Killing the Second Dog

2

IN THE MORNING LOUD NOISES WOKE ME UP. I PULLED ON my pants and walked into the hall. Two men were fighting; one was stretched out on the floor, the other was kicking him in the face with the point of his shoe. The fight was taking place in front of the john. The hunchback cowered in a corner, like a gloomy spider. The two men fighting bumped into me; I kicked one, then the other. Their loud cries woke up other hotel guests who poured out into the hall and pulled them apart; both men yelled for the police.

“What was that all about?” I asked the hunchback.

“Me.”

“What did they want from you?”

“They wanted to touch me.”

“Well, then, I guess you should have let them.”

“It’s not that simple. They both make deals in the city. So you see the problem.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Both believe touching a hunchback brings luck. But only if you touch him first. That’s why they were fighting. They’ve been fighting over me for two years now.”

“And you?”

“What can I do? When things get out of control, I lock myself in the crapper and wait for the cops. They don’t know the truth anyway. My hump is reserved for Azderbal. The old crook comes here every morning before going to the city and he touches me. He pays me ten pounds a month. Though today someone came even earlier and gave me a pound to let him touch first.”

I looked at him. “That was Robert, wasn’t it?”

“Yes. He told me he had to find a new backer. And I let him touch first.”

“And you forgot to tell Azderbal about it, didn’t you?”

“It slipped my mind.”

Soon afterward we went to a small cafe by the sea, Robert, myself, and a man Robert had found to be our backer. He was a quiet man, not much older than me, but with the build of a professional bouncer.

“Is everything clear?” Robert asked.

“Yes.”

“Okay, then give us the money. No point wasting time.”

“I only said everything is clear.” The bouncer shook his head. “I didn’t say I’d give you the money.”

“You didn’t?”

“Look, I need to think it over. And listen, does that goddamn dog of yours …”

“I’ve told you five times already it doesn’t bite,” Robert said. “A strong man like you, how can you be afraid of a dog?”

“The dog may not know if I’m strong or not,” the bouncer said. “And even if it does, it can still bite me out of spite.” He glanced at the dog. “Have you had a vet look him over? He’s got bloodshot eyes.”

“Give us the money,” Robert said. “We haven’t got time to argue with you.”

“I have to think about it a while.”

“Stop playing games,” I said. “Our woman is already in the hotel, somebody making a pass at her this minute. The city’s swarming with guys out to make a quick buck.”

A man came to our table. I could see he’d hit the bottle real hard last night. His face was pale and swollen around the eyes, his hands shaking. He was shabbily dressed and very thin; his frayed shirt, a hand-me-down from someone much taller, hung on him like on a scarecrow. I knew right now, at nine in the morning, with the sun eating away at his eyes, he was feeling miserable.

“Buy me a beer,” he said. “Some day I’ll stand you one.”

“Beat it,” Robert said. “We’re busy.”

“Buy me a beer,” the drunk said again. I could tell by his shrill voice he was unstable: one of those drunks who start crying after the first sip. I took out thirty piastres and handed it to him.

“Here. Go buy yourself a bottle.”

“I wasn’t talking to you,” he said. “I was talking to him.” He pointed to Robert.

“Take the money and beat it.” I stretched out my hand with the thirty piastres showing, but he slapped it away and the coins fell. “That wasn’t very nice,” I said softly. “Leave us alone now.”

This made him angry. He poked me in the chest with his finger. “So you think you’re a better man than me.”

“No.” I got up, grabbed him by the elbow, and dragged him to the door. He tried to resist, but he was so weak I hardly felt anything. The waiters at the door took him off my hands and threw him onto the street. He fell on the pavement, unable to get up. The waiters watched with amusement.

“Don’t hit him,” I said.

“This is a place for respectable customers,” one of them said.

“Not if I’m here.” When I got back to our table, I asked the bouncer, “What’s with the waiters? Why do they like to gang up on drunks?”

“You should know,” he said. “You used to work as one.”

“You know everything about me, don’t you?”

“Only what I was able to find out,” the bouncer said. “I’m the one who’s financing this operation. I have to know who’s working for me.”

“He’s not working for you,” Robert said. “He’s an artist.”

“And how about you? You an artist, too?”

“Of course. I’ve always been one. Nothing can ever change that.”

“Look,” I said to the bouncer, “if you know so much, then you must know the guy who wanted us to buy him a beer.

“I used to.”

“Who is he?”

“We were in the army together,” the bouncer said, “but then his wife left him and he started drinking. He was married to some foreign woman. Now he’s hit bottom. Didn’t even recognize me.”

“Another nut,” Robert said.

“In Israel you drive past a nuthouse every two miles,” the bouncer said. He and Robert continued talking, arguing back and forth really. I stopped listening. I was looking at a dark-haired girl in uniform sitting by the window; she reminded me of a girl who had once invited me to her house and whose mother had fainted when she saw me because I looked exactly like some guy from the SS who had killed her uncle and his kids and forced her to watch. The dark-haired girl paid her check and left. I thought of a man I shared a hotel room with once; he was constructing a bomb he planned to throw at the minister of finance. Since he had no experience at bomb-making, everybody was afraid to stay with him. Then I started thinking of someone else, the brother-in-law of our hotel desk clerk. When his family committed him to a mental hospital, he set the building on fire. All the nuts ran off to some nearby orange grove, dancing and singing, and the cops had to search two days for them and move them to other hospitals all over the country.

Robert left the table to make a phone call. He returned right away in the best of spirits, beaming like shit in heaven.

“Good news!” he said. “We’ve got a kid!”

“Where’d you find him?”

“Didn’t even have to look. Your new bride’s got a kid of her own. She’s a divorcée.” He slapped the bouncer on the arm. “This is a foolproof deal. The woman is a divorcée. No husband, a child in need of a father, and she’s not so young anymore. Everything will work out just fine. Give me the money.”

“Okay,” the bouncer agreed suddenly. “Just write me a receipt.”

“Later. When there’s paper.”

“Write it on a napkin,” the bouncer said. Robert did, but you could tell by the drops of perspiration on his forehead that writing out receipts was not something he enjoyed. The bouncer meanwhile was watching me with the same kind of friendly interest you usually reserve for lizards and spiders.

“Don’t look at me like that,” I told him.

“You won’t con me, will you?” he asked. He was still staring straight at me, but a helpless look had appeared in his eyes. He seemed surprised by the paper napkin. He held it gently between the thumb and forefinger of his left hand. Robert had given the napkin to him in exchange for the money.

“No,” I said. “We never con a partner. You can ask anybody who knows us.”

He kept holding the napkin in his hand. He stared at it for a while and then moved his gaze back to me. “Don’t you ever feel sorry for them?”

“Sometimes I do. Sometimes not at all. I felt sorry for one woman. A teacher from Boston.”

“Boston?”

“That’s right. Name was Louisa. I got a letter from her later.”

“What did she write?”

“Just one word: ‘Why?’ I never wrote back.”

“You should have. If I were you, I would have written her.”

“I don’t know how to answer letters like that,” I said. “Put that receipt in your pocket. If you lose it, Robert won’t give you a new one. I know him pretty well.”

“Right,” the bouncer said. His thick fingers unbuttoned his shirt pocket and he slipped the napkin inside. His eyes were still fixed on mine and it was getting on my nerves. “Wouldn’t you prefer to lead a different life?” he asked.

“I’ve never given it any serious thought.”

He continued to stare at me with a confused and helpless look.

“Don’t you like my face?” I asked. “Well, neither do I. Just imagine how nice it would be if I looked exactly like you. Neither of us would need a mirror to shave.”

“Okay,” Robert said. “Let’s go get the bullets, then pick up his things.”

“What kind of gun do you have?” the bouncer asked.

“A 9-mm pistol.”

“Me, too, so you don’t need to buy any ammo,” the bouncer said. “Just don’t tell anyone where you got it.”

“Don’t worry,” Robert said. “We’ve got a gun permit. Come on, let’s go pick up his things.”

“Where did you leave them?”

“I never said we had them,” Robert said. “You’re the one who’s gonna lend them to us. A suitcase, a few shirts, and so on. He can’t move into the hotel naked and barefoot, can he?”

“You never told me anything about a suitcase and clothes,” the bouncer said.

“I forgot. But I’m telling you now. What’s the difference? Anyway, he doesn’t need much. Only a couple of things. Is your mother alive?”

“Yes,” the bouncer said.

“How old is she?”

“Over sixty.”

“Have you got a picture of her?”

“I can find one.”

“She’ll be his old mother who died a year ago,” Robert explained. “She had cancer, so he went heavily into debt to send her to a Swiss clinic where she was operated on by a famous surgeon. But it didn’t work and she died three weeks after the operation. Her constitution was so weak she had no chance. Now she’s buried in a small green cemetery and he has to pay off his debts. Do you see it now? He needs his passport to leave Israel, but his passport is in the hands of the lawyer who represents the people he owes the money to. All clear?”

“Yes,” the bouncer said. “But he doesn’t look at all like my mother.”

“So what? Hard living has changed his looks completely. Don’t worry about things like that. Leave it to us.”

We went to the bouncer’s house. He lived in a nice area; the windows looked out on Jaffa. We could see the white needle of a minaret and the twisting streets, and we could smell all the familiar smells: fish, grilled meat, and hot copper. While the bouncer was packing clothing into a suitcase, studying each piece separately and folding it carefully like a loving wife, I said to Robert: “You’ve got to stay with me, Bobby.”

“Stay with you? Where?”

“At the hotel.”

“Are you crazy? My being there would only embarrass her.”

“No, it wouldn’t. Just the opposite. Listen, I’ve created a role for you: you’ll be my best pal, the friend who doesn’t want to leave me alone in the middle of my depression. And so on.”

“What do you mean, ‘and so on’?”

“You know how to work out the rest.”

“I don’t like it,” he said.

“Why not? Anyway, I don’t give a shit. I don’t want to be by myself. I told you I don’t believe we’ll succeed this time. I just don’t. So I need you with me.”

“What about the extra cost?”

“We’ll rent the cheapest room. It won’t make such a big difference. Anyway the bellhop who finds us all these broads should be able to get us lower rates. He makes something on this deal, too, doesn’t he? I refuse to be alone, and that’s it.”

“Have you lost your self-confidence?”

“I never had any. Remember, it’s you who created me. Like Disney created Donald Duck.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Have it your way. But if you don’t come with me, I’m not going through with it. Do it yourself. You know the script. I’ll visit you in the hospital. Maybe bring you something to read. If you’re still able to read, that is.”

“This is blackmail.”

“It sure is.”

The bouncer finished packing my suitcase. Standing in front of us, he took off his shirt and wiped the sweat off his body with it, while I watched his rippling muscles. His arm was as thick as a boa constrictor. I burst out laughing, and they both stared at me.

“What are you laughing at?” Robert asked.

“At you, Bobby. Because if this whole deal falls through, it’s you who’ll have to come here and explain to this guy why he won’t be getting his money back. God, won’t that be funny!” I got up and moved to the door. “Bring the suitcase to the hotel. I’m going to get a haircut. See you around, Constrictor!” I added, turning to the bouncer. “If this whole deal, God forbid, falls through, remember it was his idea, not mine. So don’t go chasing after me with that gun of yours. And Bobby, remember to feed the dog. It hasn’t eaten yet. I’ll show up at two. Try to get us a room looking out at the sea, okay? I’d enjoy that.”

As I was leaving, they started to argue again; the bouncer wanted to give Robert the picture of his mother without the silver frame it was displayed in. Robert insisted the frame was indispensable as additional proof of my filial devotion. He drew a vivid picture of me as a penniless beggar who nonetheless refuses to part with the thin silver frame his mother’s picture is set in.

“He could have sold that frame a hundred times,” Robert said, “when he was hungry or ill. But he didn’t! God, you don’t understand the simplest things!”