Read Online Carmen Dog by Carol Emshwiller - Free Book Online Page B

but she never does, not that day and not the next either.
    They decide to hold a little nondenominational memorial service for her just in case she is no more. They all feel it is too much to hope for that she has been released or is alive somewhere else in the house. They ask Rosemary for candles and flowers and she, always accommodating when she can be, brings them six white candles and more than enough flowers from her own garden. Her choices make everyone think that she must have had Basenji specifically in mind: white daisies, small purple irises, miniature tulips delicately colored yellow in the centers and pink at the edges. They are telling each other that, had Basenji chosen to be a flower, certainly she would have chosen to be one of these.
    Of course they ask Pooch if she will sing. This they want most of all. But she, shaking her head no, and still not speaking, only gives a harsh breathy cough, almost as though that were the only sound she is capable of making. They do not press her, but ask if, instead, she might write a few words or a poem. This she consents to do. Yes, she tells herself, she must rouse herself. She really must. For Basenji's sake, even though, of course, no one knows for sure if she is really dead or not, but chances are, considering the condition she was in, that she is. Yes, and Pooch knows that she herself would be capable of such a death ... just lie down and give up. Perhaps if it wasn't for the baby and for the others whom she might be able to help later on, who knows but that she, too, would ... will....
    As to the few words that she must have ready the next day, she remembers some lines from Olaf Stapledon in which the great dog, Sirius himself, thinks, “A poem might be sincere no matter how hastily it had been scribbled,” and she begins work on one. She is thinking, if only she could stop this twitching and trembling and if only her mind didn't dart about as though avoiding ... particularly avoiding thoughts of Basenji and of the laboratory, and if only she didn't feel so drained.
    And how she would love to talk to the psychotherapist again. What would he tell her to do to cope with these problems? To cope with her own feelings? Perhaps there is rage underneath all this. How not use it against herself? And what about her beloved master! Has Isabel already taken her place in his heart? If only she knew that she would see him once again, there would be something to look forward to.
    But poor Basenji! What trials has she had to bear? Even before all this began, she and Basenji had, the second evening, leaning their heads together against their cage bars, whispered to each other their past histories and all their secrets (though Pooch has no real secrets to tell), so Pooch knows that Basenji, of all creatures, could not possibly have known anything about any conspiracy or any leaders. Pooch probably should have known, and therefore in some way deserves the “punishment” she is getting for her ignorance—though actually they all seem ignorant, even Phillip—but what could Basenji have been expected to know? Why, she grew up in a top-floor apartment, never once having ventured down the elevator, let alone out into the street. That is, until that one night. And then so frightened by the honking, the lights, and the rain that she ran and didn't stop until she was completely exhausted and lost. They had been, Basenji had said, about to go on a trip to Europe. That she knew. And somehow (how, even Basenji herself could never figure out) she had slipped out of her brand-new harness and fled. At the time, for her master's pleasure (her master was eleven years old) she had been dressed “ à l'oriental. ” This had almost gotten her into much more trouble in the streets until she had the presence of mind to remove the embroidered slippers and the voluminous red trousers which, in the pouring rain, had become quite draggled. The green satin shirt, without the