Limpy—her real name was Olympia for the doll in
Les Contes d’Hoffman—was
seventeen. The pound had listed her as “mixed breed.” Luke guessed she was part
collie, part shepherd with maybe some golden retriever tossed in. Her red fur, once
silky, was coarse and tufted like desert grass. She moved slowly these days and, like
Luke, had a terrible time with stairs. Her eyes were milky from cataracts, and she was
so deaf that Luke had to use exaggerated hand signals to get her to obey. She got
disoriented and forgot where she was. And yet she was still beautiful.
Jeb, the young singer Luke coached three times a week, laughingly called her
Luke’s Portrait of Dorian Gray—all Luke’s problems showed up in her. Luke had to
smile. He’d had cataracts removed, depended on his hearing aids (a real curse for a
musician), and controlled his arthritis with ibuprofen. His brain still worked, though,
except for occasional forgetfulness, of course. But, then, there were things he wanted
to forget.
“I don’t know.” Jeb watched Limpy resting at Luke’s feet
under the piano. “Maybe
you should think about having her, you know, put to sleep—”
“I won’t have her killed,” Luke said, “as long as she can
enjoy living.”
Jeb gave his head a slow shake, still watching her. “All she does is eat and sleep
and do her business.”
“Wrong. Come with me sometime when I take her to the park. She sniffs and
hunts and looks and listens.”
“She can’t hear anything.”
Luke gave Jeb a patient smile. “She hears the song of the earth.”
Jeb blanked.
“I mean,” Luke said, “she hears life with her inner ear, like I’m
always telling you to do.”
“The inner ear. A vintage Luke-ism.”
“Something every singer has to have. If you’ll pardon me, my young friend, yours
is still a little on the tinny side.” Luke smoothed the pages of the piano score and
adjusted his glasses. “Back to Kindertotenlieder. ‘O du,’ all in one breath to the D flat—”
Jeb marked his own score on the music stand in the curve of the piano.
“Then,” Luke said, “carry the whole next line, two and a half measures
to the first B flat, on a single breath.”
TOM'S TALES