Just Life

by Neil Abramson

  “Don’t get smug about it,” Sid said. “But Channa always said if you weren’t a priest you would’ve given me a run for my money.” Sid nodded to his still-outstretched hand. “You do know how to do this, Gabriel.”

  The priest felt something shift within him, or, more accurately, return to a space long since vacant. Was it that simple? he wondered. Just knowing that someone had once loved you back? That you had been worthy of the affection of someone you thought was more than worthy? Perhaps it wouldn’t be sufficient for tomorrow or the day after, but for today, it was enough to allow him to see the way forward.

  Gabriel took Sid’s hand in his own. “Fair warning, though,” Gabriel said. “I can be a miserable bastard sometimes.”

  Sid laughed. “I’ve actually heard that about you. Now tell me about this new dog.”

  17

  Sam was sitting in her office attempting to make it through a mound of neglected paperwork when her cell phone pinged with an incoming text message. The caller showed up as anonymous. “Terms are accepted. Mayor to announce in 30 minutes. Get prepared. Will be a 4-hour open window for drop off. Best we could get the gov to agree to. Supplies coming. Thank you. Broken Watch.”

  Sam summoned Greg, Luke, Andy, and Beth into the break room and explained the development. She expected a hundred questions, but instead faced a stunned silence.

  “I want you to know that this was my decision and I own it. I thought it was the best way to try to save some dogs. But I know you guys didn’t sign up for this. I don’t know what we’re dealing with or whether any dogs we’ll take in have the virus or even whether the virus can be transmitted. As a precaution, I am going to ask each of you to take a rabies vaccine. I’ve already had mine. It’s not as bad as it used to be. If you can’t stay, I totally understand and you’ll always be welcomed back when this is over. I won’t think any less of you. But I need to know who is staying and who’s going and I need to have your decision now.”

  Beth raised her hand. “So are you saying that I’m free to go?” she asked.

  Sam tried hard to swallow her disappointment. Shame on me for believing people can change, she told herself. “Yes,” Sam answered. “This wasn’t part of the deal. You can go and I will recommend to Judge Allerton that you be released from any further service.”

  “Good,” Beth said as she lifted herself off a chair. “Can we order some pizza? The threat of a biological disaster always makes me hungry.”

  If the pope had suddenly appeared in the room with sunglasses and a Mohawk, he would not have received more openmouthed stares.

  “But…,” Sam stammered.

  “Look, I just wanted to have a choice again,” Beth said. “Now I do.”

  Sam found her voice after a minute. “I don’t know what to say.”

  Beth rolled her eyes, uncomfortable with the positive attention. “Just say half green peppers and half onions.”

  Sam turned to Greg. “How many more dogs do you think we can handle here?”

  Greg, maybe for the first time ever, was at a loss for words. “I don’t… I…”

  “Just give me your best guess.”

  “Maybe eighty? If we had extra help and we used the basement.”

  “I was thinking ninety, but maybe that’s pushing it.”

  Greg shook his head. “But we don’t have any equipment or supplies for that many.”

  At that moment Kendall entered the room, carrying an armful of blankets. “Hey,” he called out. “I need a hand unloading the truck.”

  They all followed Kendall outside to a New York City police truck parked in front of the shelter. The truck was loaded with kennel crates, mats, towels, a stack of fifty-pound bags of dog food, and metal bowls. Two Guards in a Jeep on the opposite side of the street paused to watch Kendall lift a kennel off the police truck, but they made no move to help him.

  “Is this all for us?” Sam asked.

  “Yeah,” Kendall said. “A gift from Her Honor, the mayor.”

  Sid stepped out from around the police truck wearing his ancient tool belt. “We’re going to need to do a bit of reorganizing,” he said. “How’s the basement?”

  “It’s the same as always,” Sam responded. “Just spiders and storage.”

  “Then I’ll start there,” he said, moving past her and into the shelter.

  “I’ll go help him,” Luke said.

  “Me too,” Andy added.

  “But I don’t like spiders,” Beth volunteered.

  “Don’t worry. These are city spiders,” Andy told her. “I’ll give them a dollar and they’ll leave you alone.”

  “My hero,” Beth said, and followed them inside.

  Sam listened to these diverse humans join together to come to the aid of dogs they had never met and took it as compelling evidence that she had made the right decision.

  18

  Andy stared at a tower of empty litter boxes stacked against the rear wall of the shelter exercise room. “This is it,” he said.

  “Is there like a magic word?” Beth asked.

  “Yeah,” Luke said. “The word is push hard.”

  “That’s actually two words,” Andy teased. Despite everything going on outside the shelter and his inability thus far to grab Sam’s attention to share his concerns regarding Gabriel, Andy was excited to be included in Sam’s plan. With his present fully occupied, there was less space for his past to screw with his head. He also didn’t mind the quiet and dim dustiness of the basement; it reminded him of the stacks in the New York Public Library, where he had often found safety in years past. Nothing bad had ever happened to him in a library.

  Luke and Andy pushed the boxes aside, revealing the door. Beth tried the knob. Locked. Luke produced a key and opened the door. He flipped on the light switch at the top of the stairs and they all made their way down the dozen steps to the basement. They stepped over a few rolled-up carpets, stacks of old newspapers, and broken furniture.

  “It’s really not all that bad,” Beth said. She reached down and picked up a few pieces of what appeared to be large chocolate sprinkles covering the floor. She showed them to Luke. “What’s with these?”

  “Mouse pellets,” he answered.

  “She even feeds the mice?” Beth asked. “How sad, in a Cinderella kind of way.”

  “Not pellets as in food,” Andy said. “Pellets as in shit.”

  Beth dropped the pellets and began to gag.

  “Actually,” Sid said as he picked a few off the ground, “from the size of them, I’d say rats, not mice. May need to deal with that.”

  Beth moaned. “I’m gonna die from the Hantavirus in the middle of Manhattan.”

  Luke handed her a broom and a dustpan. “Sweep first; die later.”

  Andy pushed a decrepit bookcase away from a wall, exposing an equally old and unused door.

  “Creepy,” Beth said. She used her broom to swipe some cobwebs from the doorframe.

  “Any idea what’s behind it?” Andy asked.

  “With my luck,” Beth said, “it’s probably an ancient burial crypt haunted by the malevolent ghosts of kosher deli countermen.”

  Sid pulled the handle, but the door wouldn’t move.

  “Anyone got a key?” Andy asked.

  Luke shook his head. “As far as I know, it hasn’t been opened since we’ve been here.”

  “Who needs keys,” Sid said. He took a small leather case from his pocket and, using some tiny tools, picked the lock in fifteen seconds.

  “Impressive,” Andy said. “We could’ve made a great B&E team, Sid.”

  Beth took a step back. “This is the part where some monster leaps out and eats the fat girl, isn’t it?”

  Andy pulled the door. It screamed on old hinges as it slowly opened.

  “Here it comes,” Beth said, and dropped down behind him.

  The group stared straight into the gaping maw of…

  Another door.

  This one must have been locked from the other side because they
saw neither a lock nor a doorknob. Andy pushed on the door but it didn’t move.

  Beth brushed the dust from her hands. “So much for that.”

  “We can probably break it open,” Andy offered.

  “Why would we?” Beth protested. “Locked doors are usually locked for a reason.”

  “Where’s your sense of adventure?” Andy asked.

  Beth shook her head. “Those very same words have started every great journey toward a painful and humiliating end.”

  19

  Need help up here!” Sam yelled down from the top of the stairs.

  The crew from the basement joined Sam in reception just in time to see the first dogs enter the shelter—a Havanese with her elderly woman, a pug with a father and daughter, a Pomeranian with a woman about Sam’s age, and a black Lab pulling a man in his twenties.

  With the arrival of the dogs, Sam could no longer deny that this really was happening. She tried to channel all her emotions—exhaustion, fear, anger, and a half dozen others—into controlling the situation in the hope this would delay the brewing panic: “Luke, start taking the histories. I want to know as much about these animals as we can. Andy, you’re in charge of crates and blankets. Let’s start up here first until we know what we’ve got in the basement. Beth, you’ve got supplies—bowls, food, newspaper. Greg, you’re in charge of everything. I want to start exams as soon as the dogs are settled.”

  By the end of the first hour, the shelter had received thirty-three dogs. By the end of the second, the total was fifty-one and more were coming.

  The humans doing the drop-offs all looked grim, steeling themselves for a separation of uncertain duration and consequence. They were choosing a path before someone else chose for them and that was both empowering and terrifying. Some brought their dogs because children lived in their homes or down the hall. Others brought their dogs because they were taking their children out of the zone until the virus was resolved. And still others brought their dogs to the shelter because of swirling rumors that any dog not in an official shelter would eventually be confiscated and that Sam’s shelter was going to be the only game in town. Nothing brings out New Yorkers in droves like the phrase space is limited.

  The dogs Sam examined showed no obvious signs of disease, only heartbreak. It always came down to this—pleading, confused, and imploring eyes watching as their human companions backed away. Dogs lunged after their departing owners, whimpering and looking for anything familiar. No amount of soothing words could convince them that their new cages were only temporary. Owners lingered in the reception area, trying to catch glimpses of their beloved creatures after Sam or her staff took them into the back. Some owners brought their children to say goodbye, and these partings were the worst of all—neither child nor animal understood the why of what was happening, only that it was and it hurt.

  The shelter crew worked nonstop taking histories, performing exams, giving the dogs whatever limited exercise they could manage within the confines of the building and small yard, and cleaning cages. The last was a Sisyphean task; there was always more shit and pee to clean.

  During the course of the day, Sam learned that six of the dogs were refusing to eat the food provided. This by itself wasn’t unusual given the dramatic and traumatic change they had just experienced in their lives. But when Sam checked on them, she noticed they were also listless—what she called logy.

  In an abundance of caution, Sam moved these six into a small room on the second floor of the shelter. Sam knew there wasn’t enough distance between these dogs and the others for much hope of true isolation, but it was the best she could manage under the circumstances. Just like the humans living in Riverside right now, the dogs were all in this together—whatever “this” turned out to be.

  Sam was halfway up the steps to the isolation room when she heard someone call her name. She turned to see Tom charging after her. Sam prayed that no one had mentioned the isolation room in his presence.

  Tom smiled. That was a good sign. She brought him to her office and closed the door. “What are you doing here, Tom?”

  “I thought I’d stop by to see how it was going,” he said.

  “You really didn’t need to. I would’ve called if there was an issue.”

  “Yeah, well…”

  “You’re checking up on me?”

  “Let’s just say my motives are mixed. My ass is on the line with this too. So when the mayor asks, I want to be able to give her a little more detail about what I got her into.”

  “The detail is that we’re going crazy, but so far we’ve been able to manage. Tell her that I’ve got a good crew.”

  “They certainly seem loyal to you.”

  “If you believe in the same things, loyalty comes easy.”

  “So nothing suspicious?”

  “The whole damn thing is suspicious, Walden.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “No signs of sickness. I told you that you’d be my first call. You’re getting copies of the lab work anyway, so it’s not like I’m going to be able to hide it from you.”

  “I didn’t think you would. I was kind of hoping that you would start to see we’re sort of on the same team… at least I’m trying to meet you partway there.”

  “I’m sorry. I’m just tired and really stressed.”

  “I understand. Is there anything you need? Anything I can do for you?”

  “You can tell me what you’re hearing and make it good news.”

  “The Guard is getting jittery. The governor is insisting that we take a very close look at the park based on rumor. And the CDC is being as tight-lipped as ever.”

  “So basically you’ve got nothing.”

  “I got nothing. Now you know why I’m so darn happy. But at least I’ve got nothing to hide.”

  “I’m counting on that.”

  “I know.”

  “I’ve got to get back.” Sam quickly escorted Tom out of her office and to the shelter’s front door. If he believed he was being given the bum’s rush, Tom kept it to himself. “Keep the lines open,” she told him.

  “You too,” Tom said just before Sam closed the door on him.

  20

  Gabriel visited the shelter to see if he could offer any help and perhaps even some comfort. What he saw left him speechless at first.

  The dogs and their humans had formed three rows in front of a long folding table. Riverside’s canine population was as varied as the humans who lived there. The larger dogs were on leashes, some with muzzles. Because these were city dogs, they generally were used to people and other dogs, so there were few fights and nothing that drew blood. The smaller dogs, the noisiest of the group by far, stayed in carriers, crates, or cardboard boxes of wildly differing quality and cost.

  Gabriel saw that helplessness and fear were great equalizers: investment bankers stood in line behind teachers, construction workers, housekeepers, and the chronically unemployed. Dogs with pedigree papers and breeder certificates waited in line next to mutts, and all seemed keenly aware that their humans were stressed and, in some cases, close to panic. The humans left behind the usual city-dweller practice of avoiding eye contact with strangers. Now they not only shared glances and understanding nods, but also sentences—short to be sure, but entire sentences—of compassion and support.

  Amid the confusion and anxiety, Gabriel also observed instances of dignity, grace, and empathy:

  An African-American Vietnam War veteran in full dress uniform patiently waited in line with his cane and white-muzzled German shepherd. When it was his turn at the table, he filled out the required paperwork, gently patted the dog on the head, and handed him over to Luke. The veteran must have recognized Luke’s military tattoos: he snapped a crisp salute and Luke returned it with equal respect. Then the veteran spun on his heel, straightened his uniform jacket, and, with tears streaming down his cheeks, limped out of the room.

  A few moments later, a woman in her thirties held tightly to her Pomeranian
with one arm and her eleven-year-old son with the other. She told her son that he needed to be brave and that everything would be OK. When they got up to the table and it was time to hand the dog to Greg, Gabriel saw that she was literally unable to unfold her arm and release the dog. “Pommie was a gift from my late husband,” she told Greg.

  The son gently reached into the crook of his mother’s arm and, asking the dog and his mother to be brave, passed their dog over.

  An elderly couple held hands as they waited in line with their golden retriever. They made an effort to smile encouragement at everyone around them. When they got to the table, they completed the paperwork together and passed the golden over to Beth, their hands entwined through the leash handle. The man smiled. “Please take good care of her.”

  “We will,” Beth said.

  “You see, we never were able to have human children,” the wife added.

  Gabriel looked on as Beth purposely dropped a pen under the table so she would have an excuse to bend down and quickly wipe her eyes.

  Throughout this tide of drop-offs, Gabriel shook hands, hugged, and led prayers for safety, health, and peace. He would’ve thought that the partings, continually repeated, would become indistinguishable. But like dreams and lies, each one was different, as unique as the dog being transferred and the family it had lived with. The only constant was fear.

  “Look into their faces,” Channa had told him. “Bear witness.”

  Gabriel honored Channa’s request for as long as he could, but in the third hour he succumbed to the swirl of emotions surrounding him. Gabriel ran back to the quiet of his sanctuary and the comforting embrace of Eliot and Molly moments before he collapsed into an exhausted heap.

  He dreamed of cold steel tables and piles of dead dogs.

  21

  Sam was almost an hour late for her hourly check of the dogs in isolation, but she finally made it up the stairs. As soon as she opened the door, the stench nearly overwhelmed her. She recognized the odor in an instant. The dogs were still at her approach, which was even more frightening because it brought her back to another room with silent dogs in rows of cages. But no one had severed these dogs’ vocal cords. The silence here meant only one thing.