"What its name?"
"Putiu (Never Lost)," I said. "What did you say, Sir?"
"The name of the puppy is Putiu. We picked that name for luck. You see, we had already lost two dogs beforoe this one."
The face of the affable policeman broke into a hearty smile, thinking of the funny name or maybe of the irony of "Never Lost" having been lost.
The sympathetic cop listened to our story; when we last saw the puppy, how suddenly we discovered it was not around and that a door had been left open by a tradesman; a moment before Putiu had been in the kitchen with my wife.
"Putiu is not the wayward type," said my wife. She also mentioned the hole in our hedge. The policeman was still sympathetic. But when we suggested he ask the Hus, our next-door neighbors, he shook his head.
"Sir, you said your son heard the pup's cries from the other side of the hedge. But a little boy may imagine all sorts of things. Children see all sorts of monsters after a Walt Disney cartoon. My little girl does. Mighty sorry, though ... "
We explained we didn't mean a formal search, only a look around, and he could take Little Dragon with him.
"But, Madame and Sir, the visit of a policeman often spoils things, don't you agree with me? Good neighbors are worth more than a dog ... " He smiled again but I knew he wouldn't ask the Hus.
Perhaps the policeman was right; good neighbors are worth more than a dog. The Hus have always been friendly; they loaned us their ax, hoe, ladder, and even their gardener the day we moved in. Why would they keep our dog? They could afford dogs of their own.
Probably a dognapper had stolen Putiu. Didn't Yu-ching say the door was open? This was the season for eating dog meat. A plump little thing like Putiu would have been irresistible. Maybe the dognapper had lured Putiu with a bone, then stuffed the dog into a bag and ridden away on his bicycle.
My wife turned pale at my hunch. She told me not to talk such nonsense. She loved Putiu and so Putiu had to be all right.
Putiu was a native breed-shortlegged but not as short as a dachshund, ears neither drooping nor cocked, hair neither short nor long. Putiu manifested no special characteristics nor tendencies toward any. Putiu was just a lovable black and white mutt, a family dog and a little boy's pet.
My wife tried to console Little Dragon.
"Hi, Little Dragon", she said, "aren't you glad to hear that Grandma Wei's fox terrier will have babies in January. We'll ask her to keep one for you, okay?" Little Dragon was not to be so easily mollified.
"No, no," he cried, lying full-length on the floor and kicking his feet. "I want Putiu."
"We'll call the puppy Putiu. You know how a fox terrier looks? White and maybe a brown spot-oh, a pretty, pretty thing... "
"No want pretty dog ... Want old Putiu."
"It will be another Putiu." My wife was losing ground but still trying gamely.
The boy stopped wailing. "My Putiu is at the Hus' house. I heard him. Why don't we get him?"
"But you went into their garden after your ball and you didn't see Putiu. Did you?"
"No, but Putiu's there-in the house. The Hus are hiding him."
"You are talking nonsense," I told Little Dragon. Tears welled up in the four-year-old's eyes once more. "I heard him, Daddy," he wailed.
Putiu had joined our family a couple of months before. It was three or four weeks after our second dog had strayed. Day and night Little Dragon begged: "I want a puppy. I want a puppy." Whenever we passed a pet shop, he would squat in front of the glass, gazing raptly at the tumbling puppies. Then his birthday came. When my sister asked him what he wanted, he didn't hesitate. "A dog," be said.
By happy coincidence, my sister's dog had a litter of five. At the sight of the pups, the boy screwed his face into a grin reserved for pets and pouted his lips to make a special sound. The babies paid no attention to him. He trilled out more sounds, attempted a whistle, and snapped his fingers. The puppies only cringed and cuddled closer to the mother dog-all except one black and white wobbler. He tottered toward Little Dragon and sniffed at his feet. A gentle push bowled the fluff ball over on his back. There the dog stayed, waving four downy paws. "I want this one, I want this one, Auntie," screamed the boy excitedly, taking one of the paws into his chubby hands and pressing his lips to it. Two button eyes looked into the boy's without fear. From that moment Putiu was Little Dragon's; they were born for each other.
Taking the pup home was a big event. It was drizzly windy day. My wife insisted that we take a taxi, although the pedicab my sister had called was waiting at the door. "It's only a month old," said my wife, wrapping the pup in her coat. I had to dismiss the pedicabman, who accepted my apologetic tip reluctantly. Then I waited at the crossroad for at least five minutes to intercept a taxi.
"Roll up the glass; it might catch cold," my wife ordered as we climbed into the taxi. Her second order was that I put out my cigarette. "You are choking the one-month-old, don't you see?" I could see we had a baby, not a puppy. Yu-ching, my wife, who hoped to have another child, had lavished affection on the two lost dogs, not to mention a cat and a parrot.
Soon the puppy bad the household in a mess much like that engendered by Little Dragon's birth. Again it was I who mixed the milk powder and gave the weekly bath and cleaned up the newspaper that substituted for diapers. Fortunately, puppies grow faster than boys. My wife's face lit up when she saw Little Dragon romping and rolling with Putiu. Then, just when everything was perfect, Putiu disappeared.
Where could the dog have gone? Putiu was not an intrepid adventurer. He did not wander away. The hedge was a good guess. Putiu may have wanted a look at the Hus' garden. Possibly, the Hu kids scooped it up and carried it into the house.
My wife said levelly: "No use guessing. If Putiu is with the Hus, he will come home. They can't bottle him."
I was surprised. My wife was not that rational about pets. When Shelley, our half-breed English setter disappeared, she was beside herself. Every neighbor was a suspect, every passerby a dognapper.
"What's in your mind?" my wife asked. "You're inspecting me."
"Nothing, only I'm a little surprised." "At what?"
"At your coolness. You grew up so fast." She giggled and turned red in the face. Must be the cop's influence, I thought. We would try diplomacy. Good neighbors couldn't be interrogated.
Christmas was only a few days away. This was the time for giving things for love, not for taking things back. We did not have a Christmas tree and Little Dragon was too young to understand "peace on earth, and good will toward men." Still, I felt the holiday atmosphere. I could see Christmas in the eyes of the young and in shop windows; I heard Christmas in the carols on the radio. I could even sniff it.
On Christmas Eve, the air smelled of roast turkey. The Hus were Christians. They must be cooking the turkey early. Little Dragon sat quietly on a stool by my wife, playing with the velvet bear my sister had given him for Christmas. We had bought him a plastic telephone set. He hadn't given any trouble all day. A Christmas ceasefire, I thought, watching the boy tossing up the bear and catching it. Then he put the bear down and picked the plastic phone.
"Ma, I want to talk to you."
My wife laid down her needlework and picked up the other phone.
"Hi, who is it?"
"Little Dragon. I would like to invite you to a wedding party."
"Whose wedding party?" "My Daddy's and Mama's."
"Oh, I'd love to come. Who will be the boy to sprinkle rose petals on the bridal carpet?"
This was too complicated for Little Dragon. He paused to reflect.
"Why, of course, it will be Putiu. He'll have a big rose in his mouth and a necklace of roses around his neck. Putiu! Putiu!" Now he remembered and the smile was gone. He looked thoughtfully from Mama to me and from me to Mama. Then he tilted his head and listened.
"What is it, Little Dragon?" asked my wife.
"It's Putiu. He's crying for me. I hear his voice. I know I do." Just then our doorbell rang. "I'll get it," said my wife. She reentered the room with Mrs. Hu, a parcel in her hand, and told me it was the Hus' gift to Little Dragon.
"A friend in the States sent it and our boy already has one. It's a toy tank," Mrs. Hu explained.
"It's very nice of you, Mrs. Hu," said my wife. "But American toys are very expensive. So we really couldn't accept it. Little Dragon breaks everything, you know. Even local toys are too good for him."
Mrs. Hu blushed. "You are too ceremonious, Mrs. Feng. Aren't we good neighbors? Furthermore, we didn't spend one cent for it ... "
Intuitively, I felt there was something odd about the lady next door-the way she talked. She wasn't really giving but seemed to be begging a favor. The Hus and the Fengs were not so intimate. I interposed a suggestion that she give the toy to her daughter.
"Oh, no, Mr. Feng, you know little girls don't like war toys." She turned her sad eyes toward me. "Ai-ling had polio when she was six. She can't walk."
"How old is she now?"
"Eight years and four months. She has spent thirty months in a wheelchair. She is so lonely. It was Ai-ling who wanted Little Dragon to have the tank. It's such a nice toy. Please unwrap the parcel, Mrs. Feng, I'm sure your little boy will like it. By the way, where is he?"
Little Dragon had decamped. We made a round of the house. No Little Dragon. An idea struck me.
"Putiu, Putiu," I blurted. "He must have gone out to trail the sound. He said he heard the dog."
Mrs. Hu lowered her eyes and turned red. "I'm sorry, Mr. and Mrs. Feng ... to tell you the truth, I've come to beg a favor of you." But no one was listening. My wife was edging toward the door. We must find Little Dragon. It was cold and the street was no place for a four-year-old.
"Did Little Dragon say he heard Putiu?" asked Mrs. Hu.
"He did," I said.
"Then come over to my house." Mrs. Hu suddenly looked resolute and no longer embarrassed. She raised her voice and looked into our eyes. "If Little Dragon has good ears, he must be at our place already."
"What do you mean?" we asked together.
"Putiu has been with us for four days."
I was stunned. "Really?" I said. "It couldn't be," said my wife.
We pushed through the hole in the hedge. The Hus had all the lights on. Screams of excitement and laughter came through a window. We recognized Little Dragon's voice.
There in the living room the gay lights of a tinseled Christmas tree were reflected in the faces of the Hus' little boy, the crippled girl in her wheelchair, and Little Dragon. Our pride and joy was holding a candy above Putiu's nose. The little dog was performing one of the tricks we had taught him, rearing up on his haunches and crossing his forepaws as if to say "Please!" Little Dragon tossed the candy into the air and Putiu caught it with a snap. Laughter and cheers acknowledged Putiu's skill. Little Dragon patted the dog and cuddled him affectionately. "Daddy," he said, "Big Sister has been very kind to Putiu; she gave him candy, biscuits, and even chewing gum."
The girl smiled sweetly. "Chewing gum? No, Uncle Feng, I didn't give Putiu chewing gum. I never did—only a piece of chocolate once. This morning he had a piece of fruit cake. He likes sweets. But Mother said chewing gum is not for puppies. It will stick."
"You're right, Ai-ling," I said.
"But I really don't understand why he's called Putiu."
"Big Sister said it's a very funny name, Daddy," said Little Dragon. "She laughed about it ... Now, Daddy, may I say good night to Big Sister?"
The girl buried her face in her arms and began to cry. Mrs. Hu put a hand on her daughter's head.
"I'm very sorry, Mr. and Mrs. Feng. I really don't know how to explain. Ai-ling was afraid of dogs until she saw Putiu. Once a relative gave her a beautiful puppy; she wouldn't touch it. But when your dog ran up to her and asked to be loved, she changed all at once. No matter what we said, she wouldn't let Putiu go. We suppose he came through the hole in the hedge. Maybe he could come over and play with Ai-ling sometimes." She stopped abruptly, almost in tears.
My wife was bending over and whispering to Little Dragon. The boy looked from the dog in his arms to the girl. "Shall we call her Putiu, too?" he asked. "No, surely not, you're getting silly," said my wife. Her eyes were very tender. Just as I was wondering by what miracle we could make everybody happy, my wife announced that Little Dragon had agreed to share Putiu with Big Sister: Putiu was to be with the Hus for supper and the evening; Little Dragon's hours were from after breakfast to evening.
Ai-ling let out a cry of happiness.
"Auntie!" she said.
"Oh, Mrs. Feng, I don't know what to say." Mrs. Hu was overwhelmed with emotion. She reproached her daughter when the little girl held out her arms to claim the dog. "No, you selfish girl. You must let Little Dragon take Putiu home tonight. The agreement will go into effect tomorrow—on Christmas Day."
The Hus' little boy hugged Little Dragon and the dog. Mr. Hu, who had just come in, heard the story and expressed his approval. Little Dragon took Putiu to Big Sister for a goodnight.
When we were home, my wife said this seemed like the first real Christmas since she had graduated from the Christian girls' school.
"I'm glad everyone is happy," she said. "Nobody loses anything."
"Sure," I said: "The kids are already friends. They will get along fine, sharing not only Putiu but many happy days of their lives."
"And Putiu, too, will enjoy life more, and give more to it."
I said she was a nonpareil—a real genius. But what, I asked, were the magic words she had blown into Little Dragon's ear.
Yu-ching blushed beautifully-for the last time Christmas Eve.
"I told him I'd give him a wee baby, a pink sister, just the kind he has always wanted."
I grabbed her hands.
"Yu-ching," I said. "It's just what we want, too. But how can you be so sure it's a girl?"
"Why should it make any difference to us? I'm only sure of one thing-we'll not call the baby Putiu."
Little Dragon was sound asleep, Putiu at the foot of the bed. Yu-ching was in the kitchen making cocoa. The night was serene and beautiful. "A real Christmas," I said to myself. I had seen it, heard it, smelled it, and now I was feeling it as I ran my fingers through Putiu's soft hair. Christmas was warm, warm to the touch of my fingers, as warm as a puppy's heart.
Over the cups of hot cocoa, I beamed at my wife, hoping that my smile said what was in my heart.