Fifteen Dogs. Andre Alexis
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like all dogs, had made do with a simple vocabulary of fundamental sounds: bark, howl or snarl. These sounds were acceptable, as were useful innovations, like the word for ‘water’ or the one for ‘human.’ At Prince’s instigation, however, the pack now had words for countless things. (Did any dog really need a word for ‘dust’?) Then, one night, Prince sat up and spoke a strange group of words:
The grass is wet on the hill.
The sky has no end.
For the dog who waits for his mistress,
Madge, noon comes again.
Hearing this grouping of growls, barks, yips and sighs, Frack and Frick had jumped up, ready to bite the face off the weary dog’s mistress. They assumed a master was among them, ready to inflict pain. But Prince’s words had not been meant as warning. Rather, he had been playing. He had been pretending. He had been speaking for speaking’s sake. Could there be a more despicable use for words? Max got up, snarling, ready to bite.
He had not counted on the pleasure some of the others had taken in Prince’s words, however. Athena thanked Prince for his evocation of wet hills and endless skies. Bella did the same. Far from feeling that Prince had abused their tongue, a number of the dogs felt that – as with his play with words – he’d brought something unexpected and wonderful to it.
– I was moved, said Majnoun. Please, do it again.
Prince performed another set of howls, barks, yips and clicks.
Beyond the hills, a master is
who knows our secret names.
With bell and bones, he’ll call us home,
winter, fall or spring.
Most of the dogs sat in silence, no doubt trying to understand what Prince was on about. But it was too much for Max. It wasn’t just that Prince was twisting their clear, noble language, it was that Prince had gone beyond the canine. No true dog could have uttered such tripe. Prince was not worthy of being one of them. In defence of their true nature, someone had to do something. Max could sense that Frack and Frick felt as he did, but he wanted to be the first to bite Prince into submission or force him into exile. He charged at Prince without so much as a growl. Prince was at his mercy. He was about to bite the mutt’s throat when, as quietly and viciously as Max had attacked, Majnoun came to Prince’s defence. Before Frick or Frack could intervene, Majnoun had Max down, his teeth securely in Max’s throat. Max peed in submission and lay still.
– Don’t kill him, said Frack.
Majnoun growled in warning, bit down harder, drawing blood.
– The dog is right, said Atticus. It is not good to kill one of our own.
Majnoun felt – with every fibre in him – that killing Max was the right thing. It was as if he knew the time would come when he’d be obliged to kill him. So why not now? But he listened to Atticus and released Max, who slunk quickly away, his tail between his legs.
– There was no need for violence, said Atticus. The dog was only trying to show his feelings about the words we heard.
– His feelings were not hidden, said Majnoun.
– You have shown him his place, said Atticus. You did right.
Aside from Frack and Frick – who were deliberately unthoughtful – most of the dogs were bemused by what had passed between Max and Majnoun. In the old days, one would have said they had witnessed a struggle for dominance, a struggle that Majnoun had clearly won and, so, increased his status. But, here, there was the matter of Prince. Prince had offended Max. His words had offended. So, had Max and Majnoun fought over words or status? Could dogs fight to the death over words? It was strange to think so.
As Bella and Athena lay beside each other on the verge of sleep, Athena said
– These males fight for any reason.
– It has nothing to do with us, said Bella.
That was the end of the matter, as far as they were concerned, and the two were soon asleep, Athena growling quietly at a squirrel that, in her dream, was much smaller than she and deliberately annoying besides.
+
Two evenings after the fracas, Atticus spoke to Majnoun.
Autumn had come. The leaves were changing colour. Night itself seemed darker, for being more cool. The pack had settled into a routine: scavenging, avoiding humans, hunting rats and squirrels. The coppice provided shelter from rainfall and storms. So, although they had meant it to be a temporary dwelling, a place from which they could consider what had happened to them, the coppice had become a home, and it was increasingly difficult to imagine leaving it.
Majnoun had been expecting some sort of approach from Frick, Frack, Max or Atticus. He had expected one of them to bring up the matter of leadership. The pack had done without a leader for some time, an unnatural situation. And although he himself did not want to lead, it would have been an insult for the others to foist Atticus – the likeliest candidate – on the pack without seeking his (that is, Majnoun’s) opinion first. In the old days, they would have fought about it, no doubt. But after the change that had come over them, a physical contest no longer seemed, to Majnoun at least, the best way to resolve a matter as complicated as leadership.
(How odd the change was! One day, while listening to humans address their pet, Majnoun experienced a curious thing. It was as if the sun had, in an instant, burned off a thick morning fog. He understood what the humans were saying! It wasn’t just some of their words he understood – words he’d heard a thousand times himself. He believed he understood the thought behind them. As far as Majnoun knew, no dog had ever understood a human as he had at that moment. He wasn’t sure if he were cursed or blessed, but this new thing – this understanding – surely demanded a change in behaviour, something to help them deal with the unabated strangeness of the new world.)
Majnoun and Atticus walked out of the coppice together and into the park. The sky was filled with stars. The lights of the Queensway were off to the south. All was quiet, save for the endless noise of the crickets, it not being cold enough to silence them.
– What are we to do? asked Atticus.
The question was a surprise.
– About what? answered Majnoun.
– I have asked the wrong question, said Atticus. I mean, how are we to live, now that we are strangers to our own kind?
– They are right to be afraid of us, said Majnoun. We no longer think like they do.
– But we feel like they feel, don’t we? I remember what I was before that night. I am not so different.
– I did not know you before, said Majnoun, but I know you now and now you are different.
– Some of us, said Atticus, believe the best way is to ignore the new thinking and stop using the new words.
– How can you silence the words inside?
– No one can silence the words inside, but you can ignore them. We can go back to the old way of being. This new thinking leads away from the pack, but a dog is no dog if he does not belong.
– I do not agree, said Majnoun. We have this new way. It has been given to us. Why should we not use it? Maybe there is a reason for our difference.
– I remember, said Atticus, how it was to run with our kind. But you, you want to think and keep thinking and then think again. What is the good of so much thinking? I am like you. I can take pleasure in it, but it brings us no true advantage. It keeps us from being dogs and it keeps us from what is right.
– We know things other dogs do not. Can we not teach them?
– No, said Atticus. Now it is for them to teach us. We must learn to be dogs again.
– Dog, why do you want my thoughts on these things? Do you wish to lead?
–