As usual, her dog Ed is just lying by the fireplace as Edith calls him for their afternoon walk. His eyes follow her around the room, but he doesn't have the desire to lift his head as she snaps on the leash. She literally has to drag him out the door. Ed is getting old.
His leash taunt, his spirits low, Ed's belly almost scraps the ground as Edith turns right out of her driveway and walks down East Street towards the center of town. Summer has formally vanquished the last remnants of spring with its dry heat. The sun has baked the morning clouds into blue.
"That's the problem with living here," she tells Ed for the hundredth time. "It's hot during the day and cold at night. It rains one minute and it's clear the next. You never know if you need a parka or a poncho." Ed, a considerable distance behind her and having a difficult time catching up, does not respond. He has heard all of this before.
At the end of the street, she turns right onto Denver Avenue and then right again on Islington Street, pacing a trail with which she and Ed are well versed. A digital clock-thermometer hangs over the sidewalk at the end of the street much like a floating tombstone. Its epitaph, displayed under the bold "Farmer's & Merchant's Bank" logo, reads: "1:57 p.m. 92°F."
"Damn hot," Edith remarks. Ed ignores her and scampers along.
Outside the Islington Street Cafe on a small wire chair, Freddie Mackelbury sits reading his newspaper and sipping his hazelnut cappuccino. "Edith," he calls, just in earshot. "Is that you? I haven't see you in ages. How are you doing?" He inclines to stand, but Edith beckons him to stay put.
"Just passing by, Freddie," she says quickly. "No time to talk." She tugs on Ed's leash, hurrying him along. Ed does not like strangers, and Edith knows this. His incident with Albert McPhearlson five years ago has taught most of the community to give him a wide berth. Albert has the scars to prove it, but nobody ever had the chutzpah to ask Edith to do anything about old Ed.
"How's Ed doing, Edith?" Freddie asks, watching the dog with careful fascination.
"Just fine," she says. Freddie is wearing plaid slacks and a light cardigan sweater, strangely unseasonable attire for such a hot afternoon. "Are you feeling all right, Freddie?" she asks.
"Oh, I'm fine" Freddie says, settling back in his chair, obviously deciding that Ed wasn't worth his interest.
Ed bares his teeth in Freddie's direction, so Edith gives him a tug. "What's the word for the day, Freddie?"
Known for his love of language, renowned for his knowledge of vocabulary, Freddie Mackelbury examines her carefully for a maladroit second, then glances at his paper, searching for the word-of-the-day under the editorial cartoon and says, "Quondam."
"Quondam," she repeats.
"Means, that which formally was."
"Good to know." Edith smiles at him and marches off with Ed in tow.
They pass the Farmer's and Merchant's Bank and turn left on Seafarers Lane. Edith glances back at the bank clock. It now reads: "15:46 - 22°C." She nudges Ed across the street towards the sidewalk on the other side of the intersection where Mrs. Myrtle Beadlebung is exiting the Crumbley Hardware and Supply. She raises her arm to flag Myrtle's attention and is about to call out a greeting when the leash pulls up tight.
She looks back half expecting to find Ed locked in a vicious determination towards Freddie Mackelbury's garters and sees, instead, that Ed has paused to investigate the gutter. A iron grill covers the drain in the curb and Ed seems to have stretched his front right paw deep down inside to reach for something.
"Edith?" Myrtle calls out. "Edith, is that you?"
"Hello, Myrtle," Edith says, snapping her fingers at Ed and giving his leash a jerk, but to no avail: Ed does not budge. She gives it another pull, harder this time, and turns back to Myrtle. "You look well," she says, politely trying to position her body between the older woman and her less-than-obedient dog.
"Edith, I'm surprised to see you here," Myrtle says, stepping closer. "How are you feeling?"
"Quondam," Edith replies absently, finding herself quite unable to move Ed, who is obstinate about his sewer drain investigations. She pulls on his leash with both hands and achieves some slip in the tension though not nearly enough to progress more than an inch forward. He is showing remarkable determination for such an old dog.
"What?" Myrtle asks.
"Nothing. Just taking Ed for a walk," Edith says, smiling innocently while pulling cruelly on Ed who knows that he deserves any amount of punishment for embarrassing her in front of her friend.
Myrtle draws a short inhale, the small snort of somebody about to sneeze who suddenly finds herself without the need.
"See you around, Myrtle," Edith says quickly before the older woman can comment on her dog's stubbornness and, giving a final, triumphant wrench on Ed's leash, frees him from his investigations. Ed elicits a peculiar sound reminiscent of a baby's belch and reluctantly allows himself to be pulled onward, though somewhat askew, turning to watch whatever it was he left behind in the gutter.
Myrtle tightens her coat around her waist, returns to the "Exit" door of the Crumbley Hardware and Supply and tries to get back in.
Edith and Ed stroll down Seafarers Lane and take a right on Drake Street to her favorite park. They enter unannounced, unnoticed, through the tall open gates and proceed down the long asphalt trail past rows of white plaques and statues that cross-hatch the grounds. They pass a somber couple, young lovers, presumably, out for a walk. Edith notices that the man has his hand around the girl's shoulders and she has nestled her head into the lapels of his coat. The sky darkens as the sun passes behind a cloud.
A squirrel runs in front of them holding a cracked shell in his mouth, stirring up a cluster of leaves on the ground, and Edith immediately tenses, waiting for Ed to jump in the squirrel's direction. Ed, however, is still brooding over the loss of his treasure in the gutter and either does not notice or does not care. Whistling a breath of relief, Edith paces forward and drags the brooding Ed along down the path, exiting the park from the opposite end.
They cross Elderberry Drive, walk briefly down Addler Street and jog over to Dawson Lane, effectively circumventing the bustling downtown area and arriving on the quieter, opposite end. Edith passes a church on the left and a coffee shop on the right. She is remarking to Ed how nice it must be to have a coffee and a Danish before Sunday mass when the red door to the church opens and a man in a suit steps out. He quickly descends the steps and crosses briskly in her direction.
She pauses to wait for him and hisses to Ed under her breath, "Look, Ed. It's Father Calvin. You be nice to him, now."
The priest reaches her, panting, and says, "Edith, what's wrong?"
"Nothing at all," she replies, watching Ed carefully. "How are you today Father?"
A woman and a child emerge from the church. Father Calvin turns around. "Just stay there, Jeanie," he calls.
Edith glances at the woman who is staring back at her.
"Edith, how are you feeling?" Father Calvin says. He takes her gingerly by the elbow and leads her to a nearby bench to sit.
"I'm fine, Father. Just taking Ed for his walk," she says.
"Ed? How is Ed today?" Father Calvin asks her, staring at the taciturn dog.
Edith turns to look. Ed resting on his side, stretched out on the ground, biding his time. At the first sign that Edith has let down her guard, he will bolt, she knows. At the moment, however, he seems content to merely lay in a small pile of dead leaves, a comfortable bed. "Old Ed is fine, too, Father. What brings you out today?"
"We were just having services," he replies. "Won't you join us?"
"Yes," Edith says. "Nice weather we're having, isn't it? But you must be burning up." She points to his suit and overcoat. Father Calvin shivers and draws his lapels up.
The boy and his mother have crossed the street and are approaching. The woman calls out, "Edith!"
Edith smiles and waves. "Hello," she says.
Father Calvin holds her other hand firmly. "Edith, how do you feel?"
"I said I feel just fine, Father," she says, smartly. "Stop making such a fuss."
The boy reaches her first. "Hello," he says, peering at her closely.
Edith reaches out and tousles his hair. "What a charming young man. What's your name?"
"My name is Edward," the boy says. He tugs nervously at his dark suit.
Edith frowns. "Edward?"
The woman sits down and puts one hand on Edith's shoulder. She has been crying. "Edith, we were so worried. Is everything okay?" she asks.
"Worried?"
The sun lowers in the sky and dips below the horizon, dropping the temperature several more degrees. Edith shivers. Father Calvin takes off his coat and drapes it around her shoulders.
She looks at the boy. "Ed?" she asks him.
The boy walks over to the dog lying still on the ground and kneels beside him. Edith has long since dropped the leash
"There's something wrong with Rusty," he says.
Edith turns to the dog. "Edward?"
The boy looks up. "What's wrong with him?"
"Ed?"
"Yes?"
The boy turns back to the dog, rolls him over, and immediately jumps back. The dog's right front leg has been ripped completely off; the other three stretch up into the air at odd angles. The sun, which has disappeared, seems to have taken the leaves on the trees with it. Bare branches stretch upwards much in the same manner as Ed's three legs. The gray sky darkens as Edith stares first at the empty street then back at her lifeless dog. A yellow sodium lamp flickers on above then and illuminates the first flakes of snow falling on the silent dog who does not notice and does not care.
No comments:
Post a Comment