“Aw, get lost,” said Steve. But he leaned closer. He poked his glasses into place. “There’s speckles,” he said. “Is that what you mean?”
“No,” said Danny. The sun was behind Steve, making his face a black shadow. “I saw Beau in there.”
“Man, you’re nuts.” Steve took his hand from Rocket’s head as though the dog was hot as fire.
“He knew you, didn’t he? Soon as he saw you,” said Danny. “He knows all sorts of stuff like that, ’cause Beau’s inside him.”
“Like My Mother the Car?”
“Well, sorta. But better than that,” said Danny. He hated that show, with the stupid car driving around, talking like the guy’s mother.
“My Brother the Dog.” Steve laughed. “Did you tell Old Man River?”
“Yeah, but he didn’t believe me,” said Danny.
“No wonder. Man, people are going to think you’re just crazy, Danny.”
“Call him Beau, then,” said Danny. “Look in his eyes and call him Beau.”
“Forget it,” said Steve. “You’re getting creepy, Danny.” He flicked the propeller on the front of the plane till the engine started, and its growls and coughs became a scream that he had to shout against. “Hold it down! Like this!” He had the plane’s flat body pinched in his fingers. “Let it go when I tell you, okay?”
“Let Rocket do it,” said Danny.
“Aw, get lost,” yelled Steve. “Just get lost, Polluto!”
He took a nail and a paper clip out of his pocket, jammed the nail into the grass, and clipped the plane to it. Then he snatched up his tools and gasoline and dashed down the wires to his handle as the little airplane tugged at its mooring. It broke loose when Steve jerked on the line, then skittered across the grass and lifted into the air. It zoomed around in its circle. Danny ducked as it passed over him. He felt the slip of its wind in his hair, and smelled the gas and the fumes.
Danny ran from the circle with Rocket behind him. Then he turned back and shouted, “Screw you, Britain!” and Steve laughed, the sunlight shining on his glasses. The Skyraider was howling again: Meeeeeowww! Meeeeeowww!
Danny went around the Hollow and over the big bridge. He felt sorry for Rocket, plodding beside him with his tail between his legs. “Never mind,” he said. “It doesn’t matter what anyone says. I know it’s you in there, Beau.”
forty
Danny lived with his secret, hoping his mother and father would see for themselves what was so obvious to him. Rocket’s favorite toy was a worn old tennis ball that had belonged to Beau. He’d pulled it from the bushes by the backyard. His favorite spot in the living room was on the floor where Beau had always sat to watch TV. He slept in Beau’s bed, which Danny had fought hard to keep, and he played in Highland Creek, and he loved the Old Man and Flo.
In the evenings, Danny and Rocket lay on their beds, and Danny told the dog stories. He would start, “Remember this?” and go on about something, and Rocket would lie there and listen, and sometimes he would chatter away in the funny voice that was almost like talking. There were times when Danny slipped up and called the dog Beau, and then Rocket barked back at him.
Twice he slipped up when his parents were there, once with his mother and once with his father. The Old Man just corrected him. “Rocket, you mean,” he said. But his mother got angry. “You’re not still full of that nonsense, are you?” she said. “You do know he’s only a dog, don’t you?”
She was standing in the bedroom doorway. She’d been listening and watching without him knowing. Now she came right into the room, right between the beds. “Tell me you know that,” she said.
The room was half empty. Most of Beau’s things had been put away in the attic, and the walls where his posters of spacecraft had been were huge and barren. The only thing on the long shelf above the bed was the letter from Gus Grissom.
“Danny, I’m waiting,” said Mrs. River.
“I know he’s a dog,” said Danny.
“And that’s all that he is?” Her hands were on her hips. “Say that he’s a dog and no more.”
He couldn’t admit it, not there with Rocket beside him. He wouldn’t betray his brother. So Mrs. River snapped her fingers and told Rocket, “Down!” She pointed at the floor.
The dog burst out in his whines and yaps and groans. It seemed to Danny that he was right on the verge of actually talking, and he thought how great it would be if Rocket could look up at her and say in Beau’s voice, Mom, it’s okay; it’s me. But Rocket only got down from the bed, slinking from it like any old dog, his eyes squinty and scared, his tail a sad, sagging thing.
“Out!” said Mrs. River, raising her arm to point at the door.
“Please don’t send him out,” said Danny.
“Then you tell me that he’s only a dog,” said Mrs. River. “Say he’s only a dog.”
Rocket was looking up at Danny, and Danny could see that he wanted him to say it, that he wanted him to do anything so that he wouldn’t have to sleep outside the room. So Danny crossed his fingers under the bedclothes. “He’s a dog, okay?” he said.
“Yes. Okay,” said Mrs. River. “But if I hear you call him Beau again, he’s gone, Danny. And I don’t mean just gone from this room. He’s gone; you understand?”
forty-one
In August the days were long and hot. They passed one after the other, all the same, with an endless blue sky and a huge, white sun. In Hog’s Hollow, the leaves of the big cottonwoods turned crisp and yellow, and Highland Creek shriveled to a thin worm of water. Its banks were hard and cracked, like the skin of a sunburned old Earth.
On the sixteenth, when the day was at its hottest, Old Man River came home from pumping septic tanks. He took off his coveralls and put on a clean shirt. He put on trousers that were pressed and spotless. Mrs. River chose a tie for him to wear, but he only stuffed it in his pocket.
“I wouldn’t feel right,” he said.
She had chosen a black dress for herself, and a little black hat. But her shoes were red, and her purse was red, and she’d painted her mouth with shiny red lipstick. To Danny she looked pretty.
“Now, we won’t be gone long,” she told him. “You won’t even have time to get into trouble.”
She bent down to kiss him, but he moved his head away. He was watching TV, and Rocket was sleeping on the floor by his feet. The Old Man was in the bathroom.
“I want to go with you,” he said.
“Oh, we’re not going anywhere you’d like to go,” she said.
He hated it when she acted as though he was stupid. He knew very well where his parents were going, and why, and it made him angry that they would think he’d forgotten, as though he was only a dumb kid with no memory.
“This is something your father and I have to do,” she said. “It isn’t for fun.”
“I know it’s Beau’s birthday,” he told her. “You don’t have to keep it a secret that you’re going to see where he’s buried.”
“Oh, gosh, Danny,” she said. “It’s not a secret, exactly. We didn’t want to remind you, that’s all.”
“You don’t want me to go there,” he said. “That’s why you didn’t tell me.”
Rocket had come awake, and now he sat up, calling out in a whine. Danny knew that he’d heard his old name, and hoped Mrs. River would notice. But she didn’t glance at the dog.
“It’s too hot out there,” she said. “Why don’t you just stay inside where it’s cooler?”
“I want to go,” he said. “Beau was my brother, you know.”
“Yes, Danny, I know that.”
“You still think it’s all my fault, what happened,” he said.
“Danny! We’ve never said such a thing,” she told him.
“But that’s what you think,” he said.
He heard the whoosh of the toilet flushing. The pump came on, dragging water from the well. He told his mother, “I bet you’d take Beau if it was me that was buried.”
Her red lips opened. There was a s
mear of lipstick on her teeth. “What a terrible thing to say,” she said. “Danny, that’s horrible.”
The Old Man was coming into the room, tugging at his belt. “What’s horrible?” he asked.
“Danny knows where we’re going, and he wants to come with us,” said Mrs. River. “He says if it was him who was—” She shook her head. “I can’t even say it.”
“We didn’t ask you to go because we didn’t think you’d want to,” said the Old Man. “You didn’t go on Sunday, or the Sunday before.”
“But today’s different,” said Danny. He hadn’t seen any point in going to the cemetery now that Beau was back. Now, though, he wanted Rocket to see it. Or he wanted his parents to see Rocket seeing it; he wasn’t really sure.
“Then go and change into clean clothes. And have a wash,” said Mrs. River. “You’re absolutely filthy, playing in the creek all day.”
He hadn’t been playing—not exactly. He had gone downstream through the golf course, looking for bottles. He’d taken them to Mr. Kantor’s and bought a present while Rocket sat waiting outside. It was in his pocket now. He’d only been waiting for the proper time; they’d always given out birthday presents after dinner.
He brought it along in the Pontiac.
The sun was enormous, the heat staggering. Danny cried out when his bare legs—below his shorts—touched the heated vinyl in the car. The Old Man gasped when he got in, and Mrs. River said, “Mercy! It’s like an oven.”
“It’ll be better when we’re moving,” said Old Man River. But the air that gusted through the car as they headed up the hill only grew hotter. Mrs. River had to keep her hand clamped on her head so that her little black hat wouldn’t go sailing through the window. The only one who seemed comfortable was Rocket, with his head poking out in the draft, his tongue flapping like a pink ribbon.
The cemetery seemed twice as hot as the Hollow. There were no trees for shade, and the endless rows of white crosses and stones glared like shining glass. Only one other person moved in the place—an old woman in a black gown and a black shawl, holding up to the sun a black umbrella. She looked scary to Danny, as though the white ghosts of night were black in the daytime.
Where Beau was buried the ground rose in a small hill, and climbing toward it made Danny remember the day of the funeral, and the smell of flowers, and the taste of tears on his lips. He stopped halfway up, wishing he hadn’t come back this day, watching his father and mother hold each other as they reached the top together. The Old Man had his cap in his hand, slapping it against his leg. His keys jingled softly.
Rocket didn’t follow Danny. He stayed beside the car, in the shade of the big tail fins.
Danny went slowly to the top of the hill. His mother was standing there in the terrible heat, and the Old Man was sweeping pigeon droppings from the gravestone. All around, the grass was yellow and dying. The lady with the black umbrella was wandering from grave to grave.
Danny sat down. He watched the lady in black, and the birds that flew in tidy flocks, and the car that came crawling along the road with four people inside, so old that they looked like four mummies out for a Sunday drive.
He felt sad, but this time not for Beau. He wished that his mother and father knew that Beau was back, that he was just down the hill, living in the little dog that sat shaded by the car. He hated that his mother was crying, and he could feel the misery that came from them both, a thick fog of sorrow and despair. Then he felt Rocket licking his hand. He turned and saw the dog’s limp tail and drooping ears, and it looked as though Rocket had been soaked in the Old Man’s sorrow.
The dog whined at Danny, then pressed up against Mrs. River and whined at her, and then at the Old Man. The voice that Old Man River had said was like a bag of monkeys cried out so loudly that the car stopped and the mummies looked up the hill.
“My, he sounds miserable,” said Mrs. River. “Danny, take him away.”
“It must be the heat,” said the Old Man.
“No,” said Danny. “He’s telling you not to be sad.”
“Please,” said Mrs. River. “Don’t start that nonsense now.”
“But listen to him,” said Danny. “He’s trying so hard. He’s telling you—”
“One more word, Danny, and that’s it.”
“Okay,” he said. “Okay, I’m going.”
He sat in the car, though the heat was sickening. He felt like a cookie baking in an oven, as though he might melt across the seat before he turned all hard and crisp. But he kept the door open, because Rocket was there be side him.
Up on the hill, his parents were kneeling. Danny saw his mother open her purse and take out a small box wrapped in shiny paper, tied with a sparkling ribbon. She gave it to the Old Man, and he held it for a moment before he put it down. Then he thrust his hands into the earth and dug as fast as he had the day he’d started his pit. He tore away the sod, then buried the box.
Rocket was crying his wails and whines. So Danny took out his present, a key ring shaped like an airplane, and he held it out for Rocket to see.
The dog stopped whining. He put a paw into Danny’s hand, as though to touch the airplane. Then he sat up and licked Danny’s face.
Danny clipped the airplane to Rocket’s collar. It was a cheap little airplane. Within a day it would fall from its clip and never be seen again. But right then Danny thought it was the greatest thing in the world.
“Happy birthday, Beau,” he said.
forty-two
The third Saturday in August was a perfect day. At Cape Canaveral, a great rocket stood ready for the launch of Gemini V. In Hog’s Hollow, the day began shadowed and cool, and in the old gray house Mrs. River made pancakes. She made little ones for Danny, the size of silver dollars, and for the Old Man she made them huge and thick, topped with a square of butter as big as a matchbox, all drowned in maple syrup.
Old Man River set up his TV tray in front of the sofa, beside Danny in the armchair. Rocket was on the floor, but—to Danny’s disappointment—he was sleeping. Danny had hoped his parents would see the dog sitting all day by the TV as intently as Beau would have done. He poked the dog with his foot, but Rocket only yawned and rolled over.
It was nine in the morning, an hour before the launch.
The Old Man hadn’t shaved or combed his hair, and he looked like a hobo to Danny. When Mrs. River brought him his plate of pancakes he said, “Ahhh!”—like a miser seeing gold. He chopped out a wedge with his fork. “This reminds me,” he said. “I have to pump the tank at the pancake house.”
“Today?” said Mrs. River. She always waited while he tasted his pancakes.
“No, no. Sometime,” he said. “It must be filling up.” He smeared his wedge in the butter and the syrup, ate it, and smiled. “Delicious. No one makes pancakes like your mother, Danny.”
Rocket slept through the pancakes, through the walk of the astronauts from building to gantry. The sun was flashing on the astronauts’ suits.
“There’s Gordon Cooper,” said the Old Man. “That’s him waving now.”
Gordo, thought Danny. That’s what Beau would have called him. It’s Gordo! he would have said. Now Rocket lay in his place, flat out on the carpet like any dog.
Mrs. River made a second pot of coffee. Danny heard the bubble of the percolator, then the hiss of water boiling out onto the burner. The astronauts were sealed in their capsule; everything was ready. A small clock in the corner of the screen was counting backward to liftoff.
“Flo! Aren’t you going to watch?” said the Old Man.
“I’m watching,” she answered, through the door and through the wall.
Danny sensed she was thinking of Beau. He thought the Old Man was thinking of him, too, but not in the same way. His mother didn’t want to think about him, but his father did.
In their capsule, the astronauts were talking by radio to Mission Control. A voice answered them. “You’re looking A-OK. You’re go for launch.”
Then Rocket woke up. He stretc
hed his four legs, then yawned and stretched his tongue, which coiled from his mouth like a blow-out party favor.
“That was Gus Grissom giving the go-ahead,” said a newsman on TV. “Grissom’s the capcom today.”
Rocket was watching now—or it seemed that way to Danny. It seemed the voice of Gus Grissom had brought him from his dream, and now he was staring at the TV. Danny said casually, “Rocket’s watching TV.”
“Well, it’s right there in front of him,” said the Old Man.
The clock on the screen flashed to 1:00:01, to 1:00:00. Gus Grissom spoke again. “Launch minus one hour. All systems go.”
Rocket barked. He stood up.
“Look at that. He’s getting excited now,” said Danny.
“He wants out, I guess,” said the Old Man. “Has he done his business yet, Danny?”
“He sure has,” said Danny. “That’s funny, he’s excited now.”
Mrs. River came in with the coffeepot. “Yes, why don’t you take him out, Danny?” she said. “You can go up to Kantor’s and get some milk. I’ve just finished the bottle.”
“We’ll miss the launch,” he said.
“Oh, fiddle-dee-dee. It’s an hour away, and you’ll be back in ten minutes.”
“But—”
“Charlie, tell him,” she said.
“Do as you’re told,” said the Old Man.
So Danny went out, and Rocket went with him. For the first time, Danny took the dog on his bicycle, perched in front of him on the long banana seat. As he rode up through the Hollow, leaning into the curves of the road, it didn’t surprise him that Rocket seemed to know how to balance, or that the dog kept trying to put his front paws on the handlebars.
“Bet you thought you’d never ride a bike again,” said Danny.
He kept to the grass of the boulevards, where the air was cooler, and to the shady side of the busy street. Even on Sunday, the cars were rushing by, and the streamers on his handlebars fluttered and waved.
Mr. Kantor had his door propped open with a chunk of cement. He was pleased to see Danny, and didn’t mind Rocket coming inside. “I don’t like many dogs, but this one I like,” he said. He patted Rocket with his long fingers, and Rocket licked his arm, dabbing at the blue numbers tattooed on the man’s skin.
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