I looked again at that face. It must be that at some level I understood it. Perhaps that was his weakness, his sadness, and I would need to take that away from him, too.
I noticed a mark on his right cheek. I reached out and gently stroked it. It was a small, rounded scar, left where a mugger had struck him with a steel rod.
I made a note of it and bent my head once more to the man. He had spoken of his little dog, and I thought to myself I should have known this would happen. It was not much, but I could not very well imagine such a person being alone or unloved, let alone what the dog had been through. I moved my hand gently to the man's neck, and placed it over his heart, pressing with my unbroken hand. It was not long before I could feel that it was thumping. At the same time, the dog crouched on my knee, nudging my shins.
I had to laugh, and I pushed the dog gently away. I looked at the man. His face was crumpled into a few tears, and I could see some of the sad parts of him quite clearly. Even so, he was not a sorrowful person. I thought he was quite the opposite. That was one of the many little things I noticed about him, despite the difficulties I have described.
I know now that what I understood then was that he understood, understood, and was well. Perhaps that is the way with his little dog. Well understood by someone who could not speak of it to anyone, understood. The way things are with little creatures in the world. Then it struck me. This poor man's little dog had been understood. He was stuck, beaten up, and left to die. If that is the case, then he is not the only one. Understand, by someone or something, and left to die. In that case, I have understood too.
Now the dog was tugging at my trousers, wanting to be carried along with us. The man was quite helpless now, and I carried him. He did not have much strength and seemed to have fallen quite apart. I only wanted to get away.
I set the little dog down, and the man picked him up.
Inflections and reflections...
This story is whole fiction.