Read Outside the Dog Museum Online
Authors: Jonathan Carroll
Outside the Dog Museum (9 page)
Hours later, when we had a chance to sit down and eat some Red Cross sandwiches, I noticed that his borrowed shoes—a pair of white canvas sneakers—were blood red almost to their tops. I nudged Fanny and pointed at them. She nodded and said in a quiet, loving murmur, “He’s been working the whole time with those cut-up feet. The man is my hero.” Which summed it up perfectly.
He saw us looking at those poor feet and, grinning sheepishly, held one up for our inspection. “Next time I will wear some shoes to the earthquake, huh?”
“We were just saying how impressed we are by what you did today.”
He shrugged and slowly unwrapped a piece of chewing gum I offered him.
“The only thing we can do is try to give life back some of the justice it loses sometimes. Is trying to save people’s lives right? I don’t know. All I
can
say is our intentions are good. I read about a man who said, ‘God’s memory is failing and that’s why there are so many tragedies and terrible things like this today happening in life: God doesn’t remember the justice or goodness He gave the world in the beginning. So it’s Man’s job to try and put it back.’” He put the gum in his mouth, but took it out again and pointed it at us. “I do not agree with this. It’s a fool’s line. But I liked the idea about putting justice back into life. It’s like our lives are dolls that have gotten rips in them and have lost some of their …” He snapped his fingers, looking for the right word. “ … their …”
can
say is our intentions are good. I read about a man who said, ‘God’s memory is failing and that’s why there are so many tragedies and terrible things like this today happening in life: God doesn’t remember the justice or goodness He gave the world in the beginning. So it’s Man’s job to try and put it back.’” He put the gum in his mouth, but took it out again and pointed it at us. “I do not agree with this. It’s a fool’s line. But I liked the idea about putting justice back into life. It’s like our lives are dolls that have gotten rips in them and have lost some of their …” He snapped his fingers, looking for the right word. “ … their …”
“Stuffing?”
“Yes, ‘stuffing.’ God gave us these dolls in the beginning, but if they begin to lose their stuffing,
we
must find the right materials to
fill them again. Is this Juicy Fruit? Aah! I like Juicy Fruit gum—it’s so sweet.”
we
must find the right materials to
fill them again. Is this Juicy Fruit? Aah! I like Juicy Fruit gum—it’s so sweet.”
“But we didn’t make earthquakes! Auschwitz, okay, but what did man have to do with what happened today?”
“Now you’re talking with a monkey’s tongue, Fanny. Man is responsible for
everything.
Why do you think we control the planet? Why do all the other animals worship us? Everything in life is our work—Auschwitz, earthquakes. Good things too! We just do not want to recognize and accept the fact it is all our doing.
everything.
Why do you think we control the planet? Why do all the other animals worship us? Everything in life is our work—Auschwitz, earthquakes. Good things too! We just do not want to recognize and accept the fact it is all our doing.
“Listen, I will tell you a funny story. A woman I know went into a restaurant here where you get the food yourself. She got her meal and put it down on the table but forgot to buy a drink, so she took some coins and left her tray to get one. When she returned, a very fat black man was sitting at her table eating her meal! Sitting there with a smile on his face, eating
her
food!
her
food!
“Now she sits down very angry, pulls her tray back across the table and starts eating her food. But this crazy man will not stop. Still smiling, he reaches over and takes her soup. Then he takes the salad! She is driven so crazy by this, she must suddenly go to the bathroom badly.
“When she comes back from the bathroom, thank God the man is gone, but so is her tray of food and handbag too! Now he’s stolen her
money!
She runs to the cashier and says, ‘Did you see the big black man go? He ate my lunch and stole my bag!’ The cashier says, ‘We’ll call the police. Where were you sitting?’ ‘Right over there!’ the woman responds. She turns around and points to her table. Only what she sees makes her scream:
One
table in front of where she was sitting with this bad black man is a tray full of food and her handbag on the seat.”
money!
She runs to the cashier and says, ‘Did you see the big black man go? He ate my lunch and stole my bag!’ The cashier says, ‘We’ll call the police. Where were you sitting?’ ‘Right over there!’ the woman responds. She turns around and points to her table. Only what she sees makes her scream:
One
table in front of where she was sitting with this bad black man is a tray full of food and her handbag on the seat.”
“Huh?”
Hooting with laughter, Fanny turned to me and said, “The
woman sat at the wrong table! She ate the
black
guy’s lunch, not vice versa.”
woman sat at the wrong table! She ate the
black
guy’s lunch, not vice versa.”
“And he let her! He was very friendly and smiled the whole time she was stealing his food.
“This woman acts like Mankind, Fanny: He always wants to blame himself on others. That’s why there is a devil. We created him because he is convenient. And then sometimes when we really have no one else, we put the fault on God. But God is like this black man—He smiles at us when we eat His lunch, but doesn’t stop us from doing it.”
HOW CLAIRE STANSFIELD COULD
eat! Hard to believe looking at her in the hospital, barely able to take a straw in her swollen, ripped mouth.
eat! Hard to believe looking at her in the hospital, barely able to take a straw in her swollen, ripped mouth.
Since this is my story, I get to digress one last time and bring in this last major cast member. It won’t take long—I’ll just tell about the first time we met, six months before the earthquake.
She was the friend of a friend who gave me her number and said we’d like each other. Over the phone she sounded strong and calm. She had a high reedy voice; sometimes she lisped a word. It was Sunday afternoon. When I asked what she was doing, she said, “Only watching the rain on the window.” Rainy days made her feel like a little girl again.
“How come? Listen, Claire, what are you doing? I mean right now? Would you like to go out?”
“Of course.”
Of course! Not “Wellll, I don’t know” or “Let me check my Filofax” or some other coy syrup you’d have to stir and stir until it dissolved into “all right.” Of course. Superb.
We met at Café Bunny because rain was still blitzing down and the place was halfway between our apartments. We’d recognize each
other because I’d been told she had a great head and looked like a Burne-Jones painting. As you can tell, I love women’s heads. Fanny has a great one, even in an earthquake. Claire too. But she said if I missed her head, she was wearing a sweatshirt that said “Big Stuff” on it—the name of her design store. Before hanging up, she also said she was nervous about meeting Harry Radcliffe. I said I was nervous about meeting a great head.
other because I’d been told she had a great head and looked like a Burne-Jones painting. As you can tell, I love women’s heads. Fanny has a great one, even in an earthquake. Claire too. But she said if I missed her head, she was wearing a sweatshirt that said “Big Stuff” on it—the name of her design store. Before hanging up, she also said she was nervous about meeting Harry Radcliffe. I said I was nervous about meeting a great head.
“Hi, Harry? Will you think I’m awful if I order lunch right away? I haven’t eaten all day.” Hers
was
a great head but rather than being beautiful, what I liked most was she had a true face: square chin, long straight mouth, green eyes as direct and no-nonsense as a bridge.
was
a great head but rather than being beautiful, what I liked most was she had a true face: square chin, long straight mouth, green eyes as direct and no-nonsense as a bridge.
We started off talking about our mutual friend, Claire’s store, my buildings. She ordered Wiener schnitzel and a stein of beer. She cut giant golden pieces that looked like breaded continents. Despite chewing each one slowly, the whole thing was gone before I’d finished my coffee and cheesecake.
“I’m still hungry. What else should I eat?”
“Stay with the frieds—fried mushrooms?”
She ordered a plate of mushrooms, a large radicchio salad, another beer, a slice of chocolate cake heavy enough to sink a ship.
I wasn’t feeling particularly sexy in those days right after my divorce, but watching Claire Stansfield eat, the question wandered my mind, if she was this voracious about food, what was she like in bed?
“What are you thinking about?” Her voice crept slowly out through the hive of bandages.
Holding her hand, I squeezed it gently. “About the first time we met—how much food you ate. I wondered if you’d be as good in bed as you were at the table.”
“But I wouldn’t let you touch me for a long time.”
“That’s right.”
The room held the silence only a hospital room knows; the silence
in waiting for things to return to normal, the silence of the body’s betrayal versus secret hope.
in waiting for things to return to normal, the silence of the body’s betrayal versus secret hope.
“I was afraid you’d grow tired of me and my fears and leave.” She shifted slightly under the covers, groaning once when turning her head toward me. “But you only sort-of left, didn’t you, Harry? With Fanny.”
“Let’s not talk about it now.”
“All right. Tell me more about the first day we met. I want to hear your side of it. Keep holding my hand too, please.”
“You were wearing those big clunky shoes and that black coat you bought in Budapest. You know how much I love women in clunky shoes.”
Her hand was cool and dry in mine. Normally they were warm, often the slightest bit sweaty. She had only one hand now. What was left of the other lay hidden in a swirl of bandages and pain across the bed. When the earthquake came, Claire was riding her motorcycle down Sunset Boulevard and was thrown off, straight into the back of a truck. At the last moment she put up a hand to protect her face. It worked. But the hand caught on something.
“Harry, what do you think are the sexual fantasies of the blind?”
“Smells. Different kinds of touch. Didn’t you ever make love blindfolded?”
“No. Is it exciting?”
“Funny. Strange. We’ll do it some time.” I wondered when we would make love again. How she would feel about doing it without the hand?
Without
the hand.
Without
the hand.
“Why’d you ask?”
“I was looking at your nose and thinking how big and nice it is. I wondered what it’d be like to know only through touch or if you could know something as completely with only touch
or
sight
or
smell. Now my right hand’ll have to do all the touching for me.
or
sight
or
smell. Now my right hand’ll have to do all the touching for me.
“What are you going to do now, Harry? What’s been going on?
You never tell me anything, especially since I’ve been in here. Sometimes you’re as slippery as a pack of new playing cards.”
You never tell me anything, especially since I’ve been in here. Sometimes you’re as slippery as a pack of new playing cards.”
“I’m going to wait till you get out of here, for one thing.”
“That’ll be a while. And don’t use me as an excuse not to be doing something.”
I smiled like a fool caught. Talking to Claire was often like sliding my cold feet into a warm place. She was trusting but perceptive. I
had
been using her misfortune, in part, as a further excuse not to make a decision I’d been avoiding: The Sultan had asked me to come to Saru and at least look at the site where he wanted to build his dog museum—no strings attached. He’d pay a handsome fee but far more important, after our earthquake together, it was nigh impossible to say no.
had
been using her misfortune, in part, as a further excuse not to make a decision I’d been avoiding: The Sultan had asked me to come to Saru and at least look at the site where he wanted to build his dog museum—no strings attached. He’d pay a handsome fee but far more important, after our earthquake together, it was nigh impossible to say no.
So I told Claire the whole story for the first time. I’d not done it before because she’d had enough to suffer through and I couldn’t imagine that hearing my tale of glorious escape was good for her in those first days without her left hand. As usual when I’d finished spouting, what she said surprised me.
“I was in Saru once.”
“What?
Why didn’t you ever tell me?”
Why didn’t you ever tell me?”
“I was saving it as a surprise. I stopped off there on my way to visit my sister, Slammy, in Jordan a couple of years ago.”
“What’s it like?”
“The cities are very modern. A lot of Palestinians fled there after the 1967 war with Israel and built them up. I stayed in Bazz’af, the capital. The rest of the country is desert.”
“Buzz Off? The capital of Saru is really named ‘Buzz Off’?”
She chuckled. “No, it’s pronounced
bats-hof.
Sort of rhymes with
hats off.
bats-hof.
Sort of rhymes with
hats off.
“You know what I liked most about it? There are these desert castles in Saru that date back to the Crusades and before. You take a bus a couple of hours out of Bazz’af and in the middle of nowhere are
these ruins that aren’t so ruined because the dry desert air has preserved them so well.”
these ruins that aren’t so ruined because the dry desert air has preserved them so well.”
“Are you all right, Claire? You don’t have to talk if it makes you tired.”
“I’ve been quiet for days and I like talking about that trip. Let me tell some more. There’s a major road that runs literally across all of Europe through Turkey and into the Middle East. Trucks start in Sweden or Northern Germany and drive right across the whole continent in just a few days. On Monday they’re in Rotterdam and by the end of the week they’re on the Saudi border! Isn’t that romantic? It’s like the old pony express.
“Anyway, one of these castles was right off that road, just before the Jordanian border. We were there on New Year’s Eve and decided to stay because part of the place had been converted into a rest house. Nothing ritzy, but some rooms to sleep in and a restaurant. Ours looked out onto the road about half a mile away across the flat desert. We watched the sun go down and those trailer trucks, barreling on toward the border in big flying puffs of smoke and sand. Where were they going? Jordan? Saudi Arabia? Iraq? Every one of those countries was nearby. Someone at the castle told us that when the Iran-Iraq war was on, a truck a minute passed down the road carrying supplies to Iraq. One a
minute
, Harry!
minute
, Harry!
“About seven o’clock that night, we began to smell these delicious waves of lamb grilling out behind the restaurant. Both my sister and I had our boyfriends with us out there in the Saruvian
desert
… . We felt so adventurous and sexy. The rest house was comfortable, we’d seen some real wonders that day … . God, we were happy.
desert
… . We felt so adventurous and sexy. The rest house was comfortable, we’d seen some real wonders that day … . God, we were happy.
“Things smelled so good, we went right down to eat. There was no one else in the restaurant but us, but the interesting thing was this one big table over in the corner of the room. It was set for about twenty people, but set so that all the chairs and settings were on the same side
of the table—no one would face anyone else. Odd, huh? But even odder was that at every place there was an unopened quart bottle of Johnnie Walker scotch. A whole bottle!”
of the table—no one would face anyone else. Odd, huh? But even odder was that at every place there was an unopened quart bottle of Johnnie Walker scotch. A whole bottle!”
“But Saru’s Muslim. Where’d the booze come from?”
She gave my hand a small squeeze. “I’ll tell you. Could I have another drink of water, please?”
I took the plastic bottle with the integrated straw off the bedside table and held it to her mouth. Her swollen, cut lips sucked hard. Pimps punish whores by slicing their lips with a knife because lips don’t heal in a smooth line; mouths are ruined by the cut. Claire’s mouth was ruined. She pulled her head back to signal she’d had enough water.
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