by Lola Swain
“I just don’t like bad words,” Anthony said. “I like muerto better. That means—”
“Let me guess…dead?”
“Right as rain!”
“Well, how did May…muerto?”
“Electrocuted,” Anthony said and closed his eyes.
“No!” I said and covered my mouth. “In the bathtub?”
“The bathtub? Why in the world would she be taking a bath? She was the third Mr. Conway’s secretary!”
“When you think of electrocution don’t you think of someone taking a bath and then someone else tossing, I don’t know, a hairdryer into the tub?”
“Peas and carrots, Sophia,” Anthony said and took a step away from me, “quelle morbide!”
“Morbid?”
“Yes, very good,” Anthony said. “No, apparently the third Mr. Conway was a bit on the obsessive-compulsive side. At the same time every day, the third Mr. Conway demanded that May turn on a certain program on the old radio in his office. Then, he’d sit at his desk and sip on a glass of scotch while he listened. Anyway, on this day, May wasn’t in the office to turn on his program and he was quite upset. So he starts screaming for her…May! May! May!”
“Sounds like an asshole,” I said.
“Quite,” Anthony said and nodded. “May was a very nervous type back then and she came rushing in the office nearly hysterical. Well, the third Mr. Conway was buzzing like a pack of hornets and flew across his office at her holding his bottle of scotch.”
“He hit her with the bottle?”
“No, Sophia,” Anthony said and rolled his eyes, “he did not hit her. Geez Louise! No, he poured his scotch and put the bottle on top of the radio. May starts fiddling with the knobs and the third Mr. Conway is livid now because she keeps passing the program. Her hands are shaking, you see.”
“What a cocksucker.”
“That’s colorful,” Anthony said. “So, the third Mr. Conway is screaming his head off and May is shaking. Well, the bottle of scotch fell off the radio, crashed to the ground and soaked the frayed cord. May gripped the metal knobs of the radio while she stood in the puddle of scotch and—”
“Zap?” I said.
“Zap, indeed. All the lights in the hotel went out. The fourth Mr. Conway soon replaced the third Mr. Conway because the third Mr. Conway was so shaken, he never returned to work.”
“He should have gone home and put a bullet in his brain. What a motherfucker.”
“Well, he did go not too long after, but not because of that.”
“Sorry, I’m in a revenge state of mind.”
“Obviously,” Anthony said.
“How did the third Mr. Conway muerto?”
“Cirrhosis,” Anthony said.
“Huh,” I said and looked out at the docks as we approached them. “I tell you what’s creepy in the dark, those swan boats.”
“Yeah, they do look pretty evil.”
Anthony and I walked down the dock toward the boats. In the dark, their swan faces grimaced.
“Do you get seasick?” Anthony asked as he helped me into the belly of a swan boat.
“Well, I wouldn’t imagine I do now,” I said as I sat on the wooden bench inside the boat.
Anthony untied the boat from the dock and threw the rope in as he wobbled into the boat. He sat down on the bench opposite me and rowed away from the dock.
“This is pretty exciting,” I said as I looked at the island to the north. “It’s glowing too!”
“Yep, same lights as in the arbor. They’re lit from dusk to dawn every day,” Anthony said as he rowed us through the choppy water toward the island. “I cannot believe this is your first time.”
“I know. For some reason, this area always frightens me. And fairy tales have always scared me a bit too. I mean, kids in a bird cage gnawing on a bone, children in ovens, baked in pies.”
“But this is a good Fairy Tale Island!”
“So, no cannibalism?” I said.
“Not that I’ve seen,” Anthony said.
“Anthony, can I ask you something personal?”
“I believe we are at that point in our relationship, Sophia.”
“Why don’t you ask May Gaspar out?”
“Me?” Anthony said. “Good gravy, I could never! May Gaspar is a worldly woman, if you know what I mean. She was even married. She would never go out with me. Besides if I do ask her out and she says no, or worse, laughs in my face, I’m forced to spend an eternity loving May Gaspar knowing she finds me repulsive. No way, Jose! That’s just an expression.”
“I know,” I said. “So to be clear, you’d rather spend an eternity unrequitedly loving May Gaspar?”
“Yes,” Anthony said. “No rejection.”
“Just the fear of rejection, Anthony. That’s worse. You have to go for it.”
“Is that what you did to get James? I mean, he was quite the bachelor,” Anthony said.
“No,” I said and chuckled. “What happened between James and I sort of just happened. Like I said on that first day, before I was—”
“Muerto.” Anthony said.
“No, killed,” I said. “I talked to him and he kissed me. I fell in love.”
“That must have been some kiss, Sophia.”
“Oh, it sure was some kiss. He was trying to convince me to leave Brandt so it had to be the kiss of a lifetime to get a bride to leave her husband on her honeymoon.”
“Maybe it wasn’t James’ kiss,” Anthony said. “Maybe you just didn’t love the husband.”
“No, it was the kiss. I didn’t love Brandt, that is true. But if not for that kiss, I know as sure as I’m sitting here with you in an evil swan boat rowing to a place called Fairy Tale Island to see some ghost dogs, that I would have stayed with Brandt had they not killed me until the bitter end.”
“Even though you didn’t love him?”
“Yep, girls do dumb things when they’re slaves to their egos.”
“But it could not have been James’ kiss because you didn’t leave Brandt.”
“Well, I was going to. After James gave me that kiss and I fell in love, I floated back to the room. I was prepared to tell Brandt the marriage was off, that I made a mistake.”
“So, what happened?”
“Well, Brandt kissed me too. Several times.”
“Then you were in love with him?”
“No, I was still in love with James. But girls also do dumb things when they’re slaves to their puss—”
“Vaginas,” Anthony said and hung his head.
“Yes, vaginas.”
Anthony rowed the swan boat up to a bright red dock that served as the red carpet on which guests entered the Fairy Tale Island. He threw the rope over a peg and secured it and hopped out of the boat and held his hand out.
“Young lady,” he said, “welcome to the Fairy Tale Island.”
“Why, thank you, kind sir.”
We walked down the dock and the ground turned to a path of cobblestone as we walked over a stone bridge topped with lights.
“I feel like we’re Hansel and Gretel,” I said as we walked through a dense apple orchard.
“Why? Are you German? I’m not German,” Anthony said.
“No, metaphorically. I just feel like a different person over here,” I said as I looked at the benches carved from tree trunks that lined the path.
“Told you it’s magical. I’ve always wanted a different name,” Anthony said.
“What name do you want?”
“Tony.”
“Then Tony you shall be,” I said and grabbed his hand. “Come on Tony, I see the carousel!”
An old-fashioned carousel stood at the entrance to the village-area of the island. Brightly painted, glossy horses with evil-looking eyes stared out at the village and glowed under the twinkling lights.
“I don’t know how to work it, else I’d give you a ride,” Anthony said.
“It’s okay,” I said as I looked in the windows of the cottage next to the carousel that looked like a g
iant mushroom. “This is cute. It’s like Alice in Wonderland.”
Anthony and I strolled around the village looking at the whimsical furniture that was artistically crafted in true fairy tale fashion. There were giant shrubs sheared into horses and knights, there were buildings which sold different foods and drinks that looked like medieval castles and there was even a train ride where the cars were carved to look like toads.
“That’s the Toad Train,” Anthony said.
“Yes, I see,” I said. “It’s very peaceful here, Tony.”
“You don’t have to call me Tony all the time, Sophia.”
The theme of the Fairy Tale Island was reflection. The quirky seating outnumbered the actual attractions and it was evident that guests were encouraged to sit and take in the scenery.
“Where do the dogs live?”
“Toward the back, in the abandoned barn. It’s off-limits to the guests.”
“Take me there,” I said and grabbed Anthony’s hand.
We walked out of the village area and through another paved forest. The thirty-two benches that lined the forest’s curvy path were intricately carved from slabs of gray stone to look like books. The stone pages contained passages and quotes from all types of literature chiseled into the surfaces.
“Oh, I like this,” I said as I read the passage on one of the benches. “Tony, listen to this one…‘And let her loves, when she is dead, write this above her bones: No more she lives to give us bread, who asked her only stones.’ Dorothy Parker. How fucking fitting.”
“Yes,” Anthony said and giggled. “We need to get off the path here.”
Anthony and I left the path and walked through an untended field that looked like a junkyard.
“What’s all this?” I said as I looked around at discarded chunks of stone and metal and broken attractions. “It’s like the Fairy Tale Island graveyard.”
“That’s exactly what it is. The janitors drag all the broken junk back here and leave it. Adelaide said that this place was actually a real graveyard, you know, for people.”
“Doesn’t surprise me,” I said as I hopped over a rusty, twisted train track.
“Yes, I guess this whole area was thought of as the leper colony of Massachusetts. People knew bad stuff went on out here, but as long as it stayed out here, no one cared.”
We approached the massive barn where the dogs resided. It was a peeling red structure of wood with great, big doors.
“Do they stay in here all the time?” I said.
Anthony grabbed a shovel leaning against the barn and dug into a snow bank at the corner of the building.
“No, they come out whenever they want. They are free to go wherever they want,” he said as he stabbed at the hard snow with the shovel.
“And they go to the main grounds too, obviously,” I said and watched him struggle to dig into the ground.
“Yes, when summoned,” he said and grunted.
“How?”
“How what?” Anthony said and knelt down and dug at the ground with his hands.
“How do they get over there?” I said and knelt down beside him. “Because if you tell me they row themselves over in the swan boats…”
“Sophia,” Anthony said and pushed his glasses up his nose, “they swim, silly. Dogs can swim. Don’t you know that?”
“Ah, of course. What are you doing?”
“Success!” Anthony said as he pulled a large foil-covered package out of the ground and unwrapped it. “Look.”
“Steaks,” I said as I looked at the huge slabs of frozen meat Anthony held.
“Yep, they only eat the best. Come on, you can feed them.”
“They won’t feed on us, will they?”
“Hold this,” Anthony said and handed me the steaks. “Feed on us? Golly, no!”
Anthony pulled the barn doors apart and walked inside.
“Come on guys,” he called, “come meet Sophia and have your dinner.”
Deep growling came from the barn and Anthony popped his head out from the barn’s entrance.
“Are you coming in?” he said.
“Yes, could you just refrain from using my name with the word dinner, please?” I said as I walked into the barn. “Oh, holy shit!”
I dropped the steaks on the ground and jumped behind Anthony.
“Those are not dogs,” I said.
They sat majestically in a row, thirteen of them side-by-side. Black and glossy as finely polished shoes with teeth so white the glare stabbed at your eyes when you stared at their snarling faces. On each of their thick necks, a collar of red leather was strapped and from the collar hung a medal.
“Of course they are,” Anthony said and picked the steaks up off the ground. “Don’t be afraid.”
“Wolves,” I said. “Those are wolves.”
“Semantics, Sophia,” Anthony said and reached behind his waist and grabbed my arm. “Now don’t be rude, say hello.”
I stood next to Anthony and tried to think of all the things my mother warned me about in case of a menacing dog confrontation:
“Don’t stare into their eyes!”
“Hold your hand out slowly so they can sniff you!”
“Get on their level so you’re not threatening!”
I dropped to my knees and held my hand out toward them as I looked at the ground.
“Hey, dogs,” I said and coughed. “Hello, dogs.”
“What are you doing?” Anthony said and laughed. “They’re not threatened by you, Sophia. Please, stand up.”
Anthony pulled me off the ground and I closed one eye and forced myself to look at them. They all stared back at me with the same, almost amused look on their faces.
“Hello, dogs,” I said a little louder. “Do they have names?”
“No, they go by numbers—it’s on the medal. You’ll get to know who is who without looking. They have pretty distinct personalities,” Anthony said and pushed a slab of frozen flesh into my hand. “Go feed them.”
I held the steak out as I walked toward the wolves. They all stood at once as if soldiers. They drooled and licked around their mouths with their long, red tongues and snarled.
As I stared at the wolves, I heard my mother’s voice boom: “Don’t hold food in front of you!”
I flung the steak toward the pack like a Frisbee and hit poor Number Twelve in the nose.
“What did you do that for?” Anthony said and walked toward the wolf and rubbed his face.
“I-I’m sorry,” I said and walked toward Number Twelve. “I got scared.”
I knelt on the ground and stared into the wolf’s eyes. He brought his face close and pressed the tip of his nose to mine. His hot breath hit me in the face and I made myself hold the wolf’s stare. I brought my hands up and rubbed his neck. His thick, ropey muscles tensed under my touch and then relaxed. He moved his head back from my face, stuck his tongue out and gave me a big, wet lick from chin to forehead.
“Ugh,” I said and wiped my face. “Thank you.”
“See, he likes you. Pretty impressive since you hit him in the face with meat,” Anthony said as he walked down the line and handed a steak to each of the wolves.
Each wolf bit a steak out of Anthony’s hand and then lay down. But they did not eat, they waited.
“What are they waiting for?” I said.
“The command. Why don’t you give the command?”
“Okay. What’s the command?”
“Uh, eat,” Anthony said. “You haven’t been around dogs much, have you?”
“No, we were only allowed a goldfish bowl,” I said and stood up in front of the row of wolves. “Okay guys, eat!”
Eat is a word too civilized for those wolves did to those steaks.
Their fangs ripped into the blocks of meat in a frenzy, tearing the flesh from the bone in strips. Their faces and teeth were covered with bits of meat and frozen blood. The wolves then ate the bones in their steaks, splintering them between their teeth and sending shards flying. When they
were done, they licked their faces clean and sat up.
Wolf Number Three picked something up in his mouth and walked toward me. He sat in front of me and held a piece of bone with some flesh still attached between his fangs.
“What does he need?” I said.
“He’s giving you a gift, Sophia,” Anthony said. “Take it from him.”
I knelt down in front of the wolf and put my hand near his mouth.
“Never take anything from an animal’s mouth!” I heard my mother screech.
“Shut up,” I said.
“Me?” Anthony said.
“No, my mother.”
I reached into the wolf’s mouth and pried the bone from between his fangs.
“Thank you,” I said. “I think I’ll just save it for later, if that’s okay.”
The wolf licked my face and returned to his formation with the others. Power personified they were, a pack of warriors at the ready.
“What are they waiting for now?” I said.
“Just your praise, Sophia. They are as much yours as they are mine or any of the others. They are here for us.”
“They are magnificent,” I said as I stared into their faces.
They all lay down at once and rested their heads on their massive legs.
“Sleep now,” I said and smiled as they all closed their eyes.
“Shall we go?” Anthony said as he balled up the foil and tossed it in a trash can.
We walked back through the field and got onto the path with the book benches.
“Oh, man,” I said and grabbed Anthony’s arm, “that was incredible, Tony.”
“I told you.”
“What are those medals on their collars?”
“They are part of Hades’ Army. The medals signify that they are warriors.”
“What do they battle?”
“Oh, anything really,” Anthony said as he guided me out of the Fairy Tale Village. “In the olden days, they used to patrol the main grounds and keep the other wolves from crossing the perimeter.”
“What other wolves?”
“The wolves that live on Cape Cod,” Anthony said and knocked an icicle off the railing of the bridge and looked over the side into the moat.
“I didn’t know there were wolves on Cape Cod,” I said.
“Well, there are. Not as many as there used to be because a lot of them were trapped. But there are wolves and coyotes and even a bear or two. The area around the Battleroy is more undeveloped than other areas of Cape Cod. It’s because—”