Every Boy Should Have a Man

3 A Proper Kennel

The sermon was about loving all creatures great and small, and the boy, who usually fidgeted in church, listened today with attentiveness to the sacred speaker’s words. It seemed to the boy that the sacred speaker, who was also his history teacher at school, was addressing the message especially to him as they kept making eye contact.

“And now we come to the mans,” spake the sacred speaker. “Of all great nature’s creatures, he is the most like us in appearance and habit. There are those among us who say that the mans are related to us. In truth, they are like unto us in appearance. Their life span is but a third of ours, but the stages they go through are identical to those that we go through. Like us, they are hunters. Left on their own in the wilds, they dominate the other creatures, hunting and harvesting them as they see fit. They can use simple tools. They can build shelter, of a sort. Indeed, some among the educated say that mans are related to us. Some go so far as to speculate that we are descended from them. That they are an unevolved form of us. Or that from the mixing of their blood and angels’, came we. I don’t know anything about that. I know only that great scripture says that we have dominion over them as we have dominion over all beasts. This does not mean that we are to abuse and mistreat them. This means that we must be wise stewards of the land and all the creatures in it. We must not abuse them when they are our pets. We must not overhunt them in the wild. We must see to it that their natural habitats in our forests and our swamps, in our seas and our mountains, in our deserts and our frozen places, are protected from overhunting and from the encroachment of our civilizations. The other day, I took my son on an adventure to the southernmost end of our continent, just before the place where the great sea abuts the sandy shore and to the west where flows the great river of grass. And we did walk in our water shoes to the very end of our civilization where the land becomes more water than soil. We were in the swamp of the crocodilians and the mans. We were in the swamp that is named the Eternal Grass. There were birds aplenty, amazing aviators and hunters these. Wading with legs like long reeds in deep water, these feathered fowl of the water and of the air hunted with long snakelike necks and sharp swordlike beaks the abundance of fish swimming in schools around their submerged feet. There were enormous turtles there with leathern shells and varicolored faces, sunning themselves on the rocks as they watched the hunting of the birds. There were creeping creatures, furry rodents scurrying up the trees and slithery snakes making their way through the grasses. There lurked by the hundreds the large somber scavengers in black, the hunchbacked and hooked-face vultures. And there were other birds, hundreds of other birds, flitting through the sunlit skies, loudly singing their various songs, their boisterous cacophony of joy — joy at being alive — alive, yes, alive and happy to be in that moment right then and there in that holy tabernacle of nature. In this wet place, in this place of water and soil and grass, life abounded in all its diversity. We watched from a safe distance and with respectful caution the lesser masters of the food chain of that region, the proud and awful crocodilians, the giant swamp lizards, the le-gators. Among all the creatures that walk on land or swim in sea, the le-gator possesses the most powerful bite. We were warned by the guide that the le-gator will eat anything that it can catch, including my son and myself if we were not careful. And while it looks slow and ungainly as it drags its large bulk out of the swamp to sun itself on the shore, we were cautioned that it has amazing and surprising speed, which was demonstrated when a le-gator, at rest on the shore, accelerated suddenly and caught and ate a large white-feathered bird which had been standing a seemingly safe dozen or so hla-cubits away. When the le-gator finished its feathern meal, it roared loudly, a roar that set all winged creatures to flight, and it slunk its bulk back into the water and swam out to the middle of the pond, its eyes and nostrils the only parts of its dragon-serpent body above the waterline. The guide explained to us that the le-gator, which was once hunted almost to extinction by our kind, is now plenteous again in the swamplands of the Eternal Grass after strict laws prevented hunting and poaching of the magnificent beast. The le-gator, as powerful and ferocious as it is, has but one enemy in nature, and that enemy is man. But where is man, the greater master of the food chain? my son and I wondered as we watched the great le-gator’s leisurely swim. Then the guide cried, Look over there! as they burst through the trees — about a dozen of them — carrying long sticks sharpened on stone. These were not the mans that we have as pets. These were not the mans that we see in zoos or who perform for us at our circuses and festivals. These were feral mans — wild mans in their natural environment — with their lithe, naked little bodies covered over in dirt and mud. The stench of them reached foully across the pond to us, and we had to put our hands over our nostrils. They were the breed with lidless eyes and pale skin, though it was hard to judge the skin pigmentation with all of that dirt and filth on it. One of them had a length of braided twine, which he flung with perfect skill and aim around the neck of the great swimming le-gator that had just devoured the bird. As a team they hauled the le-gator up onto the shore — it took all of them pulling on the braided twine, for this le-gator was a monstrous creature that was easily the size of any three of them put together — and it fought against their makeshift rope, twisting and turning, whipping its great tail frantically, and snapping its mighty jaws dangerously. But there were no casualties of the swamp mans that day, as the nimble creatures danced out of the way of both whipping tail and snapping jaws. They stabbed him many times with the pointed sticks, and we watched in awe as the mighty le-gator began to weaken. Now the le-gator, in desperation, turned his face toward the swamp again, hoping to escape into the safety of the water. His legs clawed the muddy shore helplessly. The mans stabbed him a few times more with the sharpened sticks, and the le-gator with a final, loud roar yielded his life to death. Briefly did they look down upon his body with a kind of quiet reverence, and then they dragged it into the forest and were gone. Man is indeed dangerous in his beauty, invention, and skill. Among beasts, he sits at the top of the food chain. He is a top predator, as are we. But unlike us, man is not wasteful. He does not eat more than he needs. He does not hunt for sport or industry. He gives back to nature as much as he takes. He is at one with his environment.”

The boy nodded his head. The sacred speaker seemed to nod back.

On his days off, the father would call the boy out to the backyard and they would work on the proper kennel that he was building for their female man. Until it was completed, she would, as required by the law, sleep in the house.

The proper kennel was three hla-cubits tall and four hla-cubits wide on each side. It would take up more than half of the backyard. Its walls were made of brass mesh and wood, its roof constructed of tin. When it was finished, it would have two windows of glass — one that looked beyond the yard, and one that faced the window of the boy’s room.

The work was not difficult, but time-consuming and costly because of the legal constraints.

The father complained to the boy one day as they worked, “It would not be so bad if the authorities didn’t come by every day to check on our progress. There is wood that is less expensive we could use. We could chop down a tree, but they won’t let us. Chopping down trees is against the law. Trees are protected by the law! We must use these expensive, store-bought boards to build a house for a man — a pet! I guess that’s just fine if you have the silver to throw away. And the roof does not have to be made of tin. We have old boards lying around the yard that would make a perfect roof, but it will not pass inspection. And the proper lock — where will we find the money to pay for a proper lock? And then turn around and pay for the lock on the door she broke on the home of the wealthy! Where are we going to find the money? Everything is about money. I am a loader, I make very little money. My pockets are not weighted down with silver, but here I am building this expensive house for a man! If she were not pregnant, I would kick her for the mess she has gotten us into. If she were not pregnant, I would beat her with a big stick. If she were not pregnant, I would put her to fight at the circus. If she were not pregnant, I would sell her as meat and pay for this expensive house I am building. And when the litter is born, can I sell it to make back some of my money? No. Instead I must surrender the litter to the wealthy! I could surely save a lot of money by just allowing them to remove her thumbs. I could surely save a lot of money by selling her for meat and then moving us all into this expensive house of hers that we are building. I would surely be better off if I lived as a pet. The government protects pets! What about protecting people?”

The boy, with tears in his eyes, passed the boards and the nails as his father labored and complained.

His female man, watching them, sat on the grass with her legs folded beneath her and drummed her thumbs on her expanding globe of a stomach.

The boy rubbed his eyes red and wondered at his female man drumming her pregnant stomach with her thumbs. Did she understand what his father was saying? That her thumbs would be removed to prevent her from breaking into houses and other mans’ proper kennels?

He looked at her face, which appeared to have understanding. She seemed full of fear as she drummed her thumbs. She seemed full of fear and indecision.

“When I was a boy,” spake the sacred speaker, “there were almost no mans left in the swamplands of the Eternal Grass because they had been hunted to near extinction. They were hunted for food, of course, and captured alive to be sold as pets, for they are easily domesticated and are loyal to their owners. I was told that back in those days, their number fell from several million to less than a few dozen in the swamplands. But stricter laws, which banned hunting out of season and which declared vast areas of the swamplands as a natural preserve for the mans, have brought their numbers back to a sustainable level. The last post — hunting season count put their number at close to half a million, which is a good thing for us, because without mans the swamplands were dying. The water was disappearing. The le-gator number was increasing, which meant the number of birds was decreasing, which meant the number of fish was increasing because there were no birds to feed on them, but they were sickly fish because the water was drying up. The swamplands smelled of death and decay. You see, man is not only a hunter that keeps the le-gator numbers in check, but a specialized herbivore that removes millions of pounds of deadly vines and weeds which clog the waterways of the swamplands. He feeds on these plants, which help in his digestion, and he also uses them to build the crude nest he calls a home. Man keeps the deadly weeds and choking vines in check. Man keeps the swamplands alive. Man is an essential part of the life system of the swamplands. Man brings life.”

The boy bowed his head and made a reverent sound.

In the last week of the female man’s pregnancy, the boy put on her leash and took her to the circus to see the fighting mans.

These were professional fighting mans, and the fights were exciting, with lots of punching and scratching and biting, as biting was legal in professional fights. His female man watched each fight with interest. At the end of each bout, the boy would point to the winning combatant and say to her, “Oh, he’s not so tough. You could beat him, couldn’t you?”

And she would nod her agreement and fire angry punches into the air, fighting an invisible opponent.

As they were leaving, they passed the stands where the singing mans were singing, and he felt a tug on her leash. He told her, “Okay,” and she led him to the sound of music.

Onstage there was a man playing the singing harp, after that two female mans came on and played a colored flute and banged on a tinny drum, and finally three singing mans in blue appeared.

The boy and his female man leaned toward the stage to get a better look as the mans sang. Indeed, it was the three singing mans owned by the wealthy boy they had met at the field.

The one with the lidless eyes, the fattest of the trio, waved his fingers at the female man and she waved back.

As they sang, his female man shed tears and pouted.

When it was over, the boy went behind the stage to where the owners were leashing their mans after the performance.

The wealthy boy who owned the three singing mans in blue saw him and said, “They were good, weren’t they?”

“They were very good,” the boy answered.

“Has your father finished building the proper kennel yet?”

“Yes, she sleeps in it every night. She likes it a whole lot.”

He did not tell the wealthy boy that because of the cost of building the proper kennel, their meals of late had been meager and many nights he had gone to bed with an anguished stomach that grumbled.

The wealthy boy was nibbling on a meat stick as he leashed his three singing mans. The poor boy watched the meat stick, his stomach grumbling. The wealthy boy caught him eyeing the meat stick, and the poor boy turned away.

The wealthy boy said, “Here, you can have one.” He opened his sack and the poor boy saw inside, and there were meat sticks and candy rolls and sweet breads and every treat that a boy at a circus could ever want. The wealthy boy reached into the sack, withdrew a meat stick, and handed it over.

The poor boy thanked him and pushed the meat stick into his own empty sack and said, “I’ll save it for later.”

The wealthy boy passed him a sweet bread from the sack. “Friend, you’re at the circus,” he reasoned most kindly. “Eat something now.”

The poor boy tore open the sweet bread and popped a piece of it into his mouth where its softness dissolved in a sugary deliciousness on his tongue.

As they ate their circus breads, the wealthy boy and the poor watched their mans.

The one with the lidless eyes was talking to the poor boy’s female man. They listened as the man with the lidless eyes told her, “I will always be here. You never have to fear. I am your song bird forever and ever.”

“The silly things mans say,” said the wealthy boy.

“I once had a man that talked.”

“Did you really?”

“I only had him for a week. He belonged to the mayor’s wife. He was a runaway. I had to give him back. But then my father bought this one for me.”

“She’s beautiful,” the wealthy boy said. “I like her hair cloths. Where did you get them?”

“My mother made them,” the poor boy answered.

And they watched their mans and smiled with fascination when the one with the lidless eyes sang to the female man, “There is no reason to fear. I will always be here. I will always be here.”

She made a cooing sound and touched his face with the back of her hand.

“There is no reason to fear,” he sang, holding a high, beautiful note.

The wealthy boy said to the poor, “I think we’re going to have to separate them before they go at it again and we get in trouble.”

The poor boy agreed. “It’s time for us to get home anyway. Thanks for the snacks.”

The compassionate wealthy boy waved it off. “It’s nothing. You want more?”

“If it’s not too much trouble.”

And the poor boy opened his sack, and the wealthy boy dumped all of the treats from his own sack into it. They shook hands as friends.

Then they created a secret handshake that only they two would share.

The poor boy said, “I’m sorry she bit you. She doesn’t like strangers.”

“It didn’t hurt all that much. I’m sorry about what my father’s doing to you and your man, and I hope we can always be friends.”

“Friends forever and ever,” the poor boy said.

And the poor boy and his female man left the circus grounds and went home.

“In the frozen regions of the north, we hunted the mans of the snow unto near extinction. Then we began to notice that the great white beos were vanishing too — and the great northern deer, and the great white wulf. The only creature on the increase was that pest, that vermin, the great white rat. It seems that the mans of the snow kept the great white beos in check. Left to their own devices, the great white beos overhunted the great northern deer — without the deer, the great white wulvs also began to decline in number, and then the beos too, as they were eating up their entire food supply, the deer! So, we emptied our zoos and reintroduced the mans of the snow to the icy frozen regions of the north. Twenty years later, their number is again close to what it once was, and not surprisingly the great white beo, the great northern deer, and the great white wulf have returned to plenteousness. The only creature whose number has declined is the pest, the great white rat. Great nature was set in motion by a lord wiser and mightier than we. He created nature and made of it a perfect balance. And in the frozen north, the mans of the snow are important to keeping the rigid line of balance on the scales of that life system. Without balance, there is death and decay. Remove mans and the ice melts into bloody water. A world without mans is a world without us all.”

The boy nodded his head, silently mouthing the sacred speaker’s words: Perfect balance. A world without man… a world without us all.

The baby man — there was only one — was born with much wailing and pain.

She was born at night — she was, like her mother, a female man — and the boy stayed by his window peering at the candle in the window of her proper kennel until the cries of a mother’s agony were replaced by the sweeter cry of the newborn baby man.

As soon as he heard that, the boy ran outside and into the proper kennel where they all were gathered.

His mother was holding the baby female man in her arms and kissy-cooing her, and his smiling father was looking over his mother’s shoulder and kissy-cooing too. His father hadn’t mentioned anything about the cost of anything since she had gone into labor three and a half hours ago.

His father gushed, “She’s beautiful. She’s absolutely beautiful. The miracle of birth.”

“She’s beautiful like her mother, with red hair,” the boy’s mother said.

The boy pushed between them to see the tiny being in his mother’s arms. He exclaimed, “She’s got lidless eyes like the singing man and frecks all over her face like her mother!”

His female man made a weak plaintive sound in her throat and held out her arms, and the boy’s mother placed the baby in her arms, and she held her child and kissed its face and nuzzled its wisps of bright red hair. She smiled warmly as she blessed the infant’s pinkish face with kisses.

The boy and his family watched the female man and her child, and she fed her child, and a sweet sound came from its chest, and it rested its head on its mother’s chest and went to sleep.

In the morning, before the sun rose, she came into the house and lifted the small singing harp from its pedestal. They followed her out to the proper kennel and looked on as she played the harp for the child. The harp sang a familiar lullaby: “Go to sleep, go to sleep, all is well, all will be well when you awaken, sweet one.”

There were tears in the boy’s mother’s eyes, and his father held her. “Don’t cry, sweet one. All is well,” he told her. “All will be well.”

She said through sighs, “I sewed some cloths for the baby’s hair. For when she has more hair.”

“Maybe they’ll allow her to keep them,” the father comforted.

“But will they allow her to keep the baby?” the mother sobbed.

The father breathed a gloomy sigh. “All will be well,” he said.

It was early in the morning before the sun, and the father went to work, and then the mother, and the boy looked in on his female man and her baby man one more time and then latched the door of the proper kennel with its proper lock and went to school.

“In the western forests, we hunted the mans of the forest to near extinction. They were not the most appetizing, being lean and tough-muscled, but they made the best pets, for their nature was loyal and they had the gift of speech and mimicry. They could work in the mines. They could be bred with other man-forms to produce singing mans, and musical mans, and art mans, and thinker mans, and seer mans for the blind. But the tygas began to disappear. Then the olyphant. Then the red-breasted sparrow. Then the spiny roos. The green grass became black sand. And you may venture a guess as to how we solved the crisis in the western forests. We apologized to great nature for our error and returned things to the way they used to be. We had tampered selfishly without considering the consequences of our actions. We look at great nature and we see chaos and disorder. But seeing is a way of not seeing. We think that we can go in and straighten out the randomness and bring order. Build a dam here. Build a bridge there. Remove this life-form in large numbers here because it looks prettier over there. Seeing is a way of not seeing. It is a paradox, but true: the randomness and seeming chaos of great nature brings vibrant life in all its forms; the order and straightening out that our kind imposes on great nature brings death and decay. It is a paradox, indeed: order is death; disorder is life. We are cursed to have to learn this lesson again and again. In order to solve the crisis in the forests, we brought back the mans of the forest. The green of grass is the skin of the earth. Man scratches the skin when it itches. Soon the tygas were back and then the olyphants, the red-breasted sparrows, and the spiny roos. The despoiled grass grew green again. The lesson here is take what you need from great nature, but don’t overtake. And don’t fix great nature — it isn’t broken.”

“It isn’t broken,” repeated the boy who owned the female man.

That evening as the boy, his mother, and his father were eating their dinner, there came a knock at the door.

The boy opened the door and there was his friend, the wealthy boy, but also his father.

There were other people with them, some of them looking important in uniforms or professional clothes. There were documents in their hands to be signed, and his father signed them wordlessly. His mother sat at the table, sighing with her head in her hands.

After the signing was done, one of the professionals who had come with the group asked, “Where is the infant man?”

The boy’s father said, “She’s in the back with her mother. There is a proper kennel in the back.”

The professional asked, “Do we need light?”

The father shook his head. “No. There is light back there,” he said, then led them through the grand room to the back of the house.

The wealthy boy walked side by side with the poor, upon whose shoulder his hand rested. “You can come over every day to see her. You can bring your man over every day to see her. So it will be like your new home, except that it’s at my house. You can visit anytime you want, I promise.”

Solemnly did the boys exchange their secret handshake.

When they got there, the door to her proper kennel would not open. The female man had propped something against it and they could hear the baby man crying inside.

The professionals looked in through the window and found her crouched down low. A plank of wood she had torn from an inside wall was angled against the door. Against this she pressed to keep them from entering.

One of the professionals nodded his head and another smiled. “Smart little female man,” one said admiringly.

They leaned against the glass of the window, and when it broke, they reached inside and grabbed her. One of them strapped the muzzle over her face. The other picked up the baby and handed it to the wealthy boy’s father.

His mother quietly wept, his father stood there with a hand over his mouth, and the boy restrained in his arms his muzzled female man, who clutched desperately for her child.

The boy shushed her and gently comforted, “It’s going to be okay. I promise.”

His mother quoted great scripture through her tears: “A mother gives life to her child. A mother gives her life for her child.”

His father put his arms around his mother. “It’ll be okay, beloved. I promise.” He added gloomily, “She is but an animal.”

His mother quoted scripture: “There is no sound in the world more sorrowful than a mother grieving her child.”

When it was over, the boy stayed with his man in her proper kennel until she had ceased to weep. When she was finally asleep, he went back into the house and into his room where he sat by the window and stared out into the backyard. He fell asleep that night sitting up in bed by the window that looked out onto her proper kennel.

And the candle in the window of her proper kennel no longer burned.

Before the boy went to school the next morning, he brought out her food, but she was despondent and would not eat.

When he returned from school that afternoon and went straightway out to see her, she was asleep. He did not want to wake her, so he went back into the house.

As they ate their meal that evening, his mother said, “I think it is so cruel to take her baby like that. In my head, I keep hearing the baby crying. The cry is so sweet. It makes me so sad.”

His father said, “Well, she’s just an animal. She’ll probably forget all about it in a day or two. They’re not as attached to their children as we are.”

His mother said, “The baby still cries in my head. I wish it would stop.”

The boy jumped up from the table and ran out through the back door, shouting, “I hear the baby too, Mother, but not in my head!”

His father hollered after him, “Where are you going?”

They listened, but now there was silence in the back — there was not even the sound of the baby’s crying in the mother’s head.

The boy came back inside holding the baby.

His female man walked beside him.

His mother gasped.

The boy explained, “We should have fixed the glass window in her proper kennel, Father. She broke out and went and got her. When I looked in on her after school she was sleeping, but I thought I heard a baby. She had hidden her behind her body to keep her from my sight.”

His father said, “Well, now, this is bad. She broke out of her proper kennel and broke into their house again. This is very bad.”

“They’re coming again. You know that they are coming,” said his mother frantically. “How much more of this can I take?”

“What are we going to do?” asked the boy.

“There’s nothing we can do now but wait,” said his father.

The female man had her hands out and the boy placed her baby gently into them. The baby made contented sounds as it received milk from its mother.

There was still food on the table, but nobody was eating as they watched the female man nurse her baby and then rock her to sleep.

There was still food on the table, and after a while the boy’s mother got up and put everything away.

It was three days before they came.

This time they took both the infant and its mother.

When they brought her back late that night, her eyes were red from crying and both her hands were bandaged.

The professional who brought her back had papers for the father to sign and instructions on what was to happen next.

“You will be billed for the broken lock on the house she burgled. You will be billed for the medicals of those she bit. She bit the father, the mother, and their boy. They are nice people. They don’t deserve this,” he lectured. “And this is the bill for her medicals.” He handed the father a folded card and a bottle. “This is the medication for her hands. Do not remove the bandages for two days. When you do remove them, rub this ointment generously on the place where her thumbs used to be. The doctor says that she should be back to normal in about a week. One thing is for sure — she won’t be stealing other people’s property anymore.”

They all heard the sound and looked up. The weeping female man was in the grand room plucking the strings of the small singing harp, but without thumbs she could not make it sing properly.

The small singing harp sang, “Baabveee, baabveee, baabveee, baabveee.”

It sounded vaguely like a song they knew. They could make out neither the tune nor the words, but it made them all very sad.

She never touched the small singing harp again after that night.

The wealthy boy continued to be the best friend of the poor boy, but his father would not let him keep his promise to have the female man come to visit and nurse her child.

He explained, “My father says that she is dangerous. It would be bad to have her around the baby man. She might try to harm it.”

After that the female man became deeply dejected, though she lived another four months — one full man year — before the boy found her unmoving and unbreathing on her bedding in her proper kennel.

When they buried her in the backyard beside her proper kennel, the boy cried out, “Oh Red Sleeves, oh Red Sleeves.”

The doctor said that she had died of a heart condition that was common among that breed.

But the boy believed, and always would, that she had died of a heart that was simply and irreparably broken.

“We are the rulers of this earth, which the lord great creator did give us to rule. On earth there is none greater than we. That which we envision we can build. That which we desire we can have. All that we desire we can have. But should we have it all since we can have it all? Should we take it all? And if we take it all, then what becomes of it? And after it is gone, and there is no more, what becomes of us? No creature on earth can say us nay. We as wise stewards of the earth are the only creatures that can say us nay. We must learn to say us nay,” spake the sacred speaker.

And the boy lowered his head to hide the wetness in his eyes.