André Alexis - Fifteen Dogs

Benjy was further distracted from the hard truth of Majnoun’s warning by the fact that both he and Majnoun had known strange moments with their own language. Prince’s way of speaking, for instance:

We bound into the prairie

through ages of Winter grass,

taking the path Ina took.

Her name long gone,

though her roads linger.

The ground will not forget.

or

Longing to be sprayed (the green snake

writhing in his master’s hand),

back and forth into that stream –

jump, rinse: coat slick with soap.

In a word, Benjy was confident that Prince’s poetry had prepared him for the complications of human speech.

The months during which Majnoun taught Benjy to speak ‘human’ (that is, English) were a struggle for all involved. Majnoun taught as any reasonable being might. He made what he knew were significant sounds, so that Benjy could recognize and then produce them for himself. This method was tricky because Majnoun would not speak in Nira’s presence. Benjy and Majnoun did their Berlitzing at the far end of the garden, where they could be heard by passersby, though they could not be seen. As sharp as Benjy was — and he was very sharp when driven by self-interest — there were nuances of the language that could not be mastered without interaction with a native speaker. He, like Majnoun himself, tended to mispronounce important words. Food , for instance, came out as

— Ooot

while water was

— Owta.

The sounds might have been recognizable in context, but acquiring ‘context’ was difficult. Majnoun did not want him to speak to Nira. In fact, Majnoun had forbidden him from speaking to her. But Benjy was convinced that Nira — who’d taught Majnoun the language — was the one to teach him. So he went around Majnoun, speaking to Nira when Majnoun was asleep or in another room or out relieving himself.

From the beginning, he could pronounce Nira’s name well enough that there was never a doubt he was speaking to her. To Nira, it was disconcerting and frightening whenever Benjy, anxious that Majnoun should not know what he was up to, ‘whispered’ her name.

— Near-a, he’d say

and then he would try a word out. For instance:

— Owta.

— Water? Nira would ask

and Benjy would repeat the word, imitating her and adding

— Pease

which was as close as he ever got to please . He would then observe her as she filled the bowl or, more often than not, say

— There’s water in the bowl.

At which, Benjy would answer

— Hank ooo

and she would correct him, punctiliousness overcoming the almost unbearable strangeness of being spoken to by a beagle.

Benjy’s approach was mildly successful but only until the afternoon he spoke Nira’s name and then said, quite clearly

— Mow neigh.

He’d meant to speak the word money , a word Majnoun had been unable to explain precisely. The word had something to do with what Majnoun had called ‘this for that,’ a word that was mysterious and yet palpably important, perhaps the most important. It was also mixed up, somehow, with the thin, round, copper-tangy disks that peppered the streets of the city.

— What? Nira asked.

— Monet, pease.

For a strange moment, Nira was certain the beagle was referring to the French impressionist. The possibility that Benjy knew the history of art was frightening because it was so far beyond belief. But his actual demand was just as intimidating.

— You want money? she asked.

Benjy said

— Yes

and nodded.

— No, said Nira. No, no. I don’t have any to give you. Go away.

Not knowing why Nira was upset, Benjy retired from the kitchen, worried that he’d done something wrong. As, indeed, he had. Nira spoke to Majnoun about his ‘friend’ and, once the dogs were alone, Majnoun attacked Benjy, biting him hard, hurting him until the beagle cried out and went limp in surrender. Majnoun showed himself to be weak, however. He released Benjy without making him bleed. More than that: he warned the dog that worse would happen if he ever spoke to Nira again.

Benjy slunk away with his tail between his legs. In deference to the bigger dog, he did not show himself for a while, hiding behind a couch. He was not afraid of Majnoun. The fact that Majnoun had warned him at all was sufficient proof to Benjy that Majnoun was not dangerous. Majnoun even went on teaching him English! More: in cutting him off from Nira, Majnoun unwittingly forced Benjy to take another (perhaps even better) path to English: Miguel. Miguel was bigger and more threatening than Nira, no doubt more powerful. And an expert speaker of the language. Why should he not speak to Miguel?

There were a few things to consider, of course. How would Miguel respond to his approach? Would he be as upset as Nira? Also, should he tell Majnoun what he was up to? The dog might not be dangerous, but he was overly sensitive and it would be difficult to keep his conversations with Miguel secret from Majnoun.

In the end, Benjy decided to go at it directly. He approached Miguel on an evening when Miguel had finished supper and was alone in the bedroom, reading. Majnoun and Nira were in Nira’s room. (Majnoun: eyes closed, legs tucked under him, head resting on the hardwood floor.) Benjy entered the bedroom and sat by the side of the bed until Miguel noticed him. Once he had Miguel’s attention, Benjy began with innocent words.

— Want water, he said.

— What? said Miguel. Did you just ask for water?

— Yes, answered Benjy.

Miguel was genuinely pleased.

— You can speak? he asked.

— Little, answered Benjy.

(‘Ihdle’ is how it came out, but it was easily understood.)

— That’s fantastic, said Miguel. Did Nira teach you that? Say something else.

As he could not quite catch the sense of ‘something else,’ Benjy sat still, looking expectantly up at Miguel. Miguel was disappointed.

— She must have taught you more than that, he said. Can you say your name?

— Name Benjy, said Benjy, speaking his own secret name for the first time in his life.

Despite his hesitation in voicing something so private as his secret name — secret because other dogs could not speak it, though it was an intimate sound — his voice was clear, high-pitched and only slightly tremulous.

— Now that’s what I’m talking about! said Miguel. Did she teach you any other tricks? Roll over, Benjy. Roll over, boy.

It was puzzling to be asked to ‘roll over’ after initiating a conversation about water, but these tricks — ‘roll over,’ ‘stand up,’ ‘play dead,’ ‘beg,’ ‘whisper,’ ‘sing’ — were what he did best. They required nothing of him. He held Miguel’s gaze a moment and then he rolled over.

As Miguel did not believe the dog could actually speak, he found these tricks more pleasing and more impressive than the dog’s request for water. Lifting Benjy into his arms, scratching the fur on the dog’s neck and behind its ears, Miguel carried him to Nira’s room.

— How did you do this? he asked. It must have taken hours.

— How did I do what?

— How’d you teach the dog to say its name?

— What name?

— Stop pretending like you don’t know, said Miguel. Benjy’s great. He’s a real dog, not like Jim, who lies around the place all day. This one can do things. You should be proud.

— You heard him speak? Nira asked. I didn’t teach him. Jim must have.

— Right, said Miguel, because of course Jim can speak.

Miguel was immediately offended by what he took for a coyness on his wife’s part. Why shouldn’t she tell him how she’d gone about getting Benjy to say his name when asked?

— Fine, said Miguel. I’ll teach him something myself.