Occasionally the sheer number of dogs caused a disturbance among them—a dachshund would get too close to a boxer, a corgi would inadvertently step on a retriever’s paw—but a little fight had never bothered him much. He liked a little fight in a dog.
Over the months the dogs accumulated until he stopped counting their numbers. He simply knew he had more dogs than furniture, more dogs than words he wanted to share with anyone. He wasn’t sure when he had stopped getting up: a Doberman had ripped the calendar off the wall and eaten the pages—one centerfold pose at a time, Miss July, Miss August, the mighty Miss September. He’d laughed at that one, cheered the beast on, especially that evening when the dog shit some glossy nakedness out. The goddamned chihuahua had knocked the alarm clock off onto the floor, where it was quickly covered by a heaving mass of canine bodies. Not that he ever wanted to look at the time again, but he’d never cared much for hairless dogs.
“Hey, boys,” he whispered from the bed, making a half-dozen of them move off his back. “Hey, now,” he said, as he rolled over and a shepherd stretched out over his chest, pressing down so hard he could hardly breathe. There were snarls and snaps in answer, and vicious fights he could not see. “So what have you gone and done?” as the air filled with the stench of dead dog.
The children played all afternoon on the wide lawn while their parents drank and played cards inside in the glass-walled room. One of the mothers worried that it might be too hot outside for the younger children, but the man who owned the house said it was fine because his children had always played in such heat with no ill effects. Her husband reassured her and poured another round of drinks. Then the couples traded stories about the resiliency of childhood and they all laughed and shook their heads, even the woman who had been worried.
Outside, the sun had become a great penny of fire. The older children advised the younger children to stare at the fire if they wanted to see the pretty pictures, and the younger children did as they were told even though it hurt.
At the edge of the wide lawn the other creatures gathered and watched.
Inside the glass-walled room the parents put on some music and began to dance. The young children on the lawn outside this room could no longer see through the glass, but they could hear the music and the jumble of noise that was their mommies and daddies laughing. The children moved toward the glass wall, lay down on the lawn and closed their eyes. The mother who had worried at first was glad her children weren’t in the room, because she wanted to forget them for a change, forget herself and have some fun.
Outside on the lawn the older children began hitting each other with bats. When one fell to his knees the others gathered around him, hitting him until the boy collapsed completely on the lawn and soft matter oozed into the grass. Some of the children continued to hit him with their bats because they liked the loud, soft sound his body made. The other creatures on the edge of the lawn continued to watch, but a few brave ones crept from cover to perch on the mowed portion of the lawn itself.
Inside the glass-walled room, the parents continued to laugh and dance, wondering why they’d never gotten together like this before. The mother who had worried wondered why she’d had so many children in the first place. She loved her children but they wanted so much, needed so much, that sometimes it seemed there must be dozens of them grasping, pushing, mouths open to be fed. It shamed her to be thinking like this. But sometimes the sheer numbers of children in the world filled her with terror.
Outside on the wide lawn the older children joined their bloody hands and raced down the long slope toward the wild edge below, leaving the younger children and the dead boy lying still on the hot grass. At the bottom of the slope the other creatures all entered the lawn and crept up the hill.
Inside the room the parents turned down the music and gathered at one wall of the glass. The couples held each other and smiled. Some of their children lay sleeping peacefully on the lawn, or rubbing their eyes and yawning as if impatient for sleep. The mother who had worried saw her youngest there, watching the sky.
The woman peered outside the glass down the slope of the lawn looking for her other two children, seeing nothing but a great cloud of insects in the hot summer air, and below them a gathering of eyes as the immensity of the world looked back at her.
HOW TO SURVIVE A FIRE AT THE GREENMARK
The issuance of this guide is not meant to imply that St. Louis’ historic Greenmark Hotel is more prone to fire than any other hotel of comparable size and age. In fact, we believe the Greenmark’s safety record to be superior or equal to the finest international hotels. But all of us are subject to the whims of fate and the general shiftiness of the cosmos. And none of us is immune to the actions of madmen or hostile foreign governments. So it is simply out of a sense of responsibility for our fellow man (and you, too, ladies) that we provide this list of simple fire safety procedures. Here’s hoping that your stay at the historic Greenmark is a safe and pleasant one indeed!
We may be trying to reach you. Don’t tie up the line. Have some consideration.
Odd, Jane thought, that she’d never before realized the value of pure and simple anger in today’s world. People acted as if something was wrong with you when you were angry, as if you wouldn’t even need to be angry if you just had your shit together.
Well, fuck that. Fuck them.
Nothing better than a pure and righteous anger to scour the mind of all its useless debris. Nothing better to focus yourself, to remind yourself just who the hell you were at this point in time on this particular mud ball careening through soulless space. A healthy bout of anger burned through you like a flash fire, reducing all those little shames and regrets to such a fine ash it was no trouble at all sweeping them out before the next asshole came into your life with a pocket full of fun money and a big-toothed grin.
She’d been seething all day. Combustion was inevitable, and she didn’t give a damn who got burned.
Jane gripped the receiver until her knuckles turned white. The peculiar thing was that even when she willed herself to relax, to let go, the muscles in her hand and arm refused, remaining locked and rigid, as if she had somehow misplaced the key that would release them. “You bastard,” she said. She knew she had been repeating herself. She just didn’t know for how long.
Calling me names isn’t helping things any. I’m going to hang up. I said I was sorry.
“You promised you’d be here. I took the day off and God knows I can’t afford it. I’m lying in this awful, stinking hotel because this is the place you chose. There was a goddamn used condom on the floor when I got here, Richard! Do you have any idea how this makes me feel? It makes me feel like a whore, you bastard!”
I really don’t think this is a fruitful conversation. I’m going to hang up now. Perhaps later when you calm down…
“Goddamn you! If you hang up I’m telling your wife!” The bastard didn’t say anything right away. Jane smiled but it wasn’t a smile she enjoyed. Something was wrong with her jaw. Smiling hurt her face.