André Alexis - Fifteen Dogs

Winter was not a good season for a dog without a master. Alone, Benjy spent most of his time going from house to house looking for someone to take him in, doing the things humans — mysteriously, incomprehensibly — liked dogs to do. He rolled over, pretended to be dead, sat up, stood on his hind legs (which was difficult for him), begged for food and, on occasion, howled in imitation of human song. When one thought about it, a dog had to take it on faith that humans possessed intelligence. They were expert makers of dens and food, however, and those were the things Benjy wanted from them. Clearly, he could get them more efficiently if he learned human language.

— You know, said Benjy after he’d finished eating and drinking, I always thought you were the most clever dog. I am certain that’s why the pack leader wanted to kill you.

— The grey dog with the cascading face? asked Majnoun.

The two were in the living room, on their own. Nira, feeling as if she were intruding on Majnoun’s privacy, left them alone for a time. The living room had a brightly coloured throw rug — crimson, light straw and gold — on its floor. It had an armchair and a sofa, a false fireplace and windows that looked onto the street, windows Majnoun could look out of, if he sat on the sofa.

Benjy ignored Majnoun’s question.

— It does not surprise me, he said, that you have learned to speak with humans. I would be your submissive, if you would teach me a little of what you know.

Majnoun was looking out the window at the passing world: cars, pedestrians, other dogs and the cats whose appearance always made him growl. He knew it was senseless to dislike the poor, weak creatures, but he could not help himself and often found — to his own dismay — that it was difficult to suppress the desire to bark at the sight of felines. As Benjy said ‘teach me,’ a cat passed near enough to the house to provoke a growl. Thinking Majnoun’s growl was meant for him, Benjy said

— I am an innocent dog. I have not done you any wrong.

Getting down from the sofa, the window proving too much of a distraction, Majnoun said

— I will teach you human words if you tell me where the others are.

— The others, said Benjy, are dead. I thought I was the last of our pack.

+

Although there was no real need for Benjy to hide what had happened to the pack, he was wary of saying too much. For one thing, he had been responsible for the pack’s demise and he was not sure how Majnoun would react if he knew. So, in his retelling, Benjy left out any detail that might incriminate him, while adding little flourishes here and there to make himself look better than he had been. These flourishes and silences did not misrepresent the character of Atticus’s reign, however. Benjy, essentially, told the truth.

He had been awake for the killing of Athena. He had seen Frick make off with her body and had watched as Frack roused Bella and led her away. It didn’t take much thought to guess Bella’s fate. What took thought was the decision their deaths forced on him: should he stay or leave? If Frick and Frack were willing to kill so wantonly, why wouldn’t they kill him? He would be little more trouble to them than Athena had been. On the other hand, exile was a frightening idea. What would life be without the bigger dogs around to defend him? His only course would be to find a master and, humans being dangerous, this was not something he wanted to do.

The other thing that was clear on the night of Athena’s murder was who the conspirators were. Frick, Frack, Max and Atticus had been furtive from early on, at times keeping to themselves. So, when Frick and then Frack had gone off, Benjy had turned to where Max was lying. He had turned and waited. He waited until the strange disappearance of Prince and then observed the stealthy commotion as the brothers and Max searched the den. When the conspirators had left the den, Benjy had followed, going to a tree a distance away from the coppice. He hid in a place that was far enough from the den to afford him some safety but close enough so that he could observe the comings and goings. It was from here that he heard the terrifying fracas that signalled the attack on Majnoun.

Now, the mystery deepened for him. The conspirators had gone after Majnoun, Bella, Athena and Prince. Where was the logic? What connected the four who had been disposed of? More importantly, as far as Benjy was concerned, where did he fit in the scheme of things? Was there something that tied him to the victims, or was he connected to the conspirators?

Once the conspirators had returned to the coppice, Benjy sought out the body of Majnoun, saw that the dog was to all appearances dead, and peed on what he took to be the corpse, marking it so that others might be wary of him, if they connected his scent with this violence. After that, still uncertain about what he should do, but convinced he could flee if he had to, Benjy returned to the coppice where, to his surprise, all the dogs were asleep. Warily, he went to his place and stayed there until morning.

In the morning, a new order came with the sunlight. The dogs woke early, two of them — that is, Bobbie and Dougie — confused by a difference they could not understand.

— Where is the big bitch? asked Bobbie.

Atticus yawned before he snapped his jaws together. Then, he barked while Frick and Frack nosed Bobbie, Dougie and Benjy toward him.

— These are the last words I’ll speak in this useless tongue, said Atticus. The dogs who have not wanted to stay with us have gone into exile. The big bitch has died. Humans have taken her body away. I am now the leader of this pack. Does any dog object?

— You will make a wonderful leader, said Benjy.

— Whether I am wonderful or not, I will lead. Those who wish can choose exile. Those who stay will live properly, like dogs. We don’t need words for doors or trees. We don’t need to talk about time or hills or stars. We did not talk about those things before, and our ancestors did well without this language. From now on, anyone who speaks anything but the old tongue will be punished. We will hunt. We will defend our territory. The rest does not concern us.

— I cannot stop the words that go on inside me, said Bobbie.

— No one can stop that, said Atticus. Keep them inside.

— And if we speak by mistake? asked Dougie.

— You will be punished, said Atticus.

Who knows why, in these circumstances, a dog would speak up. Benjy was too busy taking it all in. How, he wondered, would they be punished for speaking? How was Atticus to stop them from speaking with each other when they were alone? And why the injunction in the first place? Their language gave them an advantage over other dogs. Still, thought Benjy, might does what might will do, whether it was humans beating you for pissing or Atticus insisting that dogs should not speak. It was best to let those in power do what they wished while finding some advantage in it for oneself.

Evidently, the orange bitch did not see things his way.

— I choose exile, said Bobbie.

— We will help you leave, answered Atticus.

As if it had been worked out in advance, the conspirators attacked the orange bitch at once. They were ruthless and, as the Duck Toller was smaller than any of the four, they did immediate, severe damage. Desperate because she understood they meant to kill her, Bobbie cried out in distress. The sound was terrifying. She managed to run from the den, but the four pursued her, biting at her legs as she ran. They chased her beyond the pond where, weakened, she fell. There, they bit her until her body stopped moving and her blood ran onto the grass.

(While recounting this moment to Majnoun, Benjy was as solemn as could be, as if relating an injustice. The truth was, though, that he had felt admiration for the conspirators. Some part of him admired the four dogs still. They had been swift and clear, and one had to admit that clarity, however terrifying it might be, was at least admirable. It was perhaps even beautiful. He could only aspire to it. It was an ideal that, realistically speaking, a dog of his size and stature could never attain, clarity being an expression of power.)