A Question of Manhood (32 page)

Whimper. And I heard something land behind the dog. I think his ears twitched, but he didn't move, still drooling on me. Another treat, closer. And another. Obviously Geronimo wanted me more than treats.

JJ said, “It isn't working. I'm going to come in, and I'm going to be submissive as well. I'll try to get his attention away from you. Got that?”

Whimper.

I couldn't see what he was doing, and I didn't have a clue why he'd be any better off in here than I was, but I wasn't about to argue with him. Carefully not looking at the dog—though I did sneak a quick peek a few times—I could barely see that JJ was at the fence door now, and that he was getting down onto the ground. It was almost like he was in boot camp, doing grunt training and slithering across the ground to stay below enemy fire. He stopped moving when the dog growled, and he waited, and then he moved forward again. I glanced outside the fence toward Marty, who had lowered his arms but was still in shooter's stance, watching JJ like he was mesmerized by the stupidity in front of him.

When JJ was a few feet away from me, the dog's full attention on him, he curled into a ball on his side. I barely caught some motion, and something went flying into the air. It landed several feet behind the dog, who watched it but didn't move. JJ shot another so it landed a little closer to the dog. And then I got it. He was using the treats like he'd done at the shelter. Only from a much more precarious position.

Geronimo could get to the second treat without moving too far away from his prey—that would be me—and he gobbled it up. JJ shot out another. He was doing it from that curled position, and at first I couldn't figure why. But then it hit me that he didn't want the dog to see that there was a whole bag of the things. So JJ didn't want the dog attacking him for the treats, and since they were his only weapon, as it were, he didn't want to lose them all at once.

The dog moved toward the last treat and ate that. He looked back at me, but I stayed still. JJ shot again, farther away this time. The dog turned and followed the treat, and I saw my chance. Like lightning I shot up and scrambled up that fence. My phys ed teacher would have been proud.

Marty came over and grabbed my arm. “C'mon. Let's get outta here.” He pulled me toward the car.

JJ was still in there with that killer. I yanked my arm away from Marty, stopped dead, and turned to look. JJ was still there, curled on his side in the dirt, watching me. I couldn't read his expression, but it didn't really matter.

“Paul! Get in the car!” Marty was half in already, and I could see Kevin's head in the back. I walked to the partly open passenger door, opened it a little, and slammed it shut.

“Paul, what the fuck!”

Behind the car, the bright red toolbox nestled in a clump of green grass. It was calling to me. I picked it up and headed for the door that led into Geronimo's den. Over my shoulder I said, “You can leave if you want. I'm not deserting JJ.”

I stopped at the door to assess the situation inside. JJ hadn't moved, and Geronimo was about to make a dash toward me. I had to make my position clear to him quickly. I fell to the ground, pulling the door so that it looked closed, and he just trotted over to me, growling, slobbering, but not biting. He sniffed my hair and grabbed at my shoulder with his teeth but didn't sink them in. I whimpered.

Something landed just behind Geronimo. A treat. And he turned and ate it. As if it didn't matter, I heard the sound of the Mustang taking off.

JJ shot treat after treat, and gradually I crawled toward JJ, dragging the toolbox as quietly as possible, until the dog was far enough away that JJ felt he could speak.

He kept his voice low and even. “What we need to do is refasten his chain to the stake and then get out and fasten the chain on the fence door.” He shot a treat. “You're doing great, by the way. You learn fast.”

“Our lives would seem to depend on it.”

“They do. And I'm not kidding. This is serious stuff. Just stay calm and don't give him any reason to think he's being challenged.”

“He didn't bite me; just clamped on to my shoulder for a second. I whimpered, and he let go.”

Some breath escaped JJ like he was relaxing a little. “That's good. That's very good. What you need to do is slowly make your way to the stake. Can you see where it is?”

I looked around. If I'd been standing, I probably would have missed it, especially since it was getting darker. Your perspective changes when you're crawling on the ground, though, like Chris could see something Mason hadn't, that night in the jungle. I saw the stake over near the shelter. “Yes.”

“Go toward it, slowly, stopping every few feet to avoid getting his suspicions up. I've got to start reserving these things or I'll run out, so just go slow. Now here's the most important part. You need to go in a direction that will allow you to pick up the end of his chain. I'm going to try and keep him positioned so that he's within a radius of the stake that's shorter than the chain, but keep your wits about you and whatever you do, don't pull on the chain so that he feels it on his collar.”

It was an eternity. I created a movie scene in my head. Or, it was a movie scene to me. It was real life for an awful lot of guys, and it had been real for Chris. I pretended I was making my way through a booby-trapped patch of jungle. It got my mind off the dog and helped me move slowly and carefully. And it worked.

I knew what I had to do next, but Geronimo wasn't getting with the program. As soon as I flipped open the box and started rummaging for the right tools, he came over and stood practically on top of me. I moved excruciatingly slowly, but even so he kept gripping one of my hands with his drooling muzzle. He never broke the skin, but each time he did this I had to hold still and whimper. Once he didn't let go, and I heard a treat land nearby. He went to fetch it.

It must have taken me—oh, I don't know, a lifetime?—to refasten that chain, but I did it. Between disciplinary bites from Geronimo, and the occasional lobbing of a treat it just took forever. Finally I had the tools back in the box and refastened the lid.

I could barely hear JJ say, “Curl onto your side for a minute and just hold still. Let him think you're not doing anything at all.”

I'm not doing anything at all. That's easy.

After a minute or so, “Now, move toward the door, just as slowly as you moved toward the stake.”

The occasional treat volley supported my escape, and I made it without setting off any booby traps. I was outside the fence, but I knew better than to do anything that would attract Geronimo's attention. I stayed on the ground. JJ started to move toward the door, and Geronimo seemed to figure out that something was up. He went to JJ and stood over him so that his front paws were on the ground on one side of JJ, and his hind paws were on the other. JJ stayed curled into a tight ball for maybe three minutes? Four? He didn't dare move even enough to shoot a treat out.

Then Geronimo figured out where the treats were. His huge head lowered itself toward JJ's stomach, where his hands were crushing the nearly empty bag, and the dog grabbed it. The head came up, bag in the jaws, and thrashed back and forth. What treats were left went flying, and Geronimo left JJ to go find some.

If I thought I'd moved fast to get up that fence, JJ was even faster. He shot up from the ground and lunged for the door. Behind him, Geronimo deserted his candy hunt and charged, but he was already pretty far out on the chain. It clanged, but it held.

JJ was safe.

I picked up the chain that had fallen when Marty had broken it, knowing that if Geronimo had figured out once how to break that chain he could do it again. Working as fast as possible, I managed to open a link and fasten the chain around the door.

JJ said, “I think you have enough chain to wrap another piece around.”

I looked at him like he was crazy and, for the first time, noticed he was cradling his left hand. Blood was seeping between the fingers of his right hand where he was holding his left in it.

“My God. How bad are you hurt?”

“I'll live. Just get the second chain length on, will you?”

We left Geronimo snarling in frustrated fury, still on his chain, the door securely fastened. Only then did I notice that it was my bike that JJ had ridden to get here.

“C'mon,” I said to him. “Let's knock on some doors and call your mom or someone to come get you and get that stitched or whatever.”

He was oddly compliant, and he let me take over. I couldn't tell how bad the bite was, but if it subdued JJ I figured it had to be pretty awful. Two houses away someone was home and let us in. We phoned his mom, gave her the address, and then went to sit on the front steps to wait, after the neighbor ran cool water over JJ's hand and wrapped some gauze treated with antiseptic around it.

We sat there silently for a few minutes. Then I said, “I'm sorry.”

JJ took a shaky breath. “For what?”

“For the things I said at the store earlier. It's just that I needed to be alone to think what to do, and you were looking at me so oddly.”

He nodded. “I knew what they were planning. I heard them tell you. And I was trying to figure out whether you'd be open to…you know, betraying them. Working with me to stop them.”

“I don't know what we could have done. I did my best to stop them. That's why I came.” Silence for a few minutes. I asked, “Does that hurt real bad?”

“Yeah.”

I wrapped my arm around JJ's shoulders. He leaned against me, and we stayed like that until his mom's car appeared.

 

For all I was worried about JJ's wound, I was distracted by his mom. Sure, she was in her forties probably, but she was gorgeous. Thick dark hair around her shoulders, nice build, and it must have been from her that JJ got his sweet face and those gorgeous eyes. But she was all business. She bundled JJ into the car and took off, leaving me there feeling like I'd swung at something and missed. If it hadn't been for Geronimo over there, lying down now but watchful and as close as he could get to the fence, I don't know how long it might have been before I snapped to and went to fetch my bicycle. Geronimo charged once as I approached the bike, but I got away as quickly as I could so he wouldn't break that fucking chain again. I was not, I mean
not,
going back in there to repair it.

I was kind of late for dinner. Given that, and given that JJ was going to show up at work the next day—if he even came to work the next day—with his hand all bandaged, I figured I'd better come clean to my folks. Or, as clean as I needed to. I figured they didn't need details like Marty's gun.

I was barely in the door when Dad's voice, originating from the kitchen table, thundered through the air. “Young man, where have you been?”

I didn't answer, not wanting to yell from a room away. I waited until I was in the kitchen and spoke calmly and quietly. I was not going to let Dad rile me. “JJ and I were trying to stop Marty and Kevin from taunting Geronimo. It got a little messy, and JJ got bit. His mom is taking him to get patched up now, but I imagine his left hand will be in bandages tomorrow. If he comes to work.”

I almost fell into the silence that followed this pronouncement. Mom stopped between the table and the stove, where she was probably headed to get my dinner, and stared at me. Dad sat there, his jaw hanging a little open for a few seconds.

Finally, his voice rising in volume, Dad said, “What did you say?”

I pulled out my chair, willing myself not to rise to his challenge, not to try and shout him down. “Marty heard about the Carters leaving town, and he thought it would be fun to see how ferocious Geronimo was. He wanted me to go with them. I wasn't going to, but then it occurred to me I might be able to keep the problem to a dull roar.”

Before I could get anything else out, Dad nearly shouted, “And you failed! What's this about JJ's hand?”

I looked at him a second, let a few beats go by, gave Mom a chance to sit down, and then said, “I'll tell you what happened if you'll let me.” I waited. He didn't say anything, so I went on with the story, making sure that JJ's courage was noted, but so was mine. I made it clear that I could have got away, that I could have left JJ in there with the Rottie, but that I went back in to help him. And I think I did it more or less like Chris had told his war stories. Not glorifying myself, just telling it like it was.

When I was done, both my folks just looked at me. And somewhere in there it occurred to me that I'd crossed some line. I'd passed some test. I'd stood up to Dad in a way that was my way. Not Chris's way, which had worked for Chris, but in my way. And I felt a warm glow not unlike the one I'd felt in church all those months ago. The time I'd felt as though Jesus, or God, or somebody had heard me. Had taken me seriously.

I went to the stove and helped myself to some dinner.

JJ, of course, did come into work the next day, and his left hand was bandaged. Which meant that he wasn't going to be doing any cleaning of fish tanks, probably until he left to go to school in just a couple of weeks.

I managed to arrange things so that we had our lunch breaks at the same time, and not at the same time as Angela; I wanted to talk with JJ alone.

He was already at a table, doing his best to manage his lunch using his right hand and only a couple of free fingers on his left. I sat down across from him.

“Want some help?”

He grinned at me. “Sure.”

I leaned over to extricate his sandwich from its wrapping. “So how many stitches?”

“Not too many. And no permanent damage. Mostly it's just a question of making sure there's no infection. The really good news is that rabies is very unlikely, since Geronimo hadn't come into contact with any other animals for so long. And he was at the shelter for long enough that he would start to show signs before treatment would be too late for me. The shelter had already vaccinated him while he was unconscious, of course, but that doesn't mean he wasn't already sick. We'll see, but I'm not worried.”

“Will they put him down, do you think?”

JJ took a bite of sandwich and looked at me while he chewed for a few seconds. Then he said, “Kill him, Paul. You mean will they kill him. I don't like using those euphemisms. ‘Put him down.' ‘Put him to sleep.' ‘Euthanize him.' No matter what they call it, it's killing. So that's what I say. And the answer is, I don't think so.” He set his sandwich down and chuckled. “As a matter of fact, my mom is now interested. I think that even once I've left for school, she's going to try and convince the Carters to let her work with him.” He smiled at me. “Maybe you'd like to help.”

“Me?”

“Why not? You've learned a lot about handling dogs, and you sure showed that you aren't too afraid to be useful. Which reminds me. Thank you. I was a little too stressed out yesterday, after our adventure, to say that. But what you did took guts. Coming back in like that.” He shook his head slowly. “I have to admit, I hadn't really thought out what I was going to do, once I got in there, other than give you a chance to get out. But thank God your friends left their toolbox! Anyway, that was really smart of you. And brave. So, thank you.” He reached his right hand across the table toward me. As I took it in mine, I couldn't help remembering the time our hands had touched and I'd pulled back. Not this time.

Around midafternoon, working alone on fish tanks, I noticed Kevin Dodge roaming—or skulking, really—around the store, alone as far as I could tell. I let him look until he found me; I didn't feel like making anything easy for him.

“Hey, Paul.” He stood there, hands in his pockets, glancing around, probably to see if my dad was bearing down on him. I looked up, caught his eye, and looked back at my work again. I said nothing. From him, “How's it going?”

Without even a glance at him I said, “Ducky.”

He tried a snicker. “You, uh, you got out of that okay yesterday? Don't see any gaping wounds.”

“Not on me.” I still wouldn't look at him.

“That's good, then.” He stood there awkwardly for maybe another thirty seconds before I decided to cut him a little slack. At least he'd come to find out if I was still alive, which is more than Mr. Kaufman had done, and it had been Marty's brilliant idea.

“There was someone else involved, you know. I mean, involved in a good way. Someone who did get hurt.”

“So the dog got him? Bad?”

I stood up. “Do you care?”

Kevin shrugged and looked uncomfortable. “Look, Paul, I didn't want any of that to happen, y'know. I was with you, man. Trying to back Marty down. He just wouldn't do it.”

“And you peeled off with him, leaving JJ and me in the lion's den. You're a real pal, Kevin.”

His voice got kind of squeaky. “Look, man, I'm sorry about that. It was just that…aw, shit, I don't know what it was.”

“I do. It's called cowardice. You were afraid of the dog, you were afraid of getting caught. And you're afraid of Marty.” He turned away from me but didn't move off. “Are you always gonna be afraid of Marty?”

He wheeled back. “Aren't you? I didn't see you telling him off!”

“You didn't see me run away with him, either. And if he were here right now I'd tell him a thing or two. And if JJ had lost more than a chunk of his left hand, I'd have gone to the police. He's a menace, Kevin. Dump him. Or go down with him.”

After another few seconds of shrinking into his own shoulders he asked, “So JJ's all right then? Mostly?”

“Mostly.” I decided to take a chance. See if Kevin had anything salvageable in him. See if maybe he could be recovered. “He's doing inventory in the stockroom. Maybe if you pay him a quarter he'll let you see his stitches.”

I bent back over my task to give Kevin some space to make his decision in. It felt really good to see him head toward the stockroom. I knew he was going in to apologize, or at least to approximate that intention.

 

Before I fell asleep that night, I thought again about taking JJ's hand over the picnic table. And about sitting with him to wait for his mom, when he'd leaned against me. If anyone had told me even a week earlier that those things wouldn't creep me out, I'd have thought they were nuts. But they didn't. They didn't creep me out at all.

In the darkness over my head, it seemed like that Border collie was there, mouth open in a grin. “See?” he said, tongue dangling wetly out of his mouth. “When you're not afraid of something, you don't have to strike out at it.”

I blinked at him. “Are you telling me I was afraid of JJ?”

“Weren't you? Weren't you afraid to touch him? To have Marty even threaten to paint you with the same brush?”

Marty.
“Are you telling me that Marty is afraid of JJ?”

“Terrified.”

I grinned back at the dog. He was right. Just like Dante, and the tattooed guy, Marty was aggressive toward things he feared. Which seems to be life in general, but—for Marty, anyway—JJ in particular, and what he represented.

The dog asked, “So, are you still afraid of Chris?”

“That's different.”

“Why?”

Why? Why was it different? I wasn't afraid of Chris, anyway; the dog was wrong about that. Okay, I hadn't wanted Chris to touch me just after he'd told me about himself. But that wasn't what I felt the strongest about. To the dog, I said, “Chris betrayed me. He lied to me, in effect, anyway. He made me think things about him that weren't true, and he hid what was real.”

“He hid the part he knew you'd hate. And why do you suppose he did that? Do you think maybe he couldn't trust you to still love him?”

I opened my mouth to shout
I do so still love him!
But nothing came out.

I rolled my face into the pillow and refused to talk to the dog any longer.
I do love Chris. I do. I really do. He's my brother, and I love him. I hate that he never told me. I hate that he didn't trust me until it was too late. Until I didn't have time to get used to things. But I don't hate him.

 

My date with Laura was beyond great. I was such a gentleman, parking the car and going in to chat with her folks for a few minutes, which included a brief visit with Truffles as well, and some glory moments as Mrs. Holmes told her husband how marvelous I was with dogs.

I didn't try any funny stuff with Laura during the movie like I had with Jenny, though I did take her hand at one point. She let me hold it for a few minutes, which I took to mean that I could have a good-night kiss.

I got several. And thanks to all my experience with Jenny, and to the fact that I'm not some kid who's still tying his sweatshirt around his waist with the sleeves hanging in front to hide any unintentional activity, I was able to keep everything within the bounds of what I thought she'd approve of, with just a hint that there was more where that came from. And she agreed to see me again.

So on Sunday I made it a point to talk to JJ and thank him for setting me up the day we worked with Truffles. He asked about the date, and I told him it had been fantastic and would, I hoped, be the first of many.

JJ walked Dante with me late in the afternoon. At first I wasn't sure why; he had to keep his hand in a sling when he walked so it wouldn't just dangle, and at first it didn't even seem like he wanted to talk. But eventually he did.

“That's really great about Laura, Paul. I get the sense you've liked her for a while.”

“Yuh. Like, over a year. I almost had a date with her last November, but then my brother came home at the wrong time and Mom made me stay home the whole time he was with us.”

“Doesn't sound like you lost any serious ground. With Laura, I mean.” Didn't seem to be much to say to that, so we took a few blocks in silence, except for a couple of times Dante tried to act up a little. Then JJ said, “This, um, this may be a little weird for you, and if you think so that's okay. But if you'd like to meet my friend, he's picking me up after work.”

I tried stalling for time. “What's his name?”

“Ben. He's a freshman in the College of Humanities at Carnegie Mellon. He wants to be a social worker.”

Okay, that was more than I'd asked. But I was still stalling. “Won't get to see much of him if you're at Cornell. That's gotta be…”

“It's about a six-hour car ride. We'll see how it goes.”

Which I took to mean it probably wouldn't go very well, in terms of staying together. We walked along in more silence, and it occurred to me that maybe I could get used to the idea of JJ being gay. Maybe not even notice it, like I barely noticed my dad's limp anymore. We were almost back to the store when I finally said, “Anyway, sure. I'd like to meet him. You met Laura, after all, right?”

He beamed at me. “Right.”

So I was settling Dante down for the night, and everyone else but Carol had left, when there was a rap on the stockroom door; someone was outside in the back. Dante growled just for a second, and I hushed him. When I opened the door, there was a guy who looked like he must have been the one who kissed JJ that day.

“You Ben?” I asked, thinking he didn't look gay, particularly. But then, I wouldn't have thought Chris did, either.

“Ben Sanborn.” He held out his hand; second homosexual hand I'd shaken in only a few days. “You're Paul?”

“Yeah.”

“It's great to meet you. Sorry to intrude back here, but the front door was locked already. I got here a little later than I'd hoped.”

I heard JJ's voice behind me. “Looks like you two have met already. I saw your car, Ben. I figured you'd come around the back. I'm about ready to leave.”

“Not so fast, there. I was kind of hoping I could meet this famous dog, too. Will you introduce us, please?”

For the first time since Ben had knocked, it occurred to me that Dante hadn't growled or anything. If that had been Marty, Dante would have been on his feet, making threatening noises. But with Ben? Nothing.

JJ walked toward the dog and Ben followed, not looking at Dante. Well schooled, evidently. JJ said, “This is a pop quiz, Paul. What are we doing right now?”

I almost chuckled. Teaching, even now. “You're letting him know you accept Ben, and you're letting Dante sniff and see who he is.”

JJ smiled at me and then at Ben. “He's a good student.”

“I can see that.”

Eventually Ben and Dante got to the touching stage, and the dog let Ben scratch behind his ears, not that there was much left of one of them.

“This the ear Cain consumed?” Ben asked.

“It's healed pretty well, hasn't it?”

I said, “So you know the canine warrior, I guess. I'm not sure I ever want to see him again!”

JJ laughed. “Too bad. You will, if you work with my mom on Geronimo. She told me to ask if you wanted to. She'll probably use Cain to help socialize the Rottie.”

Ben turned to me. “Do you think you'll do that? What a challenge, and what an experience. JJ will be so jealous he can't be a part of that.”

The two of them hadn't touched since Ben had arrived, but now Ben crooked his arm around JJ's neck and pulled their heads together. They didn't kiss or anything, but the affection was obvious.

At that moment, the door from inside the store opened and Dad walked in. Everyone froze. The tension was so intense that Dante felt it and made some noise that was half-whine, half-growl. What the hell was Dad doing here, anyway? On Sunday afternoon?

JJ recovered first. “Ben Sanborn, this is the store owner and Paul's father, Mr. Landon.” Ben stepped toward my dad, who was still just inside the door, and extended his hand. Dad looked at it, and at first I didn't think he was going to take it, but Ben was just standing there holding it out like he wasn't going anywhere. If my dad was going to refuse the handshake, he was gonna have to make it real obvious. Finally he took Ben's hand, but he let it go as soon as he could.

Again, JJ was the one who spoke. “We'd better get going. See you tomorrow, Mr. Landon.” He and Ben threaded their way past me and out the back door.

Dante and I were still holding our breath when Dad said, “Like hell you will.” Quiet. Under his breath, almost. Almost a growl. He stared at the now-closed door.

I was trying to make sense out of what I was feeling. I mean, JJ being gay was a piece of information I'd been holding myself back from telling Dad most of the summer. Sometimes it had been a major effort. But now? Now I didn't want him to know. I didn't want him to do or say any of the things I had once wanted him to do and say.

Dad turned to me. “Was that what I think it was?”

How the hell do I respond to that?
“What do you mean?”