White Dog Fell from the Sky - By Eleanor Morse Page 0,12

and ignorant to ever go himself. Nthusi’s eyes became dark smudges of light, like smoke that rises from a fire that hasn’t enough wood.

Of all the members of his family, Nthusi’s heart was the bravest. But in the case of his brother, it would have been better not to have been born for all the joy that his life would bring him. What was God thinking, to punish his brother like that? Sometimes it felt that He didn’t think at all, that humans—especially black ones—were his playthings. It seemed that white people were the ones who believed in divine justice. That was because long ago, they’d come with their guns and greed and taken what they wanted. They’d long since forgotten what they’d done, and now they thought the land had always been theirs.

The bitter heart eats its owner. It was necessary to forget certain things but not his brother who gave him his own leather shoes for the journey. He walked along, listening to the way the soles of his brother’s shoes thumped the sand softly, like guinea fowls landing in dust. Someday, he’d do something for Nthusi, ten times over. But that time was not now, maybe not for many years.

A man was approaching from the opposite direction, carrying a sack of sugar over his shoulder. Isaac crossed the road and waited. “Excuse me, rra,” he said, “where is Lippe’s Loop?”

“I don’t know,” the man said, walking on.

He passed several more streets. The trees were gone. Everywhere, the houses looked the same. White with blue trim. He wondered who lived in them. He’d never been inside houses like these. From outside they looked strongly built. But the trouble was, they were so much the same, you could be drunk and walk into your neighbor’s house and never know the difference until you lay down with his wife.

The white dog was limping, and he stopped and lifted her paw. There was blood, but he couldn’t see what caused it. He spit on his thumb and rubbed the spit over the pad. She leaped away from him. “White Dog,” he said, “come here.” And then he realized what he’d done: when you name an animal, she becomes yours forever. He went down on his haunches and looked at her. “You’re unfortunate to have ever chosen me,” he said. “I have nothing to give you.” She returned to his side. He took her paw again, and she held very still, shaking. A thorn was lodged deep. He talked to her and told her that it would hurt to pull it out. He tried to grasp the thorn but it broke. He pinched and squeezed and brought it to the surface while the dog stood patiently, her eyes pained. The thorn was from the tree that grabs you and won’t let go. Now, it had the pad of her paw, but finally—out! She danced and leapt off her four feet in gladness.

When he wasn’t expecting it, he found Lippe’s Loop and turned down the road. It was an empty road, without people. The woman said the third house, but there were three houses on the right and three on the left. He chose right. A dog came barking up to a gate, a Doberman who could rip your throat out. White Dog sat at a distance, her ears pointed, hackles raised. Isaac tried talking to the barking dog. “Please, rra, let me pass. I need a job.” But the dog barked furiously and leapt at the fence.

A servant woman came out. “What do you want?”

“Ke batla tiro.”

“There is no work.”

He turned and crossed the road. There was another gate, but no dog. He told White Dog to wait, entered the gate with his head down, and closed it behind him

“Koko?” he called, rapping on the door.

A white woman came out of the house. She had a blue dress and short white hair and an expression of distaste on her face.

I’m not a thief, he wanted to tell her. “I’m looking for work,” he said.

“I have no work,” she said.

He pointed next door. “In this house, do they have work?”

“I don’t know. You have to ask yourself.” She turned her back on him and went into her house. He went out the gate and closed it behind him. White Dog was waiting. The Doberman barked crazily.

He tried next door. “Koko?” He waited. And then he saw a gardener slopping water out of a hose onto hard-packed earth and moved on. At the next