“But to move the patient from hysterical inversion to common misery and to forget the self-dramatizing,” the Professor comforted him, “that is progress!”
Waterlily was reaching a harsh crescendo, a cosmic C-minor, then a roulade of one-and-a-half octaves of stunning rapidity. She hurled out the notes to the sky, neither words nor sounds, but distended spheres, mucoid globules unattached to anything.
From thirteen gods
and fourteen goddesses
I am descended
From my son
I begat myself once again
blinder of hosts.
My name is now Astinge
And by that only I shall be called
As I go to the nations.
She was caterwauling like a bathhouse nymph.
The chatter was animated on the terrace that late afternoon. “Can you imagine how glorious it is,” the Princess giggled, “to see into a dog, and to tease oneself into her exactly at her center, the place out of which she exists as a dog?”
Felix had turned away from this, but was immediately cornered by the Professor.
“My gratitude is boundless, Councilor, but have you no concern at all that the Pzalmanzar method, this taking of the animal into liberality, is something of a trick?”
“Balderdash,” Felix replied in a stage whisper. “We are tricked into being born and tricked into staying alive. Each time we’re saved, it’s with a different trick.”
Öscar Ögur actually served drinks with aplomb, spilling only one tray, which no one mentioned. He had taken over for Catspaw, who could now be seen furiously ferrying Gubik downstream to the Penelope III, in the hope of catching a ride to overtake the Desdemona at Razacanum on her route to Chorgo, there to pick up the Valse de Mocsou. As Catspaw strained at the oars, Gubik stood in the bow of the copper-prowed caique, arms folded like Napoleon, caped and white-gloved, his swineherd’s Phrygian cap pulled tightly over his skull. As they drew abreast of the Penelope III, a rope net was thrown down from the scuppers and our prodigy scrambled aboard, his white gloves flashing, just as the frigate, with its magical cargo and dispirited crew, disappeared into a fogbank at the mill. Felix and Ainoha toasted him sadly and silently as his pig herd filled the woods with bellows of protest. The Professor noted irritably that he seemed to be carrying one of his custom plaid valises, and I realized that the red sash about his waist was the banner from my sister’s tomb.
After much cranking and cursing, the limousine finally started. The golden ponies in the far pasture galloped from corner to corner as the ignition coughed.
As a celebratory gesture, all the kennels, coops, and stables were flung open, and the menagerie entire was released for a run. Moccus and Epona thundered up and down the drive at forty miles per hour, packs of Chetvorah dove off into the woods for randy deer, arthritic seventeen-year-old cats tottered through portals, doves alighted on the furniture, chickens and ducks strutted fearlessly about, and the tame gray parrot, Arnulph, whom I hadn’t noticed for years, hopped from shoulder to shoulder. Topsy walked like royalty, calm and dignified amongst the miffed, milling Chetvorah.
The Professor thanked Father over and over.
“The Princess is always welcome,” Felix lied, “but keep her well clear of the stables. She gives off a scent of fear.”
But just as he concluded this, he realized the Princess was standing behind him and had already forgiven him.
“Topsy and I will be forever in your debt,” she said modestly.
“Ah, Prinzessin.” Felix bowed deeply and kissed her hand. “Now that you have seen a few miracles, perhaps you will begin to appreciate realism.”
“The next thing you know, we’ll be hunting her!” the Professor beamed.
“This child was not meant for the field, my friends. While she will raise many cocks, I fear you will get few shots.”
Topsy had lain down next to them, head between her forelegs. The Princess’s eyes began to dart again. “Shouldn’t one write all this down?”
“All dog literature is worthless, because it is written either by owners or scientists. Everything you want to know and more you will find in this pamphlet, Prinzessin,” Father bowed again as he handed her his private printing, Breaking Strange Dogs and Vicious Horses, bound in white satin. “I’ve inscribed it for you.” And she read it out, her voice quivering.
Who lives to learn, the properties of hounds,
To breed them first, and then to make them good,
To teach them to know, both voice and horne, by sounds,
To cure them too, from all that hurts their blood:
Let Her but buy this book, so shall she find
As much as may (for hounds) content her mind.
“I am not desirous of making you unsatisfied with anything you possess, Prinzessin,” Felix adumbrated, “but a judicious exertion on your part will add much to Topsy’s usefulness, as well as to your own enjoyment. Much may be done through the affections. Do not be contented with a disorderly cur, when a trifling addition to your pains will produce an extravagant companion.”
“I am most grateful for the proper commands,” the Princess said, a bit choked up.
As the two couples walked to the hissing limousine, Father took her arm. “I must tell you honestly, Prinzessin, such commands mustn’t smack of an order. Language is hardly absolute. Words have meaning only in the stream of life. And the world is, I’m afraid, full of independent subjects.” He opened the car door and Topsy raced by them, flinging herself into the back seat. The Princess pressed a small bag of uncut garnets into Father’s hand. Had she looked down, she could have picked up twenty more from the road.
“My husband often gets carried away with the spirituality of his projects,” Mother now confided, fearing a scene, while helping the Princess negotiate her way into the dark petit point interior of the limousine. “Let me send you on your way with some practical observations. First, the little hussy ought not be tied up, even if she wants it. Straining at her collar will throw out her elbows, and she will grow up bandy-legged. Two, if you must administer a powder, mix it with a little butter and smear it on her nose. She will readily lick it down. This is also the best time to pare her nails. Lastly, never lend your doggie to anyone, not even a brother. It may seem selfish, but an ignorant sportsman will bring you nothing but grief. I hope you will forgive me for saying so.”
The Princess did not reply, but for the first time in her visit did manage to make eye contact.
“And what departing advice have you for me, dearest lady?” the Professor queried, batting his coal-chunk eyes. But before Ainoha could answer, Felix had broken in:
“For you, sir, keep it simple, songful, and slow. And go easy on the melancholy.”
“And next time,” the Professor sang like a child, “we shall do the phui, phui, phui!”
So it was that the goldenischechow, Pouilly-Gepacht, was delivered back to her mistress with the silvered words of her commands written in a daybook, to demonstrate that even with the most spoiled of bitches, bloodsport can ultimately be put in the service of civility — that in all of us the urge to pounce can be turned, if not quite to grand effect, nevertheless to leading gestures and illusions of spectral beauty.
Leaving the estate in chastened profile, the Princess lay her hand on the Professor’s shoulder as he pulled his bowler ever more tightly on his head, while Topsy, punished but forgiven, could be seen in the front seat in more of a demi-plié than a rapt quivering point, but nevertheless scanning the barren fields for signs of life.