Year of the Dog by Shelby Hearon Read Free Book Online Page B

head. Though maybe later, in the university, when I’d got serious about learning the specifics of pharmaceuticals easing the discomforts of the body, I might have been curious, attracted, by a course that offered such attention to detail, might even have raised my hand to ask Mr. Maarten, “Why ash for wheels? Why elm for drums?”
    â€œSort of, I guess, in a way.” He gave us each a glass of orange juice, frosty cold. A ceiling fan blew a little air; still, it was warm. “I read about this building in Italy, a long timeago, built like that—.” He leaned back in his desk chair and pointed at the drawings. “A walnut tree cut up for wood screws. That first time I read it, I lay flat on my back and kept reading it aloud because I couldn’t believe it. Work like that. I’d just be reading it in my head all the time. You ever do that? The rollers for the hoist were greased with tallow; the ropes were soaked in vinegar. Well, I thought—I take these kids overseas? It’s part of the Experiment in International Living, I did it myself after high school—anyway, I thought this impossible building, this dome, was going up, the craftsman was designing it in his head, in 1428. So I wanted my kids to know about that, and think about what was happening in The Netherlands at the same time, that’s where we go. And compare that with here—he’s figuring out chestnut poles for the hoist, and over here in this country at that time, there’s nothing like that.” He looked at me, and then had to study his knees, his face flushed with having talked so much.
    I tried to imagine reading a book aloud to myself to understand it better. Thinking about him, somebody who’d do that, I decided I hadn’t known anybody like this before. I had a hundred questions.
    â€œIf you take students in the summer,” I asked, “how come you’re here? I mean, I saw you at the Dog Park the first day of June.”
    â€œYeah,” he said. “We did winter term this year.”
    â€œBut when you went, back in high school, it was summer?”
    He wiggled a finger in an ear. “Mostly we do summer. It depends on where the kids are going when they graduate. It’s different, different years.” He let his eyes roam the room.
    How did he get this way, so brainy, so nerdy? “Where was home?” I asked, trying to imagine him growing up.
    He gestured around the room. “This is it.”
    â€œI mean—.” Didn’t he get it? “Where did you grow up? Did you go off to school, before you went on the study-abroad program?”
    He looked at me, scowling. “You didn’t start with all that at the park. I liked it that you were doing this stuff with the puppy, knowing you had to give her away. Not a lot of people would do that. You didn’t do a third degree.”
    â€œI was just trying to—get to know you.”
    â€œWell, here I am. This is me.”
    â€œI mean where you came from, you know, your family, the town . . .” How could he not understand that? “I mean, it’s what you do in the south, you ask all about a person’s family and where they grew up and what they did when they were kids. It’s being friendly.”
    He waved a hand in the air, dismissing my words. “That’s how you learn class cues. Isn’t that what you want? You want to know if I had a rich dad? Do I come from old money, the foreign service, starving artists, film people? That’s what you’re asking.”
    â€œJeez, James, you must’ve been through this before. I mean I’m not the first girl you ever had over.” Though at that moment I wasn’t so sure about that. “Everybody asks questions, don’t they? You must’ve come up with something to tell other people.”
    â€œYeah,” he answered, sitting back down, examining a split thumbnail. “I’ve been