dog Bingo, because Mama loved to play bingo with her friend from the British Embassy. They played bingo each Wednesday night, come hell or high water! They would return from bingo with all the prizes they had won, pleased as punch. They seemed to always win. In the basement, I still have a huge black pot that Mama won. When I got married and had my babies, the pot was used to boil their nappies. At any rate, nothing got in the way of their bingo game! Nothing! Not even my going into labor with her first grandchild!
Bingo followed us throughout the house and all over the garden. He was happy as a lark. It didn’t take us too long to feel as if he had never not been part of our family. He had the run of the house and the garden. In Tehran all homes had high walls to ensure privacy, so Bingo was safe in the garden. Whenever any of us swam, Bingo would jump in as well, swimming alongside us. The house was always filled with friends. Whenever any of them arrived, Bingo would be the first to rush out to greet them, with tail wagging, a little joyful dance, and a very happy bark to welcome them. In winters he would stay inside with us, sleeping in one of our bedrooms. He was a good and loving dog and oh so very faithful.
The time came that I married. Soon I had a little son. I spent most of my days at my parents’ home. Mama had sent Nargess with me when I married. She, her mother, and her sister had been with us since before my brother was born. Her mother, Maryam, was old and tired now and could no longer work. Her sister Robabeh was married and had her own children to raise. Nargess experienced an unfortunate life. Her first husband was a cruel man. He did not want to stay married to her, so one evening as she slept, he took her infant daughter and threw her by the wayside somewhere, then he abandoned her! She was tormented by his cruelty. Everywhere she went, her eyes got into the habit of always searching for her lost daughter. Could that girl be her daughter, or that one, she sometimes wondered? Alas, she never found her. After a long while she married again. Her new husband was a good and kind man. She was happy. She had three daughters with him. Once more, her happiness was short-lived. He got ill and passed away in a very short time. Between her mother and sister, they took care of her daughters, and she returned to work for my parents. That is how she ended up with me when I got married.
In the meantime my parents hired Sultan, her stepdaughter, Khatoon, and Khatoon’s husband. They lived in the quarters at the back of the house. The husband did the gardening, watering the plants, and other odds and ends. Sultan and Khatoon took care of the house. Some days, I would go to their home with Nargess and the baby. We would spend the afternoon there. Sometimes Mama and I would be invited to some ladies’ social gathering, at which point Nargess would go back to her home, and Sultan and Khatoon would look after my son.
In the winter, before the springtime holidays arrived, my parents got their annual burglary visit. While the household slept upstairs, the burglars would enter and nonchalantly sit in the salon downstairs, help themselves to the pistachio nuts on the coffee table, and drinks from the bar. Then they would roll all the Persian carpets downstairs and lug them away. That particular year, however, they were not able to do so. Bingo barked so ferociously that he woke up the whole household. Six people were living in the main building. Five people lived in the building in the back. They were unable to enter, but they did not give up. The next time they came, they did so during the day when Bingo was frolicking in the garden. We think they climbed over the garden wall, dragged him some distance, and beat him senseless. They returned that night and robbed the house. No one could understand where Bingo was until a few days later. We were all heartbroken. We searched the neighborhood calling his name over and over, with no results. We were desolate. We were all teary-eyed and sad. We spoke about his loving ways and wept.
Almost a week passed. The night before there was a heavy snowfall. The world lay in muffled silence the next morning. My mother woke up to the sound of a painful bark behind the heavy iron gates to the property. She recognized the bark! She jumped out of bed and called out, “Bingo! Bingo is back!” The whole household ran to the front gates, not caring that they were still in their nightclothes. The snow was lighter now, but still steady. They impatiently pulled the heavy gate open. Just outside the gate lay Bingo. He gave a moan and fainted. He knew he had made it back to the safety of his home. His coat and the snow where he lay were stained with his blood. He had been beaten badly. He was gently carried into the house. They lay him on a mattress, tried to clean him up as best they could, and covered him lightly. In the meantime Mama was frantically trying to locate a vet at this early hour of the morning. Fortunately she found an animal hospital with a mobile clinic. Very soon they were there. The X-rays showed that his ribs were broken as were two of his paws. Because he was still young, he healed. Everyone fussed over our heroic dog. Sultan, who professed she did not like dogs, busied herself cooking him succulent meals. Mama and I patiently spoon-fed him until his appetite returned. My tough and gruff father sat beside him sucking at his pipe while tears ran down his cheeks. My baby son sat beside him and gently patted his head. ‘Oowa. Oowa,’ he kept repeating. In Arabic baby language, that means, ‘Hurt! Hurt!’
Yes, our poor pup was viciously attacked and was very ‘oowa.’ With all the loving care he received, he healed. By springtime he was almost as good as new. We kept a vigilant eye on him to make sure he did not exert himself too much. Season followed season. Two years passed. By now I had another baby. A baby girl this time. That July she would turn one. I still visited my parents practically each day. It must have been the month of May. The flowers in the garden were displaying their beauty and their heady aroma in the most spectacular way. The weather was still deciding between being warm or cool. It was mid-morning. We were sitting downstairs. The doors and windows were open. Papa, Mama, Gilda, perhaps my Aunty Semha, who lived a street over, and myself were chatting as we sipped our mid-morning Turkish coffee and nibbled at petit beurre biscuits. Bingo lay contentedly on the cool marble floor, snoozing. The children were quietly playing with their toys. Suddenly, Bingo leaped up and dashed outside. We were all startled. What was the reason for this move? Simultaneously we heard a child’s cry. ‘Kelly!’ I cried as I rushed out to the garden. Everyone else followed.
The swimming pool had been emptied at the end of the past summer to prevent it from cracking during the winter. There was just a bit of water and a few logs at the bottom. None of us had noticed Kelly wandering off. Bingo did. Just as Kelly fell, Bingo leaped into the pool and caught him by his diapered bottom! I will never forget the image of Bingo standing with his paws in the shallow water holding baby Kelly firmly in his jaws. As I jumped in, the dog gently laid my son into my outstretched quivering arms. His gentle sweet eyes seemed to say, ‘Here, take him. He is safe.’ This was twice that Bingo endeared himself to us. As much as we loved him before, if it was at all possible, we loved him even more now.
The summer passed pleasantly enough, and during the next winter, for some reason the burglars did not make their usual appearance. Perhaps they had been jailed for another theft, we did not know, but were grateful that they did not show up. Spring followed. All the festivities of the season started. Bingo participated in all of them. He went trick-or-treating at the start of the Persian New Year, Now Ruz, his tail wagging happily as he received bones laden with meat from his admirers. He carefully brought them home and contentedly gnawed at them for hours. My kids romped around with him, especially Kelly. He would climb on his back and Bingo would give him a ride. On the occasion when the boy became a bit rough and hurt him unintentionally, Bingo would give a little growl and Kelly would understand. Only once did Bingo give a big yelp. Kelly was teething. For some reason he used poor Bingo’s tail as his teething ring. When Bingo expressed his pain, the baby became startled and emitted terrified shrieks. Bingo quickly started comforting him. He hugged him and licked his tears away. Jessica, being a dainty little girl, would sit beside him for hours patting him and hugging him. Sometimes they fell asleep in each other’s arms. Yes, Bingo was quite a loving and affectionate dog.
A couple more years passed. Seasons passed and another arrived. Winter once more approached. I deeply regret that we were not vigilant. We did not think the burglars would make their appearance again, but they did. Each time the burglars came we had reported the thefts to the police, but nothing was done about it. We finally figured it out. The thieves and the police were in cahoots. They must split what was stolen between them. That was the penalty of living in Iran, the lack of integrity. We were outraged that they had hurt our Bingo. A deeply cherished pet was a sentiment that was entirely incomprehensible to them. And still one more time they kidnapped our Bingo! This time he was gone forever. We searched high and low but could not find hide or hair of him. We keened, we cried, we deeply mourned him. I cannot express how deep our grief at his loss was. Almost fifty years have passed, yet each time I think of him, I still feel deep pain at the way he was taken away from us. I pray they did not make him suffer too much.
Sometimes, when my siblings and I are together one of us would say, ‘Remember Bingo?’ A pained bittersweet smile would appear on our faces. Yes, there once was a dog called Bingo and what a very special dog he was…
As an aside, my father should have trusted his original instincts. He shouldn’t have invested in real estate in Iran. However beautiful the house was, in the end, during the Revolution we fled and all that was left behind never to be retrieved.
In Persian you start telling a fairy tale by saying, ‘There once was and then there once wasn’t…’ It all drifted up into the air and disappeared. It only stays in one’s memory.