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The container door burst open and the morning light haloed a figure standing in the frame. Ruff scattered at the first sound of movement. He bolted in one direction while the cat bolted in the other. The two had been fighting through the night until it was that exhaustion had summoned them to slumber.
The container was like a metallic freezer, lacking any insulation and the past nights in The City had been getting progressively colder. Ruff didn’t have a thick coat and the matted fur that was displaced on his body was usually wet from rain or puddles as being a rambunctious dog, he could never resist a moment of play, even in the midst of a chase.
When he lay down sleep that night, he curled tightly in a ball, shivering but happy. He had spent the previous hours running about and playing in the dirty soil, something he loved to do as much as or even better than chasing his own tail or arguing with his own bark as it echoed through the cavernous streets bouncing off of walls back into his sharp ears. Last night he had an adversary, an agile and yet somewhat submissive aging Persian whose collar read the name Rubble.
When Ruff tired of play he curled up on the floor and in the cold of the night, his adversary, the agile and emotionally turbulent Persian called Rubble, snaked his way over to the shivering dog and curled up in the crest of his arching body. The two spent the night cuddling on the cold floor; Ruff wrapping himself around the fluffy, warm and cosy Rubble.
The screeching of the door shocked the two into immediate attention and sent them darting in different directions. Rubble used his agility to scale the towers of racking inside the dark of the container moving in urgency but never losing his step. Ruff ran in the opposite direction and straight into a rack of empty cans sending everything crashing to the floor.
The cat and the dog did not share the same grace, but they were matched in cunning. Ruff bit a piece of string, securing it in his jaws, then backed away from the mess of cans slowly, retreating into the dark at the rear of the container.
The figure standing in the frame walked forward into the darkness and the light flooded in behind him creeping up on Ruff’s privacy. Rubble, the fluffy orange Persian, slowly made his way through the far end of the container walking from rack to rack at the absolute height of the container itself with soft elegant steps. As light came rushing towards Ruff, he pulled in the direction of the cat with the string still in his mouth, pulling from underneath a rack of cans to the bottom left of the container.
The cans fell to the floor in a roar of clanging and banging. The figure swarmed on the noise rushing to its direction. Ruff ran and as he charged through the container door, his orange friend Rubble jumped from the racking and shot after him. The two ran in leaps from the container, through the soil where they had played the night before and past a group of humans dressed in dirty overalls who engaged the two in play chasing them down the passage of hallways.
Rubble sprang left and right and leapt over this and that as he ran in fright from the hordes of humans hunting his life. Ruff ran in bounds, his tongue hanging stupidly from the side of his mouth, his eyes wide and playful and an immediate joy of existence rushing through his veins. He looked back smiling as the men cursed and threw the objects in their hands, but none of them fell near.
Ruff followed the orange cat as they ran into an open door to the sound of cheering and laughter from scores of Children who were seated in front of empty plastic plates on large wooden benches. Rubble ran under The Children’s feet while Ruff followed, instead springing onto the benches then onto the tables and flipping plastic plates into the air as The Children roared on in laughter and approval. The men in chase stormed into the cafeteria screaming obscenities while the seated Mothers quickly fought to gain control of The Children’s focus starting rhyme after rhyme to no avail.
The men chased the animals clumsily tripping over this and that and eventually falling to a heap in the middle of the room. Ruff and Rubble stampeded onwards, out through an open window for the cat and sliding head first into the wall for the dog, who couldn’t quite navigate the whole height/weight ratio. The Children were all on their feet clapping and cheering while the Mothers were waving their arms up and down to fan the enthusiasm back to a reformed whisper.
Once again, to no avail.
Ruff lifted himself and looked back in the direction from whence he came. His heart pounded and though his legs were weak, he let not that truth break his enthusiasm. The men were of no threat, out of the game, so Ruff took one more run up onto the tables, past all the smiling Children and was out the door and down the corridors back from which place he came; passing under the legs of distracted passers-by and dodging the odd Father here or there as his direction brought him back through the field and under a cloud of black dust; swept up by the will of men wanting his blood. He raced onwards, past the containers that lined the end of the field to a small burrow in the ground at the foot of a chain link fence.
Behind him, the sound of confusion picked to his new direction and before the men’s voices could fall upon his scent, he lowered his body into the dirt and crawled underneath the fence escaping outside of the facility; the thrill in the game of chase still rushing through his veins.
He ran the length of the great wall in great strides; throwing each leg out behind his body and tucking them back in as he wound up energy for his next bound. It was effortless and it gave him an overwhelming sensation of joy. He didn’t rationalise it because he is after all, a dog. Even if he could, I’m sure he wouldn’t ruin the moment by trying to evaluate it.
When he reached the road there were hundreds of large men all dressed in black and they stood in groups, some walking around a perimeter, others just engaged in talk. One thing Ruff enjoyed since he was a pup was listening to big friends speak. The sound was so unusual. It was hard to imagine that they were communicating. He might have thought this were he conscious; instead, he enjoyed just sitting and allowing the words and tones to pass his ears, as opposed to the sound of growling dogs which had always unnerved him since he was a pup.
So unnerved was he even in adulthood that even the sound of his own growl would cause a shiver to chase up his spine. As long as he was a dog it wouldn’t be explained, not by him at least. And just as the sound of an angry dog caused him caution and worry, the sound of big friends talking made him comfortable and merry.
Ruff sat down next to a group of big friends, but they kicked him on calling him a mangy mongrel. Ruff received a boot to his bum which sent him through the air and crashing back to the ground. He lowered his head slightly and backed away from the pack. His instincts warned of threat and his body followed suit moving back towards a large wall where a filthy man was shuffling through some cards in his hands.
“Ruff” he yelled happily.
The scruffy friend’s eyes lit up as Ruff skipped towards where he was lying, his tail once again wagging haplessly. The dog sat right in front of the man with his eyes and mouth wide, panting heavily and his tongue bouncing up and down from the side of his mouth. The man leaned forward and grabbed Ruff roughly with his two hands shaking him wildly.
Ruff closed his eyes as his head flung back and forth, up and down. The Old Man was laughing hysterically and a sensation of love washed through the senses of both man and beast. Ruff finally broke from the man’s grip and dived onto his chest with his front paws throwing the old man backwards.
“Missed you old buddy. Thought they might’ve served you up or something. Did you come back with anything for old Bluey?” asked The Old Man to the dog.
Ruff looked the man into his eyes, panting and smiling.
“Me thinks they’re planning something big. Never been this commotion. Not since my arse wore this bit a dirt here” said The Old Man.
He pulled Ruff closer and patted his body while the two watched the hulking men ordered one another around.
“That one there, he a boss. That I know. He important he is. You can tell you know. Look how de other men, they, they gravitate they do,
around em. You see?” The Old Man said pointing Ruff to a bulky figure in the near distance.
The figure was the Behemoth and he was aligning his men along the perimeter of the complex. The White Hearts gathered in droves for as far as one could see. They were awaiting instruction and by all means waiting for something grand. The Old Man sensed suspicion and he was right. There hadn’t been a movement of this nature ever, in or out of the Nest. Old man and dog huddled together invisible to the army for they were no threat.
“Have your teams ready to despatch on my command. Love as one” yelled The Behemoth as he backed away from the saluting men.
“Live as you love” the men chanted back, then moving about hurriedly planning something, following instruction.
“I tell ya old friend, to be a fly on the wall in there or to be a fish in the sea. Don’t know which’d serve better an old fart like me. Don’t think I wanna know what they’re planning. Can’t be good ya know. Ya never in your life seen a pack a men together and doin good. Especially not a pack like that. They’re out to break bones. Make some history. Delete some history. And watabout you, boy?” The Old Man said snuggling against the dog’s face.
“If I had half the legs you got, I’d not be here that’s for sure.”
The Old Man pushed at the dog’s face ushering him to walk off, but the dog wouldn’t budge. Every time The Old Man nudged the dog would nudge back.
“Ah, I don’t ave the force no more. Ya can’t be here Ruff. Go on. Be happy in another pace. This one’s gonna come to da ground. Go on, fuck off, dog, fuck off” he said pushing at the dog’s face.
Ruff tilted his head feeling strange towards the old friend’s demeanour. The old man continued with his cursing and pushing, spitting as he did, his toothless gums nattering against one another.
“Fuck off ya mangy cunt and don’t come back” he screamed.
Ruff, wearing a new instinct; one of alarm and awe fended off from The Old Man and backed away down the street. He scanned the roads and picked a path to the left that led through to the old markets and plodded off with his tail wagging and his tongue hanging out of his mouth. Behind him, The Old Man sat with his head in his hands catching a deluge of tears.
“I love ya, Ruff. I didn’t mean those things. A good life to ya old friend” he said to himself, wiping his eyes.
He lay back down on the ground and gave in to his own fragility, tossing aside his blanket and exposing his old tiresome weak body to the elements, too sore to keep up the facade and not strong enough to put up a fight. As the cold wind rushed over his bony body, The Old Man shivered his way into unconsciousness and slept his way into death.
Ruff left The Old Man lying behind and ventured onwards through the hordes of White Hearts who lined forever through the surrounding streets. They made maybe three or four rings around the Nest itself and after several blocks Ruff was finally liberated of their threatening presence, once again light in step, sifting through the feet of The City strangers. Some would turn their heads to follow his smile as he patted on by while most would ignore his passing and wait in their patient queue.
When Ruff reached the outskirts of downtown he came across a small winding alleyway and his instinct took him in that direction. There wasn’t any movement on the path, not a soul, not a print, not a displaced speck of dust. It was still and eerie. To Ruff, it was just a path and so on he went down the winding track until he came to a row of old warehouses near the Child Market where saw a little boy holding a little hesham sack.
A Rising Fall Page 23
