Killing the Second Dog

6

ROBERT SHOWED UP AT THE BEACH AROUND TEN. HE LOOKED dreadful. It turned out the bouncer had only one bed and they had had to share it. What’s more, the bouncer’s girlfriend dropped in unexpectedly and kicked up a row when she found them in bed together. Somehow they managed to calm her, but then had to share the bed with her, too. The dog slept stretched across their feet.

“The bouncer’s worried about his money,” Robert said. “He kept me awake half the night talking about it.”

“He’ll get his cut,” I said.

“I’ve got a new bride for you.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“We’ll have to start on her as soon as we finish with this one. She’s arriving from the States on the fifteenth and going straight to Tiberias. A bellhop I know told me.”

“But you had to phone him, didn’t you?”

“What’s the difference? As soon as we finish with this one, we’ll go to Tiberias.”

“No,” I said. “It’s too hot over there this time of year. Around 120° in the sun. I’ll suffocate.”

“You’ll be okay. I hear she’s a very nice girl. We have to start looking for a new dog. There’s a bulldog I’d like, but the owner wants eighty pounds. That’s too much.”

“You won’t get a purebred for less.”

“I’ll try.”

“Spot cost us a hell of a lot of money, too.”

“But just think what a dog he is,” he said. “Like a forest fire or a typhoon.”

I glanced at Spot; little Johnny was chasing him.

“I can’t think about him,” I said. “Every time I see him, I begin to feel dizzy. The dog we had before was nothing compared to this one.”

“Yes, Spot is an exceptionally lovable beast. But it can’t be helped.”

“Let’s leave out that part.”

“No, that’s impossible. We might just as well pack our bags and get the hell out of here. Remember, I’m the one responsible for the whole deal. Don’t worry. You’ll have plenty of rest when we get to the Sea of Galilee. Everything will be fine. Just think: you, your despair, the woman you love, the lake Jesus walked across … Listen, that’s not work, that’s pleasure. You can quote from the New Testament to her. Maybe some passage from St. Paul’s First Epistle to the Corinthians, the one on love and charity. A historical spot, love, Arabs shooting at night, your despair, a tornado of sensuality; it should be child’s play.”

“Oh, shut up,” I said. “Even here it’s too hot to breathe. I don’t want to think of Tiberias.”

“Take it easy. You don’t know how to enjoy yourself. How are things going? Okay?”

“Yes.”

“See? I told you.”

“You were right,” I said. “You proved to me what human genius is capable of.”

“Good. I’ll go talk to the bouncer now and try to convince him to back us again. Though I’m afraid he’ll be reluctant to risk any more money.”

“We don’t need him. When we pull off this job, we should have enough money for Tiberias.”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea for us to finance ourselves. I’m sure everything’ll work out fine, but what if it doesn’t? It’s always better if somebody else takes the fall. The same as with a movie production.”

“Only no one will give us an Oscar, no matter how good we are,” I said. “And that’s the bitter truth.”

“You’re an actor, not a star. Remember that. Anyway, Chaplin didn’t get an Oscar either.”

“But he got American dollars in Swiss bank accounts. And all he has to pay is four percent income tax.”

“God willing, one day you’ll be wallowing in money, too. Okay, I’m going. Think of the Sea of Galilee. You’ll have to be in the depths of despair. These broads go for that. Despair above all. Think about it.”

“It’s enough if you do,” I said.

Robert left. Soon afterward I heard a piercing scream, which must have reached the highest heavens. Little Johnny’s sense of humor had led him too far this time: when some lady swam out to sea on an inflatable rubber mattress, he punctured it with his knife, letting all the air escape; the mattress sank almost immediately. I could see the lifeguard holding Johnny under his arm and a crowd trying to resuscitate the poor woman. The lifeguard began walking in my direction, as unrelenting as fate.

“Is this your kid?” he asked, trembling with anger.

“It’s awfully hot,” I said. “Ask me a simpler question.”

“Do you know what I’m going to do now?”

“I have no idea.”

“I’m going to whack his ass so hard he’ll have to crawl on his belly for a week. Everybody’s had enough of him!”

“He’s a good kid,” I said. “Let him go, or the blood will rush to his poor little head.”

“Are you responsible for him?”

“Yes.”

“Are you absolutely sure?”

“That’s right.”

He let go of little Johnny, who then managed to bite his captor somewhere near the liver. The lifeguard threw down his fancy hat with a brass anchor, the word lifeguard stitched on it.

“I’m talking to you as a private person now,” he said to me. “Get up from that deck chair.”

“It’s too hot,” I said. “Come back when the khamsin stops blowing.”

“Be a man!”

The tone of his voice was so imploring, I had to oblige. He hit me in the jaw with such force I fell back on the chair, breaking it to pieces. Then he lost his balance and tumbled down; I grabbed him by the hair and kicked him in the belly. He gasped, but managed to hit me once more. I, too, managed to land a blow with the last of my strength. Then we both sat on the sand, breathing hard.

“I’m afraid we won’t be able to continue,” I said. “I’m out of breath. It’s because of this goddamn wind.”

“You’re right,” he said. “I feel kind of weak myself today. What I need is a cup of strong coffee.”

“Your legwork is lousy. That’s why you lost your balance.”

“And you don’t know how to kick. You were aiming at my gut, but you got me in the groin.”

“Too bad I don’t know karate,” I said. “If I did, I could kill you by hitting your Adam’s apple with the edge of my hand.”

“Sure. If I let you,” he said, rubbing his belly. “But I could dodge your blow and then hit you right between the eyes. The nasal bone would break and knife into your brain. Instant death.”

“Karate is a clever art.”

“But you have to learn it well. Another good move is to hit someone in the solar plexus with the tips of your fingers. But you have to be careful not to break your fingers. It’s best to wrap a hanky around your hand. Real tight.”

We fell silent. We were both breathing hard; the lifeguard massaged his belly, I massaged my jaw.

“I lost my job because of this kid,” he said. “I just couldn’t take it anymore. I’ve been following him around for the past three days, but there’s no way to keep him out of mischief. Yesterday he managed to get hold of a magnifying glass and set fire to guests’ pockets, the pockets they kept their money in, of course. As I was carrying him just now, I got so angry something snapped in me. I lost my job, but I don’t give a damn.”

“You’ll find a new one,” I said.

“Small chance. The season’s almost over. All the hotels already have lifeguards. I won’t find anything.”

“You should go to Eilat,” I said.

“What for?”

“I know some guys down there. They could find you a job in Solomon’s mine. Or in the harbor.”

“I prefer the harbor.”

“It can be arranged.”

“I’m willing to give it a try,” he said. “And you don’t have to pay taxes in Eilat. Can you really help me?”

“Sure. When you get there, ask for Abram Szafir. He’s a wonderful guy. I stayed with him two years ago. He’ll help you find something. Can you play cards?”

“Of course.”

“Then don’t have second thoughts about going. A good player is worth his weight in gold there. Everybody’s bored stiff; playing cards is the only entertainment.”

“Will you write me a note to your friend?”

I wrote a note and gave it to him. The lifeguard picked up his fancy hat and handed it to me.

“Give it to the kid. Actually, I never wanted to be a lifeguard.”

He left. I got up, too, and started searching for Johnny. When I found him, he was busy building a fortress on an old gentleman in the sand. The old man was watching him with a kindly expression.

“You should buy him a toy,” the old man said. “Maybe a spear gun, something like that.”

“You don’t know him,” I said. “The only toy he’d enjoy playing with is a flamethrower. Come, Johnny. Come along, dear. There’s something we have to talk about.”

He stood up and followed me.

“Yesterday you traded away my pants and my shirt,” I said. “Then you let our dog into a meat store and the poor animal ate so much it hasn’t been able to eat since. The chair the lifeguard broke throwing me onto’ll cost at least thirty pounds. I just want you to know the holy saints don’t shower money on me from the sky, and I don’t expect them to start anytime in the near future.” I gripped his shoulder and turned him toward me. “The fact is I’m a poor man, John. I’m sorry to have to tell you that.”

“You mean you don’t have money?”

“No, John. I never had any.”

“Try making some.”

“That’s excellent advice, John. But it so happens I haven’t got any money now.”

He held out his hand. “I’m sorry.”

“That’s okay,” I said.

“Listen, do you want to sell your dog?”

“No, Johnny. Spot isn’t for sale.”

“I’d like to have it,” he said. “It’s a good dog. And Americans love dogs.”

“Yes, I know. Americans love dogs more than any other nation does. But Spot isn’t for sale.”

“Spot would like it in America.”

“I know, John. But I can’t sell you my dog. It’s too late now, and it can’t be changed.”

“Too late?”

“Maybe I’ve expressed myself wrong. But Spot has to stay with me and that’s it. Spot is my only friend.”

“How about Robert?”

“Listen, John. Spot isn’t going anywhere. Period.”

“There is a way out,” Johnny said. “I think I know how to get that dog to the States.”

“What do you mean?”

“Can I talk to you man to man?”

“You can try.”

“It seems that my mom loves you, you know?”

“I know,” I said.

“Do you love her, too?”

“Yes, I do, John.”

“Listen,” he said, “did either of you think what is gonna happen when my daddy finds out? He’s gonna kick the shit out of you!”

“I’ll have to defend myself. That’s all I can do.”

He looked at me with a crooked smile. “Man, you don’t stand a chance!”

“Even if I don’t, I’ll still have to fight. Wouldn’t you?”

“Sure I would. But I feel sorry for you. I know my daddy. Look, have you kissed my mom?”

“Yes, I have.”

“And she kissed you?”

“She’s kissed me, too.”

“Then it looks real bad for you. Listen, just don’t tell my daddy that. I know it’s not right, but I worry for you all the same. If my daddy finds out, he’s gonna kill you. As things stand, he might do it anyway. Listen, did I ever tell you about the time some bums picked a fight with him in a bar on Russian Hill in San Francisco?”

“No.”

“Actually there isn’t much to tell. When he was done with them, they were barely breathing. Anyway, remember what I just told you.”

“Okay. I will.”

He turned to leave, then stopped. “Actually, you’re okay, you know? You weren’t bad in that fight with the lifeguard. You’re quick.”

He walked away, taking the dog with him. All in all, a lovable kid. Then I groaned softly; the lifeguard had landed a few good ones. I felt so lousy I decided to get drunk that evening. I thought the thief crucified next to Jesus must have been meek as a lamb compared to little Johnny. No doubt about it. And then, after a while, I began to think of Johnny’s father, and that made me feel even worse.

But I didn’t get drunk in the evening. I lay in bed with her head resting on my shoulder as we watched the sea, motionless and silent, through the open balcony door. The moon seemed glued to a sky suffocating under a heavy fog; the world looked empty and dark.

“When this goddamn wind stops blowing, he’ll start talking again,” I said.

“Who? You mean the sea?”

“Yes”

“Why do you think of the sea as masculine? English grammar is of a different opinion.”

“I don’t give a damn. I just wish he’d start talking again. That’s all.”

“California is by the sea, too,” she said softly.

“Don’t.”

“Wouldn’t you like to go there?”

“No.”

“Every time I look at you and Johnny …”

“Then stop looking at us. I’m not going to California.”

“But you want to go to Australia.”

“I have a job there.”

“Listen, you think there aren’t jobs in America? Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I’m too old for America. It scares me. I love America too much to risk disappointment. It probably seems strange to you, but that’s the way I feel. I’m a Pole. All Poles are cripples. America doesn’t need cripples.”

“Why do you call yourself that?”

“Because it’s true,” I said. “And it can’t be changed. I wanted to be an actor once, but it didn’t work out. I didn’t finish high school, so the Actors’ Studio rejected me. I could have tried again some years later, but my nerves gave out. I started writing, but that didn’t get me very far, either, goddamn it. Then I came here, because I wanted to see the place immortalized in the Bible. I don’t have a work permit, so I have to report to the police every two weeks and explain how I manage to survive. But soon it’ll all be over.”

“Calm down. Take it easy. It’s all because of this wind. It’s making everybody crazy. You’ll come with me.”

“I never said that.”

“You will, tomorrow.”

“Listen,” I said. I, too, had started saying “listen.” She and Johnny had taught me that. “Listen, it’s not only that. I’m a loser. And I’d keep on losing on the other side of the ocean. I like clear situations. For me, Australia is the end of the road, and I know it. In America it would take me more time to free myself from new illusions.”

“I don’t care about America or Australia. I care about us.”

“There’s nothing we can do,” I said. “Listen, when you’re twenty years old, you despise compromises. Later, you begin to accept them because there isn’t any other way. Then one day you learn to feel happy just because the woman you love is alive somewhere. And who she is with ceases to be important. You’re happy because she’s alive and breathing.” I paused a long time, then added, “And that’s the onset of old age, which comes too soon.”

“Have you had so much love in your life you can reject this love?”

“I’m not rejecting it. Like I said, it’ll be with me the rest of my days. As a beautiful memory to be cherished forever. Something that has nothing to do with the goddamn rat race of having to explain to everybody why after so many years I still don’t have a secure job.”

“I don’t have much,” she said. “But my father did leave some money when he died. Why don’t you take it and do something with it?”

“I don’t know what to do with money.”

“Look, we’ll find some way of investing it. Let’s just try to be happy as long as we can.”

“That’s not possible,” I said. My jaw still ached from the lifeguard’s blows. There was a buzz in my head and I couldn’t concentrate. I didn’t remember what I was supposed to say to her next, and I didn’t feel like going down to the lobby and phoning Robert. I remembered seeing a huge gorilla of a man that morning lying on the beach watching little Johnny. I imagined Johnny playing some prank and the gorilla losing his temper and going after me. I shuddered. I heard my rasping breath in the darkness; I got up, turned on the light, and approached the mirror. I leaned my forehead against the glass but got no relief; the mirror was warm and slippery.

“Go to your room,” I said.

“I won’t leave you alone now.”

“Go away, I want to sleep. This is all so incredibly stupid, and the wind is getting on my nerves. Go to hell. I don’t want you or the money your father left you. I moved into this hotel to con you out of some dough; Robert was going to help me. Some other things were to happen, too, but I’m glad it’s all over now.” I turned away from the mirror and closed my eyes, but the instant I did that, I saw the gorilla coming at me, his jaw clenched in fury. I opened my eyes and met her stare; the expression on her face was both amused and watchful. “I hustled other women before,” I said. “But right now I’ve had enough. Not that I’ve become more sensitive all of a sudden, or that I want to reform. I’d be happy to live this way for a thousand years. But I don’t feel too well today. I’ll be going to Tiberias next, together with Robert, where we’ll try to swindle some other girl. I have no plans to leave for Australia. I don’t even know where it is.”

She laughed. “Why don’t you tell me you have a wife and kid, and that’s why you need money?”

“I don’t have any kids. I’ve spent more money on abortions than there is in the Vatican budget. Even though I’m careful. As you’ve probably noticed.” I went over and sat on the bed.

“Easy,” she said. “Easy. It’ll pass. It’s all because of this wind. Don’t talk. There’s no need to talk. I’m here with you.”

She put her arms so tightly around me I couldn’t move. The silence was total: I could hear the slow, painful beating of my heart and her quiet whispering. This is probably how she had spoken to Johnny when he was very small and had trouble falling asleep. I think God created her so that she would give men love, peace, and rest. So that she could make them tired and then make them sleep. I’m sure He forgave her everything.

“I’m just a cheap gigolo,” I said. “It’s not my fault if you don’t want to believe me.”

“You’re a big boy who probably started shaving too soon,” she said. “In America you’ll buy yourself a sports car and wreck it. I’ll help you do it. Now go to sleep. Sleep in peace. It’s all because of this wind.”

I didn’t answer. I didn’t know what to say; I had spoken my own lines, departed from Robert’s script. I didn’t know how to continue. Robert would have been able to advise me, but he wasn’t there. Lying next to her, I tried to imagine her face in the darkness. It was very pleasant to lie like that, totally still, and imagine her face, her good and pretty face, which I would have been able to see if I turned on the light. But I didn’t turn it on; I lay next to her, motionless, thinking of her face; then I thought of her soft sloping belly and the small, light scars she had from giving birth to Johnny. She smelled the way a woman should, with a smell resembling the aroma of ripe corn, gentle and strong. There was nothing it could be compared to; and now the bed and this small, dark room were permeated with it. I moved my hand slowly down her flat, warm belly; she clasped my hand between her thighs and now, with the sheet thrown back, her aroma became more intense. When she leaves this room in the morning, I thought, her smell will disappear after a time, though it would be so much nicer if this room and this city retained her smell forever; then I would always remember she was with me once and life would somehow be more bearable; maybe I would think about her in Tiberias, my next destination, or even years from now, lying in bed with some other woman.

I should have told her all this. I wouldn’t have needed Robert and his goddamn instructions to do it either. There was so much I could have told her about myself and my life, but she probably wouldn’t have believed me. I could have told her how I robbed someone when I was fifteen and wasn’t caught. And how three months later a friend and I robbed a ticket office at a train station; my friend was arrested, and I gave myself up so we could go to jail together, because I enjoyed his company. But she wouldn’t have believed me. Nor would she believe me if I told her I lost my virginity at the age of twelve to a ripe German girl on the day of her engagement to a young lieutenant. Nor would she believe me if I told her about the German soldier who set his dog on me and then started kicking me and broke my nose just because I wanted to play with the dog — this happened when I was seven. Nor would she believe me that in 1944, in Warsaw, I saw six Ukrainians rape a girl from our building and then gouge her eyes with a teaspoon, and they laughed and joked doing it. Maybe I myself didn’t believe all this anymore. I should have told her that I bear the Germans no grudges for killing my family and a few more million Poles, because afterward I lived under the Communists and came to realize that by subjecting men to hunger, fear, and terror, one can force them to do anything under the sun, and that no group of people is better than any other. Those who claim otherwise belong to the lowest human species and their right to live should be revoked.

I should have told her: Listen, I’m just a fucking Polack, and I should have told her my life hadn’t prepared me for any other way of living, that none of my experiences would ever come in handy, just as I myself was of no use to anyone, unable to offer any good or any worthwhile advice, because no one would ever believe me if I tried to. And that’s the truth. But I didn’t say these things. I lay next to her and the warmth of her body enveloped me and put me to sleep, and there was nothing else I wanted to feel or think about.

It would have been a relief to tell her everything. It would have been a relief just to tell her about the Jewish family hiding next door until they were murdered by the Germans. A man, a woman, and three children: when their bodies were lying on the ground, the Germans stopped some men walking by and ordered them to piss on the corpses; a German called me over and I pissed, too, shaking with fear, while the Germans photographed the living profaning the dead. And it would have been a relief to tell her how one day when I was walking to school, the Germans blocked off the street and made us watch them hang people from balconies; no one moved or screamed, not those forced to watch, nor those who were being hung. But how was I to tell her all that? I didn’t know. How could I tell her about the girl who fell in love with a German soldier, and, although she had done no one any harm, one day members of the underground caught her, pushed an empty half-liter vodka bottle up her vagina and broke it; she died a few days later. I could have also told her about the Jewish mothers in 1943 who threw their babies into a raging fire, first lifting them high over their heads as if in a gesture of triumph, while Poles made funny remarks from the other side of the ghetto wall. But I think she would have asked me to shut up after my very first words. I tried to tell these things to lots of people, but I don’t think anyone ever listened seriously.

I pulled the sheet off her and turned on the lamp. She slept as calmly and peacefully as a child. Her belly was brown, with a golden thread of hair going up from her pubes. Her legs were a bit on the heavy side, her breasts small; dressed up in lace she would have been the perfect model for somebody forging Renaissance portraits. The minute scars on her belly were almost invisible, and I could barely feel them under my fingertips. Suddenly she opened her eyes and her hands began moving, quietly and slowly, waking my desire. And she asked softly, “You will come with me, won’t you?”

“No,” I said.