Housebroken (2 page)

She took a can of tomato paste out of the cupboard and opened it. Then she unhooked the colander from where it was hanging above the stove, stood it in the sink, and waited. She took the package of spaghetti out of the cupboard and read the cooking instructions, even though she already knew them by heart: eleven minutes. A strange number, she thought. Odd, not even.

She lifted the pot off the stove and emptied its contents into the colander. Then she put it back on the flame, poured in some oil, shook the spaghetti in the colander, and returned it to the pot. She added tomato paste, salt, pepper, and paprika, and stirred it all with a fork. The contact of the spaghetti, oil, and tomato paste with the bottom of the pot produced spitting, hissing noises, and a smell of aluminum and starch spread through the kitchen, mixed with the sweet scent of cheap spices. The woman took the pot off the stove and placed it on a wooden board on the table. Then she sat down, spread the kitchen towel over her knees, and began to eat. This was her lunch. It was a kind of punishment.

4

The man and the woman sat in the car and talked. It was a warm evening at the beginning of October and the windows were open. They smoked cigarettes and flicked the ashes out on the sidewalk. The dog lay under a bush and peered through tired, half-closed eyes at the cigarettes' glowing tips, which looked like two fireflies inviting him to come and play in the darkness. But he didn't trust the fireflies. They were one more illusion of false hope that he had to treat with caution. This was the eighth day of his wanderings, and he was hungry and thirsty and tired. He was five weeks old and for the first time he began to feel the stirrings of what would ripen a year later into real despair.

His mother was a mongrel who had strayed from the fields to the city and littered under the concrete pillars of a quiet residential building. For a month she had suckled him and his three brothers. Early in the morning, before daybreak, she would emerge from hiding to scour the garbage cans lined up on the sidewalk. One of her front legs was broken. On the night she had strayed into town from the fields, wary of the people but oblivious to the cars, a taxi had hit her. The taxi had carried on driving while the dog went on running. For several hours she ran through the streets, past shops and cafés and restaurants, her injured leg folded inward, her heavy belly almost dragging on the asphalt, until she reached the little street and slipped under the building with the pillars, lay down on a sheet of cardboard, and gave birth to four puppies.

Whenever she returned from her scavenging expeditions to the garbage cans—where she swallowed the pickings quickly, almost without chewing—she'd lay down on the cardboard and her injured leg would twist, resulting in a cry of pain which eventually drew the attention of the neighbors.

An old man came down the stairs, holding a broomstick in his hand. At first the dogs saw only his feet, shod in rubber flip-flops, but then his knees, thighs, the bottoms of his short trousers, and his face suddenly came into view, and the bitch sprang up, bared her teeth, and growled at him. The man let out a curse and withdrew; he did not return that day. The next morning the mother rose slowly to her feet and licked each of her pups, a slow, sad lick, lingering longest on the head of the firstborn as if trying to convey a message to him with her tongue. Then she limped off in the direction of the garbage cans, walked past them, and never came back.

At noon the old man returned, accompanied by two other men. One carried a long pole with a loop at the end and the other scattered scraps of red meat over the lawn. The puppy's younger brothers ran outside, wagging their tails and whimpering, tripping over their feet in excitement and gratitude, but he preferred to withdraw deep between the pillars of the building and hide behind a pile of broken bricks that smelled of dust and spiders. The dogcatchers waited for the mother to emerge, in the meantime picking up the puppies. They exchanged a few words with the disappointed old man, who swore to them repeatedly that yesterday a crazy dog had tried to attack him right under the pillars.

The dogcatchers and the old man stood on the lawn and waited but the mother did not come back. One of the catchers collected the scraps of meat and picked up the pole, while the other clasped the three puppies to his chest. The old man felt that the bitch had betrayed him. For the sake of the residents' safety he tried to persuade the men to wait a little longer; in a whisper, so that the puppies wouldn't hear, he pointed out that “families with children” lived in the building. The catchers agreed to stay and the man went upstairs to return with a tray laden with glasses of juice and cookies. The catchers ate and drank at their leisure, and afterward they thanked the old man and left, taking their traps and the puppies with them.

Darkness fell, but the puppy didn't dare come out from behind the pile of bricks, so he stayed there all night. In the morning he lay down on the sheet of cardboard, which was soaked with urine and memories, and at noon his hunger drove him outside, to the dazzling light and the lawn which still smelled of raw meat. He crawled over the lawn, sniffing and whimpering quietly to himself, and he forgot his terror of the man with the flip-flops and the other men who had caught his brothers. A column of ants led him to a wet cookie. He snapped the booty up between his teeth and ran with it to the cardboard. After devouring the cookie, he laid his head on his front paws and fell asleep. When night fell he woke up to a new hunger, worse and more painful than the one before. He went back to the lawn and looked for the friendly ants, but he couldn't find them. He began to bark with shrill little barks, and a window opened above him, a man's head poked out, and a smell of frying meat flooded the air. It was the first time the dog had barked and he realized immediately that he had made a mistake and escaped into the street.

For a week he roamed the neighborhood, sleeping under bushes and parked cars. Now and then small children noticed him and tried to drag their parents over, but the parents usually tightened their grip on their child's hand and pulled them away. Once the dog passed a restaurant and someone threw him a chicken leg. He ate the leg and remained sitting on the sidewalk, under the generous table, but a gigantic woman came out of the restaurant and kicked him. During the course of the week he grew accustomed to all kinds of kicks: the hard kicks of café owners and shop salesmen when he sought shade and attention, the not-quite-so-hard kicks of people rejecting his attempts at friendship, and the weak kicks from feet he stumbled over in the busy streets, which were so halfhearted and incidental that they sometimes seemed to him like caresses.

Now the car door opened and a woman emerged. She leaned through the open window, and the man inside kissed her. Then she turned around, stood with her back to the car, and took her keys out of her handbag. The dog heard sounds of laughter and whispering, and opened one eye. The woman was leaning into the car again, her one leg resting against the door and the other raised in the air, and the man was kissing her and trying to pull her back in. Then she straightened up, the driver's door opened, and the man got out, slammed the door, and came around to the sidewalk.

He slouched against the passenger door. The woman stood facing him, playing with the bunch of keys, which clattered every time she threw it into the air and caught it in the palm of her hand. The man leaned toward her and whispered something in her ear. The woman took a step backward, shook her head, and went on bouncing the keys in her hand. The puppy opened his other eye and pricked up one of his ears.

The man said: “But why not?” And the woman kept quiet and smiled and went on rattling her keys. The puppy crawled out from under the bush and wagged his tail.

At first they didn't notice him. They embraced and kissed, and the bunch of keys was caught between them and the puppy heard only sucking noises and whispers and again: “Why not? Just for coffee.” And again the keys rattled, and the puppy ran up to the man and woman, his tail between his legs, his head bowed and tilted to one side.

The woman saw him, bent down, and put the bunch of keys on the sidewalk. The man said: “Look, what a poor little puppy.”

“He's so thin,” said the woman and scratched the back of his neck with her fingers.

“He's friendly,” said the man.

“Poor little thing,” said the woman.

“Look how happy he is,” said the man, and sat down on his heels. With one hand he stroked the puppy's belly and with the other he stroked the nape of the woman's neck. Then they kissed again, but they went on scratching and tickling the belly of the puppy, who immediately succumbed to their fondlings.

“What are we going to do with him?” said the woman and put her hand on the man's shoulder.

“Let's go up to your place,” said the man.

“But what about him?” she said, and looked at the puppy now lying on his belly, his head resting on his paws and his tail thumping the sidewalk.

“It doesn't look as if he belongs to anyone. You want a dog?”

“I don't know. Do you?”

“I can't,” he said. “I'm hardly ever home.”

“Actually I'd like to have a dog, but I don't know if I need that kind of commitment right now,” said the woman.

“I certainly don't,” said the man and put his hand on the woman's thigh. She sat back on the sidewalk and said: “That's enough.”

“So are we going up to your place?” asked the man.

“Yes,” said the woman and stood up. “But just for coffee.”

“And what about him?” the man said and looked at the dog.

“We'll give him something to eat, and when you leave you can take him out again,” said the woman.

“Okay,” he said, and kissed her again, this time gently, on her cheek. “After coffee I'll take him out.”

But the man and the dog stayed over.

5

Each of them slept in his own place—the dog on a little rug at the foot of the bed, and the man in the bed next to the woman. The man and the woman didn't go to sleep right away. First of all they took care of the dog. They took out almost the entire contents of the fridge and put them on a plastic plate which the woman removed from beneath one of the potted plants on the balcony. The dog's meal included a full container of cottage cheese, a few slices of hard cheese, some smoked turkey, and mocha-flavored yogurt. The man and the woman were in a generous mood. The woman put the plate down on the marble counter and asked the man if he thought it was enough. The man hugged her from behind and pressed his lips to her neck.

The dog sat on the floor next to the fridge. He understood instinctively that this would be the source of his happiness tonight, and maybe not only tonight but forever, and the man pushed him aside with his foot, opened the door, peeped inside, and took out three eggs. He broke them onto the plate with one hand and threw the shells into the garbage can. The woman picked up the plate, turned toward the man, and they kissed again. The dog jumped into the air.

Finally, the woman remembered him and she laughed and said: “Poor little thing, I'm starving you.” She freed herself from the embrace, bent down, and put the plate on the floor. The dog devoured the food. The man leaned the woman against the fridge and lifted the hem of her dress. The dog ate, whimpering as he did. His whole body trembled with excitement. He ate quickly without tasting, but when he progressed from the rim of the plate to the middle and discovered that there still was more food he slowed down and closed his eyes, abandoning himself to the mixed tastes of the eggs and cheese and turkey and mocha. He polished the meal off and then licked the plate clean. Then he turned it over, pushed it along the floor with his paw, stuck his nose under the edge, and then turned it over to lick the bottom again. When he discovered that the plate had nothing more to offer, he suddenly felt both satisfied and anxious and ran into the bedroom.

The man and the woman were rolling around on the bed naked. The dog found their clothes strewn like signposts from the kitchen to the hallway to the bedroom, which was dark and sounded of grunts. Now that the dog was full he wanted to play and began to run around the bed. He heard the man and the woman laughing and whispering, and when he saw the man's naked foot poking out of the sheet he stood on his hind legs and sniffed the warm, rough heel. The man kicked him. The dog fell on his back and rolled on the floor. He stood up and wagged his tail. He knew that this time it was a good kick.

With his stomach full, he was subject to a strange mixture of happiness and restlessness. The happiness he remembered dimly, distinct from all other memories, as a square of cardboard; the restlessness was still fresh and painful and detailed: leaves, scorching asphalt, thirst, thousands of kicking feet, and one chicken leg which was either part of the happiness or the restlessness, the dog didn't know which. He circled the bed, again stood up on his hind legs, and laid his head on the mattress. He tested the man's side and then went around to the woman's side, but neither wanted to play.

He ran to the kitchen, sniffed his plate, and licked it again; then he flipped it and kicked it and dragged it over the floor until he grew bored and returned to the bedroom. On the way he collected a sock which smelled like the rough, warm heel. He shook it between his teeth and growled, but the sock, the man, and the woman didn't cooperate. He sat next to the door and looked at the bed rocking in the dark. He missed the man and the woman.

He barked one of his experimental barks—he wasn't quite accustomed to the sound and he wasn't yet sure of its meaning—and when there was no response he ran to the living room, the sock dangling from his mouth, and crawled under the sofa. He was almost asleep when he heard water running in the bathroom. He hurried there, full of hope, and saw the woman stooped over in the bath, her back to him. She turned and smiled, aimed the shower head, and sprayed him with water. He sneezed and drew back, and when the woman came out of the bathroom he ran to the living room, beckoning her with his head to follow him. He crawled under the sofa and waited, but the woman didn't come.