Belka, Why Don't You Bark - By Hideo Furukawa Page 0,30

Town, they were learning. Little by little.

The old man handled the dogs so masterfully it seemed, looking on, as though he were not merely training the dogs, but honing their intellect. Little by little. Gradually each dog came to understand its particular specialty. If a ladder stood leaning against a wall, the dogs darted up it. They also learned to climb trees. They would wait in the foliage, keeping still, biding their time, until their prey came along, until a person walked directly underneath, and then they would pounce, they would attack.

This morning, they were learning to carry burning branches, torches. For seven days now they had been engaged in this task. Learning to be arsonists.

The dogs learned “subversive activities.”

All at once, the twenty-some-odd dogs froze. They turned and faced the same direction, growling. In warning. An intruder had appeared on the field. The old man commanded them, with a single clipped word, stop. Don’t attack. A few of the dogs kept growling, so the old man called them by name.

“Asha, down! Ptashko, down! Ponka, down!”

Each dog obeyed instantly as its name was called.

“Aldebaran!”

One last dog, scolded, fell silent.

Now all the dogs were crouching on the ground, staring at the intruder, at the girl who had put on her coat and come outside. She stood seven or eight meters away from the old man.

“What, are those fucking dog names? Call ’em Pooch or something,” she spat.

In Japanese.

Easy, stay there, the man ordered the dogs in Russian.

They understood.

What the fuck are you doing? I came to watch you, asshole. Playing around with your dogs. Don’t fucking stop, she said in Japanese.

Well, well, this is a surprise, the old man said, walking over. What is it, little girl? Are you interested in my dogs?

Don’t fucking come near me, gramps, said the girl.

If you like dogs, the old man continued, maybe later I’ll show you the doghouse.

It’s fucking winter out, you senile dick.

There are puppies.

I fucking told you not to come near me. Don’t fuck with me.

But the girl made no move to leave. The old man was right in front of her now, standing still, ready to talk. To have a conversation, in Japanese and Russian, that would communicate nothing. The girl glared up at the old man. The difference between their heights was about the size of an adult dog, foot to shoulder.

You’re quite an interesting little girl, the old man said.

Yeah, fuck you too. You’re probably calling me a brat in Russian, I know. Whatever, senile old dick, the girl replied. Someday I’m gonna fucking kill you.

The old man grinned. Smiled. For real.

“Huh?” the old man exclaimed suddenly. He wasn’t talking to the girl. He had looked away, sensing something. His face was turned up now, he was gazing up into the air, just as the girl was gazing up at him. The four-story building. The deserted building where the ten dogs had been training, learning to herd, to corner. A silhouette on the roof. A dog in outline.

The dog stepped quietly, calmly to the edge.

He was gazing down, it seemed, at the old man and the girl.

Slightly larger than the other dogs, he lacked their youthfulness. That much was clear even at a distance. But he had something else in its place. Authority, a commanding presence. That, too, was clear even at this distance. “Belka,” the old man said.

The dog didn’t respond.

He’s old, really old, the old man told the girl. Same as me. But he’s not deaf.

Once again, the old man called to the dog, somewhat louder. “Belka, why don’t you bark?”

This time the dog replied. Uuoof. Just once, quietly. To the old man and the girl.

By then the girl was looking up at the roof too. All of a sudden, she was pissed. She felt as if the old man had ordered the fucking dog to bark at her, and it had. She was furious.

“Hey, gramps,” she said, ignoring the dog. The old man sensed the forcefulness of her tone. He turned to face her. She looked him straight in the eye and continued, “I fucking hate you more than anything. Fucking Roosky. Drop dead.”

Drop dead, she said. In Japanese. Shi-ne.

The old man paused, as if he were reflecting on what she had said. And then he repeated the sounds of the Japanese word she had spoken.

“SHE-neh.”

“Senile dick. Don’t fucking converse with me.”

1957

Dogs, dogs, where are you now?

Mainland USA, 1957. Fate unites two lineages. On the one hand, the purebred Sumer; on the other, the mongrel Ice.