Blind recognizes himself in Black’s fantasies and smiles.
“Or hold back my dog if it decided to jump on them.”
Tabaqui finally defeats the roll and issues an indignant squeal.
“Your dog? What do you mean, your dog? Where did that come from? It’s not enough for you to roam the Outsides stalking your former packmates with the intent of dragging them from curb to curb, you have a
“Bull terrier,” Sphinx prompts in a whisper.
“Right! Bull terrier! That man-eating horror! That ghastly, revolting beast! What kind of sick shit is that?”
“Tabaqui, pipe down.” Blind laughs. “He said he’s going to hold it. I’m facing a real possibility of being dragged across the street whether I like it or not, and I am not complaining. Even though I might have left all of my worldly possessions on the other side. Both the begging bowl
“Hold?” Tabaqui screams, his eyes ablaze. “Hold? Ha! You can’t stop those bulls when they get an idea in those idiotic stumpy heads of theirs. They’re all completely loony. And this one is going to be specially trained! Don’t you get it?”
“But Black, he’s not some kind of wimp, see,” Sphinx says, shaking his head. “Besides, it’s going to be his doggie, his pride and joy, his sweetie girl. Hunt together, eat together . . .”
“Shut up, you morons!” Black screams. “Assclowns!”
“I can just see it. The morning stroll. Him in a gray checkered overcoat, and the bachelor’s delight by his side in a gray sweater. He is holding Blind’s old sock in his hand . . . In a plastic bag, to better retain the scent . . . They’re out on their daily quest.”
“Shut up! You are all scared shitless, that’s what!”
“Of course we are,” Sphinx confirms, frowning. “We’re petrified, believe me. One look at your dog . . .”
“That god-awful abomination,” Tabaqui jumps in.
“Especially when you can’t really see it,” Blind adds.
“That bandy-legged gait.”
“That pirate squint.”
“That studded collar. Oh my, oh my!”
“And the gray sweater.”
“Leave my dog alone!”
Black’s scream is drowned by the squall of laughter. Sphinx slides down the bed frame and crashes on the floor.
“Cretins! Nitwits!”
Black shakes the common bed, then overturns it, growling, and storms out, tripping over his own legs.
“Crazy bastards,” comes his voice from the anteroom, his retreat punctuated with crashing and clanking.
“The mop. The water bucket,” Alexander whispers, carefully fishing Smoker from under the mattress.
Sphinx flings the blankets aside with his feet.
“If he’s busted the boombox, he’d better not be coming back. I’m going to kill him personally.”
“Did you see the way he went at us for that crummy dog?” Tabaqui exclaims happily, crawling among the shards of broken glass. “He could’ve crushed us all! Now that’s power. That’s what I call a proud owner!”
Smoker feels his head, realizing that, to his total surprise, it doesn’t hurt anymore. He couldn’t help laughing with the others, and now he’s racked with guilt. As if by that he betrayed Black. Black, lonely and furious, expertly provoked and goaded. Could he maybe not have seen that Smoker was laughing?
Humpback and Alexander turn the bed back up and start picking up stuff off the floor.
“Actually . . . ,” Humpback says thoughtfully. “Actually, bull terriers are remarkable animals. Very brave and very loyal.”
“Who says they aren’t?” Blind asks.
Humpback shrugs.
“I don’t know. I got this impression that you are not too fond of them.”
Tabaqui clucks contentedly.
The boombox suddenly screams at full tilt, and Blind quickly hushes it down.
“It’s alive. Black is in luck today.”
Sphinx wiggles his shoulders to make the jacket settle properly. One of his cheeks is covered in wet tea leaves, and the collar of his shirt turned brownish.
Smoker discovers a goose egg on his head. That must be the reason for the missing headache.
“By the way, what makes you think that the dog Black is going to have out there will be a bull terrier?” he asks Sphinx.
THE HOUSE
INTERLUDE
The House had several places where Grasshopper liked to hide. One of them was the yard after dark. He liked his thoughtful places. That’s what they were for, those special spots where he could hide, disappear from the world and think. And in a strange way the places themselves influenced the thinking.
The yard distanced him from the House. When he was down there, the House allowed him to look at itself from a different angle, through different eyes. Sometimes it looked like a hive. Sometimes it turned into a toy. A painted cardboard box with a removable roof. Everything in it was real—the figurines, the furniture, all the way down to the tiniest things—and at the same time he could take off the cover and see who and what had moved where. It was a game.
