Read Online Dogs by Nancy Kress - Free Book Online

each other again but somehow we have not done this. Again, I am very sad to hear of this death. Please tell me what has occurred.
    Sincerely,
    Ruzbihan al-Ashan

    Tessa closed her eyes. Salah had spoken occasionally of Ruzbihan. They had been great pals as children and at the Sorbonne but then, like many college friends, had drifted apart. No overt break, just living in different countries with different activities. And they were both still young, in their early forties only, there was lots of time. Until time had run out.
    She wrote back to Ruzbihan, giving him the bare details of her husband’s senseless death and adding a bit about their former life together. Then she turned to Salah’s laptop, still set up beside her own Toshiba, and scanned his files for “Richard Ebenfield.” Nothing. Salah had evidently not referred to his old roommate specifically by name when he wrote back to Ruzbihan, or he had transliterated the name into Arabic. And Ebenfield, who would write in English, had apparently not contacted Salah even though he’d asked for Salah’s address.
    That left the other Arabic email correspondent to wonder about. He (she?) hadn’t yet answered. And, of course, it was entirely possible that neither email had anything to do with Salah’s and her names turning up on intelligence chatter in the Middle East. Tessa had been trained to follow all leads, but 95% of all leads turned out to be crap. Always. If Salah—
    â€œAll done, ma’am,” the cable guy said, holding out a fistful of brochures. “You have all network stations, local station KJV-TV, plus—”
    â€œThat’s okay, I’ll read it later,” Tessa said.
    â€œIf you don’t mind my asking, what’s that statue on that little table under the open window? I ask because it’s, like, the only thing unpacked in there.”
    â€œIt’s a god, Natraja,” Tessa said. “Shiva Dancing.”
    â€œWhat are you, Islam?”
    Tessa stared at the nasty expression on the face of this bigoted, ignorant, probably racist kid. “No. Shiva is a Hindu god, one of many. Hindu, as in ‘India.’ Islam has only one God.”
    â€œOh,” he said, losing interest. “That’ll be fifty-four dollars for installation plus the—”
    â€œJust give me the bill. I can read,” she snapped, and he blinked. They finished the transaction in silence and mutual dislike.
    No chance of meditating after that. Not that Tessa hadn’t gotten used to the attitude, ever since 9/11. The glances at Salah as he walked down the street in his beautiful business suits and Arab headdress. The murmur in restaurants. A certain kind of silence when Salah came home from work, his usually cheerful face clouded. She’d learned not to ask; he didn’t like to discuss it. It was hardest when the silent attitude came from people that they’d considered friends, people who should have been sophisticated enough to know not only that not every Arab was a fundamentalist terrorist, but also that Tunisia had a long alliance with the United States. But, then, the fucking FBI hadn’t seemed to know any better.
    Now there really wasn’t any chance of a quiet meditation. Not until she cleared her mind. She threw on her coat and untethered Minette. “Let’s go for a walk, baby. Too bad you didn’t bite that cable bastard.”
    Minette, hearing no word but “walk,” went into paroxysms of joy.
    The afternoon was clear, windless, still in the forties. Minette trotted forward on her short legs, thrilled to be outside. A dog’s life was so simple: If you like it, lick it. If you don’t like it, growl at it. If it smells interesting, pee on it.
    A few early crocuses poked green shoots above the earth. Winter sunlight touched the treetops with pale gold. Tessa breathed deeply of the crisp air. Maybe this move would be okay, would help her