White Dog Fell from the Sky

29



Behind the old hotel, Alice and Ian sat at a small table, looking out at the moon, one night away from full.

“You look far away,” he said.

“I feel worried about home, as though I’d forgotten to turn off the stove.”

“There’s someone looking after things, right?”

“Yes, but he didn’t know I’d be gone this long.”

“Will it matter to him?”

“I don’t think so. Will is checking on things.”

He searched her face. “If you’ve changed your mind, it’s all right.”

“Don’t keep urging me to go. I would have gone back with the group if I’d wanted to. Have you changed your mind?”

“No.” He took hold of her hand. “But I need to tell you something. I nearly told you when we met, but I didn’t. Then there didn’t seem to be an opportunity, and then there was no point because I was never going to see you again.

“I’m married. Gwyneth lives in Gaborone. We were students in Bristol when we met years ago.”

“You haven’t been living together?”

“No. The marriage is over.”

“Does she think it’s over?”

“She says she does.”

“What’s she doing in Gaborone?”

“Working as a secretary for De Beers. She’s seeing another bloke—Alec …”

She looked at Ian. His glasses were askew, rising on one side, which gave him a disorganized, imploring look. “It’s not Gwyneth L’Angley.”

“You know her?”

“I met her at a dinner party. I have to admit …”

“What?”

“She struck me as not all that curious about anything beyond herself. She drank too much.”

“She fights depression. I was never really there for her the way she needed me to be.”

“Could anyone have been there in that way?”

“I don’t know, but I still don’t feel that I’ve been fair to her.”

“She could see who you were from the beginning.”

“Maybe she couldn’t.” His hands were shaking. “Are you shocked?”

“A little. You might have told me sooner. But from what you’re saying, it’s over. You’re married, but not really.”

“Do you feel I’ve lied to you?”

“You didn’t tell me the whole story, but I can see why you didn’t.”

“Heedless” was the word that came to her later. But at that moment, the decision to love him seemed already to have been made. The waiter turned up with coffee, poured two cups, and left. Ian took a swig. “Tastes like weasel piss.”

She laughed. Underneath the laughter, though, was a small whiff of uneasiness, even fear. By now, she knew better than to give her life over to a man. It had been a kind of recurring illness, brief respites from her own uncertainties, tethering herself to this one and that one. “I don’t doubt you,” she said. “I doubt me. I’ve made little out of my life so far. You’ve probably never had a day in yours when you’ve doubted yourself.”

“What gave you that daft notion?”

“You seem to know what you’re doing, why you’re doing it, happy with your work, supremely confident.”

“I look like that to you?”

“Of course you do. In contrast, I think why would I be respected for anything I’ve ever done? I never finished my PhD. I missed a chance to do research in the plateau area of central-northern Nigeria. And then I missed a second chance to study the Romani people in southern Europe. I got married to Lawrence and came out here. There are so many things I’d have been interested in doing. Now I’m a paper pusher.”

“You’re worthy of respect because of who you are, Alice Mendelssohn. I can’t imagine not respecting you. You’ve lived your life honorably.”

Hasse flashed through her head, his pink cock lying contentedly on the surface of the bath water. “Not entirely.”

“And you won’t be a paper pusher for the rest of your life. You can finish your PhD if that’s what you want. Or you can do something else.” He looked straight at her. “You can do whatever you want. And of course I have doubts, like anyone. Doubts about how I’ve chosen to live. I’ve hurt people. Not just Gwyneth. I’m beginning to want things I never thought I wanted before. I’m not saying I’d ever have these things—roots, a home—or be able to stand them if I did. I’m saying I see them differently.”

“What’s changed?”

“You, for one.”

“You hardly know me.”

He picked up her hand, turned it over the way a palm reader might. “It doesn’t matter that I hardly know you … You looked like a girl just then. Did you have a nickname as a kid?”

“Quackers.” She laughed. “I loved ducks.”

“My mum called me Nummy. I don’t know where the name came from. She’s the only one in the world who ever called me that.”

“Were you close?”

“Yes. To both my parents. I remember when I figured out they’d die someday and leave me behind. I sat under the stairs mourning like a pope. It took me a bit longer to figure out I was going to die too. I worry about the San the way I used to worry about my mum and dad.”

The wind was up, the Southern Cross tilted, shining halfway up the sky. “It’ll be a full moon tomorrow on the Pan,” he said. He took her hand and walked her back to her room. He kissed her and left quickly.

After he was gone, she came back outdoors and stood in the shadows. In the wind, the story of everything could be heard: time stretching in all directions, singing through the river of souls who’d carried breath over thousands of years.

That night, she dreamt of a dog running down an empty thruway. She’d never seen a dog run so fast. Golden and streaking. It kept veering into the lane, and she was scared she’d hit it with her car. At one point, it disappeared. She looked through the rearview mirror, and it was on the ground, thrashing. She stopped, opened the door of the car, and it got up, a golden retriever with no collar and no tag. She wanted to bring it with her but she wasn’t able to. Her life wasn’t right. She left the golden dog in the middle of the road. He sat there, not running, just watching as she drove away.