Michael Christie - The Beggar's Garden

“And what’s this almost extinct Republican dog’s name?” she said, with her dark eyebrow arched.

Dan briefly considered offering his own name, then thought better of it since that would mean he’d have to invent one for himself.

“It’s Buddy,” he said.

“He’s gorgeous,” she said, and Dan turned his eyes to the dogs.

Walking home with Buddy back on his leash, the closest to tired he’d ever been, Dan ran through his conversation with Ginnie in a barely audible whisper, as if he could deduce by re-enactment how insipid he might have appeared. His job never bored him more than when he was asked to describe it to others, so when she did, he’d let out a much too theatrical sigh before telling her, “Basically, I click, so that people will click where I’ve clicked.” Which had made her laugh but now sounded flippant.

She was a nurse at St. Paul’s, and while scooping out kibble, Dan pictured her at the hospital, working a double on dead-numb feet, attending to the belligerent, the deranged, the stoic sufferers of unholy affliction, the hypochondriacal, the high school volleyball players of West Van with their twisted ankles. How could she choose a job so public? And how ironic it was that her job was to fix people, make them better, when she bore such an obvious deformity. Did people comment? Did children, awaking tonsil-less, ask her if she was an angel, and if so, then how could God let something like this happen to one of his angels?

I would curl up and die, Dan thought, as he and Buddy climbed into bed that night.

3

Weeks passed, and to Buddy’s delight they’d found themselves at the dog park almost every day. Ginnie and Dan discovered they had compatible schedules, and Buddy and Jo were already great friends. Dan had noticed a big difference in Buddy’s behaviour around the house, and they were making progress in his obedience training.

Dan was lounging on his tiny balcony when Winston called on his land line and spoke in the careful tone of a man coached by his wife: “So, we were thinking, why don’t you and your new furry best friend come out and get a taste of that patch of splendour known as the well-kept suburban backyard?”

Buddy was lying over Dan’s toes on the concrete, twitching and whimpering his way through a dream. Dan was sure that Buddy dreamt about herding various animals, and that these dreams were much like the sex dreams of Dan’s adolescence, rife with shadowy figures, unattainable goals. He pictured hundreds of sheep morphing into clouds, blown by a wind that originated from every direction. The dog twitched once more.

“I don’t know. I think Buddy may have a hard time with a vehicle, behaviour-wise. I think the trauma of his relocation is still pretty unresolved.”

Winston wasn’t listening. “What’s that, Mart …?” The thud of Marta’s voice could be heard through Winston’s palm placed over the receiver. “And you could bring someone else if you like? How about that woman …” Dan could tell he was stalling for effect. “ … uh, Ginnie? The one you mentioned the other day. I’m sure she’d like it out here.”

Dan had been careful to mention her only in passing and was surprised Winston even remembered. Winston had often tried to set Dan up in the past, having worked his way into a low-level administrative position at the public library, where there was no shortage of women Dan’s age. “It’s like musical chairs,” Winston had once said, “and they know you know the music stops when they hit forty.” But Dan had never gone for it. People as desperate as he was weren’t his thing. He was holding out, for what he didn’t know. Then Winston mentioned his new baby, which Dan hadn’t yet seen, and that made him feel like a neglectful friend, so he agreed.

They met in the park the next day at the usual time. She said she’d go as long as she could bring Jo. “I get nervous in groups,” she said, touching Dan lightly on the back. This touch was given in the way, he convinced himself later while shaving, that nurses must touch people all the time. Nurses were just used to having their hands on people, with all that spelunking into chest cavities and various orifices. Lower back, no big deal.

Ginnie pulled up in her compact car with a “Healthcare Before Olympics” bumper sticker and black dog hair blanketing every upholstered surface. They stopped and bought lamb shanks for the adults and some Italian sausages for the dogs. “It’s Jo’s favourite,” she said, actually colouring slightly with embarrassment.

In the car Dan worried about having failed to prep his friend for Ginnie’s harelip. Winston had once dumped a woman he’d dated for over a year, whom Dan had liked very much, because “her tits were like pool balls in socks and the fact she was a card-carrying idiot.” Dan knew something like a harelip fell under the disability classification, those things that cannot be helped or commented upon. And as they exited the freeway, he reminded himself of this once more.

Marta met them at the front door, her face G-force tight with the hue of a professionally roasted turkey. “Wince is in back,” she said, before hugging them rigidly, not batting a heavily mascaraed eye at Ginnie’s lip. Dan figured she’d seen her share of disfigurement in the makeup-artist-slash-aesthetician business.

“Take the puppies around the side — we just had the carpets done,” Marta said.

Winston greeted them in flip-flops, Hawaiian shirt fluttering open like two curtains drawn back for the big debut, a hairy belly that had grown since last time.

“So good to finally meet you,” he said, as if Ginnie were the subject of frequent discussion. Dan looked puzzled then laughed to make sure Ginnie knew Winston was exaggerating.

They sat out in the yard on some plastic patio furniture.

“Quite a parcel of earth you’ve purchased here,” Dan said.

“The city is no place for a kid to grow up. Too much stimulation. Too many distractions,” Winston replied, ruffling his son’s hair. It’d been ages since Dan had seen Jacob, their oldest, who was now three. He’d sprouted an odd tuft of black hair dead centre on the crown of his head, much darker than the wispy baby hair that surrounded it. It looked like he was growing out a bad dye job. Or into one.

“At least he’s got hair,” Dan said later, palming his own head and everyone had a chuckle.

Winston set a box of white wine on the table. “The good stuff,” he said, then made a flourish of lighting the barbecue.

Dan noticed that Marta tensed when the dogs came anywhere near Jada, the new baby. Buddy sniffed then licked Marta’s manicured hand and she batted him away.

“Tenacious,” Marta said.

“You wouldn’t believe it,” Dan said.

Later, out on the grass, Jacob pulled Jo’s tail and they both yelped, while Marta directed a barrage of questions at Ginnie, who handled them with grace.

“Well, some suggest the Kerry blue terrier is the result of a Portuguese water dog swimming ashore from a shipwreck and mating with the soft-coated wheaten,” Ginnie told her.

“That is so romantic,” Marta declared, glancing at Dan for some reason. “She’s such a beautiful dog. Gorgeous.”

“Well, she was destined for the show circuit, but her tail was too short. She’s lucky they didn’t put her out of her misery,” Ginnie said.

“You know it’s amazing the kind of things they can do now,” said Marta, blind to the irony of Ginnie’s comment. “You wouldn’t believe it. I bet you could have the tail lengthened if you really wanted.”

“Oh no, I’m happy with her just the way she is,” Ginnie said.

To steer the conversation away from genetic defects, Dan said, “You know what they do have now is an organic dog deli. I did a website for them.”