In Persuasion Nation (8 page)

And
as our children grow, should they begin to show the slightest hint of
some lingering residue of the opposite gender, P and I will lovingly
pull them aside and list all the particulars by which we were able to
identify their unintentional deficiency.

Then,
together, we will devise a suitable correction.

And in this way, the
race will go on.

Sincerely,

Ken Byron

115 Delton Way

Leadville, PA 13246

Next night, walking out
where it happened, I found her little red bow.

I
brought it in, threw it down on the table, said: My God my God.

Take
a good look at it and also I'm looking at it, said Uncle Matt. And we
won't ever forget it, am I right?

First
thing of course was to find the dogs. Which turns out, they were
holed up back of the—the place where the little kids go, with
the plastic balls in cages, they have birthday parties and so
forth—holed up in this sort of nest of tree debris dragged
there by the Village.

Well
we lit up the debris and then shot the three of them as they ran out.

But
that Mrs. Pearson, who'd seen the whole—well she said there'd
been four, four dogs, and next night we found that the fourth had
gotten into Mullins Run and bit the Elliotts' Sadie and that white
Muskerdoo that belonged to Evan and Millie Bates next door.

Jim
Elliott said he would put Sadie down himself and borrowed my gun to
do it, and did it, then looked me in the eye and said he was sorry
for our loss, and Evan Bates said he couldn't do it, and would I? But
then finally he at least led Muskerdoo out into that sort of field
they call the Concourse, where they do the barbecues and whatnot,
giving it a sorrowful little kick (a gentle kick, there was nothing
mean in Evan) whenever it snapped at him, saying Musker Jesus!—and
then he said
Okay, now
when he was ready for me to do it, and
I did it, and afterwards he said he was sorry for our loss.

Around
midnight we found the fourth one gnawing at itself back of Bourne's
place, and Bourne came out and held the flashlight as we put it down
and helped us load it into the wheelbarrow alongside Sadie and
Muskerdoo, our plan being—Dr. Vincent had said this was best—to
burn those we found, so no other animal would—you know, via
feeding on the corpses—in any event, Dr. Vincent said it was
best to burn them.

When
we had the fourth in the wheelbarrow my Jason said: Mr. Bourne, what
about Cookie?

Well
no I don't believe so, said Bourne.

He
was an old guy and had that old-guy tenderness for the dog, it being
pretty much all he had left in the world, such as for example he
always called it
friend-of-mine
, as in: How about a walk,
friend-of-mine?

But
she is mostly an outside dog? I said.

She
is almost completely an outside dog, he said. But still, I don't
believe so.

And
Uncle Matt said: Well, Lawrence, I for one am out here tonight trying
to be certain. I think you can understand that.

I
can, Bourne said, I most certainly can.

And
Bourne brought out Cookie and we had a look.

At
first she seemed fine, but then we noticed she was doing this funny
thing where a shudder would run through her and her eyes would all of
a sudden go wet, and Uncle Matt said: Lawrence, is that something
Cookie would normally do?

Well,
ah . . . said Bourne.

And
another shudder ran through Cookie.

Oh
Jesus Christ, said Mr. Bourne, and went inside.

Uncle
Matt told Seth and Jason to trot out whistling into the field and
Cookie would follow, which she did, and Uncle Matt ran after, with
his gun, and though he was, you know, not exactly a runner, still he
kept up pretty good just via sheer effort, like he wanted to make
sure this thing got done right.

Which
I was grateful to have him there, because I was too tired in mind and
my body to know what was right anymore, and sat down on the porch,
and pretty soon heard this little pop.

Then
Uncle Matt trotted back from the field and stuck his head inside and
said: Lawrence do you know, did Cookie have contact with other dogs,
was there another dog or dogs she might have played with, nipped,
that sort of thing?

Oh
get out, get away, said Bourne.

Lawrence
my God, said Uncle Matt. Do you think I like this? Think of what
we've been through. Do you think this is fun for me, for us?

There was a long
silence and then Bourne said well all he could think of was that
terrier at the Rectory, him and Cookie sometimes played when Cookie
got off her lead.

WHEN
WE GOT to the Rectory, Father Terry said he was sorry for our loss,
and brought Merton out, and we watched a long time and Merton never
shuddered and his eyes remained dry, you know, normal.

Looks
fine, I said.

Is
fine, said Father Terry. Watch this: Merton, genuflect.

And
Merton did this dog stretchy thing where he sort of like bowed.

Could
be fine, said Uncle Matt. But also could be he's sick but just at an
early stage.

We'll
have to be watchful, said Father Terry.

Yes,
although, said Uncle Matt. Not knowing how it spreads and all, could
it be we're in a better-safe-than-sorry type of situation? I don't
know, I truly don't know. Ed, what do you think?

And
I didn't know what I thought. In my mind I was all the time just
going over it and over it, the before, the after, like her stepping
up on that footstool to put that red bow in, saying these like lady
phrases to herself, such as Well Who Will Be There, Will There Be
Cakes?

I
hope you are not suggesting putting down a perfectly healthy dog,
said Father Terry.

And
Uncle Matt produced from his shirt pocket a red bow and said: Father,
do you have any idea what this is and where we found it?

But
it was not the real bow, not Emily's bow, which I kept all the time
in my pocket, it was a pinker shade of red and was a little bigger
than the real bow, and I recognized it as having come from our
Karen's little box on her dresser.

No
I do not know what that is, said Father Terry. A hair bow?

I
for one am never going to forget that night, said Uncle Matt. What we
all felt. I for one am going to work to make sure that no one ever
again has to endure what we had to endure that night.

I
have no disagreement with that at all, said Father Terry.

It
is true you don't know what this is, Uncle Matt said, and put the bow
back in his pocket. You really really have no experience whatsoever
of what this is.

Ed,
Father Terry said to me. Killing a perfectly healthy dog has nothing
to do with—

Possibly
healthy but possibly not, said Uncle Matt. Was Cookie bitten? Cookie
was not. Was Cookie infected? Yes she was. How was Cookie infected?
We do not know. And there is your dog, who interacted with Cookie in
exactly the same way that Cookie interacted with the known infected
animal, namely through being in close physical proximity.

It
was funny about Uncle Matt, I mean funny as in great, admirable, this
sudden stepping up to the plate, because previously—I mean,
yes, he of course loved the kids, but had never been particularly—I
mean he rarely even spoke to them, least of all to Emily, her being
the youngest. Mostly he just went very quietly around the house,
especially since January when he'd lost his job, avoiding the kids
really, a little ashamed almost, as if knowing that, when they grew
up, they would never be the out-of-work slinking-around uncle, but
instead would be the owners of the house where the out-of-work
slinking uncle etc., etc.

But
losing her had, I suppose, made him realize for the first time how
much he loved her, and this sudden strength—focus, certainty,
whatever—was a comfort, because tell the truth I was not doing
well at all—I had always loved autumn and now it was full
autumn and you could smell woodsmoke and fallen apples but all of the
world, to me, was just, you know, flat.

It
is like your kid is this vessel that contains everything good. They
look up at you so loving, trusting you to take care of them, and then
one night—what gets me, what I can't get over, is that while
she was being—while what happened was happening, I was—I
had sort of snuck away downstairs to check my e-mail, see, so that
while—while what happened was happening, out there in the
schoolyard, a few hundred yards away, I was sitting there
typing—typing!—which, okay, there is no sin in that,
there was no way I could have known, and yet—do you see what I
mean? Had I simply risen from my computer and walked upstairs and
gone outside and for some reason, any reason, crossed the schoolyard,
then, believe me, there is not a dog in the world, no matter how
crazy—

And
my wife felt the same way and had not come out of our bedroom since
the tragedy.

So
Father you are saying no? said Uncle Matt. You are refusing?

I
pray for you people every day, Father Terry said. What you are going
through, no one ever should have to go through.

Don't
like that man, Uncle Matt said as we left the Rectory. Never have and
never will.

And
I knew that. They had gone to high school together and there had been
something about a girl, some last-minute prom-date type of situation
that had not gone in Uncle Matt's favor, and I think some shoving on
a ball field, some name-calling, but all of this was years ago,
during like say the Kennedy administration.

He
will not observe that dog properly, said Uncle Matt. Believe me. And
if he does notice something, he won't do what is necessary. Why?
Because it is his dog.
His
dog. Everything that's his? It's
special, above the law.

I
don't know, I said. Truly I don't.

He
doesn't get it, said Uncle Matt. He wasn't there that night, he
didn't see you carrying her inside.

Which,
tell the truth, Uncle Matt hadn't seen me carrying her inside either,
having gone out to rent a video—but still, yes, I got his drift
about Father Terry, who had always had a streak of ego, with that
silver hair with the ripples in it, and also he had a weight set in
the Rectory basement and worked out twice a day and had, actually, a
very impressive physique, which he showed off, I felt—we all
felt—by ordering his priest shirts perhaps a little too tight.

Next
morning during breakfast Uncle Matt was very quiet and finally said
well he might be just a fat little unemployed guy who hadn't had the
education some had, but love was love, honoring somebody's memory was
honoring somebody's memory, and since he had no big expectations for
his day, would I let him borrow the truck, so he could park it in the
Burger King lot and keep an eye on what was going on over at the
Rectory, sort of in memory of Emily?

And
the thing was, we didn't really use that truck anymore and so—it
was a very uncertain time, you know, and I thought: Well, what if it
turns out Merton really is sick, and somehow gets away and attacks
someone else's—so I said yes, he could use the truck.

He
sat all Tuesday morning and Tuesday night, I mean not leaving the
truck once, which for him—he was not normally a real dedicated
guy, if you know what I mean. And then Wednesday night he came
charging in and threw a tape in the VCR and said watch, watch this.

And
there on the TV was Merton, leaning against the Rectory fence,
shuddering, arching his back, shuddering again.

So
we took our guns and went over.

Look
I know I know, said Father Terry. But I'm handling it here, in my own
way. He's had enough trouble in his life, poor thing.

Say
what? said Uncle Matt. Trouble in his life? You are saying to this
man, this father, who has recently lost—the dog has had
trouble
in his life
?

Well,
however, I should say—I mean, that was true. We all knew about
Merton, who had been brought to Father Terry from this bad area, one
of his ears sliced nearly off, plus it had, as I understood it, this
anxiety condition, where it would sometimes faint because dinner was
being served, I mean, it would literally pass out due to its own
anticipation, which, you know, that couldn't have been easy.

Ed,
said Father Terry. I am not saying Merton's trouble is, I am not
comparing Merton's trouble to your—

Christ
let's hope not, Uncle Matt said.

All's
I'm saying is I'm losing something too, said Father Terry.

Ho
boy, said Uncle Matt. Ho boy ho boy.

Ed,
my fence is high, said Father Terry. He's not going anywhere, I've
also got him on a chain in there. I want him to—I want it to
happen here, just him and me. Otherwise it's too sad.

You
don't know from sad, said Uncle Matt.

Sadness
is sadness, said Father Terry.

Blah
blah blah, said Uncle Matt. I'll be watching.

WELL LATER THAT WEEK
this dog Tweeter Deux brought down a deer in the woods between the
TwelvePlex and the Episcopal Church, and that Tweeter Deux was not a
big dog, just, you know, crazed, and how the DeFrancinis knew she had
brought down a deer was, she showed up in their living room with a
chewed-off foreleg.

And that night—well
the DeFrancini cat began racing around the house, and its eyes took
on this yellow color, and at one point while running it sort of
locked up and skidded into the baseboard and gave itself a
concussion.

Which
is when we realized the problem was bigger than we had initially
thought.

The
thing was, we did not know and could not know how many animals had
already been infected—the original four dogs had been at large
for several days before we found them, and any animal they might have
infected had been at large for nearly two weeks now, and we did not
even know the precise method of infection—was it bites, spit,
blood, was something leaping from coat to coat? We knew it could
happen to dogs, it appeared it could happen to cats—what I'm
saying is, it was just a very confusing and frightening time.