Song 09: All About Soul
Outside the boarded windows, pure white drifted through the night sky. Inside the dingy Bronx apartment, water in dog bowls and along the bottom of the faucets was foggy with a chill. There must've been fifty blankets in that single room, anything Fagin could find in dumpsters or alleys that wasn't completely filthy.
The unshaven man was red-faced again and nearly fell as he hobbled to the wall. He flipped the lightswitch and groaned when it didn't work. "I'm sorry, fellas…" he slurred, slumping into his chair and burrowing under blankets and jackets.
Without electricity, it was pitch black at night — except for the light of street lamps and the luminous snowfall outside — but the dogs could get around fine with their noses. They shivered, their breath visible, but Fagin had given each several blankets to keep warm. Fortunately, it was so cold that it didn't matter that the fridge's power was down.
Einstein nosed over to a pillow-and-blanket for, where Rita stood guard. "How is she? Is she, uh… is she good? She have enough food?"
"She's fine." Rita smiled for her friend. "She's gonna be just fine."
"Don't fret yourself, old chum," Francis said. "Annie will be perfectly all right. Here, have a little holiday nip. It'll warm your soul."
Tito's teeth chattered. "I need more than mi alma se calentó!"
Frankie's holiday drink was really rainwater Fagin had collected in jars outside, but make-believe was just as tasty. Einy took a gulp and grinned wide. It disappeared the instant Annie made a moan of pain from inside the pillow fort.
"It's okay, it's okay," Rita said. "Totally normal. She'll be like this a while."
"Reminds me why I never want pups," Charlie shuddered.
"Don't think you'd be a good mother?" Rita nuzzled the collie.
"Nah, too much hassle. I mean, what would I get them for Christmas?"
They looked out the window again at the snow, the decorations strung on fences below, and the wreaths on doors. The Bronx wasn't as festive as downtown Manhattan, but people tried their best to keep the Christmas spirit. There were two weeks until the big day.
But for Annie, the big day was today. She whined and whimpered again, straining to push, and it hurt so much to hear that Rita wished she could do something to make it better. She remembered Annie's only wish.
Her thoughts were broken by the loudest scream yet, then a gasp and a sigh, then the soft squeals of tiny newborn puppies taking their first breaths in the world. Rita disappeared into the fort, bringing three more blankets with her, one for each. "Three pups, guys," she said when she reemerged. "Three little cuties, two boys and a girl, and Annie looks good."
Einstein was the first to cautiously nose into the pillow fort. From outside, all they could see was his gray haunches, but his tail began to wag with delight. When Rita was satisfied that the old mother needed nothing else, she buried herself in blankets with her friends. The Company huddled together for warmth — her and Charlie, Tito and Francis, and Einstein with Annie and her three puppies. They were such a sweet family, mother, babies, and adopted father, but Rita couldn't shake that nagging thought — that brother was missing.
She couldn't get her gang any gifts that year, not the material kind anyways. She looked to where Fagin slept; at the foot of his recliner lay the Brooklyn Dodgers baseball cap.
Maybe she could get Annie a Christmas present after all.
The first flake that feathered onto his nose that bright morning made Oliver's whole face scrunch up. "That's cold!" The next thing he knew, there were a hundred of them in the sky. "Big bro, what is this? It's like rain but not… rainy."
He was miffed when Dodger began chuckling; it was a perfectly legitimate question. "Sorry, kid, forgot ya a spring baby… It's called snow." The dog sat beside the cat on the front steps of the mansion. "Come around every winter. Doubt this'll stick, though."
Dodger was quickly proven wrong. In an hour, Fifth Avenue had disappeared under a blanket of soft snow and they were both shivering as they sunk their paws in. Oliver felt like he was a minute away from frostbite. When he wasn't looking, Dodger yelled, "Avalanche!" and pushed a pile of snow on top of him. Oliver popped out while the dog laughed like a maniac. "No fair, I wasn't ready!" They ran through the drift, kicking snow at each other in a glorious fight. Jenny watched them from the windowsill, smiling contentedly.
Her parents had determined to give her the best Christmas of her life this year.
She used to wake up and rush downstairs, eager to sort out her presents from the pile, but this morning she had walked, not ran, and sat patiently on the sofa. The pile of gifts was even bigger this year. She saw her name on every tag. Their Christmas tree was dazzling, second only to the one in Rockefeller Plaza, and even it was barely big enough to cover them all.
She received several new dresses, a pair of Raggedy Ann and Andy dolls, a coloring set, a Rubix cube, and more books than she could count. She thanked her parents, hugged them, and hid her tears. They assumed she loved her gifts, and Jenny didn't want to correct them.
Her smile had been genuine when she saw the pets' presents. Oliver got endless toys, fancy food, and a pack of catnip that he'd gone to work sniffing. It put him in a groovy mood. "Ya get drugs? Where are my drugs? Where's tha dognip?" Dodger protested.
Dodger was given bones, a rubber ball, and a fancy leash for walks in the park. He'd been pleased and grateful, but he couldn't stop staring at the leash. He stared and stared.
Nancy received similar chew-toys and bones, as well as a cute sweater Winston knitted for her. Well, truthfully it'd been for Georgette, but the poodle had refused to wear it.
"Is this ALL I'm getting this year?" she'd shrieked. Georgette had been gifted with new designer outfits and one — that's right, only one — picture of herself. It wasn't even a good picture. The quality was grainy and the frame was brass, not gold.
"I'm sorry, Georgette, but you're not our only pet anymore." Mrs. Foxworth consoled her champion poodle, who looked ready to pass out.
It'd been a delightful Christmas morning. They had a splendid breakfast of croissants, eggs, fruit, and bacon, and they planned on a light lunch so they'd all have room for a magnificent feast later that night. Normally the Foxworths would go to a dinner party with their business colleagues, but like every year, Jenny asked her parents to stay home for a quiet evening of gingerbread and eggnog by the fire instead. This year, they finally agreed.
Oliver and Dodger ran through the snow like hooligans, barking and meowing with joy, leaving full-body impressions of snow-cats and snow-dogs. The cat climbed onto the windowsill where Jenny watched, then pounced on Dodger — a vengeful sneak attack, burying the dog in snow. When they were chilled to the bone, they huddled together on the steps.
"Merry Christmas, bro," Oliver said, teeth chattering.
"Merry Christmas, bro," Dodger repeated.
This was the first Christmas of Oliver's life, and it was perfect.
He didn't know another holiday surprise was just around the corner, an old friend he hadn't seen in months. He and Dodger were still on the front steps when who should come walking down Fifth Avenue but a brown-furred, bushy-haired Saluki with the gait of a runway model and the smile of a queen. "Rita!" the cat meowed. He dashed from the mansion's steps to snuggle his friend's legs, even though it meant getting in the snow again. She was a wonderful surprise present. He didn't notice Dodger had stiffened.
"Good to see you, cat." Rita grinned. "Look how you've grown! Boy, time flies."
Now Dodger locked eyes with her. "Yeah," he mumbled. "Time flies."
The orange tabby now rubbed against Rita, purring like an engine revving, and didn't see that both she and the mutt were simply staring, not speaking. His purrs eventually died down, and glancing up, he realized. "Dodger… aren't you happy to see Rita?"
His voice shook Dodger out of his trance. "Uh — Yeah, kid. Totally."
Rita inched towards him, one paw print in the snow at a time. She looked in the open window and saw the Foxworth Christmas tree, baubles and lights galore, she saw the cozy fireplace and the comfortable sofa, and she shivered. Oliver snuggled her again for warmth. "How's the gang doing? How's Mr. Fagin?"
She laughed low and rubbed her nose on the cat's head. "Everyone's fine, kid. We're snug as a bug in a rug." She looked at the dog again. "Actually, Dodge… the gang is why I'm here. They — I mean, we…. we miss you. Wanna see you for the holidays."
The reunion was interrupted by a girlish gasp of surprise and the front door swinging open. Jenny Foxworth, wrapped in a winter coat, ran out of the mansion and threw her arms around Rita's neck. "Good to see you again, girl!" She'd brought her a strip of bacon.
The Saluki took the treat gratefully and licked the child's face, but it was the next person out of the mansion who truly made her smile. A golden-furred Spaniel-mutt had followed Jenny out the front door, a sweet-faced girl with long fluffy ears, a friend Rita hadn't seen in a year and a day. "Nancy! I didn't know you lived here now. Wow, it's been ages!"
"And ya only got prettier," Nancy said, wagging her tail and sniffing noses.
The girls chatted a moment about their lives in the big city, how Charlie had moved in with the Company in the Bronx when Nancy had left their subway station to be with Dodger, how Noah had vanished and they were all worried, and how nothing ever stayed the same in New York. Truthfully, there was also a twinge of doubt in Nancy's eyes as she looked back and forth from Dodger to Rita. They had an awkwardness about them, a heavy silence that could mean everything or nothing. But she wasn't the confrontational kind of dog.
Much of this went over Oliver's head. He hadn't known Nancy, or Charlie or Noah for that matter, when they were members of the Company, so whatever history they exchanged was lost on him. But he'd grown fond of Nancy — she was a quiet listener, a good friend — and he smiled to see others smiling. The only one not smiling, in fact, was Dodger.
"Tha gang wants to see me?" he muttered. "For real? Ya miss me?"
"Is that so hard to believe?" Rita said softly.
"But everything's different now. Are we still friends?"
"That's up to you, hon. Do you still want to be friends?"
Dodger was quiet at first, then he licked the cheeks of Oliver, Nancy, and Jenny in turn. He stepped into the sidewalk, shook snow from his fur, and stood beside Rita. He didn't have to say where he was going; Oliver already knew and it was the best Christmas present he could have asked for. He'd often asked Dodger about the Company, about how they were doing, when he would see them again, and every time Dodger avoided the question.
Not this time. He took off down the white sidewalk alongside Rita, leaving two sets of paw prints in the snow. Jenny picked Oliver up in her arms and waved him goodbye. "Come back soon, okay?" The cat got deja vu from the memory of waving Dodger off last spring, after Jenny's birthday party. But his bro was right — things were different now.
He was glad to see Dodger with the gang again. Was it selfish to want him back already?
Conversation didn't come easy as Rita walked through the city with her old friend. She kept thinking of silly things to say, like "What's the food in a mansion like?" or "How many Christmas presents did you get this year?" but she knew that'd be immature, so Rita held her tongue. It wasn't until they were nearly past Central Park that one of them spoke.
"So how's tha, err… How's tha Company doing?"
"Not bad. Tito's been salsa dancing. Frankie's gotten fatter."
They both laughed at that and the spell of awkwardness was broken. It was as if the snow had melted into a puddle of warm water, their friendship refreshed in an instant. They admired the beauty of New York in winter, the white lining the skyscrapers, the sky blindingly bright. They took a quick detour into Central Park, where the trees were powdered.
Rita and Dodger came to a pond in the park that had frozen over, and some Christmas Day ice skaters were making circles and figure-eights on the glittering surface. He tried to get Rita on the ice, but her paws were cold enough already. "Do I look husky to you?"
He chuckled, and they settled down under a park bench instead.
"So how are you, really?" she asked. "How's life with Oliver?"
"Honestly, it's amazing. They're a great family, and I got Nancy there now, and tha kid…" He shook his head, grinning. "He's becoming a smart mouth, believe it or not."
She feigned surprise. "Where could he have picked that up?"
"Hey, don't look at me. It's all Georgette's fault."
To her shock, he saddled up closer to her and nuzzled her cheek. It could've been a fond gesture between friends, but this was Dodger. They had history. Rita gave a strained smile but slid away from him. After two months in a mansion, he smelled clean — the stench of cigarettes and exhaust smoke and stale burgers was gone. Somehow, he'd made it smell good.
She swore he could read her thoughts; the next moment, he was crawling on the concrete, racing to a hotdog vendor in the park, and spilling grease on himself. Dodger returned with a link of franks and his old familiar stink. "Dinner's on me, babe."
Rita ate her hotdogs, delicious as always, but almost gagged when he licked her cheek. "Uh, Dodge… What do you think you're doing?"
"Nice to spend time together again, ain't it?" He wiggled his eyebrows and wagged his tail, his hot breath on her face. "This is what I've missed tha most."
Rita opened her mouth but no words came out. She thought of all the times she'd glanced at Einy and Annie, so sweet and gentle, and all the tears she'd cried because she was sure no guy would ever want a girl as abrasive as her. She remembered the great times she and Dodger used to have, how good it felt to be young. "I miss it too, Dodge, but we're over."
She rolled her eyes and his shocked expression. "I thought you'd changed, hon. Thought you were settled down with Nancy. You know she's always loved you, right?"
"Yeah… I mean, she's a sweetheart, I do like her, but…"
"But what? She's too safe? Grow up, Dodger." Rita shook her head. "Listen to me, seriously. If you don't appreciate the good things in your life, they ain't gonna stay in your life."
He whimpered like a pup lectured by his mother. She half expected him to hop onto a car and ditch her, that's what the old Dodger would've done, but this mutt had a navy bandana, a crimson collar, and groomed fur. He kept walking with her, not saying anything, not trying anything. Maybe she hadn't given him enough credit.
"I like the navy blue, by the way," she said with a quiet smile.
"It's different," he said, flashing it proudly, "but different don't mean bad."
They walked with gaiety after that, enjoying the holiday decorations. There were many people in the streets, wrapped in warm coats, holding friends and family close.
They passed Santa Claus ringing a bell beside a bucket. His beard looked fake to Rita, but the child who made his parents stop to give Santa a hug didn't notice. The parents dropped a few bills in the bucket. Santa thanked them and kept his bell a-ringing.
"Silver bells, baby," Dodger chuckled as it glinted in the sunlight.
"It's Christmastime in the city." They held out their tongues to catch snowflakes.
Dodger didn't have good holiday memories from his puppyhood. Born in the fall of '85 and on his own by the time the snow was heavy, his first Christmas had been a blur he tried to forget. After a year, he was still alone on the streets, and his second Christmas had been as miserable as his first. He remembered watching families holding hands in snowy streets, seeing trees glitter through frosted windows, and whimpering.
But when the rains hit next spring, Fagin found him again and brought him home. Third time was the charm: he'd spent Christmas of '87 on the houseboat, surrounded by friends, still starving but starving together. Then the year was 1988.
It'd been a crazy twelve months, to say the least. Meeting Oliver in the spring changed his life; he'd been restless all summer and somehow wound up living with the Foxworths that autumn. Now Christmas was here again. Dodger was over three years old.
As he and Rita approached the shabby Bronx apartment complex, he tried to keep his mind on last year's Christmas with the gang, how fun it'd been, but all he could think of was his first two miserable holidays on the streets. And whose fault it was.
"I can't do this," he said, staring up at Fagin's boarded third-floor windows.
"But you're already here," Rita said softly. "Why not try?"
"But she — she's up there. I can't see her, Rita. I just can't."
"I know she abandoned you. But believe me, Dodge, she is so, so sorry."
He bowed his head and tried to silence the screeching of car tires. He nodded.
One step, then another; they were on the first flight, then the second, and finally came to the third. They stood in front of the doggy door a full minute, then they went in.
"Hiya, gang." His voice cracked. "Been a while."
It was as though they'd never been apart. Tito raced up to him with delighted yaps, Frankie complimented his new bandana, Einstein gave him a slobbery lick on the head, and Charlie wagged her tail. Rita gave a pleased but weary smile. They asked "How ya been, man?" and "However is dear Oliver doing?" until barks drowned the questions. Never mind the apartment was freezing — the cheering and bouncing warmed their blood.
All the noise roused Fagin, who'd been passed out in his patchy recliner. He strained to make out their visitor — the lights were still off, and a hangover blurred his vision — but when his eyes settled, they moistened. He covered his mouth, then stooped down and held out his arms. Dodger ran into them like Joe DiMaggio sliding home.
He licked the man's face all over, not caring that he tasted like alcohol and cigarettes; they were together again. He was Fagin and he was his Artful Dodger.
"Welcome back, boy," the man slurred. "Ain't been tha same without ya."
Dodger had been so overwhelmed reuniting with the Company that he hadn't noticed a strange new sound — the unmistakable coos of puppies.
He took hesitant steps towards the new mother, or rather, the old mother. She had her pups safely behind her, that was instinctive for when any male approached, even her own son. He knew Annie was searching his face for emotion: anger, sorrow, joy, or guilt.
Dodger couldn't say what she'd find. His heart was a busy New York City street, every taxi and bus and bicycle a different emotion all running the same direction, but seeing his mother with new pups — all it took was one reckless driver, one crash to scatter all other vehicles off course — the tire screech in his mind was the sharpest yet.
"Son?" She sounded as tired and dusty as she looked. He stared at his three new siblings, two-weeks old, complete mutts vaguely terrier-shaped. There was a boy with messy brown fur and dark spots, growling playfully. There was a white-furred girl, pretty and pristine.
Then Dodger saw the third puppy: he was smaller, quieter than the others, and his coat was white and gray with splotches of brown here and there. Dodger had seen his reflection in puddles and shop windows — this pup looked nearly identical to himself.
He was brought out of his trance by Fagin kneeling down beside him. "Didn't know ya were a big brother, did ya? When I saw this fella, I realized she was ya mom." He scratched Annie's ears gently. "I named tha brown boy Stud, cause he thinks he's tough. The white girl is Kitty, cause she's more cat than dog. And this little guy, ya twin… he's Billy. Named him after an old drinking buddy of mine. Now he's some hotshot musician."
Fagin hugged Dodger one more time before returning to his recliner and blankets. He dozed back off with a giggle and a smile; for once, his high was natural.
Dodger shook his head, trying to keep a lid on his every emotion; like an overstuffed trash can, there was no way to keep it all down. "Ya think ya can just have puppies, bring me here on Christmas Day, and now — now I gotta forgive ya?"
"Ya don't gotta do anything for me," Annie said. "Do it for yaself."
He gazed at her, gazed at the puppies, until he imagined he was one of them, nuzzled against her belly. "Ya made me feel so alone, Momma. Even if I wanna forgive ya… that feeling don't go away. It sticks in ya heart." He gazed at little Billy the longest, who looked so much like him. But Billy had his siblings, he had the Company, and he had his mother.
With a jolt, Dodger realized he had all of them too. He remembered Rita's words: whether or not they were still friends was up to him. Perhaps that was true here as well.
"I guess I — I just gotta remind myself that I ain't alone anymore. If I do that... I think I can forgive ya. I think I can try."
Annie smiled through her tears. She nodded for her son to join her in the pillow fort, and to his own amazement, he did. Dodger crawled beside her and his new siblings, who seemed to recognize him as family and were eager to snuggle. The five were asleep in minutes.
The apartment was frigid. The electricity was shut off. The bills were piled high.
But the Company had an even better Christmas than last year. Dodger decided to remain with them for the next few days, to see in the new year. He had spent enough time with Oliver and the Foxworths — and he and the gang had a lot of catching up to do. But his friends weren't the real reason Dodger chose to stick around.
He spent hours each day playing with Stud, Kitty, and Billy. Dodger let them chase him around the room, climb on his back for pony rides, and roll and tug and chew like there was no tomorrow. Dodger didn't have any good holiday memories from his puppyhood. They would.
The screech of rubber on road was getting fainter every day.
They were woken in the middle of the night by a sound Dodger would never forget in his life. It was a suppressed bloodcurdling shriek, a cry of pain mixed with a moan of holding back. It was a fighter who didn't want anyone to know they were down and out.
In an instant the entire Company was awake. Dodger had been sleeping near her, and he'd been the first to jump up; Rita and Charlie soon followed, and a groggy Tito and Frankie after them. But they were all shoved aside by a terrified Einstein. "Annie?"
"What's wrong with her?" Charlie froze with shock.
"Oh no… Oh dear…" Francis muttered, covering Tito's eyes.
There wasn't enough light to see by, only the street lamps outside, but they could all smell the rusty blood and sweaty fur. Finally, Fagin woke up — he shuffled through a kitchen drawer, found his flashlight, shone it on the pillow fort — and covered his mouth in horror.
Annie's chest was heaving; she tried to breathe steady but kept gasping. Her belly, still swollen from the pregnancy, was a raw pink. The blood came from between her back legs, where she'd given birth — and at once, the gang had a dreadful realization. It could've been her old age. It could've been the cold. It could've been that the Company did everything right, gave her all the food and blankets she needed, and there still would've been complications. Why it had taken a few days after the birth to manifest, they didn't know.
The Company fell silent after she fought back another scream of agony, practically bit her tongue to muffle it. Einstein's eyes bulged and he shook his head back and forth, like he couldn't comprehend what was happening. His panic was only outdone by Dodger's.
"Momma, what's — what's going on?" He dropped to the floor so he was at eye level with her. "Don't leave me again."
