Traveling Light

by Thalasinos, Andrea

  Paula broke first. “Ma, you used to scold me, telling me his dog was filthy and had disease.”

  Celeste’s eyes narrowed.

  “He’d sneak into the back of the church at Easter,” Paula said. “Everyone would whisper. He’d tie his dog to the outside railing. I’d sneak out to sit with the dog and you’d scold me.”

  Celeste grinned, slowly shaking her head.

  “Did he have any kids, Ma?”

  “Only a nephew. Peter Fanourakis from Staten Island,” Eleni said in a quiet voice. “Probably lives in Jersey now—I’ll call Rania; maybe she knows.”

  “Weren’t we from the same village—”

  “This village, that village!” Eleni hollered. “What’s the hell’s the difference at this point?”

  Paula’s mouth fell open. Heavenly’s eyes widened, her eyebrows arching so high they almost touched her hairline.

  “Crazy young man, crazy old man, so what?” Eleni’s voice sounded about to break.

  “I’m handing you back to Celeste.”

  “Thanks, Mrs. Makaikis.” Celeste took the phone and began scribbling notes.

  Paula stepped back into the room to sit with Theo. She touched his relaxed hand as the nurse checked in, monitoring his vitals. After a brief conversation with Heavenly, the nurse looked at Paula and smiled. Heavenly then sat back in a La-Z-Boy chair in the corner of the room.

  Within the hour Theo could no longer respond. The room fell silent. It was a different kind of stillness, a quiet Paula had never heard. Heavenly stood and walked over to take his pulse. She looked at Paula and then reached to press the call button.

  Paula took in his sunken eyes, slightly parted lips, open palm. She didn’t know what to feel.

  “Yia sou, palikari [bless you, brave one],” she’d said, and leaned over him, resting her cheek on his shoulder near his face. “Eonia I mnimi,” she said, the haunting chant of eternal memory. I’ll remember your name forever. “Eonia I mnimi,” she whispered. “Yia sas, filos mou [good-bye, my friend].” Her eyes burned.

  The nurse walked in to confirm the time.

  “Take as long as you need,” Heavenly said.

  Soft conversations bustled on behind Paula about the business of death. Theo was gone. She looked around the darkened room. There was his dog, her promise.

  Looking at her watch, she stood and lifted her purse. It was just after two. She walked toward the door and peeked out for signs of Celeste. She glanced back at the empty body, the chant of “Eonia I mnimi” still with her. Every hair on her body prickled. Paula wobbled out into the hall, bracing her hand against the wall.

  “You okay?” Celeste asked, steadying her with both arms.

  “I’m not sure.”

  “You look like you’re gonna faint.”

  Paula stood, purse dangling on her forearm, her thoughts whirling.

  “I gotta go.” Celeste turned to the attending physician. They stepped back into the room to begin making arrangements for the body.

  “Hey, Heav.” Paula turned and quickly followed back in, tapping Celeste’s arm. “Heav, where’s the dog?”

  Celeste held up a finger as she scribbled down what the physician was saying.

  “Heav,” Paula interrupted. “Where’s the dog? Where’d they take it?”

  Heavenly turned and mouthed, Wait.

  The doctor gave Paula a stern look.

  “I need to know.”

  “Excuse me,” Celeste said in her velvety voice. “I do apologize.”

  She turned to Paula. “Jesus Christ,” she growled, rifling through the intake report. “Animal Control on Queens Boulevard.”

  “What’s the address?”

  “Uhh—Ninety-Two Twenty-Nine.”

  Paula turned and rushed, tracing her way back through the halls. She spotted the red “Down” on the elevator arrows and ran.

  In the lobby she flew past Obama’s buddy, the string from the hospital ID swinging from side to side as Paula dashed out the revolving doors and into the traffic circle, before making eye contact with a cabbie.

  “Ninety-Two Twenty-Nine Queens Boulevard.” She pulled the door shut.

  “Jesus, you gotta slam the fucking door?”

  She looked at the back of the driver’s head. In the rearview mirror she saw the Mets insignia. She had one foot in another world.

  “Sorry,” she mumbled.

  “I’m heading back to the City,” he said.

  “So am I.”

  “That ain’t the City.”

  She looked at her watch. “I have one stop.”

  “Everyone says that.”

  Leaning up to the grate, she said, “If you’d stop complaining we can be there in ten minutes.”

  He sighed loudly in disgust. The meter beeped as he set it. “Fine, but it’s gonna cost you,” he warned. “It’ll be running the whole time,” he said in a singsong voice.

  “Fine.”

  “How long you gonna take?” he asked.

  “You said it’ll be running, so what do you care? If it’s running in Queens or Midtown you get paid, right?”

  “Save it for your boyfriend, lady.” He pulled out abruptly; the cab jerked and the tires squealed. She braced herself. Rolling down the window, she lit up and exhaled toward the street.

  “No smoking in my cab.”

  Their eyes met in the rearview mirror.

  “Oh really?” She glared at him. “Then how come it smells like an ashtray?”

  He chuckled and looked at the road, pulling a cigarette from his shirt pocket.

  “Asshole,” she muttered. She caught a smirk in the mirror. Thank God he’d put a cork in it.

  How long it had been since she’d thought of Theo. It had never occurred to her back then that the street might be his home. Besides, Greeks never talked about such things. There’s a different score sheet for Greeks than for the Amerikani.

  Her memories of him blended together. In those days metal roller skates were always attached to her shoes. Cracked red leather straps. Vibration from the wheels on cement would make her teeth feel as though they were rattling. Fotis would press against her thighs like a cat eager for her touch. She’d chase him, giggling as she’d skate after him. Her earliest memory of Theo was as she sat on the stoop of the apartment building, hunched over, cheeks spilling out into both palms, wild dark hair encircling her head like an angry halo—fuming at Eleni, who’d just massacred her hair with a pair of thinning shears: “You look like a Medusa.”

  She remembered touching the back of her shorn head; how fragile the back of her skull had felt without hair. Then she’d spotted Theo. He gracefully listed from side to side as he crossed Union Turnpike. His long black overcoat caught the wind like a sail. Dark shoes and pants, tall lambs wool hat with a fold in the middle, he’d always appeared formally dressed, though always wearing the same clothes. Yet she couldn’t remember him ever smelling stale. He’d always carried a clear plastic tote bag decorated with faded pink and yellow flowers. Inside stood a crisp brown paper bag that looked starched and ironed. He’d seemed like such an old man at the time, yet he’d probably been in his forties.

  Theo had halted right in front of the stoop. “Paula with the yellow eyes of Athena’s owl,” he’d address her formally, bending at the waist to bow.

  “How come you know my name?” she’d asked.

  “Ahhh.” He’d dismissed her with a wave of his hand. “I know everybody’s name.” He’d gesture down the block.

  He’d whistle, prompting Fotis, a black and white collie-type dog, to come barreling across Union Turnpike, dodging pedestrians and cars to claim his place at Theo’s side.

  “This is Fotis,” he’d proudly introduced the dog. Fotis had plopped down on Theo’s shoe, ears perked at the sound of his name as if delighted by the introduction.

  “Does he bite?” she’d remembered asking.

  “Who?” The man had looked around comically, pretending not to know who she’d meant. “Him? Oh no, no, no, no,
no.” Theo had shaken his head, seemingly amused by the preposterousness of such a question.

  “Fotis never bites anyone. You can bite him and he wouldn’t bite you back.”

  She’d remembered laughing.

  “Why do you call him Fotis?” She’d remembered the dog’s silky head and his pink scratchy tongue.

  “Every dog is my fos. My beacon,” Theo explained in a quiet voice. “He reminds me to feel.” He touched his chest.

  “How can a dog teach you to feel?” She’d scrunched up her face and laughed but was instantly sorry. Fotis studied her carefully. She hoped she hadn’t hurt his feelings and wondered if it was possible to erase such a thing from the heart of a dog.

  “My little one,” Theo had said. “Everything you ever need is right here.” He’d placed his hand on the buttons of his overcoat. “Just listen.” And with that he’d cupped his large, wrinkly hand around his hairy ear.

  “Wanna see me skate?” she’d ask.

  He’d never decline and would clap as she did, saying, “Bravo, bravo,” even when the wheel would catch in a sidewalk crack and she’d fall. “No, wait,” she’d said, standing up and brushing off her palms. “I can do it better; wait, I’ll show you.”

  The cab pulled up and double-parked across from Animal Control.

  “I’ll be right back.” She flipped him two twenties through the grate and unlatched the door.

  “It’s still running.” He snatched the bills.

  “Good,” she congratulated him.

  But as soon as he glimpsed the Animal Control sign he declared, “Ah shit.”

  She climbed out and slammed the door.

  “You ain’t bringing no animal,” he shouted.

  Paula laughed but didn’t look back as she strode across the street. She threw down what was left of her cigarette, stepping inside and up to the information desk.

  “I’m here about a dog that was brought in earlier this morning by Animal Control,” she explained. “I’d like to claim it; I don’t know what your process is.”

  “Name?”

  “Mine or the dog’s?”

  The attendant’s look said: Are you serious? “Yours.”

  She spelled it.

  “Have a seat.” The woman gave her a somber look, picked up the receiver and spoke quietly, keeping an eye on Paula. She said, “Someone’ll be out with you shortly.”

  After about ten minutes an animal control officer in uniform walked out.

  “Ms. Makaikis?”

  Paula stood.

  The man sat down in a chair and sighed as if he’d not sat all day.

  “Have a seat.” He gestured. “Please. Are you a relative?”

  “Yes,” she said quickly.

  “Immediate family, niece—”

  “Daughter,” the lie slipped right out.

  “The dog bit one of the officers.”

  “Yes, I heard,” she said. “He was protecting the ol—my father.”

  The officer’s brows knitted as if he was trying to decipher just what kind of a nut-job she was. She was dressed conventionally, but sometimes those are the most dangerous.

  “Fotis was scared,” she said.

  She could tell the whole thing sounded sketchy.

  Looking at his nameplate, she said, “Look, Officer Rodriguez,” trying not to sound patronizing. “The dog’s all I have left of my father.” Unexpected tears for which she couldn’t account (and which she couldn’t have faked) choked her up. “I haven’t seen him for a long time.”

  “‘A dog with a bite history can’t be placed,’” he quoted a statute.

  “You’re not ‘placing’ him—I’m claiming him,” Paula insisted.

  “He’s in rough shape.”

  Paula looked at him. “You mean he’s gonna die?”

  “God no,” the officer exhaled with impatience. “He’s probably loaded with intestinal parasites,” he clarified. “Maybe heartworm positive. As it stands, he’s in the euthanasia run. He broke the officer’s skin.”

  “He was scared.” Her voice began to rise. “It was an isolated incident.”

  “We don’t know that.” The man stared at her as if enjoying seeing her squirm a bit but then looked down, as if disappointed to admit, “He does have a valid rabies tag—we just ran a check on it with the vet.”

  “Is that other stuff treatable?”

  The officer looked at her. It was some time before he nodded. His eyes were as black and impenetrable as Eleni’s.

  “Look, I’ll take care of everything,” Paula said. “I’ll sign a waiver or whatever you want, something to absolve you of all responsibility.” The words flew out of her mouth; their urgency surprised her, as if they were someone else’s promises. She hadn’t yet thought about what she’d do with the dog.

  The officer looked her up and down.

  “We haven’t processed him yet.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means he’s not in our system.”

  “Oh, so can I just take him then? You know, off the books.”

  He gave her a sour look and shifted in his seat.

  “Hey—I’ll pay all fees.”

  “How did your ‘father,’” he said skeptically, “end up so rough?” It was an accusation.

  She looked down into her lap.

  “You know the dog’s name?” he asked.

  “Fotis.”

  The officer nodded reluctantly, almost disappointed she’d passed the test. He stood and moved toward the reception desk. Paula followed.

  “I’ll go talk with my supervisor,” he said, staring at her. “Have a seat.”

  She sat down again, wondering what the hell she’d do with a dog anyway. Maybe Celeste and Tony would take him; they loved animals. Someone would take him. People talked in the office about wanting to adopt an animal from a shelter.

  She picked up a magazine from a side table. Dog Fancy. Too fidgety to read, she paged through it. Ads about fluid that cleaned ear canals, dog crates, no-bark collars—a whole world she’d not been aware of. After a while, the officer walked back out with a uniformed female officer.

  “So I understand you’re the man’s daughter?” The female officer looked Paula up and down.

  She nodded.

  The woman sighed as if not quite sure. After a brief pause she looked down at Paula’s red toenails as if that were the deciding factor.

  “All right,” the officer said.

  Paula relaxed.

  “It’s like this.” The officer tucked a clipboard under her arm and began, “The dog’s in okay shape, friendly but reserved. He’s a really big boy. Seventy-five pounds. He’s thin but nothing some good food won’t cure,” the woman instructed.

  “He’s about three or four. Neutered; the rabies tag checked out; vet says he’s up to date on all his shots. As down on his luck that your father was”—she looked at Paula sideways—“he did right by his dog.”

  Paula looked at her.

  “He’s in bad need of a bath. I don’t know what’s up with the teeth; they’re huge. We don’t see teeth like this on a domestic dog. From a cross somewhere, it happens. His size, his undercoat, the teeth.”

  “What does that mean?” She’d assumed he was a mutt.

  The woman continued. “They’re pristine, though, not one spot of tartar. He’s got matted sections on his shoulders, hips, in desperate need of a good grooming. His double coat might have already shed. Vet claims he was heartworm tested this spring and on meds; get him in next week to get more pills. Probably give him a general wormer, too. You never know what he’s been eating.”

  “Can I get the vet’s phone number from you?” Paula figured she’d pass it on to Celeste.

  “Not a problem. Like I said, I’ll jot it down on the release form. Might be helpful to get the dog’s complete history.”

  “I’ll get him in first thing.”

  “There’s a twenty-four-hour clinic just off Queens Boulevard in Forest Hills. I’ll give you their n
umber; you might want to go with that.”

  Celeste had cats and a neurotic dog who couldn’t stop humping his bed. She and Tony could bring Fotis to their vet.

  Paula nodded again, though she felt overwhelmed. Second thoughts jabbed at her. Where would she take the dog? She’d call Celeste. Maybe they could keep him. Maybe they’d want him. Guillermo had talked about getting a dog. She could put up notices at NYU; the boards were always littered with pictures of puppies. It had been a long time since she’d made such a bold move, since she’d made any move at all.

  “He does answer to his name,” the officer explained, “but no commands—like ‘sit,’ ‘stay,’ ‘down’—nothing else. We just fed him.” The woman looked at Paula in a meaningful way.

  Paula nodded vigorously, though the significance was lost on her. “Okay,” she said.

  The officer placed a clipboard on the counter and “x-ed” all the places Paula needed to initial.

  “I just need to see a picture ID.”

  Paula reached to get her wallet. Shit. Her license was back at the hospital with Obama’s buddy. Paula felt for the temporary hospital ID and slipped the string over her head and tucked the badge into her purse, making a mental note to go back to get her license.

  “Is my NYU faculty ID okay?”

  The woman nodded and extended her hand. “This’ll open space,” the officer sighed. “Thirty dogs are on their way from a busted fight ring in Brooklyn.” The officer wiped her brow.

  “We’d appreciate a small donation if possible,” the officer said.

  “Of course.”

  The woman looked over her glasses at Paula. “She’ll take it.” The officer motioned to the receptionist.

  Paula stepped up and produced her wallet.

  “Thanks,” the officer said. “I’ll bring your dog right out.”

  She checked the last donation box, “other” with a blank line, and wrote in “One thousand dollars,” handing over her bank card. Money had become a strange thing since she married Roger. All her life Paula had struggled to get by, often having to swipe rolls of toilet paper out of the ladies’ room at school. Now she had no idea how much money she had. Every month the money fairy at NYU deposited her professor’s salary into her old money-market checking account. After she paid off her student loans, which hadn’t taken long after she and Roger were married, her salary had piled up for more than a decade. She’d had no expenses, other than replacement blouses, sweaters, since she wore almost the same thing every day, and, of course, antique jewelry. Since the bank had gone online, they no longer sent out paper statements. She’d never bothered to find her online account.