In the Absence of Clocks

The Dogs

9 The Dogs The old man’s foot is a marionette that swings from his crushed nub of knee. Divots of grass, drags of gravel follow him as he hobbles from the ticket men to the boys who guard the mailbags. He asks for coins, for someone in the village to please roll the tobacco he’s found. One day the man will have enough change, take the first train that comes. No need to guess what he will find. The boys have stolen letters, they’ve read that in this country even the pines are threshed by winter. A mutt who’s robbed the laundry plays on the iron tracks. The wind breathes, the shirt whips. In this country, one sleeve wraps around the dog’s neck. Then another. ...