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Untouchable

Erich Baum


Maggie cleaned for the party on the Fourth, paying extra attention to the dog hair on the sofa's pilly cushions. She worried about the smell, too. For the first couple of says in mid-June when both Maggie and her brother Nolan were at work, Walter was home alone and frightened, so tense that he lost a small portion of his hair. The smell of his anxiety spread through her apartment. Maggie sprayed sandalwood and lit candles and Walter seemed to be doing better until he lost control of his bowels, on a patch of carpet near the sofa.
The party started when Maggie's father lumbered down the quivering metal staircase carrying a case of beer and wearing the summer sweater Maggie had bought him for a Father's Day a few years back. Following him was his wife Karen and her five-year old, Christian. In the same manner as Walter, Christian took the steps one by one, thumping down methodically.
Maggie's apartment was the basement of a brick house, a space that had been the recreation room before the house was divided for rental. Walking her through, the landlord had apologized for the decor - the walls were painted a pale, playful shade of green and the carpet was two-tones of blue and shag - and promised that the door connecting to the main part of the house would never open again. Two four-by-fours wedged into the jamb and the door knob was lopped off, all for Maggie's seclusion from an upstairs tenant that didn't exist. Nobody'd yet rented the upstairs and Maggie was alone downstairs, running a fan at night so as to drub out the quiet. Once her brother Nolan came to stay, however she fell asleep to the sounds of the TV. It was on now, as the party started, with Nolan propped up in front of it, having passed on the opportunity to help his father ignite the grill.
Nolan slouched on the sofa, holding the neck of a beer bottle. Walter was at Nolan's feet where he'd been napping until everyone arrived. Maggie'd wanted to put him away in her room, but it was too late. Christian crouched nearby clicking a Hot Wheel's front fender against Walter's skull. Nolan told him to stop.
Across the room, Karen make a petting motion for Christian to mimic. Christian instead fell back onto his bottom then rolled on the floor with his legs spread, pointing himself directly at Maggie, now humping. Maggie turned back to Karen and the spot on the carpet.
No, really, I don't smell anything, Karen said, flexing her nostrils. She'd found the stain on her own but Maggie was glad to have it out in the open. They stood staring at the shaggy blue carpet tendrils where they were stained lightly brown. Did you use vinegar?
Maggie nodded. He was beside himself. I found him in the far corner, not wanting to be near the mess, I guess. And he was shaking, like he was going to be punished. He tried to hide his face. I swear he almost put his paws over his face. He might have, except they're too short for his body. He was ashamed.
I think he was just scared, Karen said. Fear's different from shame. Dog's can't make that leap, I don't think.
But what if there's been trauma? Maggie asked.
When Ming's in the litter box, I turn my head. It's silly, but we all do it.
They looked to Walter. He appeared to squint in anguish as Christian lifted an ear flap and looked inside. Christian tried to whistle but was too young, and then was startled when Nolan landed the base of his beer bottle squarely on the coffee table, near Christian's ear. Nolan picked Walter up by his armpits, pulling him onto his lap. Walter's bottom slid off Nolan's lap and the dog settled with his forepaws crossed on Nolan's right thigh. Crying, Christian ran to the space between his mother's legs and Karen caught his head there.


The Fourth of July picnic was their second meeting in two months. They'd met up in late May at Nolan's graduation where the task of organizing the weekend had fallen to Maggie. She'd arrived in Harrisonburg and found her parent talking to their respective partners (Dad and Karen, Mom and Merl) in opposite corners of the Comfort Inn lobby. Maggie scheduled the dinners and charted the seating in the stadium, where the five of them lined up in their sunglasses, sitting erect, watching for Nolan's degenerate, duck-footed stride. Maggie sat in the middle, even though a sort of uneasy friendship had formed among the foursome. Karen and Merl determined that they'd both lived in Connecticut and both had crossed a bridge near Westport within hours of its collapse. In the mean time, Maggie's parents chatted more amicably after realizing that Nolan wasn't nice to either of them. Still, by Sunday afternoon, perched high in the stadium, they were all bored, and towards the end of the procession, Maggie finally pointed to a skinny guy at the end of a line, where Nolan would be, who wore shoes like Nolan might have worn. There he is! Look. He's smiling because he's graduating.
Maggie's mother said, That's not him, but on the other end of the bleacher, Maggie's father said, Isn't that something?
Nolan had told Maggie the night before that he'd be skipping the march. He offered to meet everyone afterward at the Home side of the stadium, but she didn't think that was likely either. They were left dangling again, the five of them, standing near the decorative stone pillars, where Maggie's mother found she could lean comfortably into the pedestal of a column. This inspired a chat about architecture which led them to the Romans and ultimately, the 1968 Olympics. Merl lifted his fist in a black power salute. Familiar as they seemed, they all kept their sunglasses one, even after the shadow of the edifice had dropped upon them. Finally, they collectively shrugged and lined up to hug Maggie, then drove off in two cars, in the same direction. Maggie went to a third car and drove to Nolan's apartment. She found him sitting on a suitcase in the foyer, gnawing on his thumbnail.
Did all of our parent leave? he asked.
Where are you going to go? she asked. His car was waiting on the lawn, the windows down.
I have no idea, he said.
To my house? The prospect intrigued her. She liked the concept of being there for him.



All he owned fit into the back seat. Maggie wondered aloud how he lived so lean and he said he was built for speed, except that he was, right now, very tired. He followed behind her at first, but passed her on the highways, dragging her home at his high speed. When they got to her basement, he immediately went to sleep on the sofa, waking only occasionally over the next several days to fish the remote control out of the cushions, or go outside and smoke. When she came home from work, Maggie would find Nolan standing behind the house, holding a cigarette in his lips while his hands hung plaintively from the sleeves of the untucked and unbuttoned shirt he wore day after day.
Smoking, Nolan first saw Walter scuttling down the alley. The dog had a short, brown-haired coat and perky ears. He had a big, corky snout, but was stubby, like a dwarf, with a long, stout torso and thin, short legs. Hid head bobbed as he walked and he paused to lift his hind right leg, scratching at his flank. Nolan dropped to his knees and tapped on the floor of the alley, but didn't look into the dog's eyes, not wanting to intimidate him. The dog gradually came to Nolan and stepped on Nolan's foot, his toenails digging through the tongue in Nolan's canvas sneaker.
Let's name him, Nolan said to Maggie.
I'm sorry, she said. I'm not allowed pets. I don't want to get evicted.
What would you name him? Nolan asked.
I wouldn't name him.
The dog dropped his head and looked up at Maggie from wet black eyes. She hadn't seen her landlord since the lease-signing, when he drove off without turning on her water. (She'd found the correct valve on her own, miraculously.) Maggie dropped to the dog and he ducked her, his eyelids twitching, as if awaiting a slap.
Okay, Maggie said, let's give him a bath.
In the tub, tensed in the six inches of water that reached his belly, he was named Walter. While Maggie poured hot soapy water over his coat and scrubbed at his face, Nolan held Walter's forepaws firmly before realizing he wasn't the type of dog to buck. Twice they drained the dirty water until Walter was cleaned and ready for a meal. Maggie made him a grilled cheese sandwich, of which he ate half. He drank three Tupperware containers full of cold water, then climbed the stairs and threw up in the yard. He slept through the night at Nolan's feet, yipping in his sleep, his legs churning.
He's a good do, isn't he? Nolan said. Except for when he's sleeping, he doesn't bark.
Yes, he is a good boy, Maggie agreed, but she wondered what was wrong with him, why he'd flinch when she dropped down to pet him and why his dreams troubled him so much. And he had intestinal problems. Neither wet nor dry food set well. His first happy meal was days in coming, when he finally downed a salad bowl filled with kibble. Nolan assisted by placing a transistor radio by the bowl, stationed to easy listening. In his first moment of true relaxation, Walter settled his full belly on the cool linoleum floor, stared off into the distance and panted through a song by the Miami Sound Machine.



They found a rhythm as a household. Walter was able to climb the steep staircase, but was sometimes afraid to come down. Nolan would retrieve him, holding Walter by his thick middle, carrying him like an end table. I hate coming down, too, Nolan would say. Now Nolan and Maggie would turn the TV on, but watch Walter as well. They would wonder what he might say if he could speak. They tried to figure out where Walter had come from, what combination of breeds he might be, and concluded that he was structurally a dwarfed version of a German shepherd but with a more kindly, rounded face. Nolan compared Walter's luck with that of Coco, their family's greasy-furred Newfoundland who was killed by a neighbor with glaucoma; the neighbor and Coco were found dead together in the woman's garage with the car's engine chugging down. The mention of disease inspired Maggie to arrange a trip for Walter to the veterinarian. She asked about his diarrhea and hypertension. He's gassy, too, Maggie added.
The dashiki-wearing vet had the look of a house pet himself, with carefully shaped facial hair and aura of animal dander. It might be colitis, he said. Or just a nervous stomach. He suggested a diet of yogurt and noodles and wrote a prescription for some pills. While preparing his various needles, the vet grasped Walter's head and looked into the dog's eyes. The vet's pinkies curved inward from the first knuckle on. He shakes. He's had some trauma in his life, no? Maybe hit by a car?
We don't know, she said. My brother found him in the alley behind my house.
Maggie ran her hands along Walter's sides, and felt his ribs. He felt solid, but he wasn't happy on the examination table. His toenails were long and slippery on the steely table. This alone seemed traumatic.
Maybe someone beat him. A previous owner. You should try to keep him relaxed, the vet said. He gripped Walter's arms and legs, one by one, with two hands each, feeling the bones. It's a weird body. He might be a dwarf, as you say. They tend to cost more, you know. They're valuable.
Why? Maggie asked.
The novelty. He's a toy. One of the longer needles was guided into Walter's fur, freezing the dog with pain. If you were a dwarf, the doctor said to Maggie, you'd be worth much less.
Finished, the vet lightly slapped Walt's hind end.



Towards the end of the afternoon, while the sun's setting glow shone through the drooping sycamore in the backyard, the party watched a woman teach her son how to ride a bike on the roadway out front. Maggie's father waved to the woman. Meanwhile, Christian continued to tug and pull on Walter's ears, causing Maggie to quiet those left around the picnic table by yelling, Please leave Walter's ear flaps alone! She apologized moments after snapping, explaining that she was exhausted.
The sun takes it out of you, her father said.
Christian crawled up into Karen's arms. He was cranky, too, looking ready to cry, though Maggie's outburst didn't do it. She didn't have enough of a presence. It was typically up to Nolan to make Christian cry, but he was downstairs in the basement having left the table when he was done eating. He'd answered all the questions about his job, which Maggie had helped him locate if only by buying him a highlighter to spot want ads. She'd come home from work and see that he'd used the highlighter mostly in the TV Guide while charting his morning and afternoon viewing, and she'd find his hands and clothes streaked yellow. And yet he was sure to get a job, he'd said, and he was right. Nolan slowly and angrily explained himself to his father and Karen, impressing them most with his plan to move in with another guy from work. Maggie stretched her sunburned face. It was the first she'd heard of it. She thought of how the Fourth of July can be so lonely.
The neighbor's son mastered his two wheels and rolled away, unsteadily. Maggie clapped along with her father and Karen, who held Christian's hands in hers and slapped them together. The woman waved back, then ran from view.
With tears rolling down her face, Maggie reached for Walter, but he hunkered down and pushed away from her, his nails scratching the patio, ever-fearful of being hit. Bent over, the back of Maggie's throat filled up and she gagged. She sat up and took the tissue Karen held out for her, then walked to her landing. Through her front door, she faced the door to the rest of the house where it was forever sealed. She heard her father coming along behind her and stopped to see him walking after her with his arms open. Maggie, he said. She called for her dog.



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