A Question of Manhood (26 page)

I stopped pulling and looked at him, and he stopped pushing and looked at me. This was a whole new side of JJ. One I'd never seen. Plus, he was being so open about this thing that I'd always thought would be shameful. I was sure as hell ashamed of Chris for it, and Chris had acted like it was shameful, too. So how could JJ act so devil-may-care?

Almost wishing I could have asked Chris a few things, I challenged JJ instead. “But, don't you ever, like, think maybe you should be different?”

“Why? So people like that guy, and your friend, won't get their masculinity punctured when they see me having the nerve to be alive?”

“Well, I was thinking more like maybe your own life would be easier.”

“Could you be gay, Paul?” I blinked and backed away a step. “I didn't think so. And guess what. I'm not going to pretend I can be straight, I'm not going to live a lie, just so you can feel more comfortable around me.”

“I didn't say I was uncomfortable!”

His laugh was more like a bark this time. “You didn't have to say it. I've seen you back away. Are you saying you don't think I should be honest about who I am?”

“Maybe I'm saying that, if what you are is bad. If you were a murderer, would you be, like, all open and honest about that?”

“You're telling me you think what I am is as bad as being a murderer?”

“I didn't say that!”
How did I get on the defensive end of this conversation?

“Look, maybe this is something you want—wishing there were no such thing as homosexuality. But being who I am is something I
need
. That's stronger than wanting. And it's more important than your comfort.”

“So you'll make dogs feel comfortable but not people?” I felt like Jack's mouthpiece.

“Animals are at our mercy. It's our job to give them as much of what they need as we can. But people aren't pets. And as for making you comfortable? That's
your
job.”

I was feeling a little threatened, like I had to stand up for my position in the world. “It's not just me, though, is it? It's not just what
I
want.”

JJ's voice took on an edge. “Oh, are we going back to the illegal thing again?”

“No. What I was thinking is that it's ironical that your name is Jesus, since what you are is a sin. I was going to say that it's about what God wants. It says so in the Bible.”

“First, you don't mean ironical, you mean ironic. And I don't happen to agree. And as for the Bible, are we talking about the God who made the earth in six days? If so, he made you, too. And he also made me. And he made me who I am. I guess I'd rather argue with the Bible than with God when there's a conflict. And by the way, there's a lot of stuff in that Bible of yours that
you
don't follow. How come you get to choose which things are sacred for you and which are not, and I don't?”

“What are you talking about?” My face must have been crimson; I was thinking of my few minutes with Lady Pink Vest. Plus I was irritated about being corrected; JJ wasn't my mother, after all.

JJ half smiled. “I can see you've got something in mind already. I don't pretend to know what it is, but I don't need to know. There are so many things I already know. Like I'll bet you didn't even know you weren't supposed to wear linen and wool together. Or plant two kinds of seeds in the same field. Do you have a sister?”

“What? No….”

“Too bad. Your father could sell her into slavery, as long as he took her far enough away, and maybe pay for part of your college education. Have you ever cursed your father? Because he would be expected to kill you for that.” I just stared at him. “So, as I said, I'd rather argue with the Bible than with God. And if you think they're the same, then you'd better go and familiarize yourself with all the things in the book of Leviticus that will get you stoned to death by your neighbors.”

If I'd been a little afraid of that tattooed guy's fury and curses earlier, that was superficial and quickly gone. This was different. JJ stood there, his face like stone, and maybe I wasn't actually afraid of him, but I felt bad in a way that I knew would stay with me. I couldn't decide if I was angry or ashamed. And I was having a hard time not thinking about Chris.

While I stood there like a dunce, JJ leaned against the box of litter again. Before he pushed, he said, “I am who I am, Paul. And so are you. And I don't think God wants us to lie about what he made us. Now, pull.”

We got the box where we wanted it, and I tossed the dog bed I'd fetched into the cleared spot. JJ was watching me. Something in me wanted to shock him. It felt like he'd won something earlier, and I wanted some of that back. I said, “My brother was gay.”

JJ blinked.
Ha! Surprise
.

“What brother? What do you mean, ‘was'? You're not going to try and tell me he changed, are you?”

I took a breath. What an idiot I was; now I had to talk about Chris. My legs felt funny, and rather than have that show I sat down on what would be Dante's bed. I took another breath. “My dad doesn't know. Or my mom. I'm not sure I should be telling you. But since you're like him, maybe he wouldn't mind.” I rubbed my face and then looked at JJ. I had his full attention.

“His name was Chris. He was in the army. He…he died last December. It was right after he'd been home on leave. The night before he went back to 'Nam, he told me. And he asked me not to tell our folks.
He
was ashamed.”
Take that, JJ
. I didn't see any need to go into the relationship with Mason, or the crying, or the being afraid. This was more than enough.

But JJ didn't “take that.” He sat on the concrete in front of me looking sad and said, “Oh, Paul, I'm so sorry. Were you close?”

All I could do was nod. I felt like crying, and I was
not
going to do that.

His voice was soft. “What a burden.”

“Yeah.” I pinched my nose to hide what I was feeling and stood up again. Sitting down was just going to encourage confidences, and I didn't want to exchange any more of those. In fact, I'd had enough of this entire conversation. “D'you want to come with me to talk to Dad about keeping Dante?” Maybe at least he could help with Dad. Like Chris.

He held out a hand to me to help him up. There was just a second or two of hesitation, and I reached for it. As he got to his feet it occurred to me that just as we hadn't known Dante's name when he got here, we never found out the owner's name, either. He would always be “the tattooed guy.”

We managed to convince Dad that Dante would be okay there. We laid out a plan to get him walked and cared for, now and after JJ went away to school. Dad even mumbled something about needing to get more exercise himself, so it sounded like he might take some of the responsibility. For sure, he'd always wanted a dog. JJ pointed out that once we got Dante back to being a real dog again, if Dad felt he couldn't keep him here any longer he'd be the sort of dog someone would want to take, unlike now when he'd probably just be killed. In the end, JJ even worked things so Dad agreed that JJ could take Dante to a vet tomorrow, and Dad would pay for it.

But then we heard howling. Dad went with us back to the stockroom, and JJ tried to tell him he shouldn't go in first, but he didn't listen. Dante took one look at Dad and snarled. He was still tied to the shelves, but it was ugly, anyway.

“Mr. Landon, I think it might be best if you wait until I can introduce you in a way that won't upset him. Is that all right?”

Dad backed out of the room, his eyes on the dog, and said, “I guess so. This had better work out, and soon.”

JJ and I went in, and he marched right over to the dog and clapped his hands sharply. “Hey!” he said and snapped his fingers toward the floor. Dante lay back down again. “Paul, come stand over him with me. He needs to see you as dominant, too.”

Well, he is still muzzled.
I went over as ordered, and the two of us stared down at Dante a minute.

“Now turn casually and walk away.”

As I did, I asked him, “What kind of a dog do you have?” I was wondering if it had been a recovered dog, like this one.

“How do you know I have a dog?”

The answer to that would have given away that I'd eavesdropped on him and Dad that day, so I said, “How could you not?” I got to the door and turned to look at him.

“I do, as a matter of fact. He's a pit bull.”

“Does he have a name?” I couldn't resist asking.

JJ chuckled. “Yes. Cain. He wasn't as far gone as Dante, but he had his problems. I think he's a great dog now. My mom loves him, too. She walks him a lot. She grew up with dogs, and what Cain didn't teach me, she did.”

“Does she know?”

“Know what?”

“That you're gay?”

JJ took a deep breath. “Paul, I really hope you'll be able to stop focusing on that. It's just…well, I don't want to say it's not important, but it shouldn't keep coming up. You know?”

“Sorry.” I wasn't sure exactly how I was supposed to just forget about it. I mean, it loomed huge between us. And between me and Chris. Between me and my folks.

“Yes, she knows. But I'm the youngest of four boys, and they've all gone off and gotten married and had kids, so she jokes that she doesn't need any more grandkids to spoil. And she likes that I'll be going to college. None of my brothers did.”

“Are they cool with it? I'm asking only because of my brother.”

“I guess mostly they don't know. It hasn't seemed important yet to tell them. My dad doesn't.”

“So you do lie to some people.” It was a challenge.

“No, if any of them asked me, I'd tell them. I told you.”

Calm. He was so calm. It was like when he was dealing with unruly dogs. Should I, like, let him squeeze the small of my back to get me to sit at his feet or something? But I wasn't quite done. “I still don't understand why your mom is so okay with it.”

“Well, Paul, first of all, you're assuming there's something wrong with being gay. Not everyone agrees with that. Me, for one. Plus, my mother believes everyone must be who they are. Maybe that's one reason she's so good with dogs; she accepts them for what they are and doesn't expect them to be something they're not. That works with people, too, y'know.”

Half an hour before closing, JJ got Dad's permission for us to take Dante out for another few laps around the parking lot. JJ started things out, but he had me walk with him, ahead of Dante. At one point he told me he was gonna hand me the leash, reminding me how to hold it, and he passed it over. All three of us just kept going like nothing had happened.

After a couple of minutes JJ said, “At the next corner, come to a stop and see if Dante stops with you.”

He did! The dog was right with me. He sat at my feet, and I felt this incredible high, like he had accepted me. Like he acknowledged my leadership.

 

Lying in bed that night, I couldn't sleep. Sometimes I'd feel overwhelmed by how fantastic it had felt to have Dante accept me, and sometimes it irritated the hell out of me that I hadn't been able to get JJ to admit he had a problem. Finally I decided my attempts at getting JJ to agree with me about the gay thing had been pretty wimpy, and I excused myself because I hadn't had any time to prepare. I'd been caught off-guard. JJ'd had lots of time to prepare; as long as he'd known he was gay, he must have been working out things to say to people like me. But that didn't make it right, and it was infuriating that he seemed to think it did.

I mean, my God, even Chris had thought it was wrong. Why else would he have apologized to me for it? “I'm so sorry,” he'd said. “I didn't ask for this. I didn't want this. I can't help it.” And who—oops, sorry, Mom—whom did I look up to more, Chris or JJ?

Chris had been afraid. JJ isn't.

JJ didn't have to go to 'Nam, damn it!

In fact, I'd bet that JJ wouldn't be allowed to go to 'Nam. All he'd have to do is show up at the draft board with his—what would the guy be called, JJ's boyfriend?—and he'd just waltz back out again. Chris had had more guts than that.

Or maybe Chris just didn't have the guts to admit he was gay.

Christ! Will I ever stop going around in circles with this fucking thing?

I pulled my pillow down around my ears to try to stop the voices in my head.

JJ showed up before me again the next day, despite the fact that it was his day off, to walk Dante with me. First JJ had me feed him, and then he put a new muzzle on him. He had me put the collar and leash on him, and he made sure I walked out the door ahead of the dog. We walked for about half an hour, around the lot first and then on the neighborhood streets behind the store.

We didn't talk much, except when JJ said Dante seemed to have been okay on his own overnight. For my part, I didn't want to start any conversations that might lead to the gay issue, because I wasn't ready to counter any of the things JJ had said or might say. I couldn't tell what was on JJ's mind. Maybe he needed some sign from me that we were gonna be friends, and if he didn't get that then he wasn't gonna push anything. Who knows.

Dante had a nasty moment when someone else out walking a dog got close, and another when Dante revealed a particular hatred of bicycles. JJ had to take him each time and get him back into control again, which didn't do much for my self-esteem.

Back at the lot, JJ took Dante's leash. “I'm going to walk him to my house, and then my mom and I will take him to our vet. He's behaved himself very well, overall. D'you want to scratch his ears and massage his shoulders a little?”

I hadn't really touched him yet. But there didn't seem to be any reason not to. I reached down and dug my fingers into the folds of skin around his ears, and he looked up at me. If it hadn't been for the muzzle, I could have sworn he was smiling.

In the store I did a few fish tanks, and then I helped some lady with her kid decide which guinea pig to get and what supplies they would need. I never saw the point to guinea pigs, but the little girl was so thrilled she was squealing a lot like the pigs themselves. Should be a good match, I decided.

Around eleven JJ showed up again, with Dante. I wouldn't have known except that I was in the stockroom at the time, and they came in through the back door. Dante seemed exhausted. I asked, “How did it go?”

JJ sighed a little. “He doesn't like going to the vet. He proved that sufficiently today. I had to stay in the car with him while my mom waited inside until it was his turn. He was a holy terror in the waiting room with all those other dogs around, and I couldn't even just stay in the parking area with him, out of the car, because of course people kept bringing animals right past him and he went berserk every time. I'm a little concerned how he's going to do here, since people will bring dogs into the store.”

“They won't come back here.”

“No, but we need to get him socialized somehow. I'm thinking of bringing Cain in.”

I gave a kind of snorted laugh. “I'd sell tickets to that one!”

“Paul, that's not funny. Too many people do exactly that. But it wouldn't be like that, anyway. I could keep Cain from attacking, and Dante would be harnessed and muzzled. I'm just a little worried that Dante will get too out of control.”

“What about tranquilizers?”

“You are kidding, I hope. Anyway, that wouldn't socialize him. He needs to learn how to act around other dogs.” He sighed again. “But that's a future project. Dante and I have both had all the training we can take for one day. Say, d'you think you could help me put up a run for him this afternoon?”

“Is he ready for that?”

“Probably not, but I have the time, and it's my time. So your dad would essentially be donating only your time. And then it would be there whenever Dante's ready.”

I shrugged. “I guess.”

JJ went and bought a few things at the hardware store, driving an old Chevy that was almost certainly his mom's car, and I had to admit he was pretty good with the tools. I guess I was feeling a little magnanimous or something, because I actually said so.

“My dad's a plumber,” he told me, standing on a step stool and drilling a hole into one of the trees off to the side of the lunch area. “All his boys learned how to use tools. No option.”

“I suppose otherwise you would have avoided this kind of work.”

He stopped what he was doing and looked down at me. “Why?”

Shit.
I tried to shrug it off. “Sorry; I know you asked me not to keep bringing it up.”

“It? You mean, my being gay?” He shook his head and lifted the drill again. “Right. Everyone knows gay men hate power tools.” The drill whined into the tree, and when JJ was satisfied with the hole he got off the stool, and then he looked at me again. “Stereotyping saves you a lot of time, doesn't it?”

We walked Dante again, and the dog was too tired to react as strongly to other dogs as he had that morning, so I was able to do the whole walk myself. Which was a good thing, since JJ was pissed at me and I was pissed at him.

When we got back JJ said, “Are you clear on what to feed him later? And how to get the muzzle off and back on again?”

“Oh, I know how to do it. I just don't know if he'll let me.”

“Try it. Right now. He's tired, and he'll be better prepared for it later.”

I looked down at the dog, who had accepted the bed we'd set up for him and was all stretched out on it, even though his harness lead was tied to the metal shelves. I was just about to walk to him when JJ said, “No. Call him. He needs to come to you. The dogs in the pack are always expected to go toward the leader.”

Damn him, anyway. What makes him always right?
But I did it, and Dante came to me, exhausted or not. I scratched his ears again and then took the muzzle off.

“Now give him one of those treats.”

We'd selected about four different kinds to see which one he'd like the best, but he seemed to like all of them. I gave him two of the biscuits, muzzled him again, and rubbed his shoulders. He smiled at me and went back to his bed.

“This is really good, Paul. He's accepted you. He follows you. Now we just need to get him used to your father. Maybe tomorrow. Don't forget to take the muzzle off again so he can drink water overnight. I'm heading out now. Listen”—and he went over to the worktable to find a scrap of paper and a pen—“if you have any problems this evening, call me here. It's not the number in my file.”

“Oh? Where is it?”

He looked at me a second. “You don't want to know.” And he left.

I stood there, frozen, looking after him.
You don't want to know.
It's what Chris had said to me when the answer was…well, you know what the answer was. So whether I wanted to know or not, I knew; it would be JJ's boyfriend.

I left Dante dozing and went back into the store, to fish tank filters and dried cricket restocking and occasionally bagging at one of the registers, most of the time speculating on the boyfriend. He'd seemed a little older than JJ. And if JJ was at his house, it seemed unlikely the guy lived with his parents. College student? It was a possibility. But I really didn't want to know.

Right?

I had a weird dream that night. Not about Chris, or JJ—not exactly, anyway. It was kind of like I was watching this training film or something, and the narrator kept talking me through this filmed scene where a small schooner, sails full open to the wind, is subjected to several different kinds of water disturbances. And no matter what the water is doing—head-on storm wave, rocking the boat sideways with the wake of a passing freighter, passed on one side and then the other by whale-watching ships—the schooner always reacts the same way. So each time the schooner gets tossed around in the water, it always recovers, and the narrator says, “This is the way a gay schooner will react in this situation.” Then it's a different kind of turbulence, but again the narrator says, “This is the way a gay schooner will react in this situation.” He said the same thing, no matter what. And, no matter what, the gay schooner always recovered.

After about the fifth time, I sat up in bed and shook myself awake. I thought of going into Chris's room, but somehow I didn't want to bring this weirdness in there. So I just took a leak and went back to bed.

 

By Friday afternoon Dante had made significant progress. JJ had gotten him to tolerate Dad going in and out of the stockroom, and he'd even spent a little time on his run. He was back in the stockroom because of an on-and-off drizzle, and I was bagging at one of the registers, and JJ was outside under the overhang with a customer and her dog, when I heard Dante explode.

First I looked around for Dad, praying he hadn't been the cause of the commotion. He was in his office, and he was at attention, too. I bolted toward the noise, throwing the door to the stockroom open. Dante was straining against his lead, barking and snarling viciously at a cowering Marty Kaufman, though he couldn't reach Marty because of being tied to the shelves. From where I stood in the doorway from the store, it was obvious Marty had come in from the back and had been surprised nearly to death when Dante jumped up and probably lunged. In Marty's haste to get back outside—or maybe he'd just fallen against them—he'd toppled a couple of stacks of bagged pine shavings for rabbit cages and was desperately trying to move them out of the way so he could open the door and escape.

Dad appeared at my elbow. “Well, this is something,” he said.

“Dad, would you get JJ? He's out front. I'll see if I can calm Dante down.”

Dad stood there another second or two, enjoying the sight, and then headed out. Now I had to deal with this dog. I didn't want to surprise him, so I moved around to get into his line of vision. He ignored me, focused on annihilating the intruder.

“Dante!” I yelled at him. “No! Stop!” I clapped my hands and pointed to his bed, and he proceeded to ignore me. I tried everything I could think of to get his attention. Meanwhile, Marty managed to kick enough of the bags aside so that he could open the door. He stepped outside and pulled the door mostly shut, still watching but obviously terrified.

Suddenly JJ was in the room. He marched right over and stood in front of Dante—blocking his view of Marty, which hadn't really occurred to me—clapped his hands and pointed. Dante ignored him, too, which did my heart good. But JJ was not going to repeat an ignored command. He moved to Dante's side, jerked the collar a couple of times without effect, and then put all his weight into forcing Dante down onto the concrete floor. Dante fought him for a minute, then just struggled a little.

“Should I shut the door?” I asked, thinking it might be good to get Marty out of the picture.

“No. Let him see that he has to submit even though his target is still in sight.”

I looked over at Marty, whose eyes were bugged out watching this puny little gay kid manhandle a violent German shepherd. He was ready to run if necessary, but he was too fascinated to leave unless he had to. Eventually Dante stopped struggling and just lay there, panting and heaving like the bulldog, and like Gypsy, the Carters' dog.

JJ looked up at Marty for the first time. “Come back inside,” he said.

“Fuck that shit!”

“Young man!” My dad's voice boomed from behind me. “We will have none of that language here. Now do as you're told and come back inside.” I suspected Dad was secretly hoping Dante would take a chunk out of the terrified Mr. Kaufman. Truth be told, I would have found it amusing myself. Marty made a face and then shrugged, and gingerly he stepped back inside, leaving the door conspicuously open.

JJ said, “Come this way. He won't hurt you, I promise. Just approach casually. Don't look at him.” JJ looked at Marty and chuckled. “And don't look so terrified. It will only enrage him again.” I could hear ridicule hiding just behind his words; it seemed Marty was the only one in the room who didn't think it would be fun to see him lose a little skin.

So Marty moved slowly, cautiously toward the panting dog. “What am I supposed to do now?”

“Just stand there so he sees you're not afraid of him.” There was that humor again. Then, “Okay, now turn casually like you don't care and walk back toward the door. I'm going to let him up.”

I'm not sure Marty quite managed casual, but he made it to the door and turned around again, watching as Dante got to his feet. JJ, still holding the collar, jerked it once or twice toward Dante's bed and pushed the dog's side a little in that direction, using stiff fingers. Dante lay on his belly, head on his paws, and looked up from sad eyes.

To no one in particular Dad said, “He'll make a terrific guard dog, once we get him to obey a command to heel.” Then, to Marty, “As for you, what do you mean by sneaking in here through the back door?”

Marty was trying to look cocky and wasn't carrying it off up to his usual standard. “I just went around back to see if Paul was out there on a break or something. He wasn't, so I came in. Didn't think it would be such a big deal.”

On a break? In the drizzle? Liar.

“Next time, think again. You know I don't really like you in here, anyway.”

Marty straightened up a little. “As a matter of fact, I'm here to get a few things for Mrs. Denneghy. You remember her? The one with the Dalmatian that got attacked at your clinic?”

Dad scowled. “What do you know about it?”

“His owners live next door to me.” I knew this was true—or at least that Marty had said it before—but I had serious doubts about Marty's intentions to do anything useful for his neighbors or their dog. Even so, I said nothing.

All Dad could say was, “Paul, help him gather what he needs and see him out the door. The
front
door.”

Marty gave Dante a wide margin as he moved toward the door that led into the main store area, and I followed him out.

“So what is it you need for the Dalmatian?”

“Not a fucking thing. What d'you take me for?”

“Oh, let's see…a thief, maybe? What did you think you were doing, coming in the back way like that?” I steered him toward dog supplies in case Dad was watching.