Read Shape of the Final Dog and Other Stories (9781101600665) for Free Online Page B

hand. She would know he was an idealist and could not accept anything as it was, and she would hate that because he would never let her be.
    Out the window he saw the rain had stopped. She was paying her bill—took care of it in perfect French. He put money on the table and followed her down, through the door and into the street.
    He walked behind her and thought about her crying. But he couldn’t really see it. “I cry a lot,” she would say, and he would believe it. She went into the Métro at Concorde, and as they were going down the steps, she ran ahead and he hurried to get to the bottom before she beat him.



H e never got away with anything. If he stole something, he was caught. If he lied, he was found out. If he sneaked into the girl’s room, he was reported. But that year there were two things he did get away with. The second one was major. The first one was just gum.
    He had climbed up on the kitchen counter with no other purpose than for some routine snooping. He found it on the top shelf between a stack of dishes and a bag of something he didn’t bother to open that felt like salt. The gum wasn’t just a pack of five pieces, it was a jumbo pack with smaller packs inside it. He’d never seen anything like this. Dentyne, bright red, sealed, untouched. He could smell the minty cinnamon of it even unopened. Somebody had hidden it for themselves, hidden it from him.
    Duke was at work, his sister not home yet. Only the maid was in the house. She wasn’t really a maid, but that’s what he called her because it made her mad. She was his mother’s aunt Anna and came on afternoons when nobody was home. He wasn’t trusted in the house by himself. Bud was seven.
    By nature Anna was sympathetic, it was hard for her to be strict. When he crossed her, consternation was the best she could come up with. Bud was tricky, he bewildered her; truth was, she found him irresistible. And he knew it.
    He climbed down from the counter and went into his parents’ bedroom. Anna kept her eye on what she was doing, but knew he was in there. He went into the closet, and yelled,
What’s that?
The Hoover is too loud. Look! Anna turns off the machine. She can only see his back in the closet.
    What’s that? he whispers. Wary, she comes closer. Bud is pointing down at the pile of shoes in the back. He tries to grab her to hurry things along, but she doesn’t want to be hurried. He steps out, giving her room to go in. Down there . . . see? Anna steps in.
    She’s not much taller than him, but twice as wide, also old, complains of sore feet and arthritis. Squinting, she stoops for a closer look. Bud shoves her as hard as he can. Anna goes down.
    He slams the door, locks it. Trapped, she begins to pound and scream, demanding to be let out. I’ll tell your father! And in Spanish too she yells it, then her muffled voice pleading, Please, Buddy! But Buddy is already in the kitchen, crawled up on the cupboard, tearing open the gum, stuffing the little wrappers into his pockets, the pink tangy tabs into his mouth. He’s balanced on the edge of the counter, chewing like a squirrel, hears her voice becoming more desperate.
    She might go nuts if he doesn’t let her out. The family due home any second. The ball of gum getting too big to chew, and he’s got another pack to go, but no time. He scrambles down.
    I’m gonna let you out, Anna!
    No doubt she heard his voice, but not the gum-garbled words. Bud runs out the back door. The ball of gum, still leaking sweetness, but he spits it into his hand and, hard as he can, flings it over the back fence. Puts the unopened pack in his back pocket, then changes his mind and throws that too.
    A change of climate, the advent of a season, subtle as they were, made Bud want to migrate, and it frustrated him that he couldn’t. Behind the house was an alley that went almost a mile, and at least once a week he would go all the