When Dogs Cry Page 12

  A month passed by and one Saturday night I took Octavia to meet Steve. He liked her, and played her some old records that impressed her.

  'Some good stuff here,' she said.

  'I know.'

  On the way back home that night, she said, 'He loves you too, you know.'

  I tried to shrug it off.

  'No Cam.' She pulled me to stop on the footpath. 'He does.' I realised then that, with this girl, there were no truths I could hide.

  'He looks like he's sorry about the things he said to you,' she continued as we kept walking.

  'But glad he said them.'

  She agreed.

  It was a cold Tuesday night at the start of August when Rube finally got another phone call. This time, though, it was Julia. She told him she'd gone back to the previous bloke--the Phonecaller, as Rube and I came to know him.

  'He's still after you,' she warned him.

  'Really?' Rube was bored. 'What the hell'd I do this time?' He listened. 'Well you just tell him to come on over some day and we'll get it over with in the backyard.'

  Julia hung up.

  'Scrubber's gone for good?' I asked.

  'Scrubber's gone,' he confirmed.

  It all seemed to be over, and like he'd told me, Rube didn't have another girl in the picture yet. All he did was work hard and hit the bag in the basement. The phone calls still came for him, but nowhere near as often. Sometimes he'd abuse friends because he thought it was the Phonecaller again.

  'Ah, Jeff,' he'd laugh. 'Sorry mate, I thought you were someone else.'

  He came down to the harbour with Octavia and me a few times, but he always ended up leaving us alone and going his own way. He wasn't unhappy or lonely. That wasn't in Rube's character. Something always happened when he was around. If it didn't, he went looking for it.

  'No offence Octavia,' he said one Sunday night, 'but I'm off women.' We were on the porch after walking Miffy.

  'Till the next one,' Octavia countered.

  'Of course,' and he flashed us his trademark smile and went inside.

  Down in the underground that night, everything seemed in place. Octavia and I waited for the train and it was like the world I lived in had finally found the right direction.

  A few days later, a tragedy unhinged itself and landed at our front door.

  okayness

  For the first time, a city crowd confronts me on this journey through night, street and darkness. There are swarms of people coming towards me, and each one, I notice, is faceless. A blankness shrouds their eyes and they have no expression at all.

  We turned onto a street and there they were, flowing towards us.

  The dog weaves his way through, and I follow him, picking my own gaps in the surge of people.

  Occasionally, I see a face that's kept its form.

  At one point, I see Sarah finding her own way through, and at another, when I trip, a hand helps me up and it's my father's face that meets me when I look up.

  I continue. I have no choice.

  The thing is, I don't mind.

  I want the crowded world to turn the way it is--to make me find my own way through it, even if that's a fight sometimes.

  As I make my way through, I feel okayness reaching through me.

  The funny thing is that okayness is not a real word. It's not in the dictionary.

  But it's in me.

  17

  TORRENTIAL RAIN POURED ITSELF DOWN, BATTERING THE streets and rooftops of the city on a darkened Tuesday afternoon. Someone was smashing their fist into our front door.

  'Hang on!' I yelled. I was eating toast in the lounge room.

  I opened the door and there was a small balding man on his knees, completely drenched.

  'Keith?' I asked.

  He looked up at me. I dropped the toast. Rube was behind me now, asking, 'What's goin' on?'

  Keith's face was covered in sorrow. Dribbles of rain drooled down his face as he slowly picked himself up. He fixed his eyes on our kitchen window and said it, with a crack running through his voice.

  'Miffy.' He almost went to pieces again. 'He's dead. In the backyard.'

  Rube and I looked at each other.

  We ran out the back and clambered over the fence as the back door slammed behind us. Halfway over the fence, I saw it. There was a soggy ball of fluff lying motionless amongst the grass.

  No, I thought, as I landed on the other side. Disbelief held me down inside my footsteps, making my body heavy but my heart wild.

  Rube also hit the ground. His feet slapped down into the sodden grass, and where my footsteps ended, his began.

  I kneeled down in the pouring rain.

  The dog was dead.

  I touched him.

  The dog was dead.

  I turned to Rube who was kneeling next to me.

  The dog was dead.

  We sat there a while, completely silent as the rain fell like needles onto our soaked bodies. The fluffy brown fur of Miffy the pain-in-the-arse Pomeranian was being dented by the rain, but it was still soft, and clammy. Both Rube and I stroked him. A few stray tears even sprang into my eyes as I recalled all the times we walked him at night with smoke climbing from our lungs and with laughter in our voices. I heard us complaining about him, ridiculing him, but deep down, caring for him. Even loving him, I thought.

  Rube's face was devastated.

  'Poor little bastard,' he said. His voice struggled from his mouth.

  I wanted to say something but was completely speechless. I'd always known this day would come, but I didn't imagine it like this. Not pouring rain. Not a pathetic frozen lump of fur. Not a feeling as depressed as the one I felt at this exact moment.

  Rube picked him up and carried him under the shelter of Keith's back verandah.

  The dog was dead.

  Even once the rain stopped, the feeling inside me didn't subside. We kept patting him. Rube even said sorry to him, probably for all the verbal abuse he'd levelled at him almost every time he saw him.

  Keith arrived after a while, but it was mainly Rube and me who stayed. For about an hour or so, we sat with him.

  'He's getting stiff,' I pointed out at one stage.

  'I know,' Rube replied, and I'd be lying if I didn't say a smirk didn't cross our faces. It was the situation, I guess. We were cold, soaking wet and hungry, and in a way, this was Miffy's final revenge on us--guilt.

  Here we were, just about frozen in our neighbour's backyard, patting a dog that was getting stiffer and stiffer by the minute, all because we'd consistently insulted him and then had the audacity to love him.

  'Well forget this,' Rube finally said. He gave Miffy a last pat and told the truth with a wavering voice. He said, 'Miffy--you were undoubtedly a pathetic individual. I hated you, loved you, and wore a hood on my head so no-one saw me with you. It's been a pleasure.' He gave him a final pat, on the dog's head. 'Now, I'm leavin',' he pointed out. 'Just because you had the nerve to die under your clothesline in the middle of what was practically a hurricane, I'm not about to get pneumonia because of it. So goodbye--and let's pray the next dog Keith and his wife decide to get is actually a dog and not a ferret, rat or rodent in disguise. Goodbye.'

  He walked away, into the darkness of the backyard, but as he climbed the fence, he turned and gave Miffy one last look. One last goodbye. Then he was gone.

  I hung around a little while longer, and when Keith's wife came home from work she was quite distressed about what I was beginning to call 'The Miffy Incident'. She kept repeating one thing. 'We'll get him cremated. We've gotta get that dog cremated.' Apparently, Miffy was a gift from her dead mother who insisted that all corpses, including her own, had to be burned. 'Gotta get that dog cremated,' she went on, but rarely did she even look at him. Strangely enough, I had the feeling it was Rube and me who loved that dog the most--a dog whose ashes would most likely end up on top of the TV or video, or in the liquor cabinet for safe keeping.

  Soon, I said my last goodbye, running my hand over
the stiff body and silky fur, still a little shocked, by all of it.

  I went home and told everyone the news of the cremation. Needless to say, everyone was amazed, especially Rube. Or maybe amazed isn't quite the right word for my brother's reaction. Appalled was more like it.

  'Cremate him!?' he shouted. He couldn't believe it. 'Did you see that dog!? Did you see how bloody soggy he was!? They'll have to dry him out first or else he'll never even burn! He'll just smoulder! They'll have to get the blow-dryer out!'

  I couldn't help but laugh.

  It was the blow-dryer, I think.

  I kept imagining Keith standing over the poor mongrel with the blow-dryer on full speed and his wife calling out from the back door: 'Is he dry yet, love? Can we chuck him in the fire?'

  'No, not yet darlin'!' he'd reply. 'I'll need about another ten minutes I reckon. I just can't get this damn tail dry!' Miffy had one of the bushiest tails in the history of the world. Trust me.

  Later, in the lounge room, Rube was still talking about it. He managed to laugh now, and we discussed when the funeral might be. Obviously if there was going to be a cremation, there'd be a funeral.

  We found out the next day that there'd be a small ceremony on Saturday afternoon at four. The dog was being burned on Friday.

  Naturally, as the walkers of Miffy, we were invited next door for the funeral. But it didn't stop there. Keith also decided he wanted to scatter Miffy's ashes in the backyard that was his domain. He asked if we'd like to be the ones who emptied them. 'You know,' he said. 'Since you two were the ones who spent the most time with him.'

  'Really?' I asked.

  'Well, to be honest,' he shifted on the spot a little. 'The wife wasn't too keen on the idea, but I put my foot down. I said, No, those boys deserve it and that's it, Norma.' He laughed and said, 'My wife referred to you as the two dirty bastards from next door.'

  Old bitch, I thought.

  'Old bitch,' Rube said, but luckily, Keith didn't hear.

  I must admit, Wednesday night was kind of vacant without Miffy. Octavia didn't come over either, so I stayed in Rube's and my room, reading a book. I could have watched TV, I s'pose, but I was sick of it. Reading was tougher, because you actually had to concentrate and not just sit there. The book I was reading was brilliant, about a guy who jumped from a sinking ship in a storm one night only to find out that it didn't sink. He was so ashamed that he spent the rest of his life half-running from that incident and half-seeking out danger, to face it and test himself, to finally prove he wasn't a coward after all. I had a bad feeling it would end in tragedy, and I thought it must be the worst thing to live with guilt and shame.

  I made up my mind that I wouldn't allow that to happen to me. I used to look at myself as an underdog and sometimes as a failure, but that was all starting to end this winter. This year I was standing up, and I wasn't just saying it, attempting to convince myself.

  This time, I believed it.

  I said it to Octavia on Saturday afternoon and she held me and kissed me.

  'Me too,' she answered.

  Dad, Rube and I finished work at two so we could get home in time for the big funeral, and by four o'clock it was Rube, Sarah, Octavia and me who went next door. We all climbed the fence.

  Keith brought Miffy out in a wooden box and the sun was shining, the breeze was curling, and Keith's wife was sneering at Rube and me.

  Old bitch, I thought again, and you guessed it, Rube actually said it, as a whisper only he and I could hear. It made us both laugh, and I nearly said, 'Now Rube, let's put our differences aside--for Miffy's sake,' but I thought better of it. I don't think the wife would have looked too favourably on any comment at this stage.

  Keith held the box.

  He gave a futile speech about how wonderful Miffy was. How loyal. How beautiful.

  'And how pitiful,' Rube whispered to me again, to which I had to bite the inside of my mouth to keep from laughing. A small burst actually made it out and Keith's wife wasn't too impressed.

  Bloody Rube, I thought.

  The thing was though, it was fitting for it to be like this. There was no point us standing there claiming how much we loved the dog and all that kind of thing. That would only show how much we didn't love him. We expressed love for this dog by:

  1. Putting him down.

  2. Deliberately provoking him.

  3. Hurling verbal abuse at him.

  4. Discussing whether or not we should throw him over the fence.

  5. Giving him meat that was a borderline decision on whether or not he could adequately chew it.

  6. Heckling him to make him bark.

  7. Pretending we didn't know him in public.

  8. Making jokes at his funeral.

  9. Comparing him to a rat, ferret and any other creature resembling a rodent.

  10. Knowing without showing that we cared for him.

  The problem with this funeral was that Keith was going on and on, and his wife kept insisting on attempting to cry. Eventually, when everyone was bored senseless and almost expecting a hymn to be sung, Keith asked a vital question. In hindsight, I'm sure he wished like hell that he didn't ask it at all.

  He said, 'Anyone else got something to say?'

  Silence.

  Pure silence.

  Then Rube.

  Keith was just about to hand me the wooden box that contained the last dregs of Miffy the dog when Rube said, 'Actually, yes. I have something to say.'

  No Rube, I though desperately. Please. Don't do it.

  But he did.

  As Keith handed me the box, Rube made his announcement. In a loud, clear voice, he said, 'Miffy, we will always remember you.' His head was held high. Proud. 'You were strictly the most ridiculous animal on the face of the earth. But we loved you.'

  He looked over at me and smiled.

  Not for long though.

  Definitely not for long, because before we even had time to think, Keith's wife exploded. She came tearing across at us. She was onto me in a second and she started wrestling me for the bloody box!

  'Give us that y' little bastard,' she hissed.

  'What did I do?' I asked despairingly, and within an instant, there was a war going on with Miffy in the centre of it. Rube's hands were on the box now as well, and with Miffy and me in the middle, he and Norma were going at it. Sarah, who was in love with that instant camera by now, took some great action shots of the two of them fighting.

  'Little bastard,' Norma was spitting, but Rube didn't give in. There was no way. They struggled on.

  In the end, it was Keith who ended it.

  He stepped into the middle of the fray and shouted, 'Norma! Norma! Stop being stupid!'

  She let go and so did Rube. The only person now with their hands on the box was me, and I couldn't help but laugh at this ludicrous situation. To be honest, I think Norma was still upset about an incident I haven't previously mentioned. It was something that happened two years ago. It was the incident that got us walking Miffy to begin with, when Rube and I and a few other fellas were playing soccer in our yard. Old Miffy got all excited because of all the noise and the ball constantly hitting the fence. He barked until he had a mild heart attack, and to make up for it, Mrs Wolfe made us pay the vet's bill and take him for walks at least twice a week.

  That was the beginning of Miffy and us. The true beginning, and although we whinged and carried on about him, we did grow to love him.

  In the backyard funeral scene, though, Norma wasn't having any of it. She was still seething. She only calmed down a few minutes later, when we were ready to empty Miffy out into the breeze and the backyard.

  'Okay Cameron,' Keith nodded. 'It's time.'

  He made me stand up on an old lawn chair and I opened the box.

  'Goodbye Miffy,' he said, and I turned the box upside down, expecting Miffy to come pouring out.

  The only problem was, he didn't. He was stuck in there.

  'Bloody hell!' Rube exclaimed. 'Trust Miffy to be all bloody
sticky!'

  I wanted to look over at him and agree, but I thought better of it, what with Keith's wife and all. All I could do was start shaking the box, but still the ashes didn't come out.

  'Put your finger in it and stir it round a bit,' Octavia suggested.

  Norma looked at her. 'You're not gettin' smart now too are y' girly?'

  'No way,' Octavia replied honestly. Good idea. You wouldn't want to upset this lady at this point in time. She looked about ready to strangle someone.

  I turned the box back over and cringed before rummaging my hand through the ashes.

  The next time I tried emptying it, there was success. Miffy was set free. As Sarah took the photo, the wind picked up the ashes and scattered them over the yard and into Keith's other neighbour's yard.

  'Oh no,' Keith said, scratching his head. 'I knew I should have told next door to take their washing off the line . . .'

  His neighbours would be wearing Miffy on their clothes for at least the next couple of days.

  the pause of death

  I pause a moment and thoughts of death stumble into me. The dog allows me this rest, out of respect.

  The crowd has cooled and I think of death and heaven and hell.

  Or to be honest, I think of hell.

  There's nothing worse than thinking that that's exactly where you're going when eternity comes for you.

  That's where I usually think I'm going.

  Sometimes I take comfort in the fact that most people I know are probably going to hell, too. I even tell myself that if all my family are going to hell I'd rather go with them than enter heaven. I mean, I'd feel sort of guilty. There they'd be, burning through eternity, while I'm eating peaches and most likely patting pitiful Pomeranians like Miffy up in heaven.

  I don't know.

  I don't.

  Really.

  I'm pretty much just hoping to live decent. I hope that's enough.

  After a last pause, I move on again.

  Into the night.

  18

  THE QUESTION NOW IS, WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED NEXT? Every time I think about the whole death of Miffy debacle, the story gets obscured in my mind.

  On Tuesday, I went up to Steve's and he told me there was a pretty big game coming up that Sunday. The phone calls started up again for Rube and now you could hear Julia the Scrubber in the background as well.

  Sarah bought an album for her photos, and when she was laying them out on the floor on Thursday night, arranging them, I went in and sat down to look at them with her. There were a lot of shots there I hadn't seen before.