Conversations with Saint Bernard

by Jim Kraus

  “They’re in Athens? I thought that was in Greece somewhere.”

  “No, there’s an Athens in Georgia. The photographer says he snapped the picture while touring the campus there . . . the University of Georgia.”

  “Wow.”

  “And this newspaper goes all over the country, all over the world, actually.”

  “Wow. It means Lewis is sort of famous, doesn’t it?”

  “Well, I guess he is. At least a little famous. At least for a little while.”

  “Wow. Wait till I take this to school.”

  * * *

  “That’s my friend and his dog,” Irene said, pointing at the photograph, holding the copy close to Douglas’s face. “They are the ones coming here in a few days.”

  “That’s a big dog,” he said slowly.

  “But gentle as a lamb. You’ll love him. And George was an engineer. I told you that, didn’t I?”

  Douglas nodded. It took some time for his head to rock back and forth.

  “You did,” he said, almost out of breath. “What kind?”

  Irene shrugged.

  “Don’t know, exactly. Didn’t ask. But he seems to like precision. Or at least he did until he got the motor scooter.”

  Douglas grinned and patted his wheelchair.

  “Two wheels will do it. Make you lose all control.”

  * * *

  The grounds of the Gospel Pilgrim Cemetery were hushed and still, the heat of the day not yet evident among the thicket of the skinny third- and fourth-generation trees and choking underbrush. Where they stood, not even the noise of the traffic could be heard—just the chirp and twang of the birds, and even those seemed muted, hesitant, and shy.

  George and Lewis parked at the gate and walked into the cemetery, the ten acres mostly used by black families in Athens in the late 1800s, and only recently restored and cleaned.

  “It’s like a haven in here, isn’t it, Lewis? Peaceful. Quiet. All these folks here are through with the cares of the world.”

  I sort of envy them.

  Lewis shuffled along the path, strewn with leaves, rustling with each footfall. George wondered if Lewis understood about these things—death and loss and forever and eternity. Lewis seemed affected in a deep way by Gettysburg, and he seemed to be exhibiting the same emotions today. Lewis’s good-natured romping was subdued, quiet this morning as they walked along the paths.

  George spotted what he would draw this morning: a triptych of three headstones, none bigger than a shoebox, and the identifying carved words worn off by the years, with only the faintest ghosting of letters visible. The headstones were surrounded by a loose fist of shrubs or azaleas or some manner of flowering bush, the scent just hinting in the warming air—not pervasive, but just a wisp filtering in the soft breeze.

  George unfolded his chair and opened his sketchpad. Lewis arranged himself so a shaft of sunlight would illuminate his face. He closed his eyes and sat, with a small groan.

  George’s pen moved slowly this morning, the bushes harder and more detailed than any building. He tried to capture the look of the filtered sunlight as it made its way through the green canopy.

  An hour later, he leaned back and held his pad out and tried to be unbiased.

  “Not bad, Lewis. Not bad. For someone who doesn’t do nature, not bad.”

  George liked being in this quiet place.

  “Lewis, there is a peace here I don’t feel anywhere else. A peace from all the troubles of the world. Yes, I know I told you this already, but I like it here. No more pain. Just quiet.”

  Lewis opened his eyes and snapped his head to the right, cocking his head slightly.

  “You’re like an owl, Lewis, who has to tilt his head to locate mice by listening to their echoes. It’s how they do it, you know. Their ears are slightly uneven. Echo-location. Like animal radar.”

  But then, George heard the rustle as well. The dry-leaf-crunching steps of someone walking their way. In a moment, a young man in a baseball hat, wearing baggy cargo shorts, carrying a hefty set of binoculars, made his way closer.

  He waved at them.

  “Don’t mind me. Looking for birds. We get some odd bird visitors here on their way to somewhere else, usually. Saw a kestrel here last week and am looking to see if it has nested here. It’s a pretty rare sighting for Athens.”

  He walked up and petted Lewis without asking if he was friendly or not.

  Perhaps Lewis’s happy grin and generally inviting demeanor helped.

  “Hey, this is a good drawing. You like an artist or something?”

  George was used to the question. He would have said, “I am an artist, just not a good one,” but never did. Instead, he replied, “No. This is just a hobby. I like drawing.”

  The young man slipped the binoculars around his neck and then stared at George.

  “Don’t I know you?”

  “I don’t think so,” George replied. “We’re not from around here.”

  The young man peered closer.

  “You look so familiar . . .”

  George tried to smile. “I look like a lot of people’s grandfather, I guess.”

  The young man waved his objection aside.

  “No. It’s not it,” he said, squinting even harder. “Now I remember. It’s where I saw you. And the dog. Lewis, right?”

  I didn’t mention his name.

  “I saw your picture. In the newspaper. This morning. You and Lewis in some sort of scooter and sidecar thing. It was a pretty cool picture. You both looked pretty happy.”

  Good grief. Our picture is in the local shopper ad paper? Must have been desperate for news.

  * * *

  “Lewis! It’s in USA Today! He never said he was with a real newspaper!”

  Lewis obediently sniffed at the folded paper when George sort of thrust it at his face. He sniffed twice, just to make sure George wasn’t hiding a pork chop bone under the paper. George had never done it before, but obviously, Lewis thought there might be a first time for everything.

  “This is terrible. I didn’t want this. I didn’t agree to be put on the front page of anything—let alone USA Today.”

  He sat on the scooter, outside of Horten’s Drug store in downtown Athens and wondered just how many copies of the paper are actually produced in a day.

  “Maybe it’s not so bad. Maybe I could buy a bunch of them up . . .”

  Later, back at the RV, he discovered on his tablet, to his great dismay, the daily circulation was in excess of two million copies.

  George sat down with a groan, mimicking Lewis’s groan when he sat down.

  “All I wanted was to do this trip quietly and without fuss. I didn’t want any attention. It’s not part of my plan.”

  He stared hard at Lewis.

  “See what you’ve done to me, Lewis. Bad dog. Very bad dog.”

  And then, Lewis lowered his head and stared at his front paws, unsure of what terrible thing he had just done, but well aware of George’s displeasure.

  39

  The two of them rose early the next morning and got ready to visit a few selected sites in Athens.

  “We’ll be forgotten, Lewis. Yesterday’s news is yesterday’s news. Sorry for being upset. Wasn’t your fault.”

  Lewis seemed to smile in accepting the apology.

  “And we’re not real memorable, right? But let’s get on our way early, okay?”

  Lewis was fine with early departures—except for when he wasn’t. He often napped during the day but was always awake when George climbed down from his sleeping compartment above the cab of the RV.

  On their way to George’s first stop, they passed the now-familiar yellow and black sign.

  Lewis began wiggling and barking immediately.

  “But, Lewis, we’re in the scooter. I’d have to leave you outside.”

  Wuff, wuff, wuff, wuff.

  For an instant, George thought Lewis might be planning to take matters into his own hands, or rather, in his own paws, and
jump from the moving, albeit slowly, sidecar and make his own way to the Waffle House.

  “Okay. Okay, Lewis, we’ll stop. I’ll just order coffee and something small, okay? And a waffle to go. Will you be satisfied?”

  Lewis turned to look up at George with a beatific smile on his face, his eyes, even behind the goggles, half shut with the anticipation of pleasure.

  George parked right in front of the entrance and made sure he was seated so he could keep an eye on Lewis and his scooter at all times. This was one of the days that Lewis insisted he be allowed to keep his helmet and goggles on. It wasn’t so much as if he barked or whimpered, but he would twist and fidget and maneuver, like an interior lineman blocking for a pass play in football, and when he did so, getting the helmet unbuckled was nigh on impossible.

  So George sat at the booth, ordered biscuits and gravy and coffee, and watched Lewis in the sidecar as he beamed back at George, knowing his wafflelicious treat was soon to follow.

  The waitress, an older woman with a tired smile and a crooked nametag reading “Lilly,” brought out his order and refilled his coffee cup, unasked.

  “I don’t mean to be staring, but you’re the guy in the paper yesterday, ain’t you?”

  George was forced to nod.

  “Yep. It was me. And the dog outside.”

  “Looks like a real nice dog.”

  “He is, and he’s friendly. Enjoys traveling.”

  Lilly set the half-full coffeepot on the table. Only three other patrons were in the restaurant, so Lilly had time to talk. The cook bent over the grill, and George heard a thick scraping. The scent of fried bacon permeated the small space.

  Maybe it’s why Lewis likes this place. I always come out smelling like meat.

  “Your picture said you been traveling all over.”

  Lilly pronounced it as “yer pitcher.”

  “We have been. My wife passed on three years ago. Always wanted to travel.”

  “Sorry for your loss, there.”

  “Thanks.”

  George scooped up a small piece of biscuit covered in white gravy.

  “The dog like being cooped up all day in that small thing?”

  “Well, actually, we only use the scooter around town. We’re traveling in an RV. We’re parked behind the Team Biscuit and Burgers.”

  “Oh, yeah, I know the place. Been there once or twice. And now you mentioned it, I remember it from your picture. You did say you’re driving around in a RV. Must be the life.”

  George chewed, swallowed, took a sip of coffee, then replied.

  “It’s okay.”

  Lilly looked like she wanted to sit down, but it was probably prohibited by the Waffle House code of conduct for waitstaff.

  “Always wanted to travel. I want to go to Memphis before I die.”

  George tried to appear sympathetic. “Memphis. What’s in Memphis?”

  Lilly put her hand on her hip and looked at George as if he had just sprouted an extra head.

  “Why, Graceland. Like you didn’t know. Everyone knows about The King. I want to see it one day. Before I kick the bucket, anyhow. But getting the money and the time . . . I don’t know.”

  George glanced out to the scooter. Lewis remained in the sidecar, of course, for he was a dog who followed orders well, but he also looked a bit fidgety.

  “You know, Lilly, if all you do is save one or two dollars a day and put it in a jar and promise yourself you can’t touch it, in a year or so, you’ll have enough.”

  Lilly nodded, as if she had heard the advice before.

  “Maybe I’ll try it again. Would like to go. I guess if you and a big furry dog can do it, don’t see why I couldn’t, right?”

  George knew she had intended her comment to be inspiring to herself, and not a criticism of George and Lewis.

  “Lilly, could you get me a waffle to go? Just plain. It’s Lewis’s breakfast.”

  “He likes waffles? My dogs never did.”

  “Seems to.”

  “He like bacon?”

  George smiled.

  “One bacon waffle to go, coming up.”

  When the waffle came, George paid the bill and went outside to present Lewis his special treat for being so patient.

  As Lewis sat, chewing slowly, like a furry Buddha finding his waffle/bacon Nirvana, the morning sun glinting off his goggles, George could see Lilly inside bussing his table. She looked down, quickly looked outside, offered an odd expression of shock and gratitude, then ran outside and embraced George.

  George was not a man used to getting hugs from near total strangers, and Lewis wuffed as she hugged him, apparently wanting her to hug him as well.

  “Thank you so much. I’ll put it aside. I promise I will. And I’ll get to Memphis, like I been promising myself. Soon.”

  She leaned over and gave Lewis a scratch under the chin.

  “You got a real nice owner there, Lewis. Real nice.”

  Lewis kept chewing, but his expression wizened up at the word owner.

  When Lilly returned to her station, Lewis looked up at George puzzled.

  “I gave her fifty dollars, Lewis. She wanted to go to Memphis. Maybe it will help make her dream come closer.”

  Lewis sort of shook his head, as if to say he knew all along George was a soft and tender-hearted person and he should just let the emotion out, where it could touch people.

  At least it’s what George thought he was trying to say.

  Or it could just be he likes waffles.

  * * *

  George accomplished two drawings this day: one of the Taylor-Grundy house, a two-story Greek Revival-style home with six massive two-story columns flanking the front porch and another six on each side of the house, and a large open-air agora running the perimeter of the house.

  “I like it, Lewis, but a bit too imposing and grand for my tastes.”

  The second was a quirkier place, the James Sledge House, which offered three tall, narrow, peaked dormers, almost higher than the roofline, with decorative iron stanchions on the porch roof and fussy iron work outlining the front porch area.

  “I like it, Lewis, but it calls too much attention to itself.”

  They made it back to the RV park just before dinner. George busied himself with stowing the scooter and making sure it was securely tied down. George sat on the sidewalk, catching the afternoon sun, positioning himself to be noticed if someone came down the narrow driveway.

  No one did, much to Lewis’s disappointment.

  George reheated a meatloaf he had made two days prior, complete with baked potatoes and corn. He brought out a small folding table and ate outside.

  “The weather won’t always be this nice, Lewis. Might as well take advantage of it.”

  Lewis sat at a right angle to George as he ate.

  Mrs. Burden had said she seldom, if ever, fed Lewis from the table, but then, the day George and Lewis departed, she had pulled him aside and had whispered to him she fed Lewis from the table all the time—except for chocolate and cheese, she’d said.

  I know about chocolate, but cheese?

  So far, George had kept both banned substances from Lewis’s diet. He did taste a large corner of the meatloaf, which seemed to please him greatly.

  Feeling expansive, George made a cup of coffee for himself and sat in his folding chair outside, listening to the steady hum of traffic on the road out front, hearing the chatter and clatter of the restaurant less than fifty yards away.

  “Feels like living in a big city, doesn’t it, Lewis?”

  Lewis appeared to nod.

  “I wonder, Lewis, if I’m wrong in attributing all your wuffs and snorts and nods and grins and sad looks as expressions of your true inner emotions. Maybe I’m just projecting my emotions on to you. You ever think about it, Lewis? Maybe I just think you understand, and all you are doing is normal dog things, and I read those as indications you do understand me. Am I making sense? You don’t understand everything I say, do you?”

 
; Lewis shook his head and snorted.

  “Well, maybe it’s true—I’m projecting,” George replied calmly. “You remember—there was a movie with a character stranded on a deserted island and he began talking to a volleyball with a bloody handprint as a face. He thought the volleyball was having conversations with him at the end. And now, after a few months, I think I’m having two-way conversations with you, Lewis. I guess we’re both sort of delusional, don’t you think?”

  Lewis scrunched up his face as if he were thinking the argument through. Then he snorted.

  “Well, all I’m saying is maybe I put too much humanness on your reactions, Lewis.”

  Then Lewis stood and butted his head against George’s thigh and sat closer to him, peering up at his face, appearing to fully understand everything George was saying—and not agreeing with him—but telling him he didn’t agree in the nicest way possible.

  After all, Alex did say you would never bite anyone.

  The sun lit up the sky behind the Team Biscuits and Burgers, like a giant swath of neon, glowing red and purple.

  He reached down and stroked Lewis’s head.

  “You would purr, if you could, right?”

  Lewis bobbed a little.

  “I think my life is changing, Lewis, you know? Ever since we bought the scooter. Maybe ever since I bought the RV.”

  He sighed.

  “Maybe ever since Hazel . . . died.”

  He took a sip of coffee and stretched his legs out.

  “I feel a little guilty saying this, but I feel more free now . . . freer. But I’m not sure it’s always a good thing. Freedom comes from knowing what’s coming, Lewis. And I know what’s coming. Maybe it’s good. And maybe it isn’t. Hazel knew. She knew every day of her last decade on earth. She knew she would die. She knew she would die before me.”

  Lewis stood and lifted himself up, both front paws on George’s thigh.

  “You only do this when you want me to tell you the truth, don’t you?”

  Wuff. Wuff.

  “I know you want the truth. But I’m not sure I can handle the truth. Like I told you, Lewis—some things should just be left unsaid. I’m trying to let go, Lewis, but there are some things I simply can’t. Some things in a person’s life are never to be forgiven. It’s all there is to it.”