—You the puppy man, says Isaac. You musn’t hurt that dog.
—I’m the puppy man, says Puppyman. Is what I am. Is true. He turns and takes a long step, swings his leg like a soccer player: a grunt with the meatbone thud, the puppy only huffs one tiny squeak. It arcs high, drops onto the rubbish and rolls, flops, lies still and strewn as a rag. Puppyman lifts the bottle, wipes his mouth and talks low to himself.
Isaac feels sick right through.
—All you little buggers go piss off, says Puppyman. Is my stock, I does what I want with my own stock. Isaac stares at the box behind Puppyman. Another one moving in there, a bigger one. Puppyman mutters and turns to it. He is so tall and the muscles in his shoulders stand out like they carved in wood and the elbows look pointy as spears, the forearms wrapped in veins like snakes.
Isaac lifts his arms. Behind him Nixie says,—We better go hey. He drinking meths, that.
Skots: —He big and mad.
Charlie: —He’s cooked in the head. He gone moochoo.
Nixie: —Lez go tell someone.
—Izey? Hey Izey, no man. Izey!
But Isaac is already moving.
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About the Author
Kenneth Bonert’s first novel, The Lion Seeker, won the National Jewish Book Award, the Edward Lewis Wallant Award, and the Canadian Jewish Book Award. Bonert was also a finalist for the Sami Rohr Prize and the Governor General’s Literary Award. He was born in South Africa and now lives in Toronto, Ontario.
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The Mandela Plot Page 46