Outside the Dog Museum

by Carroll, Jonathan

  “We’re very proud of what you’ve done, Radcliffe. I know my father would have liked it.” He put out his hand and we shook firmly. I was the one who broke the clasp. What would he think if I told him it was not only a nice building, but would be the Tower of Babel when completed? Knowing his opinion of me, he’d sigh at my limitless arrogance and walk away. Best to leave it alone and let future events speak for themselves. “Thank you very much. How’re you doing otherwise?”

  “Terribly, thank you. I am tired to the bottoms of my feet. But you know, when we have beaten Cthulu I am going to be very happy. Right now, life is not much fun.”

  “He sounds pretty unpleasant.”

  Hassan lifted his head and scratched his neck. It suddenly dawned on me he was unshaven. “One day last week a briefcase was discovered outside my office. It was full of enough plastic explosive to blow up half the palace. But there was no fuse and no timer, only the explosive. Next to it inside was a note from Cthulu. Handwritten. Do you know what it said? ‘This is for your children, Hassan. You are already dead.’”

  “That must have made you feel warm all over.”

  “It frightened me, but I am frightened often these days. My father taught me that fear is like food—you eat it and shit it out. Sometimes I am constipated. Sometimes I would rather watch a football game than think about war. Take care of yourself. Oh, and by the way, Fanny told me last night after the reception that you two had talked? She said you were very nice. It seemed to make her sad that you were nice. I found that very interesting.” He gave me a royal wave and walked away with his gang in tow.

  My Bundeshauptmann zoomed right back in to tell me many things I could only smile and nod knowingly at without knowing a word he was saying. Luckily we were soon called for the ceremony, and I was able to escape with more smiles and a few dozen Auf Wiedersehen’s. Only us bigwigs went up to the top of the building to actually put our hands on the tree and be photographed together as one big happy family, Hassan and Fanny in the middle. The real ceremony took place after we’d all descended again and walked over to a hastily erected stage in front of the site.

  Anyone who sat up there had to give a speech and when my turn came, I said, “The former Sultan of Saru did two wonderful things for me. First, he was generous enough to save my life during an earthquake. Almost more important he also convinced me to become involved with this project. Although I did not know him well, he is a man I both admire and miss to this day. From what I can understand of him, he was the best kind of human contradiction: a visionary who kept his feet on the ground. A pragmatist who was not afraid to dream and hope. His Majesty, the new Sultan, told me earlier that his father would have liked this building if he’d lived to see it. I can only hope that when our Dog Museum is completed, it will serve the functions all good museums do, which is to inform, enlighten, and finally to delight.”

  Short and sweet, it drew a nice round of applause although I wondered how many people in the audience spoke enough English to have understood what I said. The Austrian dignitaries talked forever, which was a double bore for those of us who didn’t come from that land of inverted verbs. The speeches ended with Hassan thanking everyone in both German and English, and then going on to give the rest of his short speech in perfect, unstilted German, which surprised me. The fellow had tricks up his sleeve. I hoped he had enough of them to fight off the bad guys in Saru.

  Ceremony completed, the bands oompahed up, and out rolled the food and drink again. While I was on the stage listening to speeches, I scanned the audience and sat straight up when I saw a woman whom I initially mistook for Claire. Even though our mind knows it isn’t them, a pernicious little beast inside keeps insisting, yes it is, till we get confused. I first saw the woman when she was applauding and it was quite plain she had two healthy hands. But my beast said no, that’s Claire! She’s come back! And for that thrilling jump of time, I believed it. When reality returned moments later, my adrenaline was critical and my heart was running the sixty-yard dash. I wanted it to be her but was petrified at the same time. I wanted this concrete, miraculous proof that she had returned. Yet if it was Claire, I didn’t know what to say. No matter, because it wasn’t her, and I realized that after a second, more focused look. But the false alarm left me shaky and depressed for an hour afterward, and finally, bored with these blues, I grabbed a big beer when a girl passed with a tray. The drink did nothing to help and instead sent me in urgent search for a place to piss.

  My tongue was out, my eyes were closed in bliss, and I was breathing pure relief when I heard the first shots. Opening my eyes, I looked at my unit to see what was going on down there. Shots? Screams, more shots, automatic weapon fire. Short spitting bursts, stop, another burst from different places. The pissoir had open windows on the left and right sides. I heard firing from one side, then the other. Sticking myself back in and zipping up, I looked out the left window but saw nothing. Firing again. I looked out the right and saw a man, an unfamiliar Arab in jeans and a black ski jacket run by with something held up high in his hand. A gun.

  More shooting, and before I could get out of the toilet, I heard two very loud explosions and the screaming of the terrified and the hurt. A woman shouting someone’s name over and over, “Ferdl. Ferdl. Ferdl.”

  Outside was chaos. People lay on the ground, people ran, people were scared. Some were bleeding, others were already dead. It was impossible to get my bearings. I’d seen it before in Vietnam. No one ever had the right advice about bullets. Run toward the fire. Move straight up through the Killing Zone. Get down. You did what you could and prayed. Luckily this time one of Palm’s special security men was bandaging a child. I ran over and asked who?

  “Cthulu’s men. We thought they might come today. Do you have a gun?”

  “No.”

  “Then get one. Or run. Running is better.”

  More chaos. What do you do? Before I could decide, more explosions, a series, very close by. Boom Boom Boom. The hollow thump of mortars. They had fucking mortars? On the other side of the site a high cloud of black smoke and jetting flame rose evilly. I remembered that was where Hassan’s helicopter landed. Hassan. Fanny.

  Jesus Christ, Fanny!

  I ran low, low as I could, a squat, a crab. People were shooting, an Austrian policeman lay on the ground, part of his neck and shoulder blown away. His gun lay nearby. I picked it up but didn’t look at it. I just had it. At least I had a gun. It was light. Some kind of plastic and couldn’t do much good but it was a gun and I had something lethal in my hand. I kept running toward the smoke. Fanny.

  My feet knew before my brain. Or my brain told my feet before they told my conscious mind. Whatever the process, I stopped before I knew I was going to and the instant paralysis threw me way off balance. Stumbling forward, I was barely able to keep standing. The museum! The motherfuckers were going to blow up the museum. First make havoc, then set the charges and run. I knew it. I was sure of it. The idea had come to me again and again the entire time we’d been working here. One day Cthulu’s going to try to knock this beauty down. It was so logical, but like the thought of my own death, I’d pushed it away. Why spend time thinking about something so final and inevitable? Inevitable. It was inevitable that this would happen and I’d known. it all along. I stood there until I had my balance back and then turned around toward the building. It was still there, far away, but still reachable if I tried. The thought came and left in the same second. If I could still reach Fanny maybe I could help. If there was even the smallest chance, it was worth it. I turned back, away from the museum, and ran again toward the helicopter.

  Moving, I noticed there was less machine noise, less firing, and now more human sounds. Cries for help, shouts, the bizarre and ominous babble of the seriously wounded. I ran harder toward my friend. Maybe I could help.

  I heard a “la-la-la-la-la” sound and immediately after, the Sultan’s black helicopter rose slowly up through the smoke and flew away. Was Fanny there? Someone was firing a
n automatic from inside the cockpit. Zip-zip-zip-zip stop zip-zip-zip. It looked like a number of people were in there. Fanny too? Up and gone.

  Then I heard three gigantic explosions from behind. So strong that the ground reared and knocked me down. I knew what it was. I knew it was done. I looked at the earth five inches from my face. Such a rich brown. So alive.

  ONE LAST THING LATER when it was almost over, I saw this. Very far away, toward the ruins of the museum, one of Palm’s men was chasing one of Cthulu’s. Both had guns and were running fast. Abruptly, Cthulu’s man changed shape entirely and became a large deer. It is the truth. I saw it. Without stopping the chase, Palm’s man changed into a dog. A brownish red dog. On eight flying legs, they were out of sight about the time I realized what I was seeing and what had happened. I saw it.

  AS IF TO APOLOGIZE for what had happened during the day, the weather that night was full of spring. It was warm, the air was a bouquet of wonderful smells; it was perfect strolling weather.

  You can imagine what it was like after the attack. Police and doctors, sirens, the addled confusion and never-ending screams of shock or pain of the survivors. There was no way to logically put any kind of order back into this universe. Seventeen people were dead. Many more wounded. The museum was a total loss. The only good piece of news was that Hassan and Fanny had escaped. Not, as I’d expected, in the helicopter but in a secret getaway car that was always kept nearby the royal couple, just in case. I rejoiced to hear that my friend had survived.

  I did what I could to help but there wasn’t much because I was neither doctor nor priest. I was only the architect who’d designed a building that was no longer there. Once long ago, I’d smiled to think “The Man Who Built the Dog Museum” was a good epitaph to put on my gravestone. I stayed around and tried to help, tried to comfort where I could, but it was useless. Once a grieving woman, rocking back and forth over the covered body of her husband, saw me and gave me a look I will never forget. It said, “This is your fault. This is all your fault.”

  After that I talked to the police, telling them whatever I could. They seemed bored with my story. Then I went back to the hotel. Zell am See was bedlam. Fire trucks, ambulances, helicopters, television trucks, and hundreds of people overran the place in a fury of macabre excitement and made it feel like an ant farm. Some of them were there to help, most to gawk or take advantage of the tragedy. What surprised me was how quickly they had arrived. How quickly the news of blood had traveled. It was easy to hate them all.

  Back in my room the telephone rang until I thought it would drive me mad. One of the callers might have been Claire or Fanny, but I had no heart to answer. I’d told the people at the desk where I was and that if anyone important needed me they could come to the room. No one did. The phone continued to ring until I could stand it no more and, calling down, told reception to say I was not around.

  Hours later I was lying on the bed when there was a gentle knock on the door. Suspecting the police, I wearily got up and opened it. It was Morton Palm. Hating myself further for not having once wondered whether he’d survived, I stepped forward and took him into my arms. “Thank God, Morton.”

  Our embrace was long and needed. Once he tried to let go but I wouldn’t let him. “Not yet. Please, not yet.”

  “Harry, I want you to come with me.”

  “Where? To the police?”

  “No, I want you to come with me back to the site.”

  “Why?”

  His face was exhausted. “Because it’s necessary. You have to come with me.”

  “Really, Morton? Now?”

  “Yes, we have to go now.”

  “All bright.” When I moved away from him, I felt such a smash of emptiness and loss. What could be left? But I owed it to him, whatever the reason, and I would go.

  A few steps out of the hotel I stopped and looked around. “What a beautiful night. What a shitty beautiful night.”

  Both of us were silent during the ride around the lake to the scene of the crime. Morton drove slowly and the expression on his face said nothing.

  Expecting a media circus of klieg lights and television cameras, I was stunned to see no one there when we arrived. Not a single person. I looked at Palm for an explanation, but he only held up a hand for me to wait. What was going on?

  We got out of the car where the fence had once been but was now only a tangled spin of metal. No one was around.

  “Morton—”

  “Just wait, Harry. I’ll explain when we get there.”

  There was no there left. Cthulu must have sent along the most brilliant explosives expert in the Mideast because everything appeared to be destroyed. I’d seen it that afternoon but with the commotion going on and my own frazzled state of mind, I hadn’t absorbed the full extent of the defeat. Wires and pylons, concrete posts and steel girders, all an exploded razed ruin. Someone coming onto the site for the first time would have no idea what had stood here only hours before in the midst of so many people’s happiness and pride. One of the only things remaining above ground was the smoke and flame from small fires still burning here and there.

  “Harry?”

  “You know what I saw today, Morton? In the middle of all this, do you know what else I saw? A man turn into a deer and another man, who was chasing him, turn into a dog. On my word of honor, I saw that.”

  “I know.”

  I turned slowly toward him. “You know? How do you know?”

  “I brought you here to tell you. That’s why there is no one else around. Did you ever wonder why you walked into my store those months ago? Or why you happened to walk down that street and stop in front of a dull ladder store? Because you were supposed to. Look at me, Harry. Not like that—look at me closely. Now touch my face. Don’t be afraid—touch my face here.”

  Hesitantly, unsure of what was happening, I reached out and touched him on the cheek. As my fingers made contact, I felt something touch my cheek in the same place. Both of Morton’s hands remained at his sides. Frightened, I took mine away. The touch on my cheek went away.

  “Do it again, Harry. Put your whole hand there.”

  I put my open palm against his face and felt the same thing on mine.

  “What is this?” I whispered.

  “You came to my store because you needed me. You’ve always needed someone to help you see things more clearly. Sometimes it was women, and for a while you thought it was Hasenhüttl. You thought it was your choice, but it wasn’t. I had been waiting for you.”

  “And Hasenhüttl? You know about him? The Invigilator thing?”

  “Hasenhüttl was only you. You needed someone like that for that time, so you created him to help you through. All of his fears were yours but so were the confidences. He was only another part of you, made of flesh. He “died” when you didn’t need him anymore. When you knew, innately, you could do it yourself.”

  Waves of inconceivable emotion poured through me like water. I felt like I was giving birth. Or dying. When I could speak again I could barely ask, “And you?”

  “I’m something else. What he told you about the Tower was true. You’ve known that since the moment you were conceived, but needed to make up someone like him to tell you, rather than find it in yourself. That’s all right. You know now and that’s what is important. What happened here today had nothing to do with your work, but how you reacted has a great effect on it.”

  “What did I do? I didn’t try to stop them! Maybe I could have, but I ran the other way.”

  “No, that’s wrong. Instead of being selfish and trying to save your building, your creation, what mattered most to you was trying to save the life of your friend. A friend who had treated you terribly. That was the test. We had no idea how you would handle it.”

  “Test? You mean all this was a set-up? You were giving me a final exam ?”

  “No. We didn’t know this attack would happen, but when it came we did what we could to stop it. At the same time, you were being watched. How you r
eacted was perhaps more important than saving the Tower. It proved you were worthy of building it. Now you have to decide whether you want to try to do it again.”

  “Do what again? I don’t understand this!” I put my hands over my face and tried to breathe. It wasn’t easy. Palm touched my shoulder but I stepped quickly away. “What are you doing? What is all this?”

  “It is the Tower of Babel and you were here to build it again for the reasons Hasenhiittl said. Since the first tower failed, Man has been trying to rebuild it. But there have always been people like Cthulu who don’t want that to happen. Peace is not their concern. Here you have the results of their work.”

  “Then why don’t you stop the fucking Cthulus of the world! The Hitlers and the Stalins? Why don’t you and all your flights of angels and fucking cherubim just put a goddamned stop on those bastards and let the rest of us poor jerks live? Huh? Why don’t you do that?”

  “Because it is Man’s responsibility. You’ve been given what you need to do it. Like the Tower—Mankind has every tool it needs. The intelligence, the insight, the vision—”

  “And once it’s done?” I was so angry. I didn’t care who he was. I hated him for his calm free will and patronizing pep talks.

  “Once it’s done you return to paradise. But only if you do it. Come here. I want to show you something.”

  “Wait! What about the dog and the deer? What was that?”

  “Come here, Harry. One thing at a time.” Without waiting, he walked toward the ruin. I followed. When we got there he bent down and put his hand on the ground. He signaled for me to do the same.

  “Do you feel it?”

  “What?”

  “Wait and feel with your whole hand.”

  It was some time before it came. When it did, I felt a kind of slight vibration. It did not increase nor did it go away. “What is it?”

  “The earth beginning to rebuild the Tower. It will do it tonight. By tomorrow morning it will be only as high as you were correct in your design. About one third and no more. Then it will stop. No one will be aware that this has happened besides you. The world will only remember and assume what stands is all that was left after the attack. That is a gift from God. He will do that much for you. Then it will be up to you or other men to go on until it is finished correctly.”