Norman Rush - Whites

The moon was full. It would almost be worth it to be a werewolf. After all, he would have his little problem only once a month, like women. Then he could take care of Letsamao’s dogs, either all at once or a few per month. But did werewolves eat dogs? He would.

Normally, he would go to mind force now. But he had given up on mind force, permanently. That was clear. Mind force was the only form of warfare that would let him lie immobile and not wake Lois up. Unfortunately, it was a delusion and stupid. He had tried hard to give mind force the benefit of the doubt. After all, there was a Russian medium who could make matchsticks hop around under a bell jar, supposedly. Poltergeist cases seemed to reduce to something real — certain adolescents sending out streams of invisible energy able to smash crockery and empty ashtrays on their parents’ heads. Freud once made Jung faint through sheer hatred during an argument, according to Jung, and so on.

Doing mind force, he had imagined white fire flowing up from the root of his spine and out between his eyes, where it would take weaponlike forms and destroy the dogs. He had started out with benign visualizations, such as sleep-inducing fog banks. Then he had escalated to winged nooses, blunt instruments, and on to spikes and blades. Sometimes he had accompanied his visualizations with body English, like tensing his neck cords or clenching his teeth.

He was beginning to resent all the slow motion getting in and out of bed. He realized it was making him feel old. This time, he got out of bed normally. Lo murmured, but was asleep again by the time he had frozen. He picked up his bathrobe and went out into the breezeway to sit until daybreak.

Diabolically, the barking stopped.

Lois said good morning, startling Carl. She was in the kitchen doorway. There was something in her expression. It was possible he’d been thinking out loud about the breakfast he’d made, because, seeing it all laid out, he realized it was excessive.

“Hey, please don’t interrupt me when I’m talking to myself,” he said, getting a weak smile out of Lo.

There were poached eggs, four slices of toast, broiled tomatoes, kippers, sliced peaches in maas , cornflakes, the last of their decent coffee. There was a reason for the extravagance. He had something urgent to get across. He felt that a leisurely breakfast would set up the right mood.

Lo excused herself. She would never come directly from bed to the breakfast table. Even if breakfast was brought to her in bed, she would insist on getting up to rinse her face before eating anything. She was inflexible about it. That was an example of what was worrying him about her. He had a feeling that she’d made up her mind to appeal to the ambassador for a change of housing. Carl had to prevent that. He had already explained why, and she had seemed to be listening. But there was a reservation in her attitude that had him worried. She had a naïve conception of the ambassador and his powers. He sensed she was planning to do something. It wasn’t that Lois was aggressive by nature. Lo wasn’t even a feminist. But Lois loved him, and because of the dogs she was a potential fanatic on getting assigned to another house.

They sat down together. There was no reference to the extent of the breakfast. She ate a little of everything, praising everything.

Over coffee, he began. “Lo, I need you to promise me something.” He reached across the table for her hand. “I need you to swear on my life you won’t go to the ambassador about our housing.” She was silent. He knew that he had been right.

He explained it all again, watching his tone. There were no alternative houses to be had. The housing shortage in the capital was grave. The Government of Botswana was going so far as to turn down any project that required it to provide housing in the capital for experts. The ambassador was not a god, and he was helpless on this issue. There was no way anyone in his right mind would trade quarters with them, because everyone knew about the dogs. Americans were doubling up in houses meant for one family. Contract people were stuck in hotels for months.

She came back with her experience in hotel work. Desk clerks might say there was nothing available, but if you were important enough there would always be a room. She reminded Carl that they were official Americans in Botswana, not contract people.

He explained again that the ambassador saw himself as a new broom. Under the previous ambassador, the housing committee had been a circus, an uproar, a black mark for the ambassador when the inspectors came through. As a sign of strength, the new ambassador had killed the whole appeal process in the housing committee. Now it was policy that people took the housing they were assigned and liked it, or they were sent home.

Finally, he had to explain about Elaine and housing — something he had minimized until now. He was under an emotional injunction from Lois against speaking ill of Elaine, which he accepted. But there had to be exceptions. Elaine had made a hobby out of challenging their housing assignments. She had become notorious. It had gotten into his efficiency rating reports. In short, there was a negative history to be lived down. He recognized that Elaine had needed to assert herself as a person, under what she probably saw as difficult overseas conditions. Nevertheless, there had been a difficult result. Lois seemed to be understanding all this. He finished by saying that going to the ambassador, besides being absolutely not in their own interest, would make her look childish — like someone who couldn’t appreciate facts. It would look like a tantrum.

She was unhappy, but she promised. He stood up. He was reluctant to go until she released him with some sign of forgiveness for everything.

A hornbill called in the garden. He had a thought. Lo had no idea that the one bird he could always identify was the hornbill. He remembered the first time he had heard it, years ago in Rwanda. He had stiffened at whatever he was doing, guiltily. He always heard the harsh, drawn-out aww as a cry of disapproval, probably maternal. “I think that’s a hornbill,” he said.

She looked up, pleased. He could go.

Walking home late that evening, Carl made himself contemplate trying to see Letsamao again. He had already spoken to Letsamao, once by phone and once in person, but both times he had been too gingerly. Whether to avoid seeming neurotic or to engage Letsamao’s chivalrous side, Carl had put it that it was mainly Lois who was suffering from the dogs. Both times, Letsamao had said the same things — that Carl’s wife was oversensitive and would in time adapt; that the dogs were not extreme, as shown by the fact that no one else was complaining; that among the numerous Europeans who had lived in Carl’s house previously there were none who had ever complained. Letsamao had as much as said that it was the business of a husband to manage a wife’s problems and to avoid intruding on the valuable time of a cabinet minister. Letsamao had reacted in no way to the suggestion that he might take his dogs in at night. It was as though the suggestion hadn’t even been made. Now Carl had a better and more moderate idea. It was that someone from among Letsamao’s retinue — that was the wrong word and unfair — be appointed to come out and quiet the dogs when they started up. This time when he spoke to Letsamao he would bring himself into it, confessing that he was the one primarily suffering. Letsamao had dominated their earlier conversations, pressing Carl to finish his business quickly. Their second conversation had been short and sharp. When nothing resulted from the exchanges, Carl had gone over twice more, at times when he knew Letsamao was at home, only to be told each time by the maid that the Minister was not to be disturbed. Trying to relay complaints through Letsamao’s domestics was a waste of time.