Paradise Dogs

David Lovell
When Madam delivered the dogs Rico was not happy. I was not so happy either, but we did nothing. What could we do? It was our job to look after the house and the garden, and her garage was our home. We paid no rent. There were no bills. We could not complain. Not if we wanted to keep our beds and not if we wanted to keep our wage, though it was small enough. And our work was not so difficult. Madam never came and there were no tenants and no guests, so it was not hard. Not until the dogs came, that is. Some men arrived with a truck and placed two cages on bricks over the lawn, one big and one small, and a pack of dogs stared at us from behind the bars. I stared back. Rico signed a piece of paper and the men got back in the truck, laughing and smoking and pressing the horn as they drove off. The dogs were a birthday present for Madams daughter, Liana, who was in Australi. I had never seen Liana, though I heard she was beautiful and clever. I had not seen her in the two years we had lived in Executif Paradiso. But Madam had told me Liana loved puppy dogs more than anything. Lianas present watched me patiently, heads tilted to one side, like they were expecting something to happen. I tilted my head and all four dogs raised their ears and blinked. I wondered if they had asked a question and were waiting my answer. I have no objection to dogs. Rico and I are Kristan and there is no problem for us with a dogs wet nose, but still I did not know how to look after a dog. I did not know where to begin. There was a note pasted on one of several big bags that came with the dogs; Give dogs water with biscuits and let dogs out to make toilet two times a day. Madams family are Hindu, so a dog is no problem for them either. The dogs, silent in their cages, sat on their haunches on the mesh. There were four dogs; a thin black dog with yellow eyebrows and shiny fur, and a big black dog with a white stripe on his chest, and two brown dogs with squashed faces. I walked around the cages and they followed me, four dog faces with questioning eyes. I smiled and said hello, but the dogs kept asking things with their silence. Why do we have to leave dog food in our home? demanded Rico, kicking the bags stacked against the day-bed in the garage. I took the bowls and filled one with water and put some oily biscuits from a sack into the other. I opened the cage with the brown dogs, who looked more friendly with their soft manes, and put in the bowls. The dogs backed up against the back of the cage and I closed the door. One dog knocked over the biscuits through the wire onto the grass. The other dog got his paw stuck and tipped the water and soaked the biscuits. These are stupid dogs, said Rico with a shrug and he went back to the bed and snapped on the radio. I knew he would not help in our new task. That night the big black dog howled. He howled so sad I thought his heart might spill from his throat and he would die. I did not know what to do. I went into the garden in my gown to beg him to be quiet and I realised the dogs did not have names, or if they did, I did not know them. This might cause me a problem if I started to call them wrong names, or Liana wanted them called differently. Please, dog, be quiet, I said. But the dog would not. He raised his throat and bared his white chest at the moon, and he howled. The next morning I opened the cages as Rico pretended to sweep the garage. The dogs tumbled out and the big one jumped at me and I clapped my hands and called him nakal, a naughty dog, but he would not stop. He kept leaping and his tail spun like a whisk. The thin black dog pawed the ground and leapt like he was catching moths. One dog made his toilet and another jumped in it and the first sniffed his foot in disgust and both ran around the swimming pool leaving a trail of mess they would

not clean. Then a brown dog trod in the same spread and he too went around the pool. I said these dogs were stupid, said Rico from the safety of the garage. His shrug made it clear I should do the cleaning, though the garden is his task. Rico shrugs and responsibility slides easily from his shoulders, like rain water slips to the drain, but it is I who must pick up his duty, wriggling where he left it. If he ever notices, he does not care. Rico expects. So I shrug too and do what is expected of me. Sometimes I curse myself. I shrugged once more and pulled a Rico face with rolling eyes and puffed cheeks and I asked the dogs to go back in the cages, but they would not. I asked again, but they ignored me and sniffed at each other or chewed the plants. So I put down a bowl and made a line of food and the dogs followed the trail, snatching at biscuits in a scramble, as if they were in a race. They pushed and clawed their way into the cages and I sealed the doors with a peg. The brown dogs yapped crossly and the black dogs fought and I noticed that they had left their tinja at the bottom of their cage, and some had fallen through to mix with the biscuits. We shall have rats soon, I said. The dogs did indeed seem stupid. After lunch of rice with crushed chilli, which I had brewed in Madams steam cooker in her kitchen without permission, a van came to the house. Groovy Pups was drawn on the side in yellow bubbles. The driver had a small basket with a handle and he rattled the gate. House M6, Executif Paradiso? he asked, although he must have known this. I have come to collect a dog for tail and ear cutting. Why do you want to cut a dogs tail and ear? I asked him back. Certain dogs should have ears that stick up and no tails. Madam had said nothing about cutting the dogs. You can have the tail back if you are worried, said the man, and he smiled like a boy and his lips were full and his teeth strong. I looked at Rico and Rico shrugged, his face dark and his lips thin and eyes turned to the sky. So I let the man in. His lips were full, his eyes were bright and his hair was swept back over his ears. I showed him the dogs in their cages. They all looked at him curiously, their heads to one side, their tails swaying. The man opened the cage with the black dogs and their tails stopped and clung tight between their legs and their ears went back, close to their heads. They sank into the shadows, pressed their backs against the wire and the thin one whimpered, as if he knew something the other dogs did not. The man reached right in and the pillows of his backside filled the cage door. After a quick struggle he dragged the thin dog out as the big dog, who was filled with courage for his friend, growled and tried to bite the mans nose. The man said something I did not understand and, with his free hand, smacked the big dog aside and clipped the cage shut again. The thin dog wriggled and tried to break free and his eyes rolled white in his head and his jaws, with teeth like bone-white knives, snapped the air as the man clutched the folds of skin on the dogs neck and held him tight around the belly. He held the dog out like a weapon, teeth bared, lips taut over pink gums, and he grinned and forced the dog head-first into the basket. The dog looked at me through the rattan grille, asking that sad question to which I had no answer. The man winked and tapped my arm. I know how to control a beast, he said, and his teeth blossomed from his lips. I am worried, I said to Rico, who had stirred himself to prune the bamboo. If the Dog Man does not bring the dog back, we will lose our jobs. We will lose our jobs, if you dont clean the shit around the pool, he replied, waving his clippers at the smudges being sucked at by orange-eyed flies. It was late in the afternoon and I sat on the bench under the bushes and waited for the night to fall as the sky turned pink and purple. The time before night is often beautiful, especially if there are clouds to catch the different colours of the sun, like strokes of paint against the sky. I was told once that the skies above the city are especially beautiful because of the dust and dirt that is the citys breath. It seems strange that filth can be the cause of such a pretty thing, but that is what I was told. I tried to tell this to the dogs as the darkness swept away the last, deep colour, but they were not listening. Their eyes were fixed on the gate, as though they were waiting for the thin, black dog to come back.

I watched as the moon crept through the trees, dressed in a milky veil, but when she slipped from the branches and was clear in the sky, the big black dog blew his grief into the dark, as though the moon and stars held answers. The other dogs, who I suppose were missing their friend, joined in. I tried to soothe them by singing a lullaby and pushing biscuits through the bars, but their eyes were wet and they would not be calmed. They begged and begged and would not be still. I went to bed and tried to sleep, but I could not. It was such a mournful night. Rico could not sleep either. He was excited and he did it to me with the light on. He said the moon was full and round and was pulling his sap like a tide. I watched the moon as he crushed me, as he pushed and grunted at the wall. I looked at the moon for an answer, but it was just a silver disc hung like a lamp in the night. Rico grunted and he stank of meat and the dogs wailed and I begged silently for the night to answer them, but there was no answer and Rico rolled away. I stared at the moon for a long time after, but she had no face and no tongue. The thin dog came back with a plastic apron around his neck, like he had been poured backwards down a funnel and his head was stuck. His ears were wrapped in white bandages, with a splint of bamboo behind to make them stand up, and his tail had gone and only a stump tied neatly in linen, remained. I had been to the market, to buy banana and rice, so I did not if it had been the Dog Man and it would not have been wise to ask Rico such a direct question. He would have asked why I should care, and he would be suspicious about the mans round eyes and his long hair, even though I may have thought he was not especially handsome. I thought to ask the dogs, but they were panting heavily, their tongues dripping like salamanders between their teeth. Their eyes did not sharpen on me. They had no more questions. I opened the cage and the thin dog sighed gentle shudders. I touched him, to show I was sorry, but his body went tight and he growled. He did not want my pity. I saw that a dogs lips are like flowers, bordered with petals to frame the white teeth, so it did not seem right he could be full of such sadness. Do not blame me, dog, please, I said, but the dogs chest heaved and his tongue dribbled. I left the cages open and the other dogs ventured into the garden. The brown ones started to fight as the big dog bent his back and did his toilet on the porch. Rico was sweeping the drive, although there were no leaves, and he retreated to the garage when he saw the dogs, shrugging in that Rico way. So I took his brush and pan and swept the tinja into the tray. The mess stuck in the bristles and smeared the pan and I could have washed it under the tap, but I did not. I filled the bowls with water and biscuits and put them in the cage of the cut dog, but he just watched me with flat eyes. He did not growl anymore. Eat, dog, it will make you better, I said, as though I were talking to a child. The other dogs ran around the garden and between my legs and I saw there was toilet all over the grass and around the pool, and there were water marks on the big leaves of the Fiji palms. Madam would be furious. Rico, you are a gardener, I said. You must clean this filthy thing. I cannot, he shouted from the day-bed. The brush is too dirty. This was Rico being clever but I did not think it so smart. Did the Dog Man leave the tail? I asked, and it was a direct question to show I did not care to him what I may be thinking about another man. Rico just shrugged and turned up the radio, a sad song about the spirits of love that scatter on the wind. After cackling rats had taken biscuits from under the cages, the three dogs in the garden barked madly at the sun. It was a beautiful sun, reflected as a hundred red balls under storm clouds in the windows of the Cilandak Tower. Perhaps they thought this many suns could answer their questions, although the sky just got darker as the clouds swallowed the light. I tried to calm the dogs with biscuits shaped like bones, but they would not eat. So I sat and spoke softly to them, like a nurse with soothing noises. I tried to be a dove. Then the thin, black dog sat up, his funnel cupping his head like a bowl. I was pleased to see him get up from the floor of the cage, but he started to bark and it was truly loud. The other dogs joined in like a choir of noise, each dog trying to roar louder than the other until I had to put my hands over my ears.

Please, dogs, be quiet, I said, but I could not even hear the words in my mouth. Rico said he could not bear it and took his hat and went out, although the sky was dark and the rains were sure to fall. He would spend money we did not have on palm toddy. I did not care about this so much, but he should have been there when the gate banged and the bule, the foreigner in the house across the street shouted at me in gravel Bahasa, like a baby with snake-lung, complaining words in the wrong order and making no sense. He frightened me with his snarling face like a skull pressed at the railing as the sky flashed and spat pebbles of ice. He yelled and yelled, but his angry voice fell to a whisper under the clatter of rain and the desperate chorus of the dogs. I hid in the bed and pulled the sheets tight to my neck. Thunder rattled the windows and water foamed in puddles on the drive as the night threw up a fierce wind, tearing branches from trees and smashing tiles on the road. When I peeked through the door the man had gone so I turned on the radio, but the speakers could only hiss in the electric night as I watched the curtain of rain dance across the garage door. I do not want you to cut another dog, I said to the Dog Man. I will tell Madam it makes them too ill to be a good present. OK, no more cuts, he said as he peeled away the bandages from my head although I could not remember how I was cut. His teeth were pearls on cushions and his hair was a froth, like rain clouds on his head, and his rear did not seem so large and his round face had a nice pink shine. You do not seem so fat, today, I said. Thank you, he said. You blush pleasingly also. Somewhere a singer warbled about a lover who took the worker-boat to Arabi after a fight over a petty thing. Where is the tail? I asked. The Dog Man shrugged. He had scissors in his hand and his groin was full of blood and his mouth was full of Ricos teeth, yellow and blunt, grinning as my gown was cut and I woke and Rico was forcing me with his hands at my neck. I told Madam about the man who shouted, but she did not hear. She told me that Liana was coming back from her studies and she would stay two nights in the house. Then she would join the family in Surabaya. I asked what would happen to the dogs but all she could say was that Liana would be happy, that Liana loved puppy dogs. Either she did not understand my question, or she did not care. I wanted to tell her of the dogs misery but I could not because I would have to tell her of the stolen tail and the bamboo ears. Madam put down the telephone and it purred in my ear. Rico did not get up until late. The sun was burning off the puddles on the driveway but the rain had not cleansed the garden, it was so full with dog toilet. The flies swarmed, loud as the cars on the road, and rats, braver than I had seen, made runs to snatch fallen biscuits as the dogs snapped through the wires. Beetles jumbled under the cages, green-eyed cats with club tails perched on the walls and crows with bills like skinning knives croaked in the mango tree. The opposite told me to keep the dogs quiet, I said to Rico when he wandered into the garage, his hair an egret nest, eyes red with poison. The dogs are keeping his family awake and he was angry and saying things without sense. He is right, said Rico, hacking the sand in his throat. You should keep the dogs quiet. How can I do this? Rico shrugged and glared at the dogs, who barked as they watched him cross the grass, like they had made some plan. He relieved himself against the coral tree and scratched long between his legs and I realised I did not love him. I did not even like his look, his wispy hair and thin lips and flat nose, like he was a Sea Scavenger. I did not like that shrug especially. I wondered if I had ever loved him. But I did not say this. Instead I told him the foreigner had also said the smell from the garden is bad and dogs are not ornaments. What does he mean by saying dogs are ornaments? I asked, but my head said, Rico, why do you shrug and why you are lazy? My head said other things too, like, Rico, I do not like your stinky breath and your hair in strings, and Rico, I hate the rancid worm between your legs, smelling like the piss of roaches. But they remained silent words.

Rico burped and limped back to the bench in the garage. I think the bule means like the rice jars at the door, I said, more loudly. Or the Buddah head in the ferns. But the dogs are not ornaments, they are Lianas presents. They are just dogs, he said, and put his arms around his head to end the matter. Leave them in the cages and they cannot do harm. I hate them, I said. But I did not. I hate you, Rico. The next day I did not let the dogs out of the cages. They protested in the morning, to start, but it was hot and by lunch time they lay panting, resting their heads on each other. They did their howling at nightfall, but not for so long, and they made no noise on the second day. It seemed Rico was right and the angry neighbour-face did not peer from his window. The garden did not get any dirtier, except under the cages, a place so filthy even the rats did not go there. I could see their eyes burning in the bamboo, and I listened as they bickered, but they did not run into the mess. I wondered why they stayed, just watching like that, but you cannot make sense with a rat. I was not happy about the dogs being locked in their cages as the sun was bright and full after the rains had passed. But there was less trouble. Rico said if I was worried I should spray the dogs with water. This was a good idea as they would be cool and the water might clear away the mess and disturb the flies hanging about the garden, and some flies were so fat they crawled like toads. So I hosed the dogs and they jumped, but they quickly fell back to their torpor. The flies scattered but, when I stopped, they came back and scrambled over the dogs wounds and their flowery-dog lips and sat on their eyes. The dogs did not move so I sprayed them again and the flies went away. But they came right back. Please stop spraying, said Rico. Its making the smell worse. I can hardly breathe. So I sprayed some more. Just enough sprays so he should know. Madam was angry. The foreigner who banged at the gate had sent a letter full with bad words. The dogs posed a threat to children, so he had said, and the staff cannot control them as they have no names. He told that the garden was stinking and I had not let the dogs out of the cages despite the heat. He said I was cruel. He called it casual, which is a curious word to mix with cruel. It is not true, Madam, I said, crossing my fingers under the desk so she might not see down the telephone, although I knew she could not. His children came in the garden and stole the tail of the thin dog. It was a lie, but Madam did not care. She told me I must let the dogs out of the cages and stop the smells as everything must be right for when Liana came. But how could I do this? There were just too many dogs and the foreigner was right that I did not know how to care for them. Maybe if there were just one dog? But Madam told me Liana loved puppies and one would not be a special puppy present. So I told her there were spirits in the garden. I very much wanted Madam to listen. I told her that spirits hide in the bamboo and chatter and whistle and they have red eyes and they smell bad. Madam said I should not be stupid, but she did not tell the dog names and she did not tell when Liana was coming. And the dogs were bigger. They were not puppies anymore. Liana never came. The dogs are still in the garden and I leave the cages open and they foul the grass and the patio and urinate in the pool. I water the garden but, as the rainy season has gone, everything crusts in the heat and is easy to scrape up. The dogs like the hose and play with the spray, trying to catch it in their mouths, snapping and looking surprised when it splashes to nothing in their jaws. I laugh at their fun, especially when the dogs spin like tops to catch what is not there. Although the mess is still bad, it is not like before and the tinja does not pile under the cages and the rats stay away because the dogs are free to chase them. The dogs never howl and I think it was being locked up that made them bark at the moon. Rico has gone back to his village near the coast. He said his father was sick, but his father died a year ago, or that is what he told me when he went back last summer. It is all lies, but I do not care. I am pleased he has gone. It is nice to be alone with personal thoughts or to listen to the radio whilst the

dogs sleep on the drive, or to sit under the mango tree and look at the big black one snorting with his nose under the gate. I like to lie alone too, no hot body stirring the night and snarling in my dreams. I look forward to the return of the Dog Man when he comes to remove the funnel from the neck of the thin dog, as surely he must, although it has been some weeks. I might ask him to stitch the tail back and, please, to fold down the ears. The bandages have fallen off the dogs rump and he looks forever glum, without a tail to show happiness and ears that look like they can never rest for anger. The neighbours do not shout, now the dogs have stopped their noise, although the compound guards warned I would be expelled if the dogs ever escaped. Madam told me not to mind them as she owned other houses and the security guards owned nothing. She also said the man who wrote the letter was a foreigner and he could go back to his country if he caused fuss. So I told her the demons were gone but the dogs were getting too big for such a small garden. She did not listen. She only said she would think about it. I am alone with four dogs I cannot leave, and it might be forever. They no longer question me with their eyes and they never plead for anything. I know that the dogs, in their garden, are as happy as they have ever been. Not because they are free of the cages so much, and not that they like to play with the hose, and not for the names I have given them, A, B, C and D. They are happy because I am their prisoner. They are not such stupid dogs, but clever.
David left the UK in October 2001 and is taking the slow boat home. He works with the travel industry and has had the good fortune to enjoy postings in Indonesia and China. Last year he moved to Spain. The tropical city of Jakarta, with its heady mix of religion and magic, where rich and poor live on top of each other and the jungle grows through cracks in the pavement, is a weave of exotic patterns that inspired David to start writing. Although his travels continue to offer inspiration and opportunity, the island of Java remains a passion that draws him back. Paradise Dogs is set on a housing complex in Jakarta where he used to live and, as a snarling face in the rain, he even makes a cameo appearance! This is his fourth published short story.