Emma Richler - Feed My Dear Dogs

EMMA RICHLER

Feed My Dear Dogs

For Daniel, Noah, Martha & Jacob, and for my mother, my muse, and in memory of my father, with love .

Every Space that a Man views around his dwelling place,

Standing on his own roof, or in his garden on a mount,

such Space is his Universe.

And on the verge the Sun rises and sets,

the Starry Heavens reach no further;

And if he moves his dwelling-place, his heavens also move

Wher’er he goes.

WILLIAM BLAKE

Tamar Rahmani,

for many things

Cover

Title Page EMMA RICHLER Feed My Dear Dogs

Dedication Dedication Dedication Epigraph One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight Nine Ten Eleven P.S. Ideas, Interviews & Features … About the Author Q and A with Emma Richler Life at a Glance A Writing Life Top Ten Books About the Book On the Novelist in His Cavern, His Vision and Blindness Read On Have You Read? If You Loved This, You Might Like … About the Author Keep Reading Praise Copyright About the Publisher For Daniel, Noah, Martha & Jacob, and for my mother, my muse, and in memory of my father, with love .

Epigraph Epigraph Epigraph One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight Nine Ten Eleven P.S. Ideas, Interviews & Features … About the Author Q and A with Emma Richler Life at a Glance A Writing Life Top Ten Books About the Book On the Novelist in His Cavern, His Vision and Blindness Read On Have You Read? If You Loved This, You Might Like … About the Author Keep Reading Praise Copyright About the Publisher Every Space that a Man views around his dwelling place, Standing on his own roof, or in his garden on a mount, such Space is his Universe. And on the verge the Sun rises and sets, the Starry Heavens reach no further; And if he moves his dwelling-place, his heavens also move Wher’er he goes. WILLIAM BLAKE

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

P.S. Ideas, Interviews & Features …

About the Author

Q and A with Emma Richler

Life at a Glance

A Writing Life

Top Ten Books

About the Book

On the Novelist in His Cavern, His Vision and Blindness

Read On

Have You Read?

If You Loved This, You Might Like …

About the Author

Keep Reading

Praise

Copyright

About the Publisher

Jude always said a kid is supposed to get acclimatised to the great world and society and so on, and just as soon as he can bash around on his own two pins, but the feeling of dread and disquiet I experienced on leaving home in my earliest days was justified for me again and again on journeys out, beginning with the time Zachariah Levinthal bashed me on the head for no clear-cut reason with the wooden mallet he had borrowed from his mother’s kitchen. It did not hurt much, as I was wearing my Sherlock Holmes deerstalker hat with both ear flaps tied up neatly in a bow on top, providing extra protection from onslaught, but I must say it struck me that Zach, who was nearly a whole year and a half older than me, same age as my brother Jude in fact, Zach was the one in need of a few pointers regarding recommended behaviour in the great world and society at large. Never mind. The way I saw it, he was just testing out his enthusiasm for tools and surfaces, and, possibly, exploring a passing fancy for a future in architecture or construction work, and in my household, enthusiasms were encouraged, which is why I regularly went to and fro with a handful of 54mm World War I and World War II soldiers in my pocket for recreation purposes, with no one to stop me, although I am a girl and expected, in some circles, to have more seemly pursuits. You have to allow for enthusiasms, you never know where they may lead, so I knew to keep my composure the day Zach hit me on the head with a meat pulveriser. No. Tenderiser. So there you are, that is what I mean, it depends on how you look at things, how bashing away at a piece of beefsteak with a wooden hammer can induce a quality of tenderness in meat is just as surprising, perhaps, as my not protesting the risk of brain damage I incurred at the age of eight or so, instead, forgiving Zach on account of his enthusiasms and general spirit of endeavour.

I think all stories are like this, about looking out for a way to be in life without messing up in the end, a way to be that feels like home, and if you bear this in mind, it’s easy to see some situations as OK which might strike you otherwise as downright odd, and that story about Francis of Assisi and the crow is just one example of many. At the latter end of his life, Francis befriends a crow who is fiercely devoted, sitting right next to Francis at mealtimes, and traipsing after him on visits to the sick and leprous, and following his coffin when he died, whereupon the crow lost heart and simply fell apart, refusing to eat and so on, until he died also. Now, if you nip along the street or go about the shopping with a crow at your heels, you are not likely to make friends in a hurry, because it is odd behaviour, and not recommended. Unless you are a saint, in which case it is OK. So that’s one thing. The other OK-not-OK thing in this story is how that crow did not choose to make life easy and fall in love with his or her own kind, another crow with whom that bird might have a bright future and bring up little crows and so on. No. For the crow, Francis was home, that’s all there is to it, it is OK.

This is also how it goes for le petit prince in the book of that name by M. Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, a story about a small boy in a single suit of fine princely haberdashery, living on an asteroid with a volcano, a baobab tree and a rose, and having nothing much to do but watch the sunset. In the scheme of things, it is not so odd that he falls in love with the rose, and leaves his tiny planet in a fit of lovesickness, taking advantage of a migration of wild birds for his journey, hanging on to them, as it shows in the watercolour, by way of special reins. The prince finally lands on Earth wherein he has a shady encounter with a snake who has murder in mind, albeit concealed in a promise to this small lovestruck and visionary boy, a promise of return, a single ticket home by way of the eternal worlds.

Upon landing, the prince asks, Where did I fall, what planet is this?

I remember everything.

Everything and nothing is strange. It depends how you look at it.

Zach, now, is something in law, Jude says, although I keep forgetting the details, because all I can think is how Zach found a place where everything ought to come out right, and where even hammers crash down upon suitable surfaces for the tenderising of felony and injustice, and I hope he is happy, I hope so, though I don’t know, as I do not go in for telephones and letters these days, not now I have fallen out with society and the great world, but still I have enthusiasms, ones I pursue in low-lit rooms, with my handful of soldiers here, entering my world in unlikely ways, it might seem, to strangers.