by André Alexis
Benjy’s greatest wish was for a place where the echelon was clear to all, where the powerful cared for the weak and the weak gave their respect without being coerced. He longed for balance, order, right and pleasure. It was this place that Benjy glimpsed as he died, and the glimpse brought him solace. Were it meaningful to speak of death as a state of being, one could say that Benjy died into hope itself.
In any case, he went to that place from which neither dogs nor men return.
Zeus had fulfilled Atticus’s final wish. Benjy died a death as painful as Atticus’s had been. Being the god of justice, however, Zeus had granted Benjy the same degree of hope that Atticus had had at his death.
All of this was no doubt interesting to some god somewhere, thought Hermes, but it was annoying. Had Benjy died happy or not? Thanks to their father’s interference – and it was no use chiding him for it, either, there being no recourse from Zeus’s will – the answer was not as clear as it might have been. Benjy’s beatific vision of balance, order and right complicated matters. Apollo, of course, was certain that the dog had not died happy.
– Hope has nothing to do with happiness, Apollo had said
and there was no refuting that. Most of those who lived or died unhappily were as hope-filled as those whom the gods had favoured. Hope was a dimension of the mortal, nothing more. As he and Apollo discussed Benjy’s death, however, it occurred to the god of thieves that he had not been clear-sighted when he’d dictated the terms of his and his brother’s wager. The problem was death itself. No immortal could think of death without yearning for it. That yearning was, no doubt, what had led Hermes to imagine a happy death without being sufficiently clear as to the nature of the happiness.
– I think, he said to his brother, that we should broaden the definition of happiness. It would be generous of you to include hope or …
Apollo cut him off.
– Are we suddenly human that we need to argue about words?
Hiding his thoughts, Hermes said
– No
but for the first time in all this business, he experienced something surprisingly like resentment.
4
MAJNOUN’S END
Five years had passed, five years from the moment Hermes and Apollo had entered the veterinary clinic and changed the dogs they found there. Of the fifteen dogs, only two were left: Majnoun, who was now eight, and Prince, who was seven.
Five years after Majnoun had come into her life, Nira thought of him as her closest friend. Though they did not speak – or not exactly – she felt that Majnoun understood her as well as her husband did. Perhaps better. Over the years, there had been fewer disagreements with Majnoun than with Miguel. But then, Miguel was her mate. She hid nothing from him, nor he from her. Their love was still strong, but it was mired in the day-to-day. With Majnoun, Nira could be herself in a way that brought relief from the company of her husband. It is a cruel irony, then, that a disagreement with Majnoun would prove disastrous for all three of them.
There had always been issues with Majnoun, of course. For instance, Nira could not understand why he persisted in eating the shit of other dogs. He knew that it upset her. On any number of occasions she had begged him to control himself.
– It makes me ill to see you do it, she’d say.
Majnoun would nod and agree not to do it again, but, really, it was like asking a child not to eat any of the cakes left out at a patisserie. It was cruel to expect him to forbear, though out of consideration for her, Majnoun would forbear for months at a time until, inevitably, he’d forget her feelings and pounce on some fragrant deposit. So the whole cycle of revulsion (hers) and self-control (his) would begin again. This was a conflict that, Nira assumed, arose from Majnoun’s nature. Majnoun was a dog, a sensitive and intelligent dog, but a dog just the same. For long stretches, she managed to convince herself he was other than what he was, then reminders of his nature would break the delusion.
There were other problems that, Nira assumed, had their origins in Majnoun’s culture as opposed to his nature. For instance, she thought it distasteful for male dogs to mount females en masse, each waiting his turn. Majnoun did not even pretend to take her distaste seriously. A bitch in heat was a bitch in heat. There could be no argument about that and, as the bitches themselves wished it, he could not see why it shouldn’t be done. She had to admit he had a point. She could imagine herself in heat, craving the friction of anonymous intercourse, but she was convinced that if she could influence Majnoun’s attitude she might improve the life of female dogs by teaching Majnoun a respect he could pass on.
The line between natural (the things Majnoun couldn’t help doing) and cultural (the things he could) was neither clear nor fixed. This was easy to forget in the heat of a dispute. It was just as easy to forget that Majnoun was not hers to improve. But, in any case, their fateful disagreement came over an idea that was impossible to put in one column (nature) or the other (culture), belonging as it did in both. More: it was an idea that mattered to Nira as much as it did to Majnoun: status.
As far as Majnoun was concerned, Miguel was the leader of their little pack. This thought annoyed Nira. She refused to allow that she was somehow subservient to her husband. There was no convincing Majnoun otherwise, however. He saw how she deferred to Miguel. He heard the echelon in their tones of voice (hers inevitably deferential), saw it in how they walked together or ate at the table. Their unequal status was so clear that it seemed to Majnoun as if Nira were trying to improve her station by feigning ignorance.
Majnoun’s relationship to Miguel was nuanced, but not complex. He would have given his life for Nira, not Miguel. This was at least in part because Miguel was the head of their household and Majnoun looked to him for protection. Miguel, who did not believe Majnoun was gifted or unusual, would get down on the ground and play with Majnoun, pushing his head from side to side, chasing him, taking his chew toys away from him and throwing them about, roughly scratching Majnoun’s belly and flanks. This was all, no doubt, undignified, but it was a pleasure to compete with Miguel for possession of a ball, to bark unselfconsciously when Miguel pushed him, to jump up on Miguel in a play at dominance. Nira tried to play with him, too, of course. She would throw the chewy, red ball around when they were outside, but you could tell her heart wasn’t in it. She couldn’t bring herself to say
– Go get it, boy! Go get it!
as if the ball were the most important thing on earth. For one thing, it seemed insulting to pretend that the ball mattered when she and Majnoun both knew it did not. In the end, Miguel was like a strong dog whom Majnoun both feared and admired, so he was offended when Nira questioned her husband’s status.
Unfortunately, Nira would not leave the matter alone. One day, she asked whom he thought was next after Miguel, if Miguel was the, as she put it, ‘grand high poobah.’ This was, on the face of it, an offensive question, but her sneering tone was especially galling. As far as Majnoun was concerned, he and Nira were of equal status. Her question amounted to a denial of this. He let her know his feelings as forcefully as he could without attacking. He growled, his teeth bared, his tail lowered. It was a distressing moment for both of them, but Nira’s question had been unspeakably rude. For days after their contretemps, Majnoun refused to acknowledge her presence, turning away from food she put down, leaving a room whenever she entered it. Nira realized that she had unwittingly gone too far, but he would not accept her apologies. For Majnoun, there seemed but two ways open to him: stay with someone who had challenged his status or leave for good. If he stayed, he would have to teach Nira to respect him. New to the ways of argument, he did not know how to do this without violence. But he would have died a thousand times rather than hurt Nira. And so, seeing no other way, Majnoun chose exile. He left the house without letting her know that he was gone for good.
This was the fateful moment, of course. A number of the gods having wagered on Majnoun’s death, there was, on the part of those who wished him to die ha
ppy, interest in a reconciliation. Were it not for Zeus’s edict, any number of them might have stepped in. As it was, none dared do anything openly. But Hermes, nursing his resentment, was upset by the impasse between Majnoun and Nira. He had intervened to save Prince, not Majnoun, but he was among those who believed Majnoun, at very least, could meet a good death.
– My poor, dear brother, said Apollo. There goes your last chance. The dog will be miserable without the woman, don’t you agree?
– When it comes to mortals, answered Hermes, not even we know the future.
Apollo laughed.
– Spoken like a human, he said.
Though Hermes laughed, the insult stung. And so, despite his father’s warning, the god of thieves and translators intervened in Majnoun’s life. Dreams being his preferred medium, he appeared to Majnoun while the dog slept.
Majnoun had not gone far from home when he suddenly felt tired. He barely managed to find a safe place before he fell asleep. He began to dream at once.
He was in a meadow bounded on four sides by darkness. The meadow was covered in grass so green it looked painted. He himself was beneath a tree whose bole extended up as far as could be seen, disappearing into a single white cloud. The place was not frightening but it was somehow dangerous. Majnoun crouched down, ready to spring or to jump away from whatever came out of the darkness. What came was a poodle as black as he was but much more imposing.
– I haven’t much time, said the dog.
It spoke no particular language. Its words were in Majnoun’s mind, like a strange idea.
– You must not leave Nira. Your life is with her.
– I cannot go back, said Majnoun.
– I understand your predicament, but you have misinterpreted Nira’s words. Humans do not think as you do.
– As we do, said Majnoun.
– As you do, said Hermes. I am one who wishes you well, but I am not a dog. Return to Nira. You will never misinterpret her words again, nor she yours.
– How can you know that? asked Majnoun.
– I have said it and so it will be, answered Hermes.
With that, the dream ended and Majnoun woke. He was on a lawn near High Park, not far from the arched entrance on Parkside, not far from where the streetcars turn around. Majnoun had had dreams before, of course, but none had ever been as vivid. He could recall its every detail and, despite himself, he wondered if he’d been dreaming at all.
The answer came soon enough. Walking along Parkside, Majnoun was assaulted by music coming from a car radio that was turned up loud. Majnoun heard the words
In the golden tent of early morning
when the sky has turned its back
when the sky has turned its back and isn’t listening
when the scallops stand upright on their hinges …
Then the car took off and he could no longer make the lyrics out.
There was nothing unusual about the loud music. Men in automobiles often tried to hurt one with noise. But Majnoun suddenly understood the lyrics, mysterious though they were. He understood that lyrics were not meaningful the way human words usually are, that lyrics were a ground where sense, rhythm and melody engaged. At times, sense won out; at times, rhythm; at times, melody. At times, the three things were at war, the way emotion, instinct and intelligence were at war within him. At times, the three were in harmony. The lyrics he’d heard suddenly struck him as a brilliant skirmish and, like someone who finally gets a joke, Majnoun sat and laughed, laughing as Benjy once had: gasping for breath while a feeling of pleasure escaped from him.
Nor did his newly acquired understanding stop there. Majnoun found, as he walked in High Park, that he could easily recognize the intent behind words he overheard. He was amazed, for instance, to hear a woman say to the man beside her
– I’m sorry, Frank. I just can’t go on anymore …
her words an attempt to comfort and wound at the same time. How complex and vicious humans were! And how strange to suddenly appreciate the depths of their feelings. Whereas previously, he had thought them stunted, clumsy and unwilling to grasp the obvious, Majnoun now realized humans were almost as deep as dogs, though in their own particular way.
Wishing to see if he would understand Nira in this way, he returned home.
He had not been gone long, two hours at most. The back door was still unlocked. He stood on his hind legs, pushed down on the handle’s metal thumb-piece. The door opened and he went in. There, as if waiting for him, was Nira.
– Jim, she said. I thought you’d left us.
Majnoun caught every nuance. He caught her contrition, her worry, her affection for him, her sadness, her relief that he had returned, her confusion at speaking this way to a dog. It was, of course, impossible for him to respond to so many nuances at once.
– I have been called Majnoun for much of my life, he said. It is the name my first master gave me and it is the one I prefer.
He spoke clearly and Nira understood. She was so used to understanding him without words, however, that she did not at first realize he’d spoken. She had the odd but fleeting sensation that Majnoun had entered her consciousness in some new way.
– I’m sorry, Majnoun, she said at last. I didn’t know.
Hermes’s gift to Majnoun was precious and unprecedented, but it was also something of a burden. From being a dog who knew English fairly well, Majnoun became one who understood all human languages. Walking in Roncesvalles, he sometimes had to stop himself from listening to conversation in Polish, say
– Te pomidory są zgniłe!
or Hungarian
– Megőrültél?
Hearing other languages was like hearing new rhythms, melodies and reasons. At times, he found himself so transfixed that Nira had to call him from his reveries.
– Maj, come on. We’ve got things to do.
(Majnoun’s favourite human language was English. There was no doubt about that. This had little to do with the fact he’d learned English first. It was that English, of all the languages he experienced, was the one best suited to dogs. A dog had to think differently in English, yes, but the sounds and rhythms of English were those that best mimicked the rhythms and tonal range of a dog’s natural tongue. One pleasant consequence of Majnoun’s love for English – pleasant for him and for Nira – was his taking up of poetry. With Prince’s poems as his model, Majnoun ‘wrote’ the same way Prince had, memorizing his poems. Then he’d recite them to Nira.
In China, where wild dogs are eaten,
I am dismayed to be in season.
I curse men who think of me as food
and dream of rickshaws, and lacquered wood.
Or again:
If rackabones eat up the sky,
if words spring out of rock,
my soul will wind down
and life run out the clock.
On the other hand, when Nira asked him which language he liked best, Majnoun did not say English. He could not. As far as Majnoun was concerned, the language of dogs was more expressive, more vivid, easier to understand and more beautiful than any human speech. He tried to teach her Dog, but, to his surprise, their efforts foundered on Nira’s inability to tell the difference between a bark of pleasure and a call for attention, a crucial distinction in canine speech. Nira was disappointed. The only phrase she learned passably well was ‘I will bite you,’ not something you could say to just any dog. She would have liked to speak to him in his own tongue, but the truth was: Majnoun could not abide her accent and was not unhappy when she stopped trying.)
Majnoun’s decision to speak was not, at first, welcomed by Nira. True, their friendship was restored when Majnoun returned home and spoke. But it was unsettling to speak English with him. The two of them had evolved a lovely, wordless communication in which silence, the turn of a head or a hesitant nod were all meaningful. Now she had to deal with those things as well as words and, in the beginning, she found Majnoun more arduous to comprehend, though her understanding
was deeper. More than that: Majnoun’s speaking brought what Nira thought of as ‘procedural problems.’ They both agreed it was best if Nira alone knew of his ability to speak. But as they grew more comfortable with each other, one or the other would, in public, forget their compact and ask a question or comment on something. When it was Nira who spoke to Majnoun, there was naturally less confusion than when Majnoun spoke to her. Majnoun’s voice was lower than Nira’s, so bystanders who heard his voice had trouble deciding whence exactly the words had come. This confusion brought unwanted attention.
Then there was Miguel. Miguel did not particularly like Majnoun. He’d preferred Benjy and he resented the closeness Nira and Majnoun shared. Majnoun understood all of this and forgave Miguel because Miguel’s feelings were, as far as Majnoun was concerned, honourable. Still, it was clear that Miguel might not have Majnoun’s best interests in mind, that he might not protect Majnoun the way Nira would. So Nira and Majnoun agreed that it would be best if they did not speak in front of Miguel. This meant that, at times, Miguel’s presence made the two feel awkward. It made Nira feel as if she were betraying her husband’s trust, while Majnoun felt he was betraying the pack leader.
In the end, it took Nira some time to feel at ease with Majnoun’s English. Once she was accustomed to it, however, his presence became so precious to her that the fact Majnoun was a dog ceased to signify. It stopped occurring to her that he was not as she was. Really, what did it matter that Majnoun was a dog while, for instance, they sat together by the Boulevard Club watching the willows move?
