Teaching the Dog to Read
Teaching the Dog to Read
Copyright © 2015 by Jonathan Carroll. All rights reserved.
Dust jacket illustration and design Copyright © 2015 by Ryder Carroll. All rights reserved.
Print version interior design Copyright © 2015 by Desert Isle Design, LLC. All rights reserved.
Electronic Edition
ISBN
978-1-59606-726-4
Subterranean Press
PO Box190106
Burton, MI 48519
for Alicja Krawiec
who fought the storm and won.
In celebration.
We don’t remember the dream,
but the dream remembers us.
—Linda Pastan
The gift arrived in the regular mail: a nondescript square box wrapped in thick brown paper with a striking, quite beautiful royal blue and white mailing label on top saying it came from the Lichtenberg Watch Company.
Tony Areal’s eyes widened on seeing that name because for the last few years one of his dreams was to own a Lichtenberg watch; in particular, the Lichtenberg ‘Figure’ wristwatch that cost over nine thousand dollars. He loved watches but most especially this one. However he had nowhere near the kind of money to spend on something as wonderfully frivolous and unnecessary as an almost ten grand wristwatch. It was a nice unrealistic dream, but one he returned to often. Whatever
was
in this package was probably some sort of nasty joke from a smartass friend who knew how much Areal coveted the beautiful timepiece. Whoever it was had somehow gotten hold of one of the Lichtenberg Company’s mailing labels and stuck it on this box, hoping to trick Tony into believing his dream had magically come true and for once in his not interesting life the gods really
had
favored him for some mysterious reason. However on opening this surprising arrival of course he’d only find something dumb and disappointing inside, like a rubber duck or package of cheap condoms. Certainly not the glorious ‘Figure’ watch he had desired for so long.
He picked up his pocket knife and after opening it, carefully cut along one of the box’s seams. He thought, “I know it isn’t in here, but what the hell—until I see what
is
, I’m going to pretend it’s a ‘Figure.’ For the next thirty seconds of my life I’m going to pretend some amazingly generous friend sent me a Lichtenberg watch out of the blue because they love me. Ha!”
He’d seen so many photos and video clips of the watch and the meticulous painstaking way it was made. He’d even watched with unwavering attention a YouTube clip of the “unboxing” of a ‘Figure’ (112 views) wherein some lucky guy who’d bought the watch filmed himself opening the simple but lovely cherrywood case with the signature two lightning bolts on the lid that was a ‘Figure’s’ safe home when not being used.
After opening all four flaps of the cardboard package and bending them backward, Areal pulled off a fat layer of protective plastic bubble wrap—and froze. Because there beneath it, he saw those instantly recognizable black lightning bolts…
“
What the hell
…” Mouth open in both awe and consternation, he awkwardly slid his hands down inside the cardboard and pulled out a square wooden box emblazoned with that oh-so familiar black logo on the lid. “
No way!”
But it was real. He undid the small brass hook and eye holding the top closed (even that was beautifully made) and lifted it. Staring him right in the eye was a Lichtenberg ‘Figure’ watch addressed to the one and only Anthony Areal.
For a few moments he was almost, no he
was
afraid to take the watch out of the box. Maybe this was all a minutely detailed dream and the moment he actually
touched
the thing he’d either wake up in his real world where this treasure wasn’t there inches in front of him, or it would turn into a pumpkin (or something else weird), like Cinderella’s coach at midnight.
“Screw it!” Reaching down, he carefully tugged the heavy object out of the royal blue velvet that held it firmly in place. Even if this
was
a dream, once in his life Tony was going to actually hold a damned Lichtenberg ‘Figure’ watch in his hand. And if it
were
real by some miracle, then the sooner that happened the better.
The watchband was a deep red oxblood color. He knew from reading on the Lichtenberg website that the leather was made by Horween, the best of the best. The watch’s brushed aluminum case, black face with luminous white hands and numerals…. This
had
to be the real thing, although for a few mini seconds the paranoid thought flashed across his mind that it might only be a good copy of the watch, a hundred dollar knockoff made in some hellish sweatshop in Bangladesh, Bangalore, Belarus or worse. But the wooden box itself must have cost a lot, and the specific details everywhere
like how the blue of the
inner
velvet exactly matched the blue on the mailing label…no, this had to be the real thing.
Heavy
—the watch was so wonderfully heavy in his hand. It made him think of gold or some other precious metal that by weight alone tells you this shit is
real
; you are holding something
significant
in your hand, Son.
On his wrist he carefully adjusted the band to fit, then closed the wide metal clasp. It was gorgeous—better than he had ever imagined. The gratifying heaviness, the size, the faint erotic smell of new leather still on the band (he brought it to his nose to get a few good deep sniffs), the sheer
thereness
of the watch on his, Tony Areal’s, wrist… He disliked and never used the by now exhausted word ‘awesome’ because everybody else did 24/7, but damn it this watch
was
awesome. There was no other way to describe it.
He took a deep happy breath, stood and walked across the room to a full length mirror mounted on a wall there. For the next few minutes he preened and posed in front of the long glass like a Milan model, arm stiff out in front, wrist and watch exposed to the mirror. Then watch hand on his chin, his hip, his opposite shoulder, then
stuffed into his jeans pocket but not deep enough to hide the silver beauty from the mirror’s admiring eye….Pose after different pose to see how his ‘Figure’ looked in various set ups. Tony Areal was not a vain man but if someone were to watch him in front of the mirror for those minutes they would have thought he was Narcissus loving his reflection in the pool. He even tried a DeNiro impersonation from
Taxi Driver
—“Are you talking to me?” He wanted to see if the watch’s magic gave him a little bit of Travis Bickle. It didn’t and he knew his imitation was awful but what the hell—why not? This timepiece could transform any Clark Kent into Superman.
Tony was a happy man. He had the watch. He had no idea
why
he had it or what great good person in his life had given it to him, but for now he was content letting that mystery dangle from his mind like a key on a keychain. He walked back to the table and picked up the mailing box. Yes indeed, it was addressed to him—Anthony Areal—no mistake about that. Mr. Areal was now the proud owner of one Lichtenberg ‘Figure’ watch. The End.
A week later it was the car. He worked in an office. He had a job. What he did at that job is not important. If I told you what it entailed you’d shrug, so let’s skip Anthony Areal’s professional bio and get right to the car. One day a bicycle messenger dressed all in yellow like a giant canary arrived in his office with a manila envelope for Tony. There was no return address on it which was sort of peculiar but sometimes it happened—a sender was in a hurry or simply forgot to put their address on.
When he opened it something fell out onto the floor—something metallic by the sound of it and heavy. Bending to pick it up, he saw it was a single fat key on a keychain. Both had the instantly recognizable gold, red and black logo of the Porsche automobile company on them.
Tony frowned, straightened, and dropped the keychain on his desk. He stared at it a moment before picking up the envelope again and looking inside. There were quite a few pieces of different size and colored paper which on inspection turned out to be a car registration, certificate of ownership, an auto insurance policy paid in full and even a membership to the national auto club—all in the name of Anthony Areal.
The last piece of paper had a neat handwritten note on it. “The car is in the parking lot. The gas tank is full. This is the license plate number. Of course it’s a gray metallic Cayman with coral red interior.” Almost instinctively after reading the note he glanced down at the new watch on his wrist. It felt like he needed to confirm the exact time this was all happening to him even though he had no idea
what
was happening to him.
His sassy work colleague Lena Schabort walked by. Seeing the key on the desk, she stopped and put her hands on her hips. “Driving a Porsche these days, Tony?” The mocking derisive tone of her smoky voice said if
you
are driving a Porsche these days, then alligators can whistle Beethoven.
Like most men in the office, Tony had lusted after Lena ever since she came to work there, but knew he stood little chance. She was the kind of woman who only dated men who actually owned a Porsche (or two) and had their shoes custom made in London. He most certainly did not. Lena was so bold and sure of herself that now she leaned over to his desk and without asking permission, read the handwritten note that had come with the key. A thin fog of doubt moved in over her eyes and she frowned. Had the world as she perceived it suddenly and rudely shifted a bit to the left? She stared coldly at Areal as if he had been deceiving her all along. Then she marched over to a large picture window that looked out on the company parking lot. It took maybe ten seconds for her to scan the lot and locate the car. “
Come here,
” she commanded. Her back was turned but plainly she meant Tony.