“You said a thousand years not hearing?”
“A thousand years not seeing?”
“A thousand years,” David repeats.
“A thousand years the brain of an ape?”
David’s blue eyes turn in the direction of the voice. He does not recognize it.
“A thousand years the ape Gringo?”
“A thousand years a killer? An ape killer?”
They do not say more. David’s eyes are still open in the direction of the voice.
“David, you’re David,” It is the broken voice of the Jew.
“The hunter,” says Abahn.
“The hunter,” David repeats.
They fall silent. It must be this silence that then reveals an unease in David’s fixed gaze. He has a stunned air about him, his stare questioning. He strains toward the voice. He sleeps, he says:
“The dogs.”
Sabana takes a step toward the Jew. She does not take her eyes away from the darkened park.
It is Abahn who speaks to David. “You labor in the workshop of the merchants? You’re twenty-five years old? Your wife is Jeanne?”
David responds in the same tone Abahn used, slowly and clearly:
“The dogs.”
“You’re a mason? You make cement? You work with the Portuguese? The Portuguese?”
“The dogs,” says David.
He struggles against sleep. He articulates his words with difficulty. He finally makes a sentence.
“I want the dogs of the Jew.”
He looks toward the rest of them with growing alarm. His gaze is clear and focused. One could say his stubbornness surprises him. He says again:
“I want the dogs.”
He is quiet. He seems about to speak. He does not speak. He holds his head up. His eyes are open. He looks at Abahn with a questioning look.
The silence is unpierced. Then Abahn speaks.
“You’ve given the Jew to Gringo.”
He answers without doubt in a simple, clear way. His response springs forth from sleep.
“Yes.”
His eyes questioning still.
“The dogs.”
He struggles visibly against immense fatigue. His eyes questioning still.
“Yes,” says Abahn. “You gave up the Jew in order to have his dogs.”
“Yes.”
The softness of his voices is penetrating. Gratitude in his eyes.
“Listen,” says Abahn. “David spoke. David said, ‘I gave up the Jew in order to have his dogs.’”
“Yes,” says David.
He is talking to Abahn without looking at him. Abahn looks deep into his eyes.
Sabana slumps against the body of the Jew. She continues to gaze out at the darkened park. The Jew is looking at David.
“David said, ‘I repeated what the Jew said in the café,’” says Abahn. “‘Gringo asked me and I repeated it. Gringo said that I had to make the connection and that it wasn’t what the Jew said in the café, but a different thing. A simpler thing: that the Jew said one thing in the café but meant another.’”
Abahn pauses. David waits. He has a look of deep interest on his face. The pack roaming the field of death growl and bark out one after the other. The dogs in the park howl in response. Then, silence falls anew.
David calls out:
“Sabana!”
No one answers him.
“He said, ‘I did what Gringo wanted,’” continues Abahn. “‘I said the Jew offered me money if I would tell him what Gringo did with the other Jews. The Jew said to me: Freedom. Gringo said that what he meant was: money, money to leave Staadt if I gave up the names of the Jews who were executed.’”
David makes a great effort. He finds the words:
“No. The dogs.”
“He said, ‘I at once tried to say that the Jew proposed to give me the dogs if I gave up the names of the executed Jews, but Gringo said no: No, the Jew proposed to give you the dogs to sell for a high price. Don’t forget, the Jew said he would give you money. Money.’”
“No, the dogs.”
“Money,” repeats Abahn.
David does not answer.
At any moment it seems sleep might finally overcome David. Abahn continues speaking in a low voice as if they were still in danger.
“He continued, ‘Gringo asked Jeanne to make the connection. I didn’t know. Gringo said that the Jew had gotten money from powerful foreigners. Jeanne had talked about this with Gringo. I didn’t understand what Jeanne meant.’”
David’s eyes fall from Abahn, search the shadows.
“Sabana!” he cries out in his sleep.
Sabana does not answer. He calls out again:
“Sabana!”
He falls silent. Abahn continues calmly:
“And he said, ‘I didn’t know what Gringo meant.’”
“Where is she?” David asks in his sleep.
Abahn does not answer him. He continues:
“David recounted, ‘In the café the Jew said: I am hopeless, desperate.’”
“Sabana!” David cries out.
“He said, ‘I didn’t understand what the Jew meant,’” continues Abahn.
David does not cry out anymore. He has been conquered.
Slumber won, his head sags to the side.
“He said, ‘Gringo told me: Forget this desperate, dirty word, this Jewish word.’”
Abahn tries to reach David faster than sleep.
“He said, ‘I told all of this to Sabana.’”
“Sabana,” murmurs David. “Sabana.”
He struggles against sleep. His eyelids flutter.
“‘And Sabana told me: Don’t worry. David, you will have the dogs of the Jew. I will give them to you.’”
“Yes.”
Sabana still looks out at the darkened park.
David leans his head against the back of the chair. His eyes are half-closed, his gaze toward Abahn, sleepy.
“He said, ‘We speak of the Jews who will be executed. Gringo has forbidden it. We don’t know why Gringo has forbidden it.’”
Abahn is quiet. He walks away from David. Does David see him leave?
“Sabana,” David calls out again in his sleep.
David sees no more, his gaze floats away.
“Sabana!” His body turns toward her, he straightens up, his eyes becoming cloudy as if waking. He takes his gun, points it.
“Where is Sabana?”
He searches for her with his eyes.
His wakefulness is so brief, he looks too quickly to see her there, in the shadows, next to the Jew.
His hand releases the gun.
He falls in one quick movement back into the chair.
He sleeps.
•
Sabana leaves the Jew. She walks away from David to the table where the Jew sat.
The Jew stands where she left him, looking out toward the park.
Abahn walks once more between the rooms.
Sabana looks around. Abahn is out of sight, the Jew on the other side of the room. David sleeps. She is quiet for a long time. Then she speaks:
“He won’t remember anything.”
Her voice has changed, is low and brittle.
“He’ll remember a little,” says Abahn.
Sabana does not move. She too seems as if asleep. She moves no more than does David.
The Jew has turned. Abahn comes back. They look at her. She raises her eyes to them. Eyes like dark wounds.
“Give us the dogs,” she says.
•
“Give your dogs to David,” says Sabana. “Your dirty dogs, your Jew dogs.”
The Jew comes toward Sabana. She watches him approach. She says to him:
“I’ll wake him. I’ll tell him you tried to run away. We’ll take off with the dogs.”
The Jew sits at Sabana’s feet. He leans his head against her knees. He wraps his arms tightly around them.
“Your millions of dogs, you should give them to him. Write it down: I leave my dogs to David.”
The Jew doesn’t answer. His arms are locked around Sabana’s body.
“You understand. Your dogs, your dirty dogs, your Jewish dogs, you should give them to him.”