Days by Moonlight. Andre AlexisЧитать онлайн книгу.
– though they were directed at ‘the young’ – were likely meant for his son. Dougal must have thought so, too, because he said
– Stop saying that! Just because we write differently doesn’t mean we don’t know the traditions. You’re so proud of your stupid stuff: The cow, the old cow, she is dead; it sleeps well, the hornèd head! To hell with that. I know as much about poetry as you!
– Oh? What poetry do you know? Mr. Brady asked. Teach me.
Dougal sneered.
– Roses are red, violets are blue. You wretched bastard, fuck you!
– There, said Mr. Brady. You just proved my point. Your insult doesn’t even scan.
Father and son were suddenly angry, both of them red-faced.
We had come at the wrong time, the professor and I. We’d interrupted an argument that now flared up again. Our visit was like the time between a match being struck and its cap catching fire. Professor Bruno must have thought so, too. We stood up at the same moment.
– You should apologize, Mr. Brady said to Dougal. You wouldn’t want these people thinking you were raised in a barn.
– Why should I apologize for you being a bastard? Dougal answered.
I thought then that it would be polite to leave father and son to work things out. I couldn’t imagine speaking to my father as Dougal had spoken to his, but neither could I imagine my father expressing such scorn for me. I excused myself and went out the front door. I assumed Professor Bruno was right behind me. But I was wrong.
As I stepped out the door, the sun was bright and the air was clear. It was warm, but I felt a cool breeze. Not a squamish but something like the opposite of a sirocco: a cool wind from the west. It was also quiet. So quiet that, as I walked to the car, I heard nothing. No wind, no call, no birdsong. Not even the three large white Argentine mastiffs that came up behind me.
How impressive they were! Their movements were so coordinated, it was as if the three dogs were one. That I heard them at all, in the end, was their doing. One of them growled, low and menacing. And when, frightened, I turned to face them, they growled in a more suggestive way. I had two impressions simultaneously: that the dogs were being cautious, lest Mr. Brady be alerted to their plans, and that I was being told to run. It was a strange moment, but I didn’t have much time to think about its strangeness. I had a second to consider whether I should try to pet one of them.
Then the largest dog rushed me, biting my upper thigh so that, had I been even slightly better endowed, I’d have lost part of my penis. I was lucky in another way, too. Though the dog bit me and it hurt, the other dogs did not at first join the fray. They waited, I guess, to see the damage their companion could inflict. Also, I was bleeding but the dog had caught more of my pants than my flesh, so that a great swatch of fabric was torn away when it shook its head. I thought then that running was my best option. And despite my wounds, I did very well. I reached the car. If I’d had the keys to the car in my hand, I’m almost certain I’d have escaped further bites. I jumped onto the hood of the car, followed closely by the dog who’d bitten me, and there it bit me again, catching an expanse of my jacket before I slid off the hood and ran for the fences. This fired the other dogs up. All three now came after me and, in a manner of speaking, they lost their inhibitions, growling and snarling like they were out for blood. Which, to be fair, they got. One of them caught the leg of my pants, and I fell on ground covered by Queen Anne’s lace, the smell of it like carrots, of course, along with something indefinable but poisonous and alive.
Maybe because I thought I was about to die, I felt quite cheerful. Not that I wanted to die, but that I had been given a last look at a world I loved: the countryside I’d visited with my parents when my father gave his guest sermons at churches in the area. Everything around me was wonderful, from the raw blue sky to the dark earth I’d disturbed in falling, from the snarls of the dogs to the sensation of their breath on my skin. I was bitten on the arms and legs a few more times before I heard Mr. Brady call, as if from far away:
– Laelaps! Chester! Melba! Leave it!
I take it the dogs were well-trained because, at the sound of their names, they eventually stopped biting me. One of them held on to my arm awhile, as if caught with food in its mouth and, ashamed to be seen eating, was unsure whether to spit out what it had or go on chewing. But they all retreated, running to Mr. Brady as if looking for some sort of reward.
My pants and jacket were badly torn and I was bleeding, but I didn’t think I was in danger, reassured as I was by the reactions of the Bradys and Professor Bruno. None of them seemed at all concerned about my injuries. The first thing Dougal said as he helped me up from the ground was
– You’re okay. It’s not that bad.
And although I was in pain, I was grateful for his words. Mr. Brady then said
– I don’t know what got into them. They’ve never done anything like this before.
As if seconding Mr. Brady’s point, the three dogs sat up with their pink tongues lolling, looking amiable. Professor Bruno said
– I’ve seen worse wounds than these, Alfie, but I guess you’d better change your clothes.
– I think I should go to the hospital, I answered.
– Why? asked Mr. Brady. You’ve only got a few scratches!
I thought he might be worried that I was angry at him or his dogs, so I said it was only a precaution.
– I suppose caution’s a good idea, said Mr. Brady, but you couldn’t get me into one of the hospitals around here if I wasn’t dying. I don’t trust them.
I thanked him for the warning, but I clung to the idea of having my wounds tended. And, after hasty farewells, we were off, Professor Bruno and I, on one of the most uncertain rides I’ve ever taken.
I was uncomfortable in my wet clothes. In places, my shirt and pants clung to me like a second skin. I was in pain because some of the dogs’ bites had been deep and burned when I moved, as if the saliva were a toxin. Then, too, I felt light-headed and I forgot to ask directions to the nearest hospital. I should not have been driving. But, maybe because I was in shock, I’d accepted the idea that I wasn’t badly hurt and, besides, Professor Bruno could not drive. So, it was up to me, in any case.
Professor Bruno must have realized that I was not in a proper state of mind when I (unintentionally) ran through my first stop sign. It seems I ran through a number of them, and the professor was amused by this afterwards, but at the time it must have been harrowing. He sat beside me with a crooked smile on his face, his briefcase in his arms like a flotation device. Also, while trying to stay calm or trying to keep me calm, he began to tell me about Nature. It was mostly about shores and stars, but I admired his composure, his repeated efforts to keep me focused.
But then he got stuck on the difference between the Latin word Natura and the Greek word Phusis. The distinction was something he’d taken from a German theologian. Both words are translated as ‘Nature’ but, according to the theologian, the Greeks made no distinction between the human and the natural worlds, while the Romans viewed themselves as separate from Nature. I remember all this clearly, not because it was interesting but because (at least in my mind) Professor Bruno kept repeating the words Natura and Phusis as if they had some special force. He shouted the word Natura, for instance, as I drove through a stop sign and crossed the median.
Under normal circumstances, I doubt I’d have understood a thing. But, despite my light-headedness, the professor’s words did reach me. They may even have kept me awake. Because, as I drove, I became convinced there really was no difference between myself and the world drifting by – ochre farm fields, greyish telephone poles, pale blue sky, trees in clumps of four or five, yellow signs showing where intersections were hidden.
At times, I felt such exhilaration that I imagined I could not die. And I drove on with little more than a vague feeling I was heading north, as we went past Strange, Happy Valley, Kettleby, and Ansnorveldt. I had never had