fire.
“He’s not listening to me. He never does listen to me. I could yell ‘Fire!’ and he wouldn’t hear,” Snooky told his sister.
“Don’t take it personally, Snooks. You know better than that. It’s the way he is.”
“Will you help me with the dishes, My?”
“Sure.”
They went into the kitchen, leaving Bernard far away in his reveries.
A few days later Bernard and Misty were tracing their usual path among the trees. It was a bitterly cold day. Their breath billowed like white clouds before their faces. It had snowed heavily the night before, and their tracks fled away behind them, stretching back as a tangible link to the cabin. Bernard was not in a good mood. He had begun to suspect that he was putting on weight. Not much, of course—he never did gain much—but enough. Maya, after breakfast that morning, had glanced at his waistline critically. “Sweetheart, maybe you’d better take the dog for a walk.” Snooky had agreed. “Yes, Bernard, why don’t you take Misty out today? It would do you good.” Bernard had protested furiously, but to no avail. Here he was, trudging along, bundled up in his down coat against the frigid cold.
Misty seemed delighted, as always, to be outdoors. The cold did not seem to bother her. She bounded along, sniffing eagerly at invisible objects. Bernard followed behind, a dark glowering bundle of heavy clothes and scarves. The cold usually did not bother him either—he went outdoors in the winter with just a light coat on—but this did not qualify as merely “cold.” It was, he decided as he walked along, arctichell. He had had to break the ice in the sink this morning. It was more than time enough to be heading home. Surely they had put in enough time in Snooky’s cabin. His thoughts lingered luxuriously on central heating.
Misty gave a peculiar little yelp and strained forward at the end of the leash. Bernard pulled her back irritably. She ran around in circles, winding herself neatly around a bush, then disappeared. Bernard cursed and followed her.
“What is it, Misty? Misty? Come back here, you … what is it?”
When he finally found her, she was sniffing at something half-hidden under the bush.
“What is it?” he asked irritably. It was a large dark object. Visions of half-dead animals, of hunters and deer, of Roger Halberstam’s unfortunate rabbit, floated through his mind. He began to unwind the leash from the bush.
“What
is
it, Misty? Come here right now.”
Misty, like most faithful dogs, paid no attention to what he was saying. She whined and surged forward on the leash.
“Oh, all right,” said Bernard in disgust. He followed her around the back of the bush. There was something on the ground there, half-buried in the ice and snow … was it an animal? Bernard shut his eyes, shuddered, then leaned forward to look.
“We’re going to have to put him on a diet,” Snooky was saying at that very moment. He and Maya sat on opposite couches, their legs stretched out toward the fire, steaming cups of cider next to them. “A diet, Maya. There’s no other way. He’s getting really hefty.”
“Bernard always gains weight in the winter. He’s like a bear.”
“Or a squirrel.”
“Whatever. He loses it naturally in the spring. Bernard is very much in tune with the seasons.” Maya sipped her drink. “You know, Snooky, Bernard is right. This stuff could make you sick. It’s gone off already.”
“Not yet, Maya. Not yet. And it’s almost finished, youknow. Do you realize by the time you leave we’ll have used up twenty gallons?”
“What on earth possessed you to rush out and buy twenty gallons?”
“I don’t know, My. I had just arrived here, and I lost my head. I thought it was the most delicious thing I had ever tasted in my life. It’s fresh from the orchards.”
“Well, all I can say is that you’ve turned me off the stuff forever. When we get back to Connecticut, I hope I never see a drop of it again.” Maya
“He’s not listening to me. He never does listen to me. I could yell ‘Fire!’ and he wouldn’t hear,” Snooky told his sister.
“Don’t take it personally, Snooks. You know better than that. It’s the way he is.”
“Will you help me with the dishes, My?”
“Sure.”
They went into the kitchen, leaving Bernard far away in his reveries.
A few days later Bernard and Misty were tracing their usual path among the trees. It was a bitterly cold day. Their breath billowed like white clouds before their faces. It had snowed heavily the night before, and their tracks fled away behind them, stretching back as a tangible link to the cabin. Bernard was not in a good mood. He had begun to suspect that he was putting on weight. Not much, of course—he never did gain much—but enough. Maya, after breakfast that morning, had glanced at his waistline critically. “Sweetheart, maybe you’d better take the dog for a walk.” Snooky had agreed. “Yes, Bernard, why don’t you take Misty out today? It would do you good.” Bernard had protested furiously, but to no avail. Here he was, trudging along, bundled up in his down coat against the frigid cold.
Misty seemed delighted, as always, to be outdoors. The cold did not seem to bother her. She bounded along, sniffing eagerly at invisible objects. Bernard followed behind, a dark glowering bundle of heavy clothes and scarves. The cold usually did not bother him either—he went outdoors in the winter with just a light coat on—but this did not qualify as merely “cold.” It was, he decided as he walked along, arctichell. He had had to break the ice in the sink this morning. It was more than time enough to be heading home. Surely they had put in enough time in Snooky’s cabin. His thoughts lingered luxuriously on central heating.
Misty gave a peculiar little yelp and strained forward at the end of the leash. Bernard pulled her back irritably. She ran around in circles, winding herself neatly around a bush, then disappeared. Bernard cursed and followed her.
“What is it, Misty? Misty? Come back here, you … what is it?”
When he finally found her, she was sniffing at something half-hidden under the bush.
“What is it?” he asked irritably. It was a large dark object. Visions of half-dead animals, of hunters and deer, of Roger Halberstam’s unfortunate rabbit, floated through his mind. He began to unwind the leash from the bush.
“What
is
it, Misty? Come here right now.”
Misty, like most faithful dogs, paid no attention to what he was saying. She whined and surged forward on the leash.
“Oh, all right,” said Bernard in disgust. He followed her around the back of the bush. There was something on the ground there, half-buried in the ice and snow … was it an animal? Bernard shut his eyes, shuddered, then leaned forward to look.
“We’re going to have to put him on a diet,” Snooky was saying at that very moment. He and Maya sat on opposite couches, their legs stretched out toward the fire, steaming cups of cider next to them. “A diet, Maya. There’s no other way. He’s getting really hefty.”
“Bernard always gains weight in the winter. He’s like a bear.”
“Or a squirrel.”
“Whatever. He loses it naturally in the spring. Bernard is very much in tune with the seasons.” Maya sipped her drink. “You know, Snooky, Bernard is right. This stuff could make you sick. It’s gone off already.”
“Not yet, Maya. Not yet. And it’s almost finished, youknow. Do you realize by the time you leave we’ll have used up twenty gallons?”
“What on earth possessed you to rush out and buy twenty gallons?”
“I don’t know, My. I had just arrived here, and I lost my head. I thought it was the most delicious thing I had ever tasted in my life. It’s fresh from the orchards.”
“Well, all I can say is that you’ve turned me off the stuff forever. When we get back to Connecticut, I hope I never see a drop of it again.” Maya
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