André Alexis - Fifteen Dogs

One morning, they discovered that they’d dreamed of the same field, the same clouds, the same house in the distance — wooden with a red-brick chimney. They had dreamed of the same squirrels and rabbits. They had drunk from the same clear stream. There was only one difference: when Nira, in her dream, looked into the water, she saw Majnoun’s face reflected back at her, while Majnoun, in his, saw Nira’s face where his should have been. The fact of this shared dream was so moving to Nira that, ever after, she refused to allow anyone — even Miguel — to refer to Majnoun as ‘her’ dog.

— I’m as much his as he’s mine, she’d insist.

Her friends — and her husband — thought this an annoying eccentricity. Majnoun knew what she meant — that she was not his master — and he was grateful. But in his heart he felt as if he did belong to her, in the sense that he was a part of Nira and she a part of him.

What neither could have known was that their shared and simple dream was a harbinger of disaster. They had now grown so close that Atropos, the Fate who cuts the thread of a mortal’s life, could not tell their threads apart. Majnoun’s time to die had come — he was fairly old, for a dog — but she could not cut his thread without the risk of cutting Nira’s.

The work of the three sisters — Clotho, Lachesis and Atropos — is generally straightforward. The first spins the thread of a life. The second draws out the length of thread each being will have. The third cuts the thread and ends that being’s time on earth. It often happens that life threads are intertwined — most commonly, the lives of husbands and wives, which is why they often die together or close together in time. And, in fact, Nira’s and Miguel’s threads were almost as closely intertwined as Nira’s and Majnoun’s. Though Nira and Miguel were meant to live longer than Majnoun, the threads of all three lives were so wound up, so similar in hew and thickness, that Atropos was not certain whose life would end if she used her scissors.

She complained bitterly to Zeus that one or more of the gods must have interfered with the mortals because it was unnatural that she could not properly end a life she was meant to end. Zeus, who disliked the Fates and avoided speaking with them, was unmoved.

— A life must end, he said. It is your duty to cut the thread. Do your duty.

Spitefully, Atropos cut two of the three lives that were wound together, then added years to the one that was left by way of balance. Clotho and Lachesis giggled at her daring, but Atropos was too contemptuous to share in their laughter.

— King of the gods! she said to Lachesis. ‘Loud-mouthed fornicator’ is more like it. Let him just try to get back at me for this!

For a week, Nira and Miguel had been arguing about the dishes. Miguel always did them, but he did not, he felt, receive the credit he deserved.

To Majnoun, it was a strange argument. To begin with, Miguel never allowed Nira to do the dishes. He would insist that he was not some ‘male chauvinist’ who didn’t do housework, though in fact the dishes was all he did, where housework was concerned. Nira’s point was that she never got credit for doing the cleaning, the tidying and the cooking, but she never complained about that. As occasionally happened, Miguel alluded to her work — copy editing — with a certain contempt, as if it weren’t quite ‘work.’ Copy editing allowed her to stay at home, and some part of him resented this, given that he, a script editor for various programs at the TV Ontario, had to leave every morning. They argued about dishes, then housework, then work, then housework, then dishes, then housework, then work and so on. It was astounding, to Majnoun, that a runaround like that could go on for so long. More: although housework was the basis of an argument that flared up every six months or so, both were always as upset by the subject as if it were something new.

‘Housework’ was a strange concept in any case. As long as one didn’t shit in inconvenient places, where was the problem? As far as Majnoun was concerned, the real trouble was with the size of human dens and with the fastidiousness of primates. You would think, having as much space as they did, that they would simply move from one room to another when they wished, but their need for chemical smells and clean surfaces betrayed them. As for the dishes: what was the point of cleaning off the smells and tastes that clung to bowls, pots and plates? That was like scrubbing the best part away, then congratulating yourself for it. To think that poor Nira got so worked up about these things!

Though he did not like to intrude on what was, clearly, an episode in the struggle for dominance, it occurred to Majnoun that what Miguel and Nira needed was to spend time together, without him around, that a change of routine would do them good. Nira was sceptical. She and Miguel had never been ones for travel. They preferred things nearby: plays, movies or restaurants. Besides which, their happiest times had come when they were home. Nira had had enough of arguing with Miguel, however, and Miguel, not coincidentally, had had enough of arguing with her. So, when Nira suggested that they visit a few wineries together and spend two nights (Friday and Saturday) near Thirty Bench, Miguel agreed at once. Anything to end the bickering.

But who would take care of Majnoun?

Majnoun, who could open the fridge if he needed something, who did not mind if she put out a bag of dry ‘dog food,’ who shat in the toilet as humans did, who could get out of the house if there was fire or smoke, who could turn the backyard tap on and off if he needed water, shook his head. He wanted no strange company. Nira wasn’t comfortable with the idea of leaving him on his own. But Miguel — who assumed the dog would be locked safely inside — said

— Majnoun will be fine.

Behind him, Majnoun nodded in agreement, so that, despite her misgivings, Nira relented. Then, Friday came.

That morning, Nira and Majnoun went for a walk together. It had been some time since they’d been to High Park, because Majnoun — now ten — could not stand the proximity of other dogs and could not defend himself as well as he once could. They decided to walk in the park but away from the off-leash areas, going in through the iron-and-stone gate at High Park and Parkside. They were more or less alone, there being few people or dogs about. When they came to Centre Road, they followed it around the curve and up the hill, talking — for no particular reason — about the seasons. Nira mentioned that her favourite season was autumn. She loved the way the trees changed colour, the cool weather, the coming of winter. Majnoun did not know that one could have a favourite season.

— You must like one more than the others, said Nira.

— I cannot think why, said Majnoun. I am never sure when the seasons begin and I like in between the seasons, too, and in between in between and in between in between in between.

Here, they both laughed. Not, as was sometimes the case, because Majnoun had been inadvertently amusing, but because he was teasing her.

— There should be a hundred seasons, said Majnoun.

— You’re right, said Nira

and she scratched the place behind his ear, which was a feeling that Majnoun loved.

They had walked for longer than usual, for an hour or more. They had left the park and strolled along Sorauren all the way to Pearson, where, though she didn’t like to indulge her cravings, Nira bought a carrot muffin at Mitzi’s and, as if to make Majnoun her accomplice, gave him some.

— It’s too sweet, said Majnoun.

— Yes, but it’s got carrots and, besides, we don’t eat them every day.

Once home, Nira had packed the little she needed: toiletries, makeup, a black dress, a change of underwear. Together, they had listened to part of La Clemenza di Tito . Time passed and Miguel returned home from work. Not half an hour later, Miguel and Nira were leaving. As Miguel took their suitcases to the car, Nira crouched to look Majnoun in the eyes, a thing that always made him uncomfortable.