Nature and Manufacture (Chapter 3 - Going Home)
The green light flickered angrily in the corner booth. Though there was no moving air in the bar that lamp swayed to and fro in protest of its exclusion.
The tiger internalized his surprise; pained to hide it from the dog. The ominous shadow helped hide the exclamation in his eyes. His paw hovered next to the dog's head and it took all his strength not to grab that head, to lean forward, to scrutinize every conceivable detail within those features.
My God, he's so young, too young.
The eyes before the tiger were wide and glazed, the pupils twitching irritably, the face tight, the mouth cracked open in fright. A clump of scar tissue sat in one ear like a stark exclamation of fear that the younger creature failed to hide. The tips of the cheek fur were pulled back in a grimace of uncertainty.
The tiger retracted his paw apologetically. He thought about speaking but decided against it; he'd spoken enough for now. He settled back placing the loose paw awkwardly around his whisky, painfully aware of the effect that the limb in question had had on the dog. He took the glass, taking a sip.
The dog apparently decided that the immediate danger had subsided and he hunched his tiny body, clutching the cloak to ward off the cold. The dog's eyes danced away from the tiger's glare. The dog's movements were slow and small and the tiger realized that despite the fear induced adrenaline, that the dog showed all the signs of being bone weary.
For a while they sat across from each other, neither saying a word. The tiger took the occasional sip of whisky, mind racing. He noticed that on one shy pass-by of the dog's eyes, they had paused momentarily on his wrist. He had followed and saw the watch on his own arm; it was silver accentuated with thin golden highlights and a small diamond that had been set into its face to denote the hour 12. 3:48AM.The diamond was throwing off sharp reflections of light. It was shiny he thought feeling an unpleasant burning empathy for the hurting creature at the other end of the table. He wanted to make things right, he wanted to force rightness, if he could not have that feeling for himself then he wanted the defenseless dog to feel it. But he would have to establish contact first.
The cigarettes... this is why I bought them; he thought.
The tiger reached slowly for the cigarettes so as not to alarm the skittish dog then hated himself when the dog jumped anyway. The tiger continued the motion taking the pack and opening it.
A non-smoker himself he retrieved a stick, striking up a match, and lighting it awkwardly. The sickly sweet scent of burning mint filled the air. The dog's eyes followed the movement as if mesmerized by the smoky trails. The tiger took an puff to get it burning then purposefully leaned forward towards the dog and placed the cigarette gently between the parted lips.
It hung there limply before habit kicked in and the dog pressed lips down on the butt, inhaling deeply. The exhale was a satisfied sigh; the tiger felt a genuine smile pressing up from the recesses of his being.
"Hello.": said the tiger warmly. His glass was empty now and suddenly he could feel the warm glow of the whiskey in his stomach, it wasn't at all unpleasant.
The dog took the cigarette from his mouth "Hello" came the uncertain reply.
"Can I get you a drink? You look like you need one."
"No thank you... sir. I'm cold." shivering as if to emphasize the statement.
The tiger, encouraged by the acceptance of his gesture with the cigarette, felt a hopeful enthusiasm now "Nonsense, we'll get you some sherry. It will warm you right up."
The promise of warmth seemed to convince the dog; he nodded grateful acceptance.
"Barman!' the tiger called to penetrate the din of the bear's radio show 'another whiskey and 2 tots of sherry; the good stuff."
The bear appraised the pair for a moment as if resenting them for forcing him away from the radio. "One sherry for each 'f y'all?"
"No, 2 tots in one glass." The tiger further considered the nature of the bear's question. "In a sherry glass if you will. It's not for throwing back, ye know." The tiger cursed inwardly at his habit of emulating the locals' lingual usage.
The tiger's focus shifted back to the shivering dog "Can I lend you my jacket?" a memory crept up "It's old but it's nice and warm." a sweet image of yesteryear intruded on the tiger's mind, of another dog whom he had protected from the cold by wrapping him up in the very same jacket. They had been much younger then as well.
"No thank you sir. I'll be alright." The dog said through the fumes. He killed the depleted cigarette in an ashtray.
"I hope so." his enthusiasm had transformed into a sense of insistence which the tiger suppressed; he did not want to be overbearing towards the frightened young fur. The ominous corner lamp flickered a continuous rhythm of annoyance now.
The bear showed up with their drinks then departed to the background obscurity of the counter.
The dog sniffed inquisitively at the sherry then took a sip. The tiger figured he liked the sherry because the first tentative sip was soon followed greedily by three more in quick succession. "Whoa there, take it slow. You won't survive if you gulp it down all at once."
"Sorry sir,' said the young dog 'I didn't know." Another glance passed over the tiger's shiny watch.
The tiger rewarded him with a warm reassuring smile.
"You know, you don't have to call me sir, it makes me feel old and wasted away." He puffed up his chest, flowing his paw through his black hair humorously "Which you can see, I clearly am not. In my younger years I sported a mane that would've put lions to shame, kept it shorter now for the last 20 years... But I digress; I am still cursed by a beauty that refuses to fade."
He was trying to project the humor onto the petite canine "But someone somewhere hates me. I have to beat the ladies and the gentlemen off with a stick. It gets terribly bothersome, ye know."
He was rewarded with a true, if small "He he he" which made his heart happy even if that feminine inflection was effected in the worst environ possible; the innocence behind it left a bittersweet aftertaste on his conscience. The dog took another sip of his sherry with some confidence.
The tiger placed the matches on top of the cigarettes sliding the pack across the table in an encouraging gesture.
A dog paw automatically went for the cigarettes. The dog, startling himself with the unconscious gesture retracted it quickly. This time it was the tiger's turn to laugh, a full throated "Ha ha!" which caught the bear's attention.
"It's alright,' said the tiger 'I bought the pack for you." He gestured towards the cigarettes "Don't be shy." The dog started for it then stopped. The soft black eyes were still asking for permission. A nod from the tiger prompted a quick, instinctive snatch.
He watched as the dog lit up. The tiger was smiling because of the sense of familiarity here. The past intruded, reminding him of where his rightness with the world had been lost. This reminder brought with it a pang of guilt.
Why does this feel like a betrayal?
A question bought him back "Sir?' spoken softly, shyly 'what'sh your name?" the words slurred.
"Oh yes, I haven't introduced myself. I'm Vladyslav. You may call me Dyslav; I would say that it is a good substitute for sir. What is your name young gentleman?" he was gratified that the dog seemed to accept the question as jest.
"My name ish Nikolai... uhm Dyslav." he held the sherry and was taking another carefully measured sip.
He hadn't noticed the tiger's response to his name. There had been an inward groan, a paw clamped tightly to a forehead and now there was deep seated pain engulfing the tiger like overzealous waves devouring a skiff at sea. The first sign that alerted the dog to trouble was a claw tap-tapping rhythmically on the table's surface. He was alarmed and couldn't see the face hidden behind the paw.
"Sir... Dyslav? I'm sorry. Did I do shomething..." he was cut off by a choked reply.
"No... it's nothing you did...' Dyslav was measuring the word 'Nikolai, I want to ask you something." The dog was torn between concern and revived fear that he might become the target of unknown hostility. "Nikolai, did anyone ever call you Nicky?"
The reply carried a hint of weary shrillness "Uhm, my boyfri... friend, an old friend called me Nicky sometimesh. You okay?"
"I'm alright. And Nicholas, do you like art?"
"Uhm, yesh?'
"And where did you get that scar on your ear?" Dyslav asked carefully knowing that an intoxicated dog had little enough willpower with which to lie. He wasn't proud but he wanted, needed the answers.
"Uhm...' he seemed to think for a moment, his expression changed several times, from concentration, to sadness and the tiger detected a hint of shame. Then he replied as if remembering something, 'old friend, bit me."
All this was beyond familiar to the tiger. He breathed deeply choking down what he knew would be an immediate sob; anguish. "And Nicholas, how old are you?"
The dog's eyes had begun to droop, he looked as if he was about to fall asleep. "I am twenny yearsh old."
Oh god, exactly twenty years since then.
The tiger shook it off taking control of himself. He retrieved the smoking remains of the cigarette and smothered it in the ashtray. His watch read 4:00AM exactly. "Do you want to close your eyes?" Dyslav enquired.
The eyelids fluttered, refusing to stay open and he could barely harness the energy to finish his next words "Shir, I don't... do that..."
"Shh it's alright.' Dyslav sussed him quietly 'I know you don't." Nicki had gone to sleep.
The tiger got out of his seat choking back tears. He checked his jacket pockets, retrieving his car keys and placed enough money for the bill on the table. He slipped his arms out of the sleeves and gently swung the jacket over the sleeping dog's shoulders then picked him up bodily as if he were a child; he was very light.
The large, torn ear was resting on his striped bicep; he leaned his head down and planted a gentle kiss on the naked spot there. It'll be alright.
He caught the bear's eye as he was heading towards The Bleeding Woolfe's exit. He stopped looking hard at the bear "What's the policy on abduction around here?" he asked.
The bear seemed displeased "I aint ever seen you here. Lots 'a strangers come through." The tiger turned his back on the bear, heading for the door. "One thing more cat.' the bear started, his voice carrying a hint of menace. The Tiger stopped and waited expectantly 'don' ye ever bring em back 'ere. That one is bad luck."
The tiger was about to question this statement but the bear pointedly indicated the exit with his stubby snout.
The tiger carried the small white dog through the door. Dyslav whispered into the scarred ear resting against his shoulder as he went, whispered with an urgency that stemmed from the depths of his heart "It'll be alright Nicki, it'll be alright. It'll be alright Nicki."
Her car's clock was flashing 4:05AM and Brena was fiddling with it irritably while waiting for the red light to signal her turn to drive. "The damn thing isn't supposed to flash. German Shepherds build the best cars, my ass."
In the meantime her light had gone green while another car was waiting its turn at the red to her right. Just as she was about to punch the clock buttons at random, the clock stopped flashing; displaying the time in a cheerfully correct manner. It seemed as if the clock had been playing glib games with her. She sat back eyeing it in annoyance.
The traffic light caught her attention when it clicked over into yellow then red. She tried forcing the car back into gear when she noticed the car on her right as it pulled away; crawling its way across the intersection.
There were two occupants in that car; one occupant's lay limply against the passenger window; it looked like a girl. It had a thick bushy head of white hair, which carelessly hung over its face. The eyes were closed; the lips were parted in the mind's reckless abandonment of the conscious realm.
To Brena's surprise she recognized the other occupant; it was that cat from DSS, that bastard who had thus far refused to let any "irregularities" slide in the dealings between her company and DSS.
What are you doing here? Brena asked herself. She hadn't pegged him as the type who would be driving through this part of town, especially not at this ungodly hour. And who is that with you?
Another thought passed through her mind but she couldn't imagine that the cat was into prostitutes.
But wouldn't it be wonderful if that was indeed the case. It would make getting rid of that cat effortless. One anonymous phone call to the police and there would be one less obstacle to overcome.
She flicked the signal lever down; the car flashed its orange lights, indicating a left turn. Ignoring the red light in front of her she pulled away heading after the other car.
An angry red stop sign shone its disapproval at her departure. After a few seconds the red went dead; the traffic lights at that whole intersection went dead simultaneously. Their usefulness, which was meant to serve the living, was postponed. Without the living, normality was impossibly reversed at that crossroads. Light had taught its occupants to feel a comforting serenity within its dependable nature, for in each other they had found purpose and proof of existence. Without the one, the other could not exist. Without the other the one had no meaning: a sense of serendipity in their ever growing awareness of inter-dependence.
A dead traffic light would lose a sense of itself without life experiencing it; the profoundest sense of purpose gone and the profoundest sense of life impeded. Monsters come out at night.
Brena learned nothing new from her adventures that morning but she would only find that out when confronted with a confusion which would clear her own.