My dog
was barking a sort of yippy bark, instead of her usual baying howl. I finally
figured out she was actually barking at something in the spare bedroom. Under the bed. No. Behind
the nightstand, or behind the bedhead.
I saw it now. Maybe the knotted cloth end of a dog toy. No, a tail and a rump. Not moving. A pigeon. Not an exotic Egyptian bird, just a regular old charcoal-gray pigeon, which is Egyptian because there are plenty of them around here.
I saw it now. Maybe the knotted cloth end of a dog toy. No, a tail and a rump. Not moving. A pigeon. Not an exotic Egyptian bird, just a regular old charcoal-gray pigeon, which is Egyptian because there are plenty of them around here.
The
French doors from the bedroom to the tiny balcony were open. So I closed the
other bedroom door, with me and the dog on the other side of it. And opened it
again to put a dish of water on the floor, next to the balcony door. I figured
that might have been why the bird came in to begin with—to find water. And I
shut myself and the dog back out of the room.
I took
the dog out for a walk, past the large municipal garbage containers around the
corner. There was a boy, maybe about 12 years old, sitting motionless on the edge of a garbage
container. His donkey cart was standing nearby, ready for recyclables to be
loaded on. The boy wasn’t sifting through the garbage for bottles and cans,
though. He was just sitting there, gazing emptily into space. Well, he’d
probably earned a break. Working since dawn, I guess.
But I
think there was something else in that nothing look. I’ve seen it before, in
boys between age 10 and 20. I don’t think I imagine it. The feeling, more of a
longing, a remote dream, that there must be something more. A lad with brains
sorting through garbage or sweeping stairways, going through the same motions,
day after day, with the nagging thought that there must be something better, if
only he could find it, if only he could find the means to grab it.
I went on
to the greengrocer’s. On the way back, I saw the recycling boy covering the
goods so they wouldn’t fall off the cart, getting ready to go on to the next
garbage container. I stopped to pet the boy’s donkey. Well-fed enough, with
generous cushioning under the parts of the harness that might chafe. I said to
him, “Humar mabsuT”—happy donkey. It’s the only Arabic I have to say that the
animal is well-cared-for. Then my dog got nose to nose with the donkey, as she
often does. Just making friends. The boy was afraid that the dog might bite.
And then he warned me of a car coming. Nothing, really. Just communication
skills, people skills....
I think
the pigeon’s gone, now that the dog and I are back from our walk. The dog’s
tranquil. I guess that’s the big clue.
Well, that’s enough for one day. And all before 10 a.m.
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