“Quit it,” said Danny. “You can’t go that way, Rocket. It’s where Creepy Colvig lives.”
Rocket was barking at him, ready to dash again toward the end of the Hollow. So Danny walked away and didn’t go back, though the dog kept barking. Finally, Rocket came after him, his tail limp and drooping, his eyes blinking sadly.
“We can go for a walk, but not that way,” said Danny. They went over the big bridge instead, up to the heights and toward the school. Rocket sniffed at every fence and every tree, then trotted on and sniffed again. Soon the dog was leading the boy, and Danny began to wonder if Rocket wasn’t following the route that had brought him to the Hollow in the first place. He wondered if Rocket was going home.
All the dogs that Danny knew came running to see him. They brought their balls and sticks and laid them at his feet. But Danny didn’t want Rocket to feel jealous, so he only petted the dogs briefly before moving along. Where he had always left a trail of happy, panting dogs behind him, he now left them staring glumly up the street.
They ended up at the school. Rocket sniffed across the parking lot, between the portable classrooms, up and down the steps to the school’s front doors. On the gravelly baseball diamond, they found a group of boys that Beau had known. They’d once been friends of Beau and Danny both, until the accident had changed all that. Rocket went wagging up among them, and they stooped to pet him but didn’t have much to say. “Howzitgoing, Danny?” they asked, and “How’s Old Man River?” Then they picked up their bicycles, slid their gloves over the handlebars, and went flying away down the street in a V like a flock of geese.
Danny watched until he couldn’t see them anymore. Rocket was lying at his side, watching too, and he whimpered as they vanished round the distant bend. “It’s all changing,” said Danny. “Everything’s changing.”
That reminded him of his mother and what she had said about Beau’s things. A sudden fear came over him that she was packing them away right then, maybe stacking them by the road for the garbageman. The thought became so real in his mind that he took Rocket through the woods, though it would bring them near the Colvig house. He ran faster than he’d ever run in his life, his head down, as though it might hide him from Dopey. Rocket bounded like a rabbit, those big ears flapping.
They crossed the wooden bridge and came out on the grass. Danny paused there a moment, all sweaty and breathless, and pointed out the Colvig house for Rocket. “You stay away from there,” he said. “Don’t ever go near it, okay?”
Rocket tipped his head. To Danny, he looked worried.
“Now let’s go,” said Danny.
There was nothing piled outside the old gray house, and that was a huge relief to Danny. The pumper truck was in the driveway, and the Old Man was waiting in the kitchen. He greeted Danny with a big, fake smile, as wooden as a ventriloquist’s dummy’s.
“Hey, there you are!” he said, sounding too loud and too jolly. “I’ve been thinking, Danny. That dog of yours hasn’t seen the A&W yet, has he?”
“No,” said Danny. The smile had made him wary. Whenever his father was too jolly, something bad was soon to happen.
Old Man River clapped his hands. “Hey, how about we take him there now?”
“Sure. Okay,” said Danny. He thought it would disappoint his father if he said no. But he could guess what was coming. All the way to the Dub, the Old Man would talk about things that didn’t matter. He’d pretend that his hamburger was the best thing he’d ever tasted. Then he’d wipe his mouth with his hand and say, “Oh, by the way…” And out would come the bad news.
Danny followed the Old Man out to the driveway. He climbed into the truck and saw with surprise that Rocket hadn’t followed him. The dog had come only as far as the porch, to the top of the stairs. The Old Man, one hand held up to the steering wheel, whistled and said, “Come on, boy.”
Rocket sat down.
“Danny, you call him,” said the Old Man, his smile gone already.
Danny did, but nothing changed. Rocket sat stubbornly at the top of the steps.
The Old Man wrenched his cap. “For crying out loud! Go and get him, Danny.”
Danny went back and crouched by the dog. He smoothed its ears. “What’s the matter, Rocket?” he said.
The dog looked back at him through a shaggy fringe of fur. Its eyes seemed huge, circles of black in circles of golden brown. Rocket whimpered softly. The Old Man shouted for Danny to hurry. “I don’t want to stand here all day,” he said.
Danny ran his hand over the dog’s head, down along its back. “You like riding in the car okay,” he said. “Why don’t you want to go in the truck?”
The boy looked eye to eye with his dog. He looked through those eyes and into its soul, and saw a thing that he could hardly believe. Suddenly his hand was shaking with the possibility of it. “Holy man,” he said.
His voice fell to a whisper. He put his face inches from Rocket’s and stared more deeply into those huge rounds of eyes. He saw spots of light and curved reflections, and all the sky and the grass and himself shrunken to fit in the circle of black, and he was almost certain then that he was right. “Beau? Is that you?”
Rocket’s tail slashed madly. His ears perked up, and he shot out his tongue to lick Danny’s nose.
“Beau,” whispered Danny again. The tail lashed harder; the tongue slobbered and licked. “You’re back. Oh, Beau, you’re back,” said Danny. He cuddled the dog, and he wept.
thirty-eight
The Old Man was getting quickly impatient. “I’m not that dog’s chauffeur,” he called from the truck. “Pick him up, Danny.”
Danny kept petting the dog, rubbing his hand along the bump of its spine. “I knew you’d come back. I dreamt it,” he whispered. “I saw you come back in the dream.”
“Danny!” shouted the Old Man.
“I’m sorry I didn’t know right away. I’m sorry, Beau,” said Danny. “I didn’t mean it when I said I hated you. I didn’t know it was you.”
The dog rolled onto its side. It arranged its legs to bare its belly for rubbing. Its eyes were more shiny than ever, glistening like pools of fresh rain.
Old Man River came along the path, his boots slapping round his ankles. He tugged his cap; he twisted it to the right. Then he stood above Danny. “That dog’s not sick, is it?”
Danny shook his head.
“Then what’s the matter—” The Old Man suddenly stopped talking. He bent down and looked at Danny. His voice went soft. “Have you been crying?” he said.
Danny rubbed his face into the dog’s fur, hoping to dry the tears that had come to his cheeks. He was bursting with the news that Beau was back. But he thought his father would only laugh if he told him.
“You’ll spoil that dog rotten like this,” said the Old Man. “If he won’t do what he’s told, you make him do it.” He reached down to pick up the dog, but Danny pushed his hands away.
“No, Dad. Let’s take Mom’s car,” said Danny. “He’ll go in the Pontiac no sweat. He just doesn’t want to ride in the—”
It was on his lips to say the poop-mobile. But instead he said, “The pumper truck. He doesn’t want to be in the pumper truck.”
The Old Man turned his cap nearly sideways. “Oh, for crying out loud.”
“Just try it, Dad,” said Danny. “Please?”
“It’s crazy,” said the Old Man. “If you give him his way, he’ll be running the roost.”
“Please?” said Danny again. “Just this one time?”
“Oh!” sighed the Old Man. “I’ll get the keys.”
“We’ll wait in the car,” cried Danny.
The boy and the dog got up nearly together. They ran to the car, and the dog bounced at the door as Danny, laughing, opened it. Old Man River scratched his head through his cap. “Danny, I swear you’re half dog,” he said.
All three rode in the front seat. Danny gave Rocket the window, because that had been Beau’s place whenever the Old Man was driving. Rocket put his head
out into the rush of hot air, his ears flapping.
The trip went nearly exactly as Danny had thought. They rode in silence to the A&W. The lady came out in her brown-and-orange uniform and took their order. Danny said, “Rocket would like a root beer.”
The Old Man was reaching for his wallet. “Well, Rocket isn’t getting a root beer. He wouldn’t like it.”
“Oh, I think he would,” said Danny.
The lady smiled at him. Ladies always smiled at Danny River. She told him he had a cute dog, then asked its name.
“Rocket,” said Danny.
“Is he fast as a rocket?” she asked.
“No, he just likes them,” said Danny, grinning at his dog.
The lady brought their meal on a tray that she hooked on the Old Man’s half-open window. Neither Danny nor his father said anything about the park with its waterfall and rocks to sit on. Danny knew they wouldn’t go back there, that they’d never go back. It would be too sad to see the one empty rock where Beau had always sat.
Danny unwrapped a burger for Rocket, then held out his foaming mug of root beer. Rocket sniffed at it before putting his nose through the froth to guzzle from the mug. Danny laughed. “I bet he’s been wanting that,” he said, grinning at his dad.
“I’ve never seen a dog that liked root beer,” said Old Man River.
Danny used his paper napkin to wipe the dog’s small shag of a beard. “Remember how much Beau liked root beer?” he asked.
“By the gallon,” said the Old Man.
“You think Rocket likes it just as much?”
The Old Man had a hamburger in his hands. Now he put it down and licked ketchup from his fingers. “You think about Beau a lot, don’t you, Danny?” he said.
“I sure do, Dad.”
“Well, so do I,” said the Old Man. “I think about him day and night. I think about him so much that I sometimes wish I could stop. Do you know what I mean?”
“Yeah,” said Danny, looking at the dog, not the Old Man. He had moved as close to Rocket as he could, and he put an arm around the dog. “It means you’re going to throw his stuff away.”
“Oh, geez, Danny.” The Old Man leaned across the seat, and scraps of white onion and green lettuce fell from the front of his shirt. “You amaze me sometimes, you know that? We talked about it, your mother and me, but we’re not throwing anything out. We don’t want to wipe your brother out of your life, Danny. We just think it would be better if some of the toys were up in the attic. We don’t think you should be surrounded by everything that was Beau’s.”
“Yeah, okay,” said Danny.
The Old Man laughed. “I could have saved myself some money here. I thought you’d be upset.”
“But I get to say what stays in the room,” said Danny. “Like the letter from Gus Grissom, that’s important.”
“Agreed,” said the Old Man.
“And the fighter planes. They’re important too.”
“All right.”
“And the bed,” said Danny. “That’s the most important thing. He needs the bed, ’cause that’s where he sleeps.”
The Old Man sighed and tugged his cap, “Now that’s the thing, you see. Beau’s gone, Danny. He doesn’t need a bed.”
“Sure he does, Dad.” Danny tightened his arm around Rocket and leaned his head on the dog’s ribs. He could feel the bones moving as Rocket breathed beside him.
“Oh, you mean Rocket sleeps there,” said the Old Man.
“Yes,” said Danny. “And you know something, Dad?” Danny couldn’t stop himself now. “Beau’s inside him, Dad. Beau’s come back.”
The Old Man looked as white as the little bits of onion.
“It’s true,” said Danny. “Look.” He put his mouth to the dog’s ear and said, “Beau,” and the dog twitched and barked, and Danny grinned. “You see? It’s him. He knows it’s him.”
“Oh, Danny.” The Old Man’s face was suddenly full of wrinkles. “You say Beau, but he hears boo. It’s just a sound. It means nothing to him.”
“He walked all his life to get to Hog’s Hollow. He wore his feet away to get there. And he knows stuff, Dad.” Danny was smiling. He was full of his feeling of joy, of the magic of it all. “You said he was born to be with me. You said he belongs here, Dad. You even said that dogs are children.”
“I never said that,” said the Old Man.
“You did! At the park. You said dogs are children.”
Old Man River looked up at the roof of the car, then closed his eyes. “Oh, Danny, I meant that dogs act like children, that they play like children do.”
“Why did he come straight to our house?” asked Danny.
“He had to end up somewhere, didn’t he?” said the Old Man. “It’s not like he’s the first dog to ever want to be with you.”
Danny had both his arms around the dog. “I didn’t think you’d believe me right away,” he said. “But you’ll see, Dad. Just talk to him, and you’ll see.”
“Aw, this is nuts,” said the Old Man. He shook his head and sat up straight. He lifted the tray from the window, then opened his door and set the tray on the ground.
“Try it, Dad,” said Danny.
“No.” The Old Man closed his door. He started the car and backed it out of its place. “That’s a dog, Danny. It’s only a dog.”
thirty-nine
As the summer went by, Danny became certain that Beau was in his dog. He wondered only how it worked: was Beau really back in the shape of a dog, or was Rocket a real dog with the soul of a boy living inside him?
It was a wonderful thing to know, and Danny only wished that his parents could see it, too. They wouldn’t be so sad if they knew that Beau was back. But they wouldn’t talk about it, and wouldn’t even think about it. Ever since the day he had brought it up with his father—who had told Mrs. River, bringing her to tears—it was a thing that was not to be mentioned.
Danny told Josephine. But for once it wasn’t good enough to tell his secrets to a dog. He decided to tell Steve Britain, the boy whose father wet his bed, who had known Beau nearly as well as anybody had.
It was a sudden decision. He met Steve by chance at Camp Wigwam one day, when he went to play in the big teepees that sat empty through the weekends. From the edge of the woods he heard the screaming whine of a tiny engine. The sound made Rocket prick up his ears and hurry along.
Steve Britain was standing in the middle of the field, turning in place, flying his yellow Skyraider round and round on its wires. By his feet was the red jug for gasoline, and the little toolbox for his wrench and screwdriver. The plane did a loop, then flipped on its back and started circling the other way. Rocket was barking as he ran toward Steve.
Beau had spent hours flying the Skyraider with Steve, and Danny had spent hours watching them, hoping for a turn but never getting one. The sound and the smell made him remember how he’d gone dashing back and forth with the gasoline and the tools, trying to make himself useful enough that he would finally get a turn.
As Rocket ran toward him now, Steve Britain shouted, “Get that dog away!”
“It’s okay,” called Danny. “He knows what he’s doing.”
“If he gets hit, it’s not my fault.”
Rocket chased the plane. He ran just behind it, leaping and spinning, falling and starting again. He yapped and barked.
“Hey, quit it!” shouted Steve.
Rocket took one more turn round the circle, then veered into the middle. He sat there beside Steve, his head swiveling as he watched the plane, his tongue hanging out, his eyes like black jewels.
Danny went right up to the circle, and the yellow plane came whizzing toward him and went zooming away with the sound always changing. To Danny, it sounded like an angry mechanical cat howling: Meeeeeowww! Meeeeeowww! Steve was leaning back as he stepped in his steady circling. Each time he turned, the sunlight flashed on his glasses, reminding Danny of a lighthouse.
“Oh, it’s you,” said Steve. “Howzitgoing, Danny?”
“Is this your dog?”
“Yeah,” said Danny.
“It’s some crazy dog.”
Steve Britain made his airplane loop and whirl. He flew it upside down and right way up, close to the ground and straight over his head. Then the engine sputtered twice and conked out, and Steve brought the Skyraider down. It hopped along the ground like a big yellow bug.
The moment it stopped, Rocket jumped up at Steve, crying out in his talking voice of whines and yaps.
“What’s he doing?” said Steve.
“He’s saying hello,” said Danny.
“Okay, hello. Now get him down,” said Steve. He pushed the dog aside.
Rocket whirled away and ran toward the Skyraider. Steve Britain shouted at Danny to stop him. “If he wrecks it, I’ll kill him,” he said. But the dog only sat beside the plane.
“See? He knows,” said Danny. “If he had fingers, he’d refuel it for you.”
“Sure, Danny.” Steve picked up his jug and his tool kit and walked to the plane. He filled the tiny tank through an even tinier funnel. “I was thinking about Beau,” he said. “Just before you came. I guess you miss him, huh?”
Danny nodded.
“Me too. I sure did today. It’s hard to fly this thing alone.” He put down his jug and shook the plane, flinging droplets of fuel. They sprayed across his glasses, like melting rainbows. “I heard you got a dog. He’s not as ugly as I thought he’d be.”
“Look in his eyes,” said Danny.
“Why?”
“Just look.”
Steve held his hand toward the dog. There was gasoline on his skin, already dried to a whitish powder, and Rocket’s eyes blinked at the smell, but he didn’t pull away. Steve smoothed the dog’s fur on its nose and forehead. “Yeah?” he said. “So what?”
Danny was disappointed. “Look hard,” he said. “You can sorta see through them. You can see inside him.”
Gemini Summer Page 11
