If I Die Before I Wake

by Jean Little

  But today we got a real dog and it is so astounding. The doctor did it. He dropped in to see Theo, who has had a worrying cough. While he was here, he told us about one of his patients who has died and left a dog without an owner.

  “He’s housebroken, his sister says, and he’s a great dog,” Dr. Musgrave told us, “but I can’t keep him. I’m out too much. Would the children be interested? All he does is grieve and I am worried about him.”

  I asked what his name was because I am fascinated by names. The doctor said nobody knows. The man just called him “Dog” as though that was a name. I think that is shameful. I wonder how he would like to be called “Man” or “Person.”

  “Please, Daddy,” Theo said, opening his eyes wide and looking like a heartbroken angel. “Please. I’ve yearned for a dog for so many long years.”

  We could not help laughing at him. But Father said to bring “the animal” over and we’ll have a look at him before deciding.

  “Right now,” Theo begged and then asked to go along for the ride so he could hold the puppy. The doctor burst out laughing. When he and Theo returned, I understood that laugh.

  Our new dog came thundering through the door like a baby elephant, Jane. Theo had his arms flung around as much of his neck as he could hold. And he was being dragged along on his tiptoes.

  “Welcome, Hamlet, Prince of Denmark,” Father said, laughing and then bowing low.

  Hamlet is a Great Dane and he is ENORMOUS. We all adore him. I don’t know if Father would have kept him if he had not been inspired by the thought of a Great Dane named Hamlet. Naming someone connects you to whoever you name.

  Aunt choked down a shriek, but when Pixie wagged her unimpressive tail end madly and let herself be sniffed “from stem to stern,” as Father said, darling Auntie came around. I think it was our lucky day that Grandmother had gone to her WCTU meeting. By the time she came home, Hamlet was a member of the family and she had to like it or lump it. All she could think of to say was that we could not afford to feed such a brute. Theo instantly offered to do without half his food for the monster’s sake. (Theo is a picky eater. Poor Hamlet would be nothing but a bundle of bones if he had to live on just half of Theo’s meals.)

  “Jim Swenson will let me have all the tripe this fellow can eat,” Father said. “He’d never have passed his final exams if I hadn’t coached him.”

  Jim S. is the butcher’s son. Tripe is disgusting. It’s the lining of the cow’s stomach or something. Aunt tried to cook it for us once but nobody could choke down even one bite. It’s white and slimy. Hamlet won’t mind though. He looks big enough to eat the whole cow. When Father went and fetched some tripe home, Hamlet’s tail whipped back and forth with enormous enthusiasm.

  The dog’s name is Hamlet, Jane, because Hamlet, in Shakespeare, is a Danish prince. Father had to explain to everyone but me. I had read it one rainy afternoon. It is in a book with Mother’s name on the flyleaf.

  When Hamlet is standing up, Pixie walks under him as though he is a table or a bridge. He peers down at her and wags his long tail happily.

  Wednesday, August 7, 1918

  Oh, Jane, you should have seen Myrtle when she laid eyes on Hamlet. You know how Lot’s wife, in the Bible, was turned to salt? That’s how poor Myrtle looked. But Hamlet just went over to her and kissed her fingers and, with only one small shriek, she came around.

  I had a busy day, Jane, what with petting Hamlet and making jam. I admit to you and you alone, that for every raspberry I put in the bowl, I ate two. Aunt finally told Fan to take my place and ordered me to get busy and finish the ironing, which should have been done yesterday. Myrtle was here so she could have done it. I detest ironing. Aunt knows this full well.

  I finally got a break by agreeing to play catch with Theo. Whatever Theo wants, Theo gets!

  Thursday, August 8, 1918

  Another day of making jam. Peach this time. We were short of sugar but the peaches are wonderfully sweet. And we have to do more canning tomorrow. I’ll write again when it is done. I hate doing the canning, but all the jars, lined up, look beautiful. Like tall, fat jewels with silvery hats.

  Friday, August 9, 1918

  Father came home early with the newspaper. He looked grim. We were all laughing and the sight of him made us feel guilty, as though we’d been making fun while our men died in the trenches. He said he still thinks the War will be over before Christmas. It has been going on forever and it just seems normal most of the time. Then something will happen, like seeing wounded soldiers at the train station or hearing Father talking about men he knew who died at the Somme or on Vimy Ridge, and it is so real it is frightening. I am lucky I have no brothers at the Front.

  Carrie Galt’s brother Gord was killed last March. When his name is mentioned, the War is suddenly terribly near and real. I think of it and my heart aches for all the young men. Yet, half an hour later, I will be dithering over what to wear to the Sunday School picnic and the War will fade into the distance again. Aunt says our minds work that way to protect us from more horror than we can face. She is probably right.

  After Father went into his study, we crept about until Hamlet started chasing Pixie. Old as she is, she dances out of his way while he trips over his clodhopper paws. It is such fun to watch them.

  Hamlet helps with all the worry about the War. He is such a solemn dog that he has us in stitches, like a sad clown. He also keeps trying to climb on our laps and jump on the beds. They, and we too, collapse. Aunt is making us keep the bedroom doors closed. We are not to allow him up on the sofa, but he stares at it so sadly.

  “If that creature jumps up on my bed,” Grandmother said, glaring at him, “he or I will leave this house.”

  The Danish Prince backed away from her at once and tucked his tail between his legs. He understands her meaning so well that he does not even go to her door. She has a powerful glare.

  I saw Theo’s lips part and knew, by the fire in his eye, that he was about to say that Grandmother would have to be the one to go because Hamlet was staying no matter what. I stepped up behind him and put my hand over his mouth. “Don’t,” I warned him.

  He shook my hand away but kept his lips sealed.

  Aunt found an old plaid steamer rug with a fringe for Hamlet to lie on. He likes it so much that he drags it with him from place to place and then gazes at us mournfully until somebody lays it flat for him to stretch out upon. He and his rug take up a LOT of floor space. If the fringe is standing up when he puts the rug down, he lies and blows on it. Theo says he is not trying to flatten it, he just likes to see it wave. Theo spends hours talking with him, so he should know.

  If Aunt is busy in the kitchen and has no time to sit down and make a lap for Pixie, her dog goes and leans against Hamlet as though he is a sofa. They look so comical! Then they soon launch into a snore duet! Even Myrtle, who is mostly silent and sober, smiles ever so slightly.

  I warned my little brother not to try tempting Hamlet up on Grandmother’s bed. He stared at me with shocked eyes.

  “As if I would,” he said in a perfect imitation of Aunt.

  Saturday, August 10, 1918

  Word came today of a big battle at Amiens. We don’t know the details because it only happened yesterday, but Father has somehow learned that there were many men killed. Our troops made a twelve-mile advance, which is supposed to be terrific. But I think many men dying only to win twelve miles of earth seems wicked. Father told me that this could well be the beginning of the end. I don’t know why God can’t stop it. I told Jo that and she just shrugged and said, “God didn’t start the War, Fee. We did.” I wanted to yell at her, “Not me!” But I did not. She had been crying. She’s afraid one of the boys who joined up at the end of the school year may be among the dead. I don’t think it is possible. How could they have gotten over there that fast?

  I was getting into bed when I heard Aunt starting to play the piano softly. She used to play much more before Grandmother came but, whenever Father is especially
troubled, she will go quietly and play for an hour or so. It helps us all. Once, when she began, I saw Grandmother’s bedroom door open. I told Aunt and she smiled.

  Sunday, August 11, 1918

  This morning, on our way to church, my hat blew off. I chased it down the road only to find it in the street with a great lummox of a horse standing on the ribbon. The man who owned the animal had gone into a nearby house for some reason and did not see. The horse did move on at last, and let the hat blow into the gutter, where I rescued it. But it definitely needs a new ribbon. Maybe I’ll use my birthday money and buy yards of ribbon. At the drygoods store, you can get a yard of satin or moire ribbon for 25¢.

  Saturday, August 17, 1918

  Last Monday evening, our Aunt Jessica, who is Uncle Walter’s wife, arrived out of the blue and invited Fan and myself to come home with her for a week’s visit. I was surprised, because she never used to invite us and now she has asked us twice. I told Jo I was surprised and she said she suspected that Aunt Jess knows she ought to have Grandmother visit and give Aunt a vacation from her, but she cannot bring herself to do it. So she asks us instead. I wonder if Jo is right.

  In the excitement of packing, Jane, I forgot this book and left it hidden away at the back of the bookcase where I keep it safe from prying eyes. I did take Pride and Prejudice. It is a bit slow going but I do understand why Mother liked Elizabeth Bennet. The younger sisters are tiresome. Jane is nice though. She reminds me of Fan a little.

  We had a pretty good time. Uncle Walter is away at his drugstore all day so we don’t see much of him, but he isn’t a relaxed sort of man anyway. They live out of the city but near Sunnyside, within walking distance of Lake Ontario and, freezing cold as it always is, we went swimming every day even though we turned blue and got covered with goosebumps. I wish someone would invent a material to make bathing dresses less clammy. Wet wool is highly unpleasant. But it was worth it. We would sit on the beach at sunset and watch the stars beginning to come out over the water.

  Our cousins were away visiting Aunt Jessica’s parents in the States so we did not have to put up with their bossy ways, which was nice. They are both boys. They are fifteen and eighteen and they think they are in command of everyone younger. They order us around as though we were their personal slaves. They are rough, too. When their mother is not looking, Tom will grab your arm and twist it or George will sneak up on you and smack your back hard enough to make you stagger. Then they laugh like hyenas.

  Maybe Aunt Jessica sees more than we think and that was why we were invited while they were away.

  Even though I enjoyed myself, I was pleased to get home to Theo, who could not come because of his sniffles, and to Hamlet, who almost knocked us flat with his exuberant welcome. You have to dodge his tail when he gets excited. It is strong enough to sweep all the cups and saucers off a tea table. Aunt says it is his way of smiling and she puts the china out of tail’s reach.

  Jo and Jemma took Pegasus out for regular outings so he did not pine. Ha! We’ll have to watch it or we’ll lose our trusty steed.

  We go to sing to the soldiers tomorrow afternoon, Jane. Wish me luck — and courage. I wish I could take Hamlet along. He would cheer even the most sorrowful soldier.

  Sunday, August 18, 1918

  We are home from the hospital and Fanny is asleep so I have stolen out of our room and I am writing this in the hammock on the front verandah. It may make my writing a bit like a range of mountains for it sways every so often and my pen slides up and down.

  What a time we had at the hospital! We all dressed alike in middies and dark skirts so we looked like a choir. We did see some sad things. The worst one, for me, was a man who looked fine at first glance but never smiled or spoke or moved. He has lost his sight and his memory from “shock following a head wound.” The wound has healed now but he just lies and does not speak. I did see him blink but never once did his eyes move or seem to be seeing anything. Imagine not seeing the world around you and not knowing who you are or even where.

  They lined us up and I was put right next to his bed. I could easily have reached out and taken his hand. It lay there on top of the coverlet and never moved at all. It made me shrink up small inside, being so close to such loneliness. I wanted to pick up his poor hand. But I didn’t dare.

  Something comical happened though, near the end. We were all singing “Steal Away” and Fanny had just sung, by herself, “Steal away, steal away home. Steal away to Jesus …” when a fat man with a bushy red beard and a bald head and only one leg snatched up a crutch which was standing next to him and waved it over his head. “You do it, my sweet girlie,” he roared out. “You steal off to Him. You couldn’t steal away to a better place.”

  Then he made the men all clap for us and a couple of the others cheered and the whole bunch began to laugh and joke in a way Grandmother would call “brazen” or “demented.” The nurse told us she thought we had sung beautifully but perhaps we should leave now before things got out of hand.

  We began to go and the men called to us to come back soon and to behave ourselves and a great mix of teasing things.

  “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” one shouted right at me.

  He had bandages everywhere and one of his friends roared, “Poor kid. YOU can’t do a thing he hasn’t tried.” Another said, “Don’t you listen to him, sister.” I tried to see if the blind one smiled but I couldn’t because by then his bed was in shadow.

  Just thinking about their courage, laughing like that when they were suffering so, makes me so sad. Fan was sobbing before she fell asleep.

  I hope, when you are my age, Jane, that there are no more wars in the world and nobody ends up in a ward like that. This war is supposed to be the last, but Father says anyone who believes that is no student of history or human nature. Aunt calls him a pessimist. Perhaps I AM getting to know him better. I don’t think he is a pessimist. He is a man with a heart breaking over the suffering he reads about.

  One of Jo’s class was killed at Amiens, just as she feared. He was a tall, handsome boy with curly hair and dancing brown eyes. He never saw me, of course, but I think he liked Jo. She and Jemma went to the station to see the boys off when they left. I asked to go along but they would not take me.

  “It is no place for children,” Jemma’s snooty friend Pam said in her drawly voice. She thinks she sounds like an actress. I am sure Jo thinks she is silly but Jemma admires her because she is so “sophisticated.” Jemma thinks she is beautifully slim. She’s really a positive beanpole with hips like doorknobs.

  Jo is grieving for all of the soldiers who are overseas. At first — years ago now — we all thought they were so handsome in their uniforms, and the band music made you feel proud and excited. The flags flying and the band music and the uniforms stir your heart. But by now everyone has seen wounded men like the ones we sing to or men who suffer from shell shock. Some people say the shell-shocked men are really just cowards and they are pretending to be ill so they need not go back to the Front. I would not blame them if it were true, but Father says such people show their ignorance and their utter lack of compassion. He can hardly speak because he is so angry.

  One of his friends came back like that and Father spends what time he can spare visiting him. They used to play chess but now the man’s hands shake too much.

  Aunt played the piano until after eleven tonight. Now she has stopped, I will be able to go to sleep. Father too.

  Monday, August 19, 1918

  I spent a whole dollar on four lengths of ribbon, all gorgeous colours. Too bright for my hat? No siree! I intend to cut a dash with them wound around the brim or dangling down my back. I bought extra because you never know when a horse will tread on your hat ribbons. Grandmother says I am wasteful but Aunt stroked the satin ribbons as though she’d like to steal one or two when my back was turned.

  Something odd happened at supper. Grandmother suddenly remarked, in a loud voice, “I saw Dulcie Trimmer today.” I’ve never hear
d of anybody by that name but Grandmother was staring at Father as though he knew who she meant. There was a funny silence and then he said, “Oh. How is she? I haven’t heard of her in years.”

  “As pretty and friendly as ever,” Grandmother told him. “She gave up her job as headmistress in a private school to nurse her mother. She’s been living in Hespeler but she has sold her family home and bought a cottage not far from this house. She asked after you. She never married, you know.”

  Father got up suddenly at that point and excused himself, even though he had not finished his Brown Betty pudding, and went to his study to catch up on his reading.

  “Who is Dulcie Trimmer?” Jemma asked.

  Aunt got up and went to the kitchen for something.

  “She’s an old friend of David’s,” Grandmother said. “He used to squire her to parties before he met Rose.”

  “Ruth, you mean,” Jemma corrected her.

  “Well, he met them both, didn’t he?” Grandmother said with the strangest little smirk. I don’t know what it meant but it meant something nasty, I could tell. She went on, “We did think he was interested in Rose, at first, but you are quite correct, Jemima. I should have said Ruth.”

  There was something puzzling in the way she spoke. We all stared at her, all but Theo. Grandmother stared back as if she were daring us to say something. Then she folded up her table napkin and excused herself to go and read the paper.

  There we sat deserted by all three grown-ups. That never happens, not at supper. It was odd. Aunt came back though and made sure Theo ate every bite of his dessert.

  What they said sounds ordinary written down but it didn’t sound one bit ordinary when they said it. That is why I stored it away to write to you. I wonder what this Dulcie is like and why we’ve never heard of her before.