Conversations with Saint Bernard

by Jim Kraus

  The three of them sat at the small table and ate their way through most of what Tess had purchased.

  “No decent Italian bakeries in Phoenix. Actually, other than supermarkets, no bakeries at all.”

  “Too hot,” George said. “People don’t eat donuts when it’s 110 degrees outside.”

  Tess smiled and patted her father’s hand. “I know you think we moved to the first circle of hell—in Phoenix. But it’s not too bad.”

  Gary cleared his throat. He had not spoken much since he arrived. He never spoke a lot. Some people claim women marry an image of their father. Tess might have made the claim ring truer. Both men were taciturn . . . closer to being phlegmatic, if the truth be told.

  “There’s a computer store over by the mall, isn’t there?”

  George shrugged.

  “Don’t know. Don’t shop there.”

  Tess patted her father’s hand.

  “We know you don’t, Dad. You would use smoke signals if you still could. And yes, Gary. Just north of the mall. There’s a store called Tiny Planet Computers, I think. They make their own.”

  “You mind?” he asked, his eyes alive and a smile on his face.

  “Go. Have a good time.”

  As he got up to go, George stopped him.

  “If they have any brochures on some of those new tablet gizmos, pick them up, would you?”

  “Brochures?” Gary looked confused. Tess appeared shocked.

  “Dad, no one gives out brochures for computers. It’s all online,” Tess said and noticed her father’s obvious disappointment. She turned to her husband. “But check anyhow, Gary. Maybe out here . . .”

  Gary shrugged.

  “Will do,” he said, picking up the keys to the rental car and slip-ping out.

  They both watched him leave.

  George turned to his daughter.

  “They don’t have brochures?”

  His daughter waited a moment, smiled broadly, and hugged her father for the longest time, neither of them saying a word. They didn’t need to.

  * * *

  Tess gathered up the cups and wiped the crumbs from the table into the empty paper bag. George washed the cups as she did so. In a moment, the kitchen was clean and back to tidy and neat.

  Tess watched her father methodically dry each cup. He had used the good ones this morning. She knew he would have normally used the Cutter Appliance cup but instead used a thinner, more elegant cup. Those cups were reserved for company.

  Tess was sure they had not been used more than five times in the last decade.

  “You still going to church, Dad?”

  George shrugged.

  “Sometimes.”

  Tess almost scowled.

  “Dad, don’t lie. You told me to always tell the truth.”

  George nodded.

  “I guess I did. And no, I don’t go often these days.”

  “Why not? Mom loved going to church.”

  “She did.”

  “Doesn’t your faith help? When you get lonely?”

  George did not look at his daughter, but instead out the large window in the living area of the apartment. If you had a pair of binoculars, you might see a sliver of the ocean between the buildings to the east.

  “Did it help your mother live? Going to church? Praying? Didn’t seem to make a difference.”

  Tess folded her arms over her chest. It appeared she wanted to go to her father and perhaps put an arm around his shoulder, but she did not.

  “But she was positive and joyful to the end. She had peace. It was because of God.”

  George shrugged. “If you say so.”

  “I do. God was in this, Dad. He was.”

  He waited to reply and then spoke in a soft voice, almost a whisper.

  “If you say so.”

  She may have had peace, but I didn’t. And still don’t.

  * * *

  Tess put the half-and-half back in the refrigerator. Everything in there, and it was not much, was set most precisely: the milk jug at right angles, the eggs in the small nesting tray on the door, the ketchup, the mustard, the olives, all equidistant from one another and apparently deliberately placed.

  That’s my father, Tess thought with some degree of fondness, but with an equal amount of exasperation as well. Always careful. Always thorough.

  “So, Dad, tell me about your grand tour of America. You’ll have to show us the RV when Gary gets back.”

  George spread out a table-size map of the United States. He had carefully drawn a yellow line along his intended route—with a yellow highlighter.

  “If I have to change the plan, I’ll use a pink highlighter. And if it goes to a third routing, I’ll switch to green.”

  Tess simply smiled.

  “Always careful and methodical, aren’t you, Dad?”

  George appeared to be puzzled.

  “It’s just normal planning, Tess. Everyone should do it this way.”

  He began to trace the route.

  “The circles are stops, so far. I may add a few more. After all, I’m planning on this lasting a full year. So I have the luxury of seeing some things off the beaten path.”

  “Like?”

  “Well . . . see down here?” George pointed to an area south and east of Pittsburgh.

  “It’s where Falling Water is. The Frank Lloyd Wright house. The one he built over a stream for the Kaufman family. Big department store moguls at one time. The family still uses it occasionally, from what I’ve read.”

  “I think they do. And I’ve seen pictures, Dad.”

  “I don’t think Wright was a particularly good engineer—but I would like to see it. See how a bad engineer builds a house. It’s sort of off the beaten path a little bit and will take at least a full day to get there and back from Pittsburgh. But I have the time, so it’s okay.”

  “And this yellow line will take you a full year?”

  “Sure. See the big yellow circle around Pittsburgh? Did you know Pittsburgh has more bridges than Venice? I always wanted to design a bridge. But it never happened. I can spend three or four days looking at them and studying them. It will be fun.”

  Tess put her arm around his shoulder and hugged him.

  “Dad, you and I have difference definitions of the word fun.”

  George looked hurt—for a moment—then smiled back at his daughter.

  “I know.”

  He stared at the map.

  “Your mother wouldn’t like spending four days looking at bridges, either.”

  Tess hugged him again.

  “I know,” she said. “It is sad she never got to travel like you two wanted to.”

  It was obvious George did not enjoy speaking of his wife. His face tightened, and he looked away from his daughter.

  “It would be nice to have someone to go with you on this trip.”

  George shook his head and shuddered.

  “You mean, like some sort of old-age traveling companion? A senior for a senior? No. I’ve thought about it. I’m sure I could find someone who wouldn’t mind a free trip. But no. I couldn’t. Too much complaining. Too many ‘Why are we stopping here?’ questions. And you know, Tess, I am not the easiest person to get along with.”

  Tess stood back and had a look of mock surprise on her face.

  “No! You? It’s simply not true,” she exclaimed, laughing.

  “It is true,” he replied. “And the RV I bought is a one-person unit. Or perhaps two small people.”

  “Well, still, it would be nice for you to have a companion on this trip. One who wouldn’t complain.”

  He shrugged.

  “Good luck on finding someone. And who would be crazy enough to want to live in a small RV for a year?”

  Sighing, Tess said, “You’re probably right, Dad. But maybe. Things have a way of working out, you know?”

  “Not likely.”

  “God has a way of surprising us, Dad.”

  George sort of huffed in response.

/>   “I don’t think I want any more divine surprises, if you don’t mind, okay?”

  * * *

  Tess went for a walk after breakfast and their talk. Her father sat at the small desk in a corner of the living area.

  “Bills,” he said.

  She took it as his desire to be alone. Too many people, even family, for too long a time, even a couple of hours—well, it would be stressful.

  And he’s getting used to being alone. We’re making him a little nervous. Asking questions. He’s not used to it.

  She walked, without having a destination in mind.

  He seems to be shrinking. He seems to be getting bitter. He seems to be folding in on himself, like the rest of the world doesn’t matter anymore.

  She turned a corner and caught the distinct, acrid scent of saltwater and fish.

  How I miss the smell. All I get in Phoenix is sand. And sand doesn’t smell at all. And hot doesn’t smell either.

  She stood and refused to let any tears form.

  But what can I do to save him from where he’s going? I guess I need to pray that he finds a way to see the truth. Somehow.

  15

  Trudy had not paid attention to where she was walking. She started off heading in the direction of downtown Gloucester, but paid scant consideration to her route or ultimate destination. Lewis happily walked along side, sniffing, snorting, and staring up after the occasional squirrel.

  Lewis loved walks, the longer the better, apparently.

  Trudy simply needed time outside to think.

  Alex and his father left earlier in the day to go to the Salem Witch Museum. Trudy thought the whole idea of witches and heretics being burned at the stake was most upsetting, but Alex had pestered them both for nearly a year to visit. Lyle had relented. Trudy had not.

  Instead of sitting inside and worrying about what was going to happen and what fate would require her to do, Trudy decided to walk instead—and worry outside and wonder what fate would have her do. At least she would be in the sunshine while she worried.

  “What am I going to do, Lewis? What if the doctor says Alex is allergic to dog hair?” Trudy was pretty certain that Lewis did not really understand what she was saying, nor did he grasp what was going on—but she thought that Lewis was more subdued these last few days, more pensive, more deliberate. Maybe he didn’t understand. But maybe he did. Trudy was never sure. She knew that dogs don’t understand English, but she knew that Stewart understood emotions—better than any human she had ever met.

  * * *

  The pills had helped Alex. His cough had improved—not completely gone, but it was better. His lungs sounded clearer—not totally clear, but better. Trudy imagined with the right medication, perhaps Alex and Lewis could coexist.

  “It’s all because of the Internet,” Trudy added. “I hate it sometimes. So I find out medication for allergies can affect Alex’s condition. There’s a higher risk of complications, Lewis. They’re not ‘indicated for prolonged use.’ ”

  Lewis looked up at Trudy with those eyes of his and snorted.

  “I know, but it’s true, Lewis. If Alex has to stay on medication, it could hurt his heart.”

  Lewis listened to Trudy, then shook his head and resumed sniffing at the sidewalk.

  They walked for nearly a half hour. Trudy looked around to gain her bearings.

  “Oh . . . we’ve gone this far?”

  They stood beside a small park midway between their house and downtown. The park may have had a name, but Trudy did not know it, even though she passed the park hundreds of times over the last few years. A small cement path led to a cluster of benches.

  “Lewis, time for a break, okay?”

  Lewis happily followed her to the bench and sat down on the grass next to the bench with a happy “wuff.” He tilted his head back and breathed in deeply. The thick scent of salt water and fish was stronger now, and Lewis, after a few full sniffs, sneezed mightily. He looked back at Trudy with a lopsided, jowly smile.

  After five minutes of sitting, Trudy took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She unclenched her hands. She didn’t realize she had made fists with them until she opened her eyes and looked at her hands. She took another cleansing breath.

  “So what are we going to do, Lewis? I can’t turn the clock back. I can’t make Alex forget about you.”

  Trudy had been sure, since the day in the hospital, Lewis was the cause of Alex’s distress. After a full day of Internet research, she became more positive. Everything pointed to an allergy to dog hair. Allergies took a while, especially in children, to make themselves manifest. A year, a little more, was all it took for Alex to start showing symptoms. Severe symptoms. Not just a runny nose and itchy eyes. His CAT scan was normal, but the intern did say to make the appointment with the allergy doctor as soon as they could get in to see him. And the symptoms would get worse, Trudy was sure.

  Why did I ever say yes to getting a dog? This is going to be so hard. Alex won’t ever forgive us if Lewis has to go. I know he won’t.

  Lewis shambled to his feet, as if Trudy had been talking aloud to him—which she had not done. He blinked in the bright sunshine. Then he sneezed.

  Maybe they’re allergic to each other.

  Trudy tried to keep the tears away.

  Wouldn’t this be rich? Just what I needed. Not only do I feel guilty for Alex’s illnesses, but now I’m going to be responsible for taking away his best friend.

  She closed her eyes, more tightly.

  She felt the bulk of Lewis edge toward her, his large head nudging against her thigh. He could tell she was upset, and Trudy was sure he was trying to make things better.

  “You can’t, Lewis. Not this time. This isn’t going to get any better. It’s just going to get bad and then horrible.”

  Lewis was not deterred. He placed his large front paws on the bench and edged closer to Trudy. She had no alternative except to take his head in her hands and stare into his wide, innocent eyes.

  “I know you don’t want anything bad to happen to Alex. I know you love him, Lewis. But what am I supposed to do? Something has to happen. And no matter what it is, it will be horribly painful.”

  Lewis shut his eyes and laid his head on Trudy’s lap. He did not look comfortable at all, sort of bent and twisted in a non-St. Bernardian fashion, but it was all he could do at the moment to get as close to Alex’s mother as possible, short of wrestling up onto the bench itself and climbing into her lap.

  She bent to him and held him around his large, muscular shoulders and allowed herself a moment to weep silently.

  * * *

  Tess had forgotten how wonderful Saturday mornings could be in her hometown. Not hot, a breeze coming in off the ocean, people outside, actually walking on the sidewalk, no one sweating or coming close to sunstroke or heat prostration. She wondered why she wanted to leave Gloucester so badly after college.

  Get away from the known and familiar, I guess. Strike out in a new direction. Totally separate from your parents.

  Up ahead was a small park, trees, shrubs, a small fountain in the center, and a cluster of benches. Tess thought it would be wonderful way to spend an hour or two, watching people pass by, thinking about the past.

  When she reached the corner is when she saw Lewis—although, at the time, she did not know his name. The large dog appeared to be unlimbering from half-lying on the bench, the woman with him, helping him navigate down.

  She doesn’t look happy.

  Tess’s mother had the gift—to know when people needed a kind word or a hug or a simple, cheery hello. Tess always thought she took more after her father, reserved, quiet, analytical, rather than a person who got involved with others and who intuitively understood their emotional needs.

  Mom did. I don’t think I do. Or at least I never used to think I did.

  But after her mother died, Tess felt a difference, as if she needed to carry on the family tradition of empathy, as if the specific trait, the gift, had been somehow
passed down from mother to daughter, in those precious few weeks when Tess was at her bedside every waking moment.

  Maybe something happened to us both. I guess I’m the only one left in the family to keep the tradition alive—and actually care for people. And pray for people. I don’t think my father will be doing any serious praying anymore.

  Less than a half block away, Tess saw the dog look up and in her direction, as if he was expecting her to come.

  My mother often said to help people in need, to pray for them, is the highest calling.

  She smiled to herself.

  And dad? Well, he said the most important thing in life was to keep an organized house—and change the oil in the car every two thousand miles.

  Lewis watched carefully as Tess approached.

  “What a big dog,” she said as she came close.

  Trudy sniffed. “Although, the experts say for a St. Bernard, he’s on the small side.”

  “Wow,” Tess replied. “But he’s beautiful.”

  Lewis began to rock from side to side, an expression of impending joy, Tess imagined. The dog offered his best lopsided, jowly grin.

  “Can I pet him?”

  Trudy offered a short, controlled laugh.

  “He would be offended if you didn’t. His name is Lewis.”

  Tess bent to her knee, and Lewis came up to her, gentle as an old, tired bear, and stopped a foot away. She could pet him, but Tess was sure he stopped because he did not want to intimidate her by drawing too close, too soon.

  Tess stroked his head. Lewis closed his eyes in pleasure. Then she scratched behind his ears, and he looked at her, those deep, deep eyes, as he took tiny dog steps closer to her.

  I know my mother would have stopped here today. She would have noticed one of these two needed to talk.

  Tess looked up to Trudy. She saw a slight tremble in the woman’s lower lip.

  It’s a beautiful day. I need to listen.

  She smiled at Trudy, offering the most inviting, welcoming, beatific smile she could muster.

  I wonder which one needs to talk the most?

  16

  Alex could barely sit still on the way home from the witch museum. While the displays were not overly graphic with flesh and bones being burned at the stake and the rest of the lurid historical details, it was enough to inflame Alex’s taste for the macabre.