André Alexis: Fifteen Dogs

— They died happy, said Hermes. I win.

— You do not win, said his brother. The small one was terrified and the large one was distressed for her friend. They died un happy.

— You’re not being fair, said Hermes. I grant you their final moments weren’t pleasant. But before they were killed, neither had known such friendship as they experienced together. They were happy despite the intelligence they were given.

— I agree with you, Apollo said, but what can I do? You were the one who insisted the crucial moment was death. We agreed that if even one of these creatures dies happy, you win. At the moment of their deaths, these two were not happy. So, you haven’t won a thing. But, look, Hermes, I don’t want to hear about how I cheated you and I don’t want you going to Father. So, I’ve got a proposition for you: because your bet’s not as strong as mine, I’ll let you intervene in the lives of these creatures. Once. Only once. You can do whatever you like. But if you intervene, the bet’s doubled. It’s two human years of servitude to the loser.

— And you won’t intervene yourself?

— Why should I intervene? asked Apollo. These creatures are more miserable than I could possibly make them. They’re not going to cheer up when they die. But if it makes you feel better, I give you my word: I will not intervene directly.

— Then I accept, said Hermes.

And so, while Frick and Frack were returning from dealing with Bella and Athena, Prince had a very strange dream. It began pleasantly enough. He dreamed he was in his first master’s house in Ralston, Alberta, a house in which his own scent dominated, a house over which his toys were spread in a secret pattern, a house of which he knew every cranny. He was on his way to the kitchen, drawn by the sound of mice scurrying over the wooden floor, when a dog he did not know entered his dream. The strange dog was jet black, save for a patch of vivid blue on its chest.

— You are in danger, the dog said.

The dog spoke Prince’s language flawlessly, with no accent.

— How beautifully you speak, said Prince. Who are you?

— You would find my name difficult to say, said the dog, but I am Hermes and I am not of your species. I am a master of masters and I do not wish you to die here.

— Where? asked Prince.

And all of a sudden he was far from the home of his childhood. He was in High Park looking down on himself as he slept in the den with the others. He saw, because Hermes pointed it out, that Max was lying near him. He saw Frick and Frack return to the den. He noticed, because Hermes wished him to, the place where Bella and Athena had slept.

— Where is the tall female? he asked.

— They have killed her, said Hermes. They will kill you, too, if you stay.

— What have I done? asked Prince. I have not challenged anyone.

— They dislike how you speak, said Hermes. If you wish to live, your only choice is exile.

— But what am I without those who understand me?

— Would you choose words over life? asked Hermes. Consider that, if you die, your way of speaking dies with you. You must wake up, now, Prince. While I am here, no one can see or hear you, but you haven’t much time. Come.

There then followed the strangest interlude in Prince’s life. He did not know if he were awake or dreaming, but the strange dog had spoken his secret name, the name his first master used: Prince. Rising up from the den in his dreams, he was yet with Hermes watching himself rise. He saw Frack, Frick and Max as they went about looking for him. They passed in front of him, beside him, almost through him. He could barely resist barking to let them know he was there, as if it were all a game. But he did not bark. He followed Hermes out of the den and into High Park proper. There, he was suddenly, fully awake and Hermes was gone.

It occurred to Prince that he was still dreaming. He thought to look in on himself, just to see if he were still asleep in the coppice, his favourite chewing shoe beside him. But as he walked back toward the den, Max, Frick and Frack ran out. Prince immediately crouched down, his ears back, his tail tucked hard behind him. The dogs did not see him. They ran off, but they radiated menace as they went. Prince had no doubt that, dream or not, Hermes had told the truth. The three were murderous. When he was certain they would not see him, he fled, his exile beginning in panic, fear and darkness.

+

The three who ran out of the coppice ran out to find Atticus. They had agreed that they should all attack Majnoun together. Frustrated by Prince’s mysterious disappearance, Max, Frick and Frack now wanted nothing more than to bite the black dog to death. They ran toward the pond, where Atticus said they would find him, as if running to mount a bitch in heat.

For Atticus, the time spent with Majnoun was unpleasant. It was unpleasant because he understood Majnoun and was sorry the dog had to go. In other circumstances, he might have welcomed Majnoun to the pack, but things were as they were. Atticus spent much of the time surreptitiously justifying what he knew was to come: a pack needed unity, and unity meant that all understood the world in the same way or, if not the world, the rules, at least. Majnoun was one who embraced the new way of thinking, the new language. The dog did not belong.

— Black dog, said Atticus, can there be a feeling greater than belonging?

— No, said Majnoun.

— And yet, said Atticus, I am sometimes afraid that I will not know the feeling again, that I will never again know what it is to be a dog among dogs. This thinking of yours, black dog, it is an endless, dead field. Since the change, I have been alone with thoughts I do not want.

— I understand, said Majnoun. It is the same for me. But we must bear it, because we cannot escape the things within.

— I do not agree, said Atticus. To be with others is to be free from yourself. There is no other path. We must go back to the old ways.

— If we can find them, said Majnoun.

It was at this point that Frack, Frick and Max came upon them. Max said

— The tall bitch is dead.

— What has happened? asked Majnoun.

— She was attacked by our kind, a pack of them. They are near our den now.

— How many? asked Majnoun.

— Many, said Max, but they are not as big as we are.

— We must defend our home, said Atticus.

Frick and Frack ran before Majnoun, Max and Atticus on either side of him. Not far from the coppice, the brothers turned around and attacked Majnoun without warning. Max and Atticus joined in at once. The dogs were quick and merciless, and although Majnoun tried to run for shelter they had him. The four bit at Majnoun, sinking teeth into his flanks, his neck, the tendons of his legs, his stomach and genitals. Had it been daylight, the conspirators might have been gratified by the sight of Majnoun’s blood. They might have been even more aroused, so intoxicating was the taste of blood and the adrenaline of murder.

If it had been day and if they had been a little less excited, they might have made certain Majnoun was dead. As it was, they went at him until he no longer resisted, until his body’s spasms stopped. Then they left him for dead, returning to the coppice to begin a new life that was to be, in effect, an obsession with the old one.

When Majnoun awakened, he was in a house that smelled of peanut butter and fried liver. He lay in a wicker basket lined with a thick, orange blanket that smelled of something sweet, soapy and human. He tried to move but found he could not. It was too painful and, as well, moving was awkward. His abdomen was shaved and he was bound with white bandages that smelled of oil and pine and something indefinable. His face itched but there was a plastic cone around his head: the narrow end of the cone was cut so that the aperture fit around his neck, the wide end projecting out like a megaphone. Even if he’d wanted to scratch his face, he could not have done so. All four of his legs were shaven and bandaged. He raised his head, the better to see where he was, but he was nowhere: a whitish room with windows that looked out on a sky that was blue and bright.