I remember it

like it was yesterday! I was walking down the street, the sunlight playfully dancing in the shop windows. I was eating a kebab in a roll, though I prefer it in a cake. I remember my trousers pressed into a crease, and my hair was freshly cut and shiny from the conditioner. I marched briskly, like a bourgeois gentleman. And what! Everyone I passed bowed politely, and I, as politeness dictates, bowed back with a smile and continued walking at a leisurely pace.

I remember it like it was yesterday – I bought Gałczyński's "Street of Charlatans" then. I opened it to the first page that came to hand: "Once a little old man with a dog came to the newspaper "Słowo Niebieskie" (mackerels in tomato, mackerels in tomato)..."

I looked up from the volume, lowered it again, then raised it again, because – in fact – a man with a dog was walking towards me. Perhaps I would have exaggerated if I had thought him old, but he wasn't in his prime either. A white dog, probably a Labrador. As cheerful and lovely as Gomber had been. He kept turning his head to the gentleman who was leading him on a leash, wagging his tail, and generally doing that typical dog-talk. My dear!

My eyes are weak, and I don't wear glasses, so I didn't immediately recognize the owner. Only when they were quite close did the gentleman focus. There was Breugel walking with his dog. He tipped his hat, and I almost curtsied quite unforcedly, because I had always held him in high regard. We went, each to his own page.

Only later did I start to think. The longer I juxtaposed the painter with the dog, the more uneasy I felt. That wagging... His idyllic nature clashed (as befits a dog) with the brushstrokes, which triggered perverted, uglier visions. I couldn't reconcile—a certain dissonance simply kept resonating in my head. It was somewhat peculiar, considering that, after all, people have dogs. And dogs are sweet—they just happen to have one.

A playful, charming, white dog. A playful, charming, white dog...

Breugel, Breugel...

I called Gomber and said,

"Gomber, do you still have the dog?"

Gomber said,

"I do."

I asked,

"Gomber, is he a dear?"

Gomber said,

"Dear."

That calmed me down a bit. After all, Gomber could be trusted, and since Gomber had a lovely dog, even though he had one, it didn't mean the owner couldn't be trusted. He committed a crime, that certainly doesn't confirm it.

I gave up on my investigation.

About six months later, however, I came across a painting by Breugel, "Hunters in the Snow," which I'd seen countless times before. Only now, for some unknown reason, it aroused my suspicions. I started sniffing around. Like a little dog. Even a white one, beautiful. Why not?

If you know this work, great. If not, I'll explain it briefly.

In the lower left corner, hunters with dogs (black and emaciated). A valley stretches out before them. I say "immediately" because they are actually standing on the edge of a steep, and long—who knows—escarpment, or something like that. Below, a frozen body of water and, incidentally, a skating rink (quite crowded, I might add). And now: what are they hunting? Let's rule out the people on the skating rink right away, as there are too many witnesses (primarily the gang with the fire, a little further to the left of the hunters). Up above, a bird circles the valley. It's probably their prey, it seems obvious. Ha! Not at all! Because lo and behold: the descent into the valley is too steep and high—even for hounds! Ergo: there's no way they'll reach the dead bird by the shortest route. And if they take another route, the people (those who run the skating rinks) will have snatched the bird a hundred times over in the meantime! And what? And WHAT??? Ha! Inconsistency appears. Nonsense appears! There's no way to explain this. The hunters won't get their bird, so what kind of hunting is this?! Well, well! Breugel did us beautifully, he did us.

Then I understood everything – this treacherous dog, this aimless hunt. There's always been something wrong with him. A cunningly concocted plot! The clear and obvious truth appeared before me: Breugel had deceived me. He had deceived us.

But now I have a case on him. Oh, we'll talk!

I also called Gombre immediately. I explained everything to him. He said that just to be safe, he'd go have his dog put down that afternoon.