Analog SFF, November 2007

by Dell Magazine Authors

  Conradin cast his eyes down at his Brussels sprouts.

  * * * *

  In Henry's room after dinner, Conradin pretended he was getting a dog. Prone on the floor with Sniffles between them, he and Henry leafed through a breed book. They started at Affenpinscher and had gotten most of the way through the letter K when Conradin stopped at a picture of a great white dog with thick unkempt fur, flop ears, and dark, intelligent eyes.

  "He's beautiful,” said Conradin. “Kuvasz, it says. A livestock protection dog."

  Henry leaned in to read the page. “Hey, look at this.” He pointed at the text. “The Kuvasz is so protective that parents can't even scold their kids when the dog's around."

  "That's a really good dog,” said Conradin.

  Sniffles gave a low woof.

  Henry brushed his cheek against Sniffles’ muzzle. “You're an even better dog.” He patted the dog between the ears. “He doesn't herd sheep like you do, he only guards them."

  "Wow!” said Conradin, still engrossed in the book. “This dog weighs more than both of us together.” He slammed the volume closed and sprang to his feet. “This is my dog.” He turned to Henry, who had rolled over on his back. “Could you do me a favor? Could you go onto the net and find a picture of a Kuvasz and print it for me?"

  "Sure.” Henry scrambled to his feet and went to the computer.

  Conradin, standing behind as Henry worked the keys, envisioned the dog, his dog. The White Avenger! That's what he'd name it. He imagined himself at home, sleeping, snuggled up to his dog, safe.

  "How about this one?” said Henry, looking back over his shoulder.

  "Great!” Conradin stared at the image on the screen: a great, proud, and confident dog standing in a heroic pose on a green meadow with a flock of sheep in the distance. “He's terrific."

  "Protection from the bullies,” said Henry, as he sent the image to the color printer.

  "Yeah, the bullies."

  Without turning around, Henry asked, “Is your dad still hitting you?"

  Conradin didn't answer.

  After a moment, Henry swiveled the chair to face his friend. “Well, does he?"

  "He says I deserve it.” Conradin looked down at his feet. “And I think maybe I do."

  "That's crazy. No kid deserves to be beaten up all the time."

  "Yeah. You just try telling that to him."

  "Well, I think I should tell my mom."

  "No!” Conradin couldn't bear the thought of his shame being exposed. “It's a secret."

  "Why?"

  "It just is. Promise not to tell.” Conradin's eyes began to go moist. “Please."

  "Okay, okay."

  "Swear it."

  "All right.” Henry yanked the image from the printer. “I swear it. Here's your dog."

  Conradin took the sheet as if it were a holy relic. The White Avenger.

  There was a knock at the door. “Milk and cookies,” came Mrs. Wolverton's voice.

  Henry opened the door and took the tray. “Thanks, Mom."

  Conradin saw two glasses of milk, a dish of chocolate chip cookies, and a few loose dog treats.

  "Your mom's neat,” said Conradin when the door had closed.

  "Yeah.” Henry set down the tray and dangled a dog treat in front of Sniffles. “Sniff. Want a snack?"

  Sniffles, his eyes locked on the treat, made a singing rowf sound. Again, there was no mistaking the body language. Henry tossed the snack, and Sniffles caught it on the fly.

  "Hey,” said Conradin, his eyes on Sniffles. “I've just gotten a really screwy idea."

  Henry gazed at him quizzically.

  Conradin laughed. “You didn't need to answer,” he said. “Your body language answered for you. That's my idea."

  "O-kay."

  "Border Collies are smart,” said Conradin. “Right?"

  "Yeah,” said Henry, cautiously.

  "And they can understand about four hundred words."

  "I think Sniffles can."

  "And,” said Conradin, with the air of a trial lawyer making a telling argument, “Sniffles can talk back using body language."

  "Yeah. In a way."

  "And your mom trained Shadow to understand body language and to say what she understands."

  "Yeah, so?” said Henry with obvious impatience. “Just tell me your idea."

  "Okay, listen,” said Conradin, excitedly. “Why can't we train Shadow to understand Sniffles’ body language?” He didn't wait for an answer. “Then we could talk to Sniffles, Sniffles would answer in body language, and Shadow would translate it to words. We'd have a talking dog!"

  Henry cocked his head at an angle and gazed at his friend.

  "Well?” said Conradin after a few moments.

  "Yeah, it's a screwy idea, all right.” Henry put his hands on his head and interlocked his fingers. He laughed. “But I like it."

  "Do you think we can get your mother to teach us how to train Shadow?"

  "She's already taught me.” Henry raised his arms like a prizefighter declaring victory. “And when Dad comes home, maybe we can really surprise him.” He headed for the door. “He'll be away for almost a week."

  "I wish I were that lucky,” said Conradin under his breath.

  "Come on,” said Henry from the doorway. “Let's get Shadow. And we'll need some parrot crackers—and some more dog treats."

  * * * *

  After a few hours, they had gotten nowhere; they could understand when Sniffles said, “let's play,” or “I like you,” or “may I have a dog snack,” but Shadow refused to translate.

  Henry threw himself down on his bed and gazed at the ceiling. “This isn't going to work. I'd forgotten how hard my Mom works to get Shadow to say new stuff."

  Conradin glared gloomily at the parrot.

  "Hey,” said Henry after a few seconds. “I've got an idea.” He rolled to his feet. “Shadow already can say lots of stuff.” He darted to his computer and pulled up a document. “This is what Mom calls her Shadow Phrasebook."

  Conradin looked over Henry's shoulder at the screen showing rows of phrases, each followed by a hand gesture, or sometimes gestures with both hands. Finger positions were emphasized with dark shadings.

  "Here, watch this.” Henry first pointed to one of the entries, then turned toward Shadow and executed the gesture.

  "You are a bad man,” said Shadow.

  Conradin giggled.

  "When we see Sniffles doing something we understand,” said Henry, “we can make the hand signals from the book and Shadow will say what Sniffles means. After a while, we can stop using the hand signals."

  "You think?"

  "Yeah. African Greys are smart.” Henry pressed a few keys and pages began spewing out of the printer. “You'll have to learn the signals too. Mom prints copies and give them to the actors.” He gathered together the pages and handed them to Conradin.

  Conradin studied an entry and made the hand gesture. But Shadow didn't say anything.

  "It's this little squiggle here.” Henry pointed to the page. “After you make the hand position, you have to curl your little finger. It takes a little getting used to."

  Conradin tried it and after the third attempt, Shadow said, “Anybody home?"

  "You got it!” said Henry.

  Just then, Mrs. Wolverton's voice echoed up the stairs. “It's getting late. It's time for Conradin to go home now."

  Henry opened the door and called down, “Mom. Does he have to? It's Friday. There's no school tomorrow."

  "Yes, he has to. He does have a home, doesn't he?"

  "But, Mom..."

  "Do you need me to come up and discuss the situation?"

  "No.” Henry closed the door.

  After they'd arranged to continue the training tomorrow, Conradin put the Kuvasz picture in the front of his school notebook, slipped the phrasebook into his pack, and made ready to leave.

  Downstairs, he thanked Mrs. Wolverton for dinner, hoisted his school pack to his shoulders, and trud
ged to the door. It was hard leaving the friendly household. He felt more at home there than at his own house.

  As he stepped outside, the darkness surprised him. He'd not realized it was this late. Setting off at a jog, he hoped that when he got home, his father wouldn't make an issue of it. Conradin scrunched his shoulders. It didn't take much to trigger his father's rage—especially if he'd been drinking.

  To save some time, he took the forbidden shortcut along the cliff edge. There, a grass-covered plateau, featureless save for a lone pin oak, ended abruptly at a three-hundred-foot drop. There was neither signboard nor guard rail to warn the unwary. At the base of the precipice, a tumble of rocks and boulders gave way to a narrow beach and then to the ocean.

  Conradin paused to catch his breath. He felt an excitement being there, not only because it was out of bounds, but also because it was the one place he felt close to his mother. They'd often picnicked there—sitting with their backs against the oak, shaded by its leafy branches and whispering dreams as they gazed out over the infinite ocean. It had been their private place before she'd married again. That tree was sacred.

  But six months ago, while he was at school, she had fallen off the edge and that changed his life out of all recognition. His new father used to be somewhat nice—except when he'd been drinking. And since Mom's death, he drank just about all the time. Conradin looked over at the oak tree, leafless now in the late fall, and then looked quickly away.

  At the cliff edge, buffeted by the breeze off the ocean, Conradin managed to lose himself in the distant roar of the breakers crashing to the rocks below. He gazed up at the stars, finding the Southern Cross and then Canis Major, the “greater dog.” The eye of the dog, Sirius, the brightest star in the sky, seemed like an old friend. He said its name aloud and then the names of the other bright stars in the constellation: Mirzam, Adhara, Wezen. Just saying the names gave him a feeling of power. Mentally, he traced out the familiar outline of the dog. Then he altered the outline, morphing it into the shape of his dream dog, a giant Kuvasz, his protector. He said its name aloud, “The White Avenger,” then stared at Sirius, “and the All-seeing Eye of Vengeance."

  Gazing at the constellation, he let himself become hypnotized by its power. Words came to his mind, a chant, an incantation. He spoke it to the sky.

  "Please, White Avenger. Watch over me and protect me.

  And let the All-seeing Eye of Vengeance strike down my enemies and hurt them bad."

  As he prayed to his dream dog, he suddenly smelled corruption on the clean, cool air—the all too familiar stench of alcohol.

  He spun around and reflexively raised his arms to protect his head—but not fast enough. His father grabbed him by the front of his shirt and backhanded him across the face. Conradin yelped.

  "What do I have to do to get you to listen to me?” said the man, his voice low and angry. “I told you never to come here. This cliff is dangerous."

  "Then what are you doing here?” As soon as he said the words, Conradin regretted them.

  His father spun him around and bent him over. “I'll teach you to mouth off,” he said as he began slapping the boy repeatedly on the bare skin just below the edge of his shorts. Conradin shrieked, both from the pain and also the certain knowledge that if he didn't, his father would just hit him harder.

  Despite the pain, Conradin knew he'd been comparatively lucky; if this had happened at home, his father would have taken off his belt.

  After a torrent of excruciating, staccato strokes, his father pulled him roughly to his feet. “Go home and go to your room,” he said with menace in his voice. “And stay there."

  Sniffling, Conradin darted away. Soon though, overcome with the physical and mental exhaustion that always followed a beating, he had to stop. Looking over his shoulder, he let out a breath of relief. His father wasn't following him and that meant he'd probably be able to make it to bed without getting another licking. He lifted his gaze to Sirius, the sparkling All-seeing Eye of Vengeance. And he made a wish on it—a dark wish, a fierce wish.

  * * * *

  Next morning in Henry's room, the boys began to build their talking dog. They decided to start with the phrase “come and play.” Henry already knew how to say it in dog; you get down on all fours and bounce up and down with stiff, straight arms. Henry demonstrated. Sniffles answered with the same movements. “All dogs know this,” said Henry, from the floor. “Even wolves.” He scrambled to his feet. “Okay. Here's what we do. You get on your knees and do ‘come and play.’ When Sniffles does it, I'll make the hand sign for Shadow."

  "I can make the sign,” said Conradin. “I memorized the phrasebook last night."

  "Really? All of it?"

  "Yeah."

  "Well,” said Henry. “I'd better make the signs. Shadow knows me better, and anyway, Mom taught me how to train her."

  They tried it; when Sniffles bounced on stiff legs, Henry made the sign, holding his hand in front of the dog.

  "Let's play,” said Shadow.

  They did it over and over. Henry made the sign with ever-smaller motions. And each time, Shadow said the phrase in squawky English. Then, Henry didn't make the sign, but just held his hand inertly in front of the dog. Again, Shadow uttered the phrase. Finally, with Henry standing out of the way, Conradin bounced “come and play.” Yet again, Shadow said it in English.

  "Hurray, we did it!” said Henry.

  "I didn't think it would be this easy,” said Conradin.

  Henry bit his lip. “Me neither."

  They moved on to “may I have a cookie.” Shadow picked it right up, but the boys weren't sure if it was Sniffles “talking” or the parrot.

  Then, in the midst of training “I like you,” Henry turned on Conradin. “Hey, you're cheating. I saw your fingers twitch. You made the hand signal."

  "No, I didn't,” said Conradin, wounded that his best friend would accuse him of being a cheat.

  "I saw you."

  "I didn't. Scout's honor."

  "I'll prove it,” said Henry. “Put your hands in your pockets and I'll get Sniffles to say come and play."

  "Okay,” said Conradin. “You'll see.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets and Henry dropped to all fours.

  Sniffles “said” come and play, but Shadow stayed silent on her perch.

  "See!” Henry got to his feet and glowered at his friend.

  "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to. It was an accident."

  "Accident,” said Henry in a voice filled with disbelief and scorn.

  "Really!” said Conradin. “I didn't know I was doing it. I stayed up late memorizing the phrasebook. I guess now I automatically make the hand sign whenever I hear the phrase."

  "Geez! Now we'll have to start all over."

  "I said I'm sorry."

  "Okay, okay,” said Henry, looking not at Conradin, but at Sniffles. “Let's go back to ‘come and play'—but keep your hands in your pockets."

  "I can't keep my hands in my pockets all week."

  "Then chop them off.” Henry balled a fist.

  "I saw what you did,” said Shadow.

  * * * *

  It took most of the day, but finally Shadow got it; whenever they persuaded Sniffles to say come and play, Shadow said. “Let's play."

  "That was a simple phrase,” said Henry, his voice filled with discouragement despite their success. “I don't think we'll get Shadow to say more than five or six phrases—even if we work on it all week."

  "You don't want to give up, do you?

  "No!” said Henry.

  By dinnertime—Conradin had been invited for dinner again—they'd made little if any more progress.

  The boys tramped downstairs into the dining room.

  "Conradin,” said Mrs. Wolverton. “Why are you wearing mittens?"

  "They're Henry's. I forgot I was wearing them."

  Mrs. Wolverton looked as if she was about to say something. But she didn't.

  * * * *

  On Sunday and after school on
the days that followed, Conradin worked on the Sniffles project with Henry. Aside from when he was sleeping, he spent almost no time at home. That was a good thing as it lessened the chance of his falling victim to his father's temper. There was an incident on Thursday night, though—minor, just a sharp slap on the face.

  Each night, as he walked home, Conradin gazed at the All-seeing Eye and renewed his angry wish.

  On Friday, a school holiday, Conradin went early to the Wolvertons'. While he looked forward to another whole day there, his mood was tinged with sadness; Henry's father was due back that evening, which meant the Wolvertons would be complete again. The days of his being almost a part of the family would be over.

  Conradin had pretended for the week that Mrs. Wolverton was his mother and Henry his brother. Actually, they were brothers of a sort; in a solemn ceremony months ago, they had used a pocketknife to become brothers in blood.

  As Conradin jogged through the front door, Mrs. Wolverton looked up from her book. “Hello, Conradin.” She frowned. “That bruise on your cheek. Have those school ruffians been picking on you again?"

  Conradin hung his head.

  Mrs. Wolverton stood. “Tell me their names. I'm going to phone the school and put an end to it.” She shook her head. “It's a wonder your father hasn't done so,” she said under her breath.

  Conradin stood mute.

  Meanwhile, Henry had padded down the stairs, stopping a few steps from the bottom. Conradin felt himself flush under his friend's accusatory gaze.

  "I don't understand it,” said Mrs. Wolverton, throwing up her hands. “This schoolboy code of silence of yours."

  "I'm sorry,” said Conradin in a small voice.

  She looked at him for a few moments, smiled, then put an arm around him and gave him a hug. “It's all right, Conradin.” She laughed, clearly trying to change the mood. “Henry says you've been spending so much time here this week, we should adopt you."

  "Yeah,” said Henry, leaning over the banister, “Sniffles already has.” He chuckled. “He probably thinks you're a sheep."

  "Could you?” said Conradin, looking at Mrs. Wolverton. “That would be great."

  "Could I what?"

  "Adopt me."

  Mrs. Wolverton gave him a long look, her face tinged with puzzlement and concern.