C.J.Sellers

by C.J.Sellers

The old woman had left almost all of her possessions behind and now found herself walking alone through the worst part of town. She tried not to look out-of-place as she passed under a bridge and past bundled figures warming hands around a barrel fire. She saw a tiny, three-legged dog tied to a signpost, attempting to warm or comfort itself against its master–a dead vagrant curled up over a steamy sewage grate. On impulse, she risked stopping, long enough to free it. Weak from hunger, the creature was docile and grateful upon release, so she took pity and tucked it into her jacket, out of view. She tarried just long enough to offer it some bread from her satchel. The dog gobbled the bread greedily in surprisingly few bites. She continued on her way, unnoticed by the barrel-warmed silhouettes or anyone else, keeping to the shadows where possible, careful not to let her footsteps resound too loudly off the empty streets and abandoned warehouses.

Two young men waited for her. They were standing on the shoreline beside a small boat. This part of the river reeked of raw sewage. They’d chosen it to lessen the odds of encounter. There was also a young woman and a boy, already waiting in the boat. When the old woman arrived, she was recognized and helped into the boat by the larger man, who could not resist letting slip a punitive, “You’re late.” The smaller man stepped directly into the boat, careful not to step into the filthy water. The larger one dislodged the boat from the bank. He had no choice but to get into the water, which was up to his waist before he got in and proceeded to quietly row them away from the shore, into the liquid darkness that stretched endlessly away from the city lights.

No one glanced behind to see the cityline fade from view. The quietude of the sleeping goliath they’d left behind was oppressive; every inch of its quiet–fraught with the possibility of exposure and capture, and yet, they were resigned to their lot either way. Their silence was more a gesture of solemnity than a result of fear. They moved along now, out of necessity, leaving behind a place that was once their home but that now rejected them to their peril, worse, would soon prey upon them. No, they did not look back or even say goodbye in their hearts.

The man (who’d pushed the boat) rowed until they’d reached a safe distance from shore, then he gave the other a nod and that one started the engine. They’d departed in the early evening so the most perilous leg of the trip would be hidden in darkness. As they moved away from the land mass, the sky overhead became clearer and the stars and moon shone brighter, reflecting off the water. When the engine started with its loud hum, it startled them, even though they’d heard the man pulling the cord to start. Now the water that parted for the bow of their rickety, little craft, rejoined behind them in crashing confusion, splashing against the small raft of supplies that trailed behind, secured by ropes.

Showing confidence at this distance, the larger man (the one who’d pushed and rowed and smelled the worst of them), lit a lamp and they were a beacon out on the vast, black sea. They warmed their hands against the lamp. “The worst is over,” he said, but their looks told, they were not convinced. “Don’t look so glum,” he exclaimed, “We are off to find our destinies. How many can say they know for certain where it’s not to be found?” He laughed. The young mother smiled. He saw that the boy was not smiling and touched the boy’s chin and smiled at him purposefully. “Smile Boy. For your mum. We men must be brave.” Boy smiled, half-heartedly, and glanced sheepishly over at the smaller man, who nodded in agreement.

***
The sun was up now and the old woman was awakened by a gulls calling to each other. Boy was the first to notice the dog. “What’s its name,” he asked, scratching its head as it lay cradled against her breast, just inside her jacket.

“I don’t know its name, I just found it on the way,” she said, smiling. “Do you want to name it? He seems to like you.” Boy warmed at the notion and sat back now, thinking up a good one.

“Is it a boy or a girl,” he asked.

“I don’t know, actually,” she said, and opened her jacket slightly to let in the morning light. “It’s a boy.”

“Oh, what happened to its leg,” asked Boy.

“I can’t imagine,” she assured him. “He seems fine. I don’t think it hurts him.”

“Oh, good,” he replied, somewhat relieved.

“Have you thought of a name yet,” Old Woman asked.

“No, not just yet,” he said. “Can I hold him?”

She consented but added, “Be careful he doesn’t fall or jump into the water,” as she handed the tiny, three-legged dog over to Boy.

The smaller man was awake now. “What’s that you have there,” he asked Boy.

“It’s hers but she said I could hold him. She said I could name him too.”

“What’s that, a dog?” chimed in the larger man, visibly annoyed. “Who said you could bring a dog along? You don’t even own a dog, Old Woman.” She replied nothing, but sank back into her place. “Look, it’s only got three legs, how will it swim,” he chided. “You may have condemned this dog to death, you know.” She again, did not reply. The boy hugged the dog to his chest and pet its back, whispering in its ear to ignore the mean man. “Don’t feed the dog our food,” said the man, looking each of them in the eye before glancing down at the dog. “And where will it go? It will have to go to the toilet sometime. It already stinks.”

“You stink,” boldly countered the boy, telling the truth. The mean man raised his hand as if to strike and the boy recoiled. Everyone was looking at the man differently now. He was half-standing up in the boat and it rocked agitatedly. He sat back down and fumed, unsure what he was so annoyed about, he knew there should be enough food.

“It’s the principle,” he replied out loud. “You should have asked me, Old Woman,” he fumed, “This is my boat. I say who or what comes along.” She tried not to glare back at him in response. She knew his name all too well but in her heart she would always call him “The Brute” as she had thought secretly since he was just a small child, once he’d grown large enough to bully someone smaller, he often did.

“I will take care of everything, don’t worry about the dog,” said Old Woman now, finally finding her voice. “See, it makes the boy happy. Don’t make the boy cry now.” Boy was near tears.

“Eh! Don’t even start Boy. I can’t abide crying,” he said, leaning back now and looking away, toward their destination. Seeing The Brute was through, Boy did not cry, instead he moved closer to Old Woman and they shared affection for the dog between them, which now had been made even more precious by the man’s condemnation. The Brute leaned over the boat’s edge and rested his chin on one hand, the other dragged through the water like an oar, pushing and pulling the water against the side of the boat. In this way he fell back asleep, as it was still very early in the morning. He dreamed of vast schools of fish and a sea of stars.

***
On the third day, the rope to the extra supply raft, came loose. The younger man swam out to retrieve the raft, but capsized it, and became caught in a fishing net that had fallen into the water. He drowned. The young mother and Boy were devastated by his loss. Old Woman seemed to be in a state of shock for some time afterward. The Brute, however, just shrugged it off. Of more concern to him, the majority of their supplies were lost and the fishing net could have made all the difference, especially if they should drift off course. Fortunately, they’d had some food in the boat with them but it would not last long enough. He divided the smaller man’s food between them. “He won’t need it,” he said.

Boy was crying, and of course, The Brute could not abide it so he tried to distract him.

“Hey now,” he said, “He would not want you to cry, Boy. Listen, I have a riddle for you that he once told me when we were just boys ourselves. Maybe you can solve this one, eh?”

“The Moon is my father,
the Sea is my mother;
I have a million brothers,
I die when I reach land.”

The boy thought hard, glad to be distracted from his sadness, but he didn’t know the answer and the last line, I die when I reach land, was too real of a possibility to give much thought.

“A wave,” replied the mother, sensing the boy’s growing distress. She glared at The Brute for his callousness.

“Yes,” exclaimed The Brute, laughing. Boy and his mother managed a smile but Old Woman watched him dully in the lamplight, her eyes–black chips reflecting the lamp flame.

***
Old Woman had fed the dog her food and rationed herself a more meager share than as planned. She grew fainter by the day, while the dog grew stronger. As promised, she’d tended to it and it had proved to be no inconvenience to anyone. Shortly after her food had run out, The Brute’s food ran out as well. Accustomed to robust meals, he’d been reluctant to ration and ate as he felt he deserved. He grew meaner with the slightest onset of hunger, saw Old Woman weakening and refused to follow. “You should throw that dog overboard, Old Woman,” he said cruelly, “Or I may eat it tomorrow.” Boy cried out and protested but The Brute simply slapped him to shut him up. No one had expected it but now it was done and over with. Boy whimpered quietly while his mother shushed him and stroked his hair.

Seagulls passed over head unaware of the drama in the tiny boat, which was nothing but a speck on a vast sea, teaming with life, that was also oblivious to their despair.

***
The Brute did not eat the dog the next day. He watched it sullenly, jealous of the attention it received, but the other three had joined together in solidarity, daring him to strike any one of them. This was not communicated to him directly. They three passed the dog around, petted and fed it, in spite of him. Whether they cared for the dog or not, none of them wanted to see the dog harmed in any way, much less eaten, and in truth, neither did The Brute. He felt he was still a long way from that point but the nagging pain and constant aggravation of hunger wore at his sense of propriety.

***
“We are nearly there,” he declared some days later, as darkness fell. He lit his lamp again as he always did for an hour or two at nightfall. They were all encouraged, even Old Woman, who was now near death. The young mother and Boy doted on her, trying to make her more comfortable and shared the last of their food with her.

The Brute sat upright, leaned into the lamplight, and said in his usual, menacing tone, “I expect you all to repay me for this favor I have done for you, saving you from the oppressors and from your own stupidity. You would have died back there on your own. You must realize that I have saved all of your lives and so now, I own each of you. Remember this when I ask something of you. I should never have to remind you. You see me, you remember what I did for you, what I risked and endured so that you could live and be free, start a new life here. Remember that a good man died so that you may live.” They all nodded. He made sure Boy knew he meant him too. Boy had a long life ahead of him, many favors may be extorted. Cowing the others was merely staging for Boy’s benefit. If he saw they did not question, Boy would not question, at least, not entirely.

The water grew choppier now and although it was too dark to see it, they could feel they were approaching the new shore. On impulse, Boy blew out the lamp. Their eyes adjusted to the darkness slowly, but soon they saw the shadowy outline of the new land against the sky. “There,” said Boy, pointing. “I see a town. That must be a town.” The little dog barked. It was the first they’d heard it bark and they all laughed, excited now to be so near the end of their journey.

The Brute lit a match to relight the lamp, but before he’d succeeded in doing so, he was quite suddenly torn from the boat and drug down into the water, by what, they did not know. Somewhere out there, he buoyed back up and gasped for breath. The lamp toppled and fell. Oil spilled out and caught fire from the match ember, where it had fallen. The three of them and their dog, moved to the far end of the boat where the mother splashed water over the side to put out the fire. The Brute was struggling in the water, now somewhere off the bow. Voices, shouts, and splashes of impact. Confusion, all looking wildly around, straining the vision to readjust to darkness, seeing retinal-burn spots instead, from the recent flames. The Brute’s voice was occasionally interrupted as his head must have plunged under the water. Drawing on dim recollection of the language she’d known in her youth, Old Woman made out, “[Curse] you foul foreigners! Damn you! You are not welcome here. Go back to the hell you came from!” Then it quieted and those who were left in the boat, they knew now that The Brute had succumbed to the depths. It was too calm now, too good to be true, to believe the aggressors had gone, left them to finish the last of the journey to freedom, unhindered. Was one life enough payment for passage to this new shore?

No, now the boat tipped, violently, and capsized. All their possessions sank away. They could not see each other. They dared not cry out. Old Woman went under first, as she could not swim. She released the dog, which proved that with only three legs, it could swim better than she–well enough to keep its head above water and moving along slowly. It headed toward shore. The mother grabbed hold of Boy and pulled him in the direction of the shore and they swam toward it, after the dog and passed it by. When they’d dragged themselves out of the water, trying not to cough up inhaled water, they ran toward some brush and waited to let their eyes adjust to the darkness further. They had to be sure the aggressors were not around. The mother then started in the town they’d seen from the boat. Boy pulled her back and whispered, “But the dog, ma! Anima. I named him Anima.”

“He’s alright, honey, he can find us but he’ll be alright anyway. Dogs do fine on their own,” she whispered back.

“But ma, I didn’t tell him his new name, how will he know when I call him? And Nanna! Where’s Nanna? I named him after her,” he whispered again but too loudly. He wouldn’t take another step.

The mother shushed him and pulled him to her in a hug. “Honey, Nanna went the other way. She’ll meet up with us later. That was the plan, if we got separated, we all meet in town. They will both find us. Just come and shush before they catch us. I know the way.” He consented, believing her unquestioningly, and let her lead the way.

Old Woman drifted beneath the waves, drug back by the undertow. Somewhere near, The Brute also tossed about. As they left their bodies, they found each other in the ether and embraced. The Brute was still angry, confused, and found expression in the raging wind. Old Woman quieted and comforted him. She was the water lapping against the shore, now ebbing, now flowing back. She was forgetting Old Woman and remembering something she’d forgotten long ago. She was transfixed by it.

The little dog made its way to the shore eventually and collapsed on the sand. It whimpered, as it was now alone and afraid.

“I’m sorry,” said The Brute to the dog. It could not hear his voice, only the wind. It lay down and waited for Old Woman or Boy to join him. Old Woman was growing fainter as each wave washed against the sand and now she became the sound of foam sinking and being absorbed by the sand. The Brute sensed her leaving and was afraid. He called her from where the dog lay. She remembered Old Woman and came to him.

“This dog will sit here and wait for you until it starves,” he said.

“Yes, you’re probably right,” she replied.

“We should urge it along.”

“Alright,” she said. She comforted the dog, warming the air around him. The Brute became a fish briefly, that threw itself onto the shore and so the dog ate.

“We should follow the boy,” said The Brute.

“Yes,” said Old Woman. And The Brute made the wind down the beach sound like voices. The dog, thinking he heard Boy, followed them. He hopped along on his three legs and tired easily. It had been a long journey. He wanted to sleep but something kept urging him along and finally, he found himself at a door in a small town, and heard voices now, coming from inside. He scratched at the door. The voices quieted and it opened. An unfamiliar woman stood at the door.

“Whoa fella, who are you? What a funny-looking animal,” said the new woman. The little dog barked and Boy burst toward the door and hugged the dog.

“Anima,” he exclaimed. “I forgot to tell you your name, ‘Anima’” Boy and the dog were happy now.

The Brute was still there. He said, “I’m sorry,” to Boy but he did not hear him.

Old Woman was there and she said, “I love you,” to Boy and he didn’t hear her either.

“We should watch after him,” said The Brute.

“For a while,” said Old Woman and she warmed the coals in the fireplace. The Brute curled into the toilet for a nap.