The Greyhound (8 page)

In darkness they stumbled, dropping their cans and their pans

All was a mess and their plans went astray

“Oh what will we do?” cried the folks of Flin Flan

We need a plan, yes, we do need a plan

Otherwise, the Flin of the Flan will be spoiled

And wasted will be all of our work, sweat and toil

Then suddenly arrived there a man, a small man

In a wondrous sunshiny new yellow van

The van it appeared, was made from a can

A solar-powered van, planned and built by the man

And the man, well he smiled and waved from his van

And said, “My name is Stan and my dog here is Dan

And my van, it’s filled up with bright orange fans.”

And the pair, well they leaped from the van so they say

Striding up to the folks in a confident way

Stan said, don’t you worry, good folks of Flin Flan

I’ve got a plan, yes, I’ve got a plan

All my fans, if you look, are powered by the sun

They’ve been charging for days on my cross-country run

I’ll set them up, turn them on, and they’ll easily push

All the sand clouds very quickly with a big
swooshy swoosh
!

The pictures in the book were pen-and-ink sketches, with splotches of yellow and orange. Danny remembered feeling sad when the man in the tin can van set up his fans and they didn’t work. Somehow they were broken, jammed up. Even in their confusion, Flin Flanners ridiculed Dan, jeering him and telling him to leave.

Go away Stan, and take Dan and your fans

Pack everything up in your bright tin can van

And leave us to try and find some other plan

To drive away all of these big clouds of sand.

So Stan, having lost his confidence, left. He drove to the top of a hill and looked down at Flin Flan and the people running around aimlessly. Then Dan took a big paw and pointed out a way that Stan could fix his fans. It was simple and easy, and Stan wondered why, in his anger and shame, he didn’t see it himself. So Stan set to work, got his fans working and set them up. He realized he should have never given up, and thanked Dan for pointing out the problem.

The problem, he reckoned, was not really with fans

But in the sadness and shame of the man in the van

So he tossed out his anger, and grabbed tools and spanners

And set down to work to unjam those fan-fanners

Stan returned and set up those fans

In a marvellous array

Linking them, one to the other with wiring

And pushed on a button to get all of them firing

With a whirr and a click and chug-chug-a-wheee

The fans started whooshing the sand clouds away

The darkness was gone, and the folks cheered with glee

They looked up to the hill, and they cheered Stan and Dan

Saying “Come down, please come down, and you’ll be our guest

For a celebration of Flinning and Flanning at its best!”

Well, Stan stayed a while and accepted their thanks

Then packed up his things and gave his can van two cranks

And with Dan by his side, drove into the sunset

Looking for a new little town called Wa-wa-wa-wun-set

A marvellous place, near a lake really grand

And a stockpile of wonderful tin cans for vans.

Danny put down the book and closed his eyes. It made him feel good. The book reminded him of when he was much younger, wearing his pyjamas, leaning against his father on the living-room couch with a fire flickering in the fireplace, and how he always felt safe and protected, like everything would be all right.

* * *

“We need to get Long training,” Jack said. He pulled at his scruff of beard, then touched the diamond stud on his left earlobe. It was one of his rituals, and sometimes he did it five times a day. “For luck,” he’d say.

“Best place is a pool. The high school on Waverley Boulevard has a shallow pool, about three feet deep, just enough for Long to get in, kick around a bit, get some good exercise that won’t stress her muscles.” His voice was quiet, like he was planning a bank heist. Danny knew no one would let a dog use the smaller of the two high school pools — it was there for the special needs kids, the Wheelie Team, they were called — gold medal winners at the District Swim Championships the previous year.

But Danny couldn’t resist the temptation to be a co-conspirator. They weren’t just planning to run a dog in a race any more — they were planning something secret, something special. Long was going to be in the race of her life.

They knocked at the back door to the pool enclosure, quickly, as if they were secret agents on a mission. Mr. Jenkins, the school’s custodian, answered the door. This wasn’t the tired, grizzled, fat, scruffy, daytime Mr. Jenkins, his shirt spilling out of his blue pants. This was a different Mr. Jenkins, late at night. During the day he seemed slow and dimwitted, but now Danny could see that was an act. Here at eleven o’clock at night, he was bright-eyed, his face glowing. He had caught the scent of excitement, of possible danger. Or maybe he just liked the hijinks, as he called this bit of mischief.

“Come on in, come on in,” he said hurriedly. “Glad you’re here. I want to see how she does.”

Long moved easily through the back door and into the backroom, where the pool equipment hummed.

“I’ve got the water warmed up nice,” said Mr. Jenkins.

“Listen, Bud, you don’t have to do this,” Jack said to Mr. Jenkins. They saw each other rarely, since Danny’s father usually took the afternoon shift at the school, after the children had gone home.

“How many laps can she do?” Jack wondered aloud. “That’s the question.”

Mr. Jenkins was bubbly. “The water’s all ready.” The pool was shallow and long enough to give the dog a good workout. Jack gently lifted Long Shot up and carried her into the pool. “Danny, go down to the other end, and called her gently. Let’s see if she’ll paddle her way down there.”

Danny took off his socks and shoes and stood at the other end. “Come on, Long Shot, come on, girl.” He was surprised at the sound of his own voice. The roughness and crackly sound was gone; he sounded confident. The dog paddled down to the end, and Danny knelt to gently pat her head.

“We’ve got to keep her going,” Jack said. “Walk along the side and coax her back toward me.” Danny walked along the edge of the pool. The water in the bigger pool sparkled in the half-light. Mr. Jenkins, careful to ensure that they wouldn’t be seen, had only turned on the lights over the small pool, their glow cast wavering yellow globs of brightness across the surface. Each voice echoed. “That’s a girl,” Danny said. “Keep going.”

When the dog was done, Danny led her up the steps at the end of the pool. She shook herself off, and allowed Jack to gently pat her dry. He looked wistful. “Reminds me of when I was in Florida.”

He always got nostalgic, talking about his favourite job in Florida, looking after dogs at the Tampa Greyhound Track. “Nothing nicer,” he’d told Danny. “Walking the dogs out to the track, giving the crowds a look at their favourite dog.” He had put some of his wages into part ownership of a couple of greyhounds. “Good-looking dogs, but they didn’t do well at the track,” he’d said. But the sun and the palm trees and the finely-combed, walnut-coloured dirt of the track, the smell of the roast-beef specials in the track dining room, the little American flags they gave away at the ticket window, the regular cast of scruffy punters and track fans, the brief romance with the girl who sold souvenirs at the gift shop — all had left a lasting impression on Jack.

They took the dog back to the pool several times a week, quietly, at night, to do her laps. Each time, she got stronger. Danny thought he saw a look in her eye, an understanding that she was being asked to do something that was nearly impossible, to go against the best of the best. And somehow, he knew she would give it her best shot.

* * *

On his next visit to Dr. Feinman, Danny felt a little more relaxed, enough that he could talk a bit about going out with Nicole.

“It just happened,” he said. “I didn’t wait to be nervous. She was working at Tim Hortons, so I waited till she was on a break by herself, and I just went up and asked her out.” He looked out the window at the traffic; it was beginning to get thick, the cars and SUVs like herd animals heading to a watering hole.

“I met Nicole at the movie theatre, and paid for her ticket. I can’t remember much about the movie. It was a comedy about people running around after a bank robber who was klutzy and couldn’t figure out where to hide the money he had stolen, something like that. We ate popcorn. She paid for the popcorn.”

“I saw that movie. It was good.” Dr. Feinman smiled a little. Danny wondered what he was thinking. “I’m glad you were able to talk to her. It wasn’t so bad, then, was it?”

“Naw,” Danny said, trying to be nonchalant.

Danny talked about his date with Nicole. The theatre they’d gone to was part of a new entertainment complex, with restaurants, a fitness centre, and a miniature golf course. It had rained earlier in the evening, and the air smelled of damp concrete.

“Let’s be spontaneous,” Nicole had said over the phone. “We’ll just go, meet there, and decide.” They looked at the board, all of the movies and their times.

“What do you like?” Danny had asked.

“It doesn’t matter, I’ll watch anything.” She had impulsively linked her arm through his. She smelled of grapefruit-flavoured gum. They’d decided on a movie she wanted to see. In the theatre, Danny had listened to her talk. She talked about classes, about music, about Facebook. Nicole also said how much she liked Danny’s presentation in English class. “You should have seen the teacher’s face when you got to the part about the heads being cut off! I thought he was going to keel over.”

Danny smiled, thinking about Nicole and how she’d held his hand as they walked home. Her palm was cool and soft. She laughed, but not too much. Everything just seemed normal and right. Nicole had seemed very much in control. Danny said so to Feinman, even while he looked down and away, avoiding eye contact. Even though he was nervous talking about Nicole, he really felt liked he needed to talk about her.

“Girls can be — and often are — just as nervous as boys when they go out on a date,” the doctor said. “I know: I grew up with two sisters, and I have a teenage daughter. What it means likely is that you made Nicole feel comfortable. Just being yourself, you put her at ease. And that’s a great thing for us to do for other people — give them the freedom to be themselves. So you’re good for each other.”

“I hope so. She’s in summer school, and she asked me to go to her house to help her study for a test. I met her mom. She was very nice.” There was that word again.
Nice
. Danny looked at the rubber tree in the corner of the office. It had grown taller since the first time he had been there. Outside, there was the sound of tires screeching and a horn honking. He saw three seagulls fly by the window. They moved like crazy black, white, and grey wind dancers, tilting and shifting and skating along on the strong breeze outside. Danny figured they were going to beg scraps at the hamburger joint just down the street, the place where people sat outside at picnic tables and, despite the pleading of the owner, threw bits of hamburger meat and hotdog buns to gangs of screeching, begging gulls.

“This is the way we build relationships,” Dr. Feinman said. “It isn’t always easy, and it’s not supposed to be. We have to take away the expectations we have of other people, and let them be themselves. And it’s often surprising how things just happen when we don’t try to act like someone we’re not, and when we don’t force other people to be what they aren’t.” Dr. Feinman chuckled, then caught himself slightly and shifted in his chair. “But hey, I’m starting to sound like I’m
lecturing
you, and that’s not what this is about, is it? We’re just here to talk. And really, I’m here to listen.”

Danny thought of his father. Were his expectations too high? Maybe he was expecting the worst; maybe he should just let his father be himself. He knew that, sometimes, he made his dad nervous. Maybe that’s what he would do. Just be natural and maybe things would get better, bit by bit.
Life is full of maybes
, he thought.

THE RUN-UP TO THE BIG ONE

The
dojo
was quiet. The rough-textured
tatami
mats covered the entire floor. On the far wall was the photo of Jigoro Kano, the founder of judo. The picture was a washed-out black-and-white photo. His eyebrows were slightly arched, there were two creases across his forehead, like he was about to ask a question, and a thick moustache was perched over his serious mouth. His thinning hair was combed carefully across the top of his head, and his hands were hidden, possibly in the folds of the black
kimono
— or
gi
(Danny wasn’t sure if it was one or the other) — that he wore. He could be anyone’s grandfather, waiting for the start of a birthday party or family event. He was looking away, to Danny’s right, as if gazing over Danny’s shoulder at someone entering the room. It made Danny feel a little edgy.
It’s almost as if the old man is watching my opponent come into the room
, he thought.
How much do I really know about Jigoro Kano?