by Harry Mazer
On the street, a policewoman sat behind the wheel of a patrol car. They put him in the backseat. A metal grate separated the front of the car from the back. “You’re in trouble now,” the policewoman said.
“Can I call my mother?” Jake felt like crying, but he held it back.
“You can’t do anything,” she said. “What gives you the idea you can jump the fare? That’s stealing, just like taking money out of somebody’s pocket.”
“I have to go home. My mother’s going to be worried.”
“What’s your name?” The policeman was writing everything down.
“Jake Estabrook.”
He told them where he lived, and his mother’s name and his father’s name. He told them his father was a baseball player.
“What team?” the policeman said.
“The Cougars.”
“What team is that?”
“It’s not from around here,” Jake said. “He was with Kansas City one season.”
“What are you doing all the way over here, Jake?” the policewoman said.
He hesitated, but then he told her. “I came to bury a dog and I got mugged.”
“They took your money?”
“I spent it on Coneydogs.”
“Jake,” the policewoman said. “It’s illegal to bury an animal in the city. You like to break the law, don’t you?”
“No.”
“What’s your phone number?” the policeman asked. He wrote it down, then called into headquarters. “Check this number for me, Jennene, willya? Find out if she’s got a kid named Jake and where he is.”
They all sat in silence until the radio crackled and Jennene’s voice said, “Someone’s in the house—not the mother. A friend. The mother’s out looking for the kid.”
The policewoman said, “Your mother must be gray with a kid like you! You ever do anything for her? You ever think about her?”
She got out of the car and opened his door. “Get out.” She clamped a hand on his shoulder and walked him back to the train station. Jake’s legs were rubbery. The policewoman nodded to the woman in the booth, then opened the gate and pushed him through. “Get on that train now and go home.”
He went slowly up the stairs to the platform. At the top, he looked back. She was still watching him. He waved his hand a little. “Thanks,” he said.
• TWENTY-SIX •
A Happy Dog
Jake stood by the elevator in his building. A woman and a dog came in from outside, and they all got on together. The dog jumped at Jake. She had short brown hair and round eyes, and she was laughing. A happy dog. The woman pulled her down. “Stop, Phoebe. She’s a puppy,” she said to Jake, “seven months old.”
He loved the dog. It made him feel good to see her. Everything made him feel good. He was so happy to be home.
In the apartment, his mother held his face between her warm hands. “You idiot. Are you all right?”
“I was in Coney Island,” he said.
“I know. The police called. What were you doing there?”
“It was Mr. Kleiner’s dog—” He stopped. He couldn’t explain it now. It was too complicated. “Can I have something to eat?”
While he was eating, Connie called. “What happened to the dog? Did you find a place?”
Jake leaned on an elbow. “Yeah, I did.” He moved the sandwich around on the plate. “By the ocean,” he said, and it seemed so far away.
Later, his mother brought him a glass of chocolate milk in his room. “Your father called. You didn’t tell me he’s out of baseball.”
“He’s not,” Jake said. “Did he say that?”
“He’s off the team. Jake, don’t worry. He’ll do something.”
“There are probably a lot of teams that want him,” Jake said.
His mother sat down next to him. “Jake, nothing goes on forever—not baseball, not anything.”
“I know that.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
She looked at him a long time. “Your father’s thinking about things. He says he wants to talk to you about it.”
He lay down on the bed with his clothes on and looked out the window, thinking about the way he’d toted Big Boy around all day. He’d been mugged. The dog had been stolen twice. He’d been arrested. His eyes closed. He heard the machine roar of the city, the whir of fans and motors. The roar, like the wind at the edge of the ocean, never stopped.
Sleep rushed at him. Maybe the day didn’t make a whole lot of sense. To somebody else, maybe, it would make no sense at all. But he’d buried Big Boy, and he’d always know where he was. He was glad, though at this moment he wasn’t exactly sure why. Tomorrow, he’d figure it out. It was something to talk to his father about when he called.
GILES’ SONG
My name is Giles and I’m a dog—
yes sir, I’m a dog—
& I was made to run free.
I made my break on December 25th, 1994.
I saw my chance & I shot through the door
backed by the blond child yelling
GilesGilesGiles in his raspy voice.
I didn’t care—by God I’m a dog
& I was made to roam free!
My friend was walking past by chance
and she said, “Hey, Giles!”
I snuffed her hand once
to let her know I was with her.
With GilesGilesGiles
behind me, I ran straight on & she said,
“Make your break, take off, run free!”
So I did. I’m black & my tail
curls over my butt like a question mark
with a white tip. I limp in my front paw
& my breath rasps in my chest now,
but by God I’m a dog—
I was made to run free!
I made my break from that place
where they tie me up night and day—
by God I got away!
She & I walked down the road
& she waited for me when I took a pee
& I waited for her when she sweet-talked
the whiskery horses in the field.
I drank from the duck pond
& didn’t chase the ducks.
I snuffed up every loose scent in the grass.
By God, it’s good to be alive & free!
She said, “All I need is a four-legged friend
& a house in the woods
& I’m happy. I’m like you,
I need to make my break & run free.”
And she said, “Just once before I die,
I want to look a coyote in the eye.”
It was getting dark between the trees
& she said, “OK Giles, let’s turn around,”
and we saw something on the road
ahead of us, dog-sized, a dark splash,
there and gone. Who knows what it was?
I’ve smelled all the smells before
& I didn’t know: But by God I know I’m a dog
& it’s good to be alive!
We walked back past the house
they keep me in, with headlights catching me in the night.
They yelled Giles! & she said, “Go on now!”
but I ignored them all & I ran free.
’Cuz I’m a dog—
yes sir, I’m a dog—
& I need to run free!
I’m a dog—
yes sir good lord I’m a dog—
I’m gonna make my break
one day sweet lord—
I’ll be running free!
Gina Mazer
(In memory of Giles, 1982–1996)
* * *
I grew up in a family of writers, so it was natural for me to write and for writing to be encouraged. I have been writing poetry since I was a teenager. I met Giles when I lived in a community in Lenox, Massachusetts. He lived about a mile away and often came to visit and take walks with us, until his owners started to keep him tied up. — GM
WE H
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SIMON & SCHUSTER BOOKS FOR YOUNG READERS
An imprint of Simon & Schuster Children’s Publishing Division,
1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York,
New York 10020
www.SimonandSchuster.com
Copyright © 1997 by Harry Mazer. “Giles’ Song” by Gina Mazer;
copyright © 1997 by Gina Mazer. Used by permission of author.
All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.
SIMON & SCHUSTER BOOKS FOR YOUNG READERS is a trademark of Simon & Schuster.
Book design by Heather Wood.
The text of this book is set in Bembo.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Mazer, Harry. The dog in the freezer : three novellas / by Harry Mazer.
p. cm.
Summary: Each of these three novellas looks at the relationship between a boy and a dog in a very different and unusual way.
[1. Dogs—Fiction.] I. Title.
PZ7.M47397Di 1997 [Fic]—dc21
96-44833
CIP AC
ISBN 0-689-80753-8
ISBN 978-0-689-84877-3 (ebook)
