The Dog in the Freezer (11 page)

Jake was in his pajamas and watching TV when his mother and Lucy came in. They were laughing a lot, which meant that they'd had some beers. “Are you decent, Jacob?” Lucy said. She and his mother both laughed.

Lucy sat down next to him on the couch and gave him a hug. She wore baggy flowered pants and a military style shirt. Jake liked Lucy, but she was grabby. “Wouldn't I love to have a boy like you.” It was the same thing she always said.

His mother put water on to heat and put out cups and the tea bags. “Want some cocoa, Jake? Do we have any graham crackers left, honey? I feel like an ice cream and graham cracker sandwich.”

Jake sprang to his feet. “I'll get it, Mom.” He got the ice cream from the freezer and shut the door fast.

“Ooof, what stinks in there?” Lucy said.

“I don't smell anything,” Jake said.

“It could be the stove,” Lucy said. “Is your pilot light out? That could cause a smell.”

His mother tried all the burners. Then she got on a chair and sniffed around the exhaust vent over the stove. “It's probably coming from another apartment.”

“I keep my vent taped up to keep the smells and roaches out,” Lucy said.

“Does that work?”

“No, but it makes me feel better.”

They laughed again. Then they sat on the floor eating ice-cream sandwiches like a couple of girls.

“Are funerals expensive?” Jake asked. “What would it cost to bury somebody small?”

“Do you mean like a child?” his mother said. “What have you been watching on TV? I don't want you to think about those things.”

“Seriously, Mom, what if someone dies and nobody knows who they are? What happens? Who takes them? Who buries them?”

“Don't die in the street,” Lucy said. “Big mistake, Jake. They'll stop and look, then they'll step over you and walk away. If you have to die, wait till you get home.”

“Or call somebody first,” his mother said.

“Oh, I know who
I'd
call,” Lucy said. “ ‘Hello, ex-husband. I'm going to be dying in a couple of minutes.
Come pick up my body. The body you cast off.' ”

That started them laughing again, and they couldn't stop.

“You didn't answer the question,” Jake said.

Lucy fixed her round little eyes on him. “You'll never die, Jake. Don't be afraid.”

“Lucy,” his mother said. “You're not talking to a six-year-old. He doesn't want to hear a lot of fairy tales. I've always told him the truth.”

“Yes,” Lucy said. “Part of you does die, but I'm talking about the essence, the thing that makes you
you
.” She was waving her arms, shaping the big picture. “There's part of you that never dies—the spiritual part, your soul; it changes form, but it's always present.”

“You mean reincarnation,” Jake said.

“Wait a minute,” his mother interrupted. She had a cigarette out. The only time she smoked were the nights she drank beer. “Lucy, do you really think it's possible? That I was Cleopatra in another life? What a great idea. But next time I'm coming back as a twenty-story building.”

“Sorry, nothing man-made. You don't have to come back in human form, but it has to be something that lived. A tree, a bird, a butterfly, something with wings.”

“But what happens if you die and nobody knows you?” Jake was disgusted with both of them. It was a simple question. “Who buries you?”

“Don't worry, sweetheart,” Lucy said. “If it's you, Jacob, you'll get wings and fly straight to heaven.”

The next morning, when Jake did his paper route, he skipped Mr. Kleiner. He didn't do it intentionally. He started to throw a paper down, and then he couldn't. It didn't seem right without the dog there.

When he went back upstairs, his mother had already left for work. He checked the freezer, but nothing had been moved. He got out the Cheerios and a bowl.

The phone rang. “Hello,” a man said, “is Jan there?”

“Who?”

“Jan.”

“Who's this?” Jake said.

“Have I got her name wrong? Jan, Nan, whatever. Is
she there?” The man had a deep, scratchy voice, like he smoked a lot.

Jake didn't say anything.

“Hello. Hello,” the man said. “You still there?”

“Yes.”

“I want to talk to Jan. Who am I talking to here?”

“Jake.”

“Well, Jake, just tell her the guy with the darts called.”

The phone rang again as Jake was getting the raisins. He threw them one at a time into the bowl. “Darts,” he muttered to himself.

The phone continued ringing. Jake poured the milk into the bowl and got a spoon. Finally he picked up the phone.

“Where were you, in the bathroom?” Connie said.

“I'm eating.” He read her the ingredients off the cereal box.

“Fascinating,” Connie said. “Did your mother make you get rid of the dog?”

“She didn't say a word about it.”

“She's letting you keep a dead dog in the house?”

“In the kitchen, if you want to know.”

“Next thing, you'll tell me he's playing the violin.”

“He's in the freezer.”

“That's good, Jake. You're working on your comedy routine.”

“He's in the freezer,” he repeated.

“You put the dog in the freezer? Wait a minute while I throw up. I've got to see this.”

She was there in a few moments, wearing a giant Mickey Mouse sweatshirt. “Let's see him.” He opened the freezer door. “I don't see him.”

He pulled some things aside and pointed to the black plastic bag.

“What are you showing me?” Connie said.

“That's him.”

“That?” She grabbed the bag.

He came sliding out and fell with a thump on the floor. Big Boy's head stuck out. Ice clung to its muzzle. Connie backed away, her hand over her mouth.

Jake stared at the dead thing lying on the floor. At this thing that had once been Big Boy, but wasn't anymore.

Connie wiped her eyes. “I'm sorry for you, Jake. You tried so hard to be his friend. If he hadn't died, you would have succeeded. I really think so.”

His eyes filled. They were tearing and he had to blow his nose. He looked around for a tissue.

“You know what?” Connie said.

“What?” He blew his nose.

“You're really crazy, Jake!” She'd been feeling so sorry for him, but now she was pointing her finger and chanting, “You froze a dead dog! You—”

“I know. Not too smart,” he admitted.

“No, don't say that! I would say it was supersmart.” She ran around to the other side of the table so she wouldn't have to look at the dog. “This is something new, Jake, a real discovery, something for the whole world. Freeze your dog when it dies! Freezer Dog. This is the greatest
discovery since Newton got hit in the head with an apple.”

When Connie got going this way, she couldn't stop herself. “Frozen Freezer Pet. Keep him next to Kool Kat. Want an instant pet? Take Freezer Dog out and thaw him. You never have to feed him or take him to the toilet. Just defrost your pet and play with him. When you're done, put him back in the freezer.”

She circled the room. “You outdid yourself this time, Jake. This is not eating a banana with your mouth open. This is number one, top of the line, supervomit. What's next? What do we do now?”

Jake got the aluminum foil from behind the stove and unrolled it completely. The truth was, he couldn't stand looking at the dog either.

Connie watched him closely. “Are you going to cook it, Jake? Is that your plan? Have a special treat for your mother when she comes home. Are we all going to get a chance to taste it? Then are you going to sell the bones to a scientific supply house? You could make yourself a tidy sum.”

He rolled the dog up in the aluminum foil. It wasn't a dog anymore. It was something stiff and hard, like a piece of iron. He wound the aluminum foil around it till it disappeared and looked like a shiny silver mummy.

In the hall closet he dug out one of his father's old Syracuse University sport bags, orange with black letters. He put the dog into the bag, stuffed newspapers around it to keep it from bouncing around, and zipped it shut.

“Now what, Jake?” Connie said.

He didn't know exactly. First he had to get it out of the house. Then he'd think of something. They went out into the hall and Jake locked the door.

“Where are we going to go? You can't just walk around the city with a dead dog. Are you going to throw him in a Dumpster?”

“No.” He was never going to “throw” the dog anywhere, he was sure of that. “I'm going to bury him,” he said, pressing the elevator button. That's what you did with dead things. You buried them.

“Oh, good. I hate it when people flush their pets away. Even a little goldfish or a mouse. Animals are human in a way, every living thing is human.”

Jake nodded. Sometimes Connie said things he really liked.

“But where are you going to bury it? You can't even bury a person in the city. They go to New Jersey or Long Island. Have you been to a dog funeral in New York lately?”

“I don't go to funerals,” he said. “My mom says they're not for kids.”

“Mine, too,” Connie said. “Mom says it's a part of growing up I can do without.”

They went upstairs so Connie could get a jacket. Mr. Martinez was sitting at the table reading the papers. “Dad, can I wear your jacket?” Connie said. She already had it on. It was a Washington Redskins jacket.

“Where you going?” he said. “Your mother went over to see your sister.”

“Going for a walk.”

“Maybe your father's got an idea,” Jake whispered. He motioned to the bag. “But don't tell him.”

“Dad, I want to ask you something.” She went over and started examining her father's hair. “What are we going to do when Nelson dies?”

He looked up. “Why? Is there a reason we're talking about it now?”

“Nelson's going to die someday; we need to think about it. Are we going to bury him?”

“I suppose so.”

“Well, where?”

“Where? I don't know where. I haven't thought about it. Do I have to give you an answer this minute? Where is Nelson, anyway?” He looked at Jake. “Did you kids do something to that dog? What's going on?”

“Dad, relax,” Connie said. “Nelson's by the TV having a snooze. Jake and I were having a little discussion, and all I want to know is, when Nelson gets old and dies, what do we do with him?”

Connie's father sat back and laced his hands behind his head. “Connie, when the old dog dies, we'll do right by him. We'll have a funeral…a procession…maybe twenty, thirty cars. One car just for flowers, and a motorcycle police escort. We'll cross the East River and go to the Pet Rest out past Long Island City. Father Reo will pronounce ‘ashes to ashes and dust to dust.' The whole family will be there. You, me, Mom, your sister. Do you want to invite Jake? Jake can come, too. Everyone will get a free embroidered handkerchief to cry into.”

Jake stared at Mr. Martinez. It was just like listening to Connie, the same sense of humor.

“The grave will be covered with flowers, and in time, a nice stone will be bought and put into place. The kind of stone a dog would appreciate. It will be shaped like a
dog bone and it will be six feet tall. It will say ‘Nelson, Beloved Dog, Beloved Friend, Beloved Pet, Rest in Peace Always.' ”

“Dad, you're hopeless.” Connie bumped Jake toward the door. “Let's go.”

Going down, the elevator stopped at the fifth floor and Mr. Kleiner got on. Connie gave Jake a look. He pushed the bag back behind him, but it was too late: Mr. Kleiner had seen it. He was looking right at the bag. He pointed, pinning Jake to the spot. “That bag!” he said, fixing Jake with his deep, penetrating X-ray eyes. Jake was sure he saw the dog through all its wrappings.

“The bag!” Mr. Kleiner repeated.

Jake stood rigid as a pole. Next, Mr. Kleiner was going to say,
Open that bag!
He'd make Jake take the dog out and carry him in his arms down to the basement, where he'd make Jake put him back where he'd found him. Then
make him throw him in the furnace. Then throw Jake in after him.

“Who went to SU?” Mr. Kleiner said.

Jake's throat was jammed. He shook his head.

“Syracuse!” Mr. Kleiner sneered. “Their basketball team is pitiful this year. Their coach should be working in Kmart. If they'd hire him.” Mr. Kleiner laughed. His mouth opened, his forehead wrinkled and cracked like the sidewalk. “You're the newsboy, aren't you? I didn't get my morning paper. And don't tell me you delivered it, because it wasn't there. You got a paper in that bag?”

Jake shook his head again. He knew he was going to be killed.

“Don't expect me to pay for what I don't get,” Mr. Kleiner said.

The elevator reached the lobby. The doors opened. Jake waited for Mr. Kleiner to release him from his stare.

“You kids getting off,” Mr. Kleiner said, “or do you want to come to the basement with me?”

Connie grabbed Jake by the arm and they darted out through the lobby and into the street. “Close call!” Connie said.

Jake still couldn't talk. They were around the corner when Connie said, “Where's the bag?”

Jake looked down, dumbfounded. He'd left the bag on the elevator. With Mr. Kleiner.

He ran back, with Connie right behind him. The elevator doors were shut, and the indicator pointed to the cellar. They went down the stairs, but when they got to
the cellar the elevator had gone up again and they ran back again up to the lobby.