Free Shape of the Final Dog and Other Stories (9781101600665) by Hampton Fancher Page B

Mot’s tar was dry, we had to wait for Plaz to bring out a couple towels to protect the seats before he let us get in. I never saw Mot stubborn before, but he wanted behind the wheel, and when I tried to push him over he wouldn’t budge, so I let him have it. I sat in the middle, and it was kind of cozy all of us being in the cab together, Mot bobbing his big head, making motor noises, steering like he was going somewhere. I could smell there was gas in the tank and looked to make sure there was no keys in the ignition. Put me in mind of a story Doc used to tell about how it was he got circumcised back when he was twelve.
    Usually it was not much more than a creek, but because of some storm the Kanakoli was all swelled up, Doc and his dad having a drive to town alongside it. Sometimes a younger brother was included in the story, so there was three of ’em. To impress his daddy, little Doc tells him how he’s such a strong swimmer he could dive in the river and beat ’em to where it was they were going. Doc’s dad, who was a tough old bastard, plus also a doctor, stopped the car and told little Doc never to say he could do something unless he meant to do it.
    Doc told me he didn’t really want to, but there was no choice at that point, so he takes his shirt off and dives in. Split his head open on a submerged log and would have drowned if big Doc hadn’t of gone in for the rescue. Little Doc woke up in the hospital, and since his daddy was a doctor and since little Doc was in for one thing, why not do the rest like sometimes they did in those days? Stitched up his head, circumcised him, and took out his appendix. Three birds with one stone, and nothing he could do for quite a while that didn’t hurt him, he said.
    It could be that’s how come Doc became a doctor, never again wanting any doctors to have power over making decisions about what happened to his body again. Every time he told that story he’d get tears in his eyes for being proud about how his daddy saved him. But not about the next part, which I didn’t get to tell because right then something went wrong with Mot.
    Started with a sneeze—not a little one, it made us jump. Next he’s coughing, then he’s choking, having what could be called a spasm, black stuff coming out his nose, him gagging and trying to get his breath like he was drowning. When something like this happens, you wanna get out of the way and hope it’s gonna stop. But it didn’t stop. Plaz yelled, Get him out of the truck! We did, but it wasn’t easy. Plaz got clipped in the head by Mot’s elbow, nearly knocked him down, and wouldn’t touch him after that so it was up to me getting him outside across the yard and into the backseat of the car. All Plaz did was hold the door open. I used one of the towels stuck to Mot’s back to wipe away what was coming out of his mouth, then it was step on it Plaz and we took off.
    On the ride there I realized if Mot didn’t get better it was gonna be partly my fault because of how like a child he was in his dependence on me and how deep my responsibility to his situation went. If he didn’t improve, I didn’t think I’d be looking forward to any birthday parties because life wouldn’t be worth getting any older in. Dark thoughts, but down deep I believed Doc was gonna be able to fix him, because even in his current condition Mot was strong enough and good enough to beat this thing. On the other hand, if I was wrong, this thing might just go ahead and kill him.
    Soon’s we got into Doc’s, I could see Plaz wanted to hang around, see what was gonna happen next, but Doc didn’t like too many cooks in the kitchen. Neither did I. Besides, him being a stranger was driving the dogs nuts, so I told him to go home. I’d catch him up on what happened later.
    Of course Doc could see he was in trouble, but before he could pinpoint the problem Mot had to be