Chapter 12 of the R.M. Dolin novel, "Trophic Cascade"
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It’s long after dark when Sympatico’s awaken by voices in the next room. She starts to get up, but painful shards emanating everywhere tell her something bad’s happened. She can’t say what but is overcome by a foggy fragmented feeling it’s something dark, maybe even evil. As her brain begins to clear, pieces come together. There were those dogs, and Quando leaping to her rescue just as she’s knocked backward into the corner. When all seems lost, Jake appears, where he got the pistol’s unclear, but he uses to it shoot the wolf-looking dog in the face just as his fangs bite into her arm. She remembers with horror, the wild dog tearing and tugging, and how it hardly hurt then, but now throbs like thunder. With considerable pain and a growing certainty, she doesn’t want to see what she’s sure she’ll find but looks anyway to confirm from the wrapped bandages it wasn’t a dream.
Like a cascading wall of flash flood water rushing down an arroyo, she remembers everything, how another dog knocked her down just before Jake shot him. She feels the pain on her thigh recalling how that dog’s paw racked down her leg the instant of his death. She’s still wearing her dress, though it has a random pattern of squares and rectangles, each with a bandage or wound that’s been dressed. She remembers Jake and Dario helping her to her room and Jake softly cutting the pieces of cloth while Dario cleaned the wounds. There was something about Jake, something just beyond her mind’s reach; bits and pieces of a story he’s telling as his work come into focus. Something about as a kid their neighbor had a terrier that bit him because he foolishly took his favorite toy. She remembers enough to remember that wasn’t it, there’s something else. She looks more closely at her dress and sees drops of blood everywhere. Not her blood, she suddenly remembers, it’s Jake’s! He was dripping blood from an untreated head wound. The entire time he helps Dario and tells inconsequential stories about a childhood terrier; it’s him who needs help.
Images all at once overwhelm her, the respectful way Dario put towels around each place he worked so that the only the wound’s exposed through the square or rectangle Jake cuts out. Sounds reverberate, she hears Jake’s soothing voice, and the confidently timid way Dario talks while carefully treating her wounds. It’s as if he’s treated wounds far worse many times before yet is afraid to touch her. She remembers these two men, unlike any men she’s ever known, made sure she felt safe even after all that’s happened. Jake gave her some sort of pill that he promised would help her relax and ease the pain. That had to be hours ago because it was daylight then, and it’s well past dark now.
Sympatico can’t discern details of what’s being discussed in the next room but recognizes Jake and Dario’s voices. This helps counter the growing anxiety caused by her expanding recollections. Jake’s voice seems inexplicably jubilant, which is odd given what she remembers. She decides to get up, but as soon as she moves feels massive pain in her chest and stomach, even the thought of movement causes her muscles and nerves to rebel. The sudden sensation of excruciating pain coupled with her light-headiness convinces her to remain in bed lying completely still; at least for now.
Jake sits under a lamp in the kitchen that’s been moved in from the living room. There’s a bath towel wrapped around his neck that drapes over his shoulders to keep whatever may fall from staining his clothes. Dario stands behind him dressing wounds. He’s wearing surgical gloves and holding a suture needle in one hand and a pair of tweezers in the other. Quando’s bed has been placed on top of the kitchen table next to Jake. Quando’s awake and watching but not moving. He has bandages on each of his legs and along three spots on his hind quarters, Dario shaved the fur and stitched up wounds. There isn’t really anything Dario can do for the claw scratches down Quando’s rib cage other than clean away the blood and put on suave.
After considerable cajoling, Dario manages to get Jake to take some painkillers. At least that’ll tide him over since Jake adamantly refused any other form of treatment until after Sympatico and Quando were looked after. Dario cautioned his friend against drinking while taking painkillers, but Jake got out his black bottle bourbon anyway, rationalizing, “I make black bottle Bourbon for shit like this.” The effect of painkillers combined with alcohol has, to say the least, loosened Jake up.
“I’m telling you Homes,” Jake offers in a relaxed light-spirited way as Dario stitches his head. “There’s goofy-ass shit going on, that’s all I’m saying. I mean have you ever had a more bizarre, yet surreal, week in your life. I’m just saying, wow, right?” Before Dario can respond, Jake is already onto his next topic. “Did I tell you I found god today?”
“You and half a million other right-wing whack jobs,” Dario responds to placate Jake while not letting their conversation distract him from the medical treatment he’s administering.
“Not God with a capital G, god with a little g.”
“What the hell is God with a little g?” Dario asks only partially paying attention.
“Exactly,” Jake affirms with bubbling enthusiasm. “It’s not who, it’s what. He was hiding in the lower strands of our DNA, but I found him, that rascally little devil.”
“Whatever,” Dario sighs having no idea what Jake’s talking about and easily dismissing his gibber-jabber as being drug and alcohol induced.
“There’s this whole Jesus corollary too,” Jake continues. “But God was the big find. Immortality dude!” Jake shouts with passion. “That’s what I’m talking about.” Jake pauses for a moment to re-marshal his mind. Between the drugs and booze, plus the injury, thoughts are flying randomly in and out at an alarmingly accelerated rate. “There’s some strange shit a work, that’s all I’m saying. And I’m not just talking about since last week either, you ask Mandy, even before all that shit, I had a sense something’s up.”
“Like what,” Dario asks finishing the suture for one wound and starting to clean the next. He may be humoring his patient, but he’s not paying attention.
“I don’t know,” Jake answers in frustrated confusion. “Haven’t ya ever just felt like shit’s happening and you’re a part of it but not really? I mean like your being toyed with by powers you can’t see or control. Sometimes when God’s screwing with me I can ‘t help but conclude he’s got a pretty whacked-up sense of humor.”
“Is that God with a capital G or a small g?” Dario sarcastically retorts.
“Big G of course, Homes,” Jake fires back missing Dario’s sarcasm. “But haven’t ya ever just felt like that’s the sort of shit you’re caught up in?”
“Yeah, Doc.” Dario confirms with solemn remorse, “every time I prepared for combat.”
“I don’t know about that, but yeah, like that.” Jake states as the medicine continues to play hopscotch with his brain. “I got to tell you Homes, today is decidedly negative. I mean we’re talking off the charts crazy-ass negative. Hell, my two-week running average has probably dropped below zero.” Jake hops over to his next thought before Dario can respond. He leans over and pets Quando with admiration causing Dario to follow his head. “You should have seen him Homes,” Jake offers with reverent admiration. “He went right for Alpha. That damn dog was huge too, que no?”
“Until I split him in two you mean,” Dario adds with finality. “Then he was only half the dog he once was.” Dario pauses to enjoy his pun.
“That was impressive,” Jake says recalling again the intensity of the rifle’s discharge. “I may never hear normal again.” Jake reflects before moving on. “But Quando here, he kept four of those bastards busy while I got the other two.” Jake pauses to reflect on Quando’s heroics. “I think I’ll rename him Alamo.”
“Alamo?” Dario challenges dismissively while he repositions Jake’s head to better catch the light.
“Si,” Jake confirms. “Quando de la Alamo.”
“You know that literally means, ‘When of the poplar tree?’” Dario smirks translating Jake’s proposed name.
“No,” Jake proclaims, “It means ultimate defender of lost causes. Or maybe, last line of defense.” As suddenly as he moved from God to Quando, Jake’s skips from happy to forlorn. He slowly rotates in his chair to stare at Dario with a look of lost confusion.
“What,” Dario says with worry as he attempts to reposition his patient’s head.
“You ever been in love, Homes?” Jake asks with deep reverence.
“Sure Doc,” Dario hesitantly answers not knowing where this is heading but deciding he can reposition Jake’s head in a moment. “My Philippine honey, remember?”
“Oh yeah,” Jake says sort of remembering the story he’s heard many times before. There’s a prolonged silence leaving Dario uncertain if he should return to treating Jake’s wound or wait. “You know how I know I’m in love with Emelia?” Jake asks in a voice just above tomorrow’s whisper. “Because no matter where we are or what we do, being with her feels like I’m where I’m supposed to be.” Jake looks down at his hands, at the many scars cut over scars, each holding a story that helps his brain conjure memories, “like being home,” he adds before drifting off to deeper thoughts. Dario again waits, wondering if Jake’s done.
“Hey,” Jake shouts in a jovial tone back from visiting deeper thoughts. He’s changed swim lanes and is ready to reembark, “did I ever tell you about a writing assignment I got in fifth grade? The teacher tells us to use the words defense, deduct, detail, and defeat in a sentence.”
“And…” Dario returns to suturing, only tacitly wondering where this is going, but happy he’s able to position Jake’s head in a way he can work.
“It’s a timed exercise and she expects us to write a four-sentence paragraph, but I was in a rascally mood and wanted to be sarcastic, you know, to impress Becky Pool. You should have seen her Homes, the prettiest girl in class. Every dump thing I ever did was to impress a girl, and I’ve done some pretty dumb shit. But I digress, time’s running out and I haven’t written a thing because I’m uncertain what’s going to impress Becky. The teacher’s starting down my isle collecting papers when suddenly inspiration hits. It’s me at my best Homes, you should have seen me, absolutely my best. As the teacher nears, I frantically composed the best paragraph in the history of paragraphs, only it’s not a paragraph, it’s a single sentence.”
“Oh yeah,” Dario says ready to start laughing at what he’s sure must be something funny.
“I finish just as she reaches my desk. The world’s best ever sentence. She must have known too because rather than collect my assignment and continue, she decides to read it to the class, which I’m secretly hoping she’ll do, on account of Becky Pool and all.”
“Add,” Dario asks in anticipation.
“She reads it to herself first, looks at me with all the sternness she can muster, hands me my paper and says, “you read it.” I stand up next to my desk, but she’s all, “no, no, up there, in front of everyone.” So proudly I walk to the front of the class knowing I have just composed the best sentence in the history of sentences. I turn to face Becky, pause for just a moment, you know for dramatic effect, then read, ‘De-feat of de-duck went over de-fense before de-tail.’” Jake pauses to allow Dario time to absorb his literary brilliance. “Funny right?” Jake asks laughing at his pun. “Damn straight it is. Teacher doesn’t think so. Got detention for a week.” Jake thinks about the complexities of cause and effect. “Brenda Olinger said it was cute, and that lead to something interesting,” Jake flashes a devilish grin. “If you know what I mean.”
“I told you not to mix bourbon with Oxycodone,” Dario scolds. “Now you’re just jabbering nonsense.”
“Eee Cabron, good nonsense though, que no?” Jake sings mocking Northern New Mexico slang. He continues un-phased by Dario’s assessment with sarcastic seriousness. “But since you mentioned it, let’s talk bourbon. You have to start my mash. Once you finish stuffing brain matter back in my head that is.”
“What about your secret recipe?” Dario questions sardonically.
“Not this time Homes. This will be Dario mash.” Jake says with a sense of glee. “Filled with old school tradition and easily excitable emotions.”
“Come on Doc, I’m not easily excited.”
“Tell that to the dude from Ohio you decked last week,” Jake replies drawing the precise corollary. “Dario’s mash it is!” Jake shouts with excited anticipation. “I don’t know about you Bro, but I’m excited. I think we’ll put it in a purple topped bottle. You know, in honor of your proud and noble Basque heritage.”
“No,” Dario forcefully counters. “If we’re putting bourbon I make in its own bottle, it has to be dark green.” Dario pauses. “For Jenkins.”
The next five minutes Jake’s able to focus enough to instruct Dario on exactly how to make the mash. Dario realizes it will take half the night to complete the long list of tasks, each special ingredient needing to be added in just the right order at just the right time. It turns out mashing is far more complex and labor intensive than he’d imagined; at least the old-world way Jake does it. Dario’s visited most the major Bourbon distilleries back east, their ways are simple and efficient, designed for high volume. He understands better now why Jake’s Bourbon is different. Dario doesn’t mind the late night in front of him. In fact, he welcomes the opportunity to make mash as much as he enjoys that Jake trusts him with his secrets rather than that new guy.
#
Sympatico re-awakens to the eerie sound of coyotes howling in the arroyo behind the distillery. Even though they’re far away their cries travel with an unnerving nearness. She’s gotten used to Quando sleeping beside her and wishes he were here. Today he became more than her guardian and tonight she knows she’d rest more easily with him nearby. She decides to go find Quando and bring him back, so with great effort and considerable pain she pulls herself slowly from bed. Every move hurts as she puts on a robe to cover the dress of many holes and walk out to the kitchen. To her surprise, she finds Quando in his bed asleep on the floor beside the kitchen table. Next to him Jake is curled up in deep sleep with one arm on Quando and the other tucked under his head. He sleeps with a sardonic smile that paints him as an image of contentment. Sympatico looks upon her two gallant knights wondering how she could be so blessed to cross their paths.
What an unlikely pair of heroes she thinks, not at all like those portrayed in romance or adventure novels. Nonetheless, this happy go lucky dog who loves to chase tennis balls, and the quiet man who lives alone with his hand made bourbon might as just as well wear masks and capes because to her they are as much a duo of heroes as ever was. Sympatico stares for a long moment before starting back to her room. She appreciates how much her life has been blessed and realizes it would be selfish to ask Quando to move. She assesses her fate since meeting Jake, how she would be dead three times if not for him. ‘Three times in two weeks, what does that mean?’ Sympatico wills her battered body and tattered soul down the hallway toward her room; ‘three times in two weeks.’
The coyotes in the arroyo behind the Distillery must have found something because suddenly they start yelping in death chilling unison. Their chorus of bone crunching darkness freezes Sympatico in her tracks. She wheels around and races back to the kitchen, her first thought is to grab a carving knife from the counter, but she’s overcome with a frantic sort of panic, uncertain what her next move should be. How can her heroes sleep so soundly? What secret to survival have they so skillfully mastered that callously eludes her? She decides to wake them, for their own safety, but then realizes they’ve lived here long enough to know when to be concerned. She re-rationalizes that there’s no reason not to feel as secure and as reassured as they are – if she could only learn their secret.
Try as she might to put a logical spin over her fears, she simply cannot. The thought of going back to her room to face the solidarity of night with all its empty evil seems too daunting to be possible. She considers sitting at the table until morning, logically reasoning that after Jake and Quando awaken she can sleep. While in the process of sliding out a chair she hits on a better idea and with great effort and considerable pain she kneels down on the floor to lie on the vacant side of Quando’s bed. Her wounded warrior raises one eye in a way that says, “welcome,” and Sympatico smiles gratefully at her hero. She gently puts an arm around Quando’s head, and as her worn body and strained emotions settle in, she feels as sense of both safety and security that moments ago seemed elusive. In addition, she feels a consuming sense of belonging, as if the three of them together are some sort of misfit family. As exhaustion quickly comes to collect it due, she strikes on a comforting realization, as misfit as they might be, this is the first time in years she’s feels like she’s where she’s supposed to be.
