16

 

       WES             

 

    That's a nice smell.  What is that?

    Dog do.

    No, not that.  The other.

    Oh, I guess it's the blossoms from the trees.  Apples probably; I'm not sure.  She gazes off into the trees.  A lot of good trees there. 

    How does one tell the difference between a good tree and a bad tree?  I wisecrack.  Black hats?  Bandanas over the branches.

    No.

    Waxed mustache?  I've always heard that was a sure

    No, some of them are just very consistent.  Good fruit every year.

    You sound like you know.  Were you raised to be the fruit heiress of the tri-county area?  That is what they

    Yes, it is.  Hardly.  Up there, her hand sweeps in front of her, taking in the whole of the horizon, The mountain land, that goes to Doug and Eric.

    Why?

    They're boys.  She sounds resigned, as if any bitterness that might have been has died away.

    I rub behind the dog's ears.  There are mats of tangled hair tight to his skin.  He moans when I rub them.  And you're not, I say.

    And I'm not.

    So, what do you get?

    I don't know.  I never asked.  The trees belong to the house.  I don't know that anybody gets them.  Probably not.

    What's on the mountain?

    She shrugs.  What's on any mountain?

    Oh, picnic philosophy.  Can I stand it?  The dog's eyes are like wet marbles, a clean indigo blue ringed in brown, dense and frustratingly opaque.  At the corners they are encrusted with dried chips of rheum, amber in color.  I use my thumbnail to pry it carefully away.  It crumbles and disintegrates in my fingers.  What's his name?

    I don't know.  I don't think he has one.  I never thought about it.  Why are you over here with this dirty old dog?  Everybody will think you're antisocial.

    Aren't I?

    Yes, but you needn't let everyone else know.

    Look at those eyes.  Did you ever see anything like that?  So sad.  So damned sad and yet so dense you can't see a damned thing behind them.  I used to think all the scientists were right, that they were dumb animals, because there never seemed to be anything behind that do-you-have-anything-to-eat look.  There was never any real          anything there behind those eyes.  But I think it's all a disguise now.  I've seen it stripped away.  That dumb look just lifts, and there's this other face inside those eyes.  We did that--made them hide it--and we pay for it.  It's usually not until they're at your throat that you see it.  Were you ever looking at a tiger at the zoo and glimpse something for just a second--when he was looking at someone else?  That bored, blase look goes, and you see something that

    Yeah.

    Makes your skin

    Yeah.  I said yeah, so what are you doing out here with the dog?

    I like dogs.

    And not people?

    Eh.

    My mother hasn't been bad at all.  Kind of nice, in fact.

    Uh huh.

    Daddy would really like you to talk to him.

    About what?

    I don't know.  What do men talk about when they get together?

    I don't know either.  That's the problem.  Now, I know what dogs talk about when they get together.  They smell each other's asses and look for weaknesses.

    Wes.

    I guess it's not all that different.

    Daddy might be going to buy this place.

    What place?  Your grandfather's?  Why?  What's he going to do with it?

    I don't know.  Grandpa just asked him to buy it, and he's thinking about it.

    What on earth for?  It's falling apart.

    That's what I said.  He wants them to move in.

    Craziness.

    I don't know.  The trees are nice.  It's a nice place. 

    Nice doesn't make for a man's castle.  The land is good enough, but the house is a mess.  He'd have to start over.

    Maybe you could talk to him about that.  You're the architect.  Maybe you could convince him that it's ridiculous.

    No,  If anything, that would push him into it.  He'd never listen to me.  No, that wouldn't be a good idea.  Let him think it out for himself.  If he wants my advice, he'll ask.

    Do you think so?

    No.

    He hasn't told my mother yet.

    Ha, that ought to be good.

    Don't laugh.  It could be disastrous.  She about went crazy with his last project.

    Project?

    The house they're in now.  It needed work before they moved in.

    What would they do with it?  I mean if they moved in with your grandfather.

    I don't think he's given it that much thought.  I can't see them selling it.  Not after all the work they put into it.

    The dog looked wistfully into my eyes as if I should know what would relieve his misery.  That's what I mean by frustrating.  He leans his whole weight on me as if, for just a second, I could bear his pain for him.  Even the happiest looking dog has sad eyes.  He looks like a collie-shepherd mix, I say.

    She shrugs and watches me absently.

    Do you think you couldget me a pair of scissors?  Maybe I could cut these mats out for him.

    She doesn't seem to hear.

    He seems to see something move in the trees; he drops down to his forepaws and paces to the far corner of the barren semicircle, straining at the chain.  He acts as though he just now realized he's fastened to it.  He never stops pulling against it, never acts like he knows it's there until it throws him back on his haunches.  Some people would call that stupid.  I don't know what I'd call it.

    You know, I say, wiping my hands on my pants, They say that, given a choice, a dog will not live in his own dirt.

    She still doesn't let on like she's heard.

    Amazing what taking away that choice will do.