The Dogs of Babel

ELEVEN

There is a kind of grieving that dogs do, a patient waiting for homecoming, a sniffing for a scent that is no longer there. Since Lexy died, I have often seen Lorelei sitting at the top of the basement stairs, listening for noises from the workshop below. This morning, I find her in the bedroom, sleeping stretched out on one of Lexy’s sweaters. I must have left the closet door open, and I can only assume that Lorelei, drawn by the scent of Lexy’s perfume, her hair, her skin, still lingering on her clothes, jumped up and tugged at the garment until she had freed it from its slippery, padded hanger. I don’t take the sweater away from her. Instead, I walk quietly out of the room and leave her to breathe in her memories, whatever they might be.

Today I have to go to the university to pick up some papers I left in my office. It’s the first time I’ve been back since the day two months ago when I announced my research plans to my colleagues. It wasn’t a very good day, the day I presented my proposal to the department; when I got to the part about canine language acquisition, the whole room turned very quiet, and people began to examine inanimate objects—their pens, their wedding rings, the conference table—with alarming intensity.

I’m hoping I won’t run into anyone today, and in fact I’ve planned my trip for a time when I thought no one would be around, but it seems that in my absence they’ve changed the day on which faculty meetings are held. I arrive to find every professor in the department standing in the hallway outside the conference room, drinking coffee and talking. They grow silent as, one by one, they see me approaching.

Julia Desmond is the first to speak. Julia is a tall woman, blessed with family money and prone to wearing extravagant jewelry. Today it’s rubies.

“Paul,” she says brightly, coming toward me with her arms outstretched. “How are you?”

I accept her embrace and kiss her lightly on the cheek. “Fine,” I say. “Just fine.” I look around at the group of people staring at me, smiles fixed on their faces. “I just came by to pick up a few things,” I say.

“Great, great,” says Julia. “We’ve missed you around here.” She smiles at me a moment longer, her hands still on my arms. She seems unsure what to say next. “Well, good to see you,” she says finally. She retreats into the conference room.

I make my way to my office, the crowd parting for me as if I were a holy man. Matthew Rice, the head of the department and a good friend of mine, comes up and stands beside me as I unlock the door. He follows me inside.

“So how are you really doing, Paul?” he asks, shutting the door behind him.

“So-so,” I say.

“We’ve all been worried about you,” he says. “But you’re looking good.”

“Thank you,” I say. I’m pretty sure he’s lying. I haven’t been paying much attention to my appearance of late. I know I’ve lost weight since Lexy’s death, and my clothes hang on me quite loosely.

“Are you keeping busy?” he asks, and seems immediately to regret it.

“Yes,” I say. “My research has been occupying most of my time.”

He nods and looks away from me. “Are you still working on that… project?” he asks. “The one with the dog?”

“Yes,” I say, perhaps too brightly. “It’s going quite well.”

He doesn’t meet my eyes. “That’s great,” he says, after a pause. “You know, Eleanor and I have that little beach house in Rehoboth, and you’re welcome to borrow it if you’d like. It might do you good to get away for a while.”

I think about it. Early morning walks on the beach with Lorelei running ahead of me, evenings bathed in the scent of sea air. It’s not an unwelcome idea.

Matthew goes on. “The only thing is,” he says, “Eleanor’s allergic to dogs, so you wouldn’t be able to bring Lorelei. But you can always board her or something for a week or two. Julia has dogs; she might be able to give you the name of a good kennel.”

Of course, I think. Of course. “Thanks anyway,” I say. My voice sounds thin and brittle as glass. “But I don’t think I can leave my research at this particular point.”

Matthew nods, looking down at the floor. “All right, then,” he says, turning toward the door. He looks stricken. I soften a bit.

“Really, I’m fine,” I say. “I’m sure this whole thing sounds crazy to you, but I really think there’s something there. I feel like I’m on the verge of something important. I just need some time to work it out.”

He smiles doubtfully, but at least he’s meeting my eyes. “Just imagine,” he says, “what it will mean if you succeed.” He pauses thoughtfully, considering it. “Well, I’ve got to get back to the meeting. Keep in touch, okay?”

“I will,” I say. “Give my love to Eleanor.”

I gather up the things I need and prepare to leave. On my way out, I notice a scrap of pink paper that has, apparently, been slid under the door. I pick it up. It’s a While You Were Out slip. Scrawled across the top it says, “Your dog called.” In the message space below, there are two words: “Woof, woof.” I crumple up the note and throw it away.

Back at home, I pick up Lexy’s sweater from the bedroom floor and hold it to my face. I wonder what she would think of the turns my life has taken. Lorelei wanders in to greet me, and I give her a little scratch behind the ears.

“Where’s Lexy?” I say to her. She looks up at me sharply. “Go get Lexy,” I say. And all of a sudden, she’s off, running wildly from room to room. I watch, heart-struck, as she charges through the house, sniffing in corners and barking. “Lorelei,” I call after her. “No! Stop it, girl! Quiet! Come!” I run through every command she knows. But it’s no use. I can’t stop her, not now that I’ve spoken those magic words. Around and around the house she runs, searching and yowling for what she has lost.