Russ Franklin - Cosmic Hotel

Normally he could have invited her in. “Fantastic, darling, what can I do for you today?” Why are attractive people so fascinating? he thought.

She bent to give the dog a hearty pat on the shoulder, and he admired her bare back between the straps of her double tanks.

“Look who we found here!” she said.

“Who?” he said.

“I bet you missed this boy, didn’t you?” She held out the leash for Van Raye.

He took it but then immediately tried to give it back and said, “Oh no, there’s some mistake,” he said. The dog sat obediently, tongue out. “This isn’t my dog.” He shook the leash for her to take back.

She looked at her electronic pad. “You’ve got to be kidding me. This isn’t Chava?”

“ What did you say? ” he said.

“This isn’t Chava? Isn’t that a girl’s name? Sometimes the scanner picks up another dog in the truck.”

“Let’s not say that word.”

“Ah, I’m not saying anything, professor,” she said. “But if this isn’t your dog. . I am so sorry. What kind of dog do you have?”

He glanced behind her for possible eavesdroppers, looked up and down the street at the houses.

“Why do you say that’s its name?” he asked. “Who are you?”

“I’m Kathy, an associate at the shelter.” She looked at her pad.

“That’s not my dog. I don’t know what it is, but it’s not mine.” After thinking for a second, he added, “It’s impossible for that to be its name.”

She squinted her eyes at him and then looked at the pad. “His name is Chava Norma Raye,” she said. “His registered name.”

“Okay,” he said, “this is not my dog and there is a huge misunderstanding.”

“Hmm. . a mix up,” she said.

She pressed buttons on the pad, knelt and touched the pad to the dog’s neck. The dog held its breath and there was a pleasant chime. “It might have scanned a nearby chip. . ” she said, “that happens sometimes.”

“That can’t be the dog’s name,” he said.

“Ah, yes.” She stood up. “You are Charles Van Raye. And this is definitely. . Chava Norma, registered to you at this address.” She turned the pad so he could see. “This is you, and this is Chava. Do you call him Chava or Norma? I think he’s underweight. How long has he been gone? Maybe you don’t recognize him.”

“He hasn’t been gone ,” Van Raye said. “Can you change that?”

“Change what?”

“The name,” he said.

“Sure,” she said. “I mean, you’ll have to fill out the necessary forms, but you can change your dog’s name, though at this age we don’t really suggest it. He’ll always respond to Chava,” and she rubbed the dog’s ears. “Good boy, good boy, Chava.”

“Please stop saying that!”

She considered his face and then his robe. Was he crazy? The dog didn’t seem to mind that anything was going on around him. He panted. Slobber was about to drop.

“I’m very confused,” Van Raye said, “where did he come from ?”

“Probably a Good Samaritan picked him up and brought him to the animal welfare center. Happens all the time. Can you just sign here?”

“I can’t sign, this isn’t my dog! I’ve never seen this dog in my life.” He looked behind her at the houses across the street as if neighbors would see him.

“He’s been your dog — the records show. . ” the woman glanced at the registry, “for seven years.”

“Seven years? Wait. I have a theory,” he said, “could someone be doing this to me? There are parties interested in harassing me. I have several ex-wives.”

“Ah, professor. . ” she said, “this isn’t a joke. These records are meticulous. No one can register you as an animal parent except you. You are accepting responsibility for your family member, aren’t you?”

“Absolutely not,” he said.

He thought about the dog’s name. How had that happened? It was the name of the exoplanet, given by some other astronomer years ago, existing in the registry of known exoplanets among several thousands, and he’d discovered the Sound coming from this Chava Norma and now a dog shows up on his steps with the same name. It made no sense. Someone was behind this. He would take the dog and have the name changed with as little ordeal as possible and give the dog back to the shelter and someone’s little harassing joke would be over. Someone less dense than this woman would understand.

“Professor?” she said. She handed him a pamphlet and turned to take experimental steps away from him and the dog.

He realized he was still holding the leash. Van Raye mumbled, “This isn’t my dog, but it will be straightened out.”

When she was going toward the truck, she glanced over her shoulder and stopped. “Ah, Dr. Van Raye, it is my responsibility to tell you that the Veterinary and Animal Society, and I’m sure the university, takes dog abandonment very seriously. You do know it’s punishable by municipal laws?”

“I didn’t abandon this dog!”

“Good,” she said and kept going.

He started back into the house, kicking a box of construction scrap over with his bare foot. The dog stretched the leash to get away from the sound, and he dropped it but the dog stood still. He heard the animal welfare truck beep backward down his driveway.

He turned the pamphlet over. It was titled, “How to Welcome Your Dog Back Home”:

#1: Although you might be angry at your dog for running away, welcome him or her back with open arms, enthusiasm, and love!

He bent down and unhooked the leash. The dog didn’t move, still panting, cocking his brows. Dogs, he thought, were the best creatures at pretending nothing was going on.

He left it downstairs, the dog free to go on about its business in the world. Maybe a worker in the other room would take it. He hated them all, them turning his house into something he didn’t want.

Upstairs, without the dog, he found Ruth standing topless by the open window, wearing only those ugly briefs pulled below her slightly swollen belly. She’d told him that she was eighteen weeks “along,” and to him the belly looked like she’d drunk a milkshake — maybe two milkshakes and a few beers — and the skin was stretched tight enough to be mottled red, and her breasts hung full. She leaned against the wall and smoked as she studied the world outside the open patio doors, the canopy of trees.

“You shouldn’t be smoking,” he said still standing in the doorway.

“What was that all about?” she asked.

Ruth Christmas was the only other person in the world who knew that Chava Norma was the planet in question. The dog had to be Ruth’s doing, he thought, but she wasn’t a person to play a joke.

He explained to Ruth what had taken place downstairs. His theory, he said, was that someone was harassing him, and he waited for her to show some sign of guilt.

“Who else have you told about this?” she asked.

“No one,” he said. “I did tell my son.”

“Which one?”

“Sandeep.”

“The one with money. Not the priest?”

“He wouldn’t have told anyone,” he said.

“How do you know?” Ruth held the cigarette beside her head to think. “Someone else obviously knows what you’ve found,” she said. “The dish has logs. Someone can go through them.”

“That won’t tell anyone anything. It was a scan. It scanned large sections of the sky. This makes me anxious. Time is running out.”

“For what?” Ruth asked him.

“I don’t know.” Van Raye got on the bed, flat on his stomach, took his glasses off.

“Tell me how this would make you feel,” she asked, “if the dog thing, this problem, just disappeared?”