The Moon and the Sun and Errol Flynn

Saturday is Errol Flynn’s day to go to the park. Mrs. Maudie Hagopian-Jones brushes him to his fluffy best and attaches his blue collar to the matching leash. Before they leave the house, she kisses her fingertips and touches Lionel’s photograph in the silver frame near the door. He beams at her, his pencil mustache quirked, and waves his cigarette.

Outside, the October sun glares on Errol Flynn’s white fur, making Maudie squint. From time to time, she stumbles on the uneven pavement. Thank goodness for Errol’s patient guiding.

She sits on her usual bench, across from the green slide. Normally the playground is a blur of color, filled with children laughing and shouting and running. Errol loves them all, but his special friend is Suhana, the little girl who always rushes over first to greet him. She buries her hands in his fur and whispers secrets in his ear, while her mother speaks gently to Maudie. The meaning of her words isn’t clear, but Maudie somehow feels their kindness.

Today, the empty swings are wrapped in yellow tape that snaps in the breeze. A few drab sparrows scrabble in the dirt, but no children appear.

Errol turns reproachful eyes on her. Maudie tickles him under his chin. She didn’t make the kids vanish. If it were up to her, they’d be sliding and swinging and hollering. Suhana would find a ball and toss it for Errol to retrieve and slobber over and act like the puppy he hasn’t been for a decade.

A young man appears, or maybe he’s an old boy; it’s so hard to tell these days. A tartan mask covers the lower half of his face. He sits on a neighboring bench and takes a cell phone from his pocket.

Maudie makes her way over and tweaks his sleeve. “Excuse me.” Her voice used to be a mellow alto, but now it wobbles and scratches.

He shuttles sideways along the bench and shoots her a look. Errol snarls, and Maudie’s hand finds his furry head. He yawns, as if he weren’t aching to take a bite out of this nasty bashi-bazouk.

Maudie coughs, and the man flinches. “Where are the children?” she asks.

The guy points to his face. “You need to put on your mask.”

She touches her mouth with her crooked fingers. If only Lionel were alive to remind her. When he died she’d almost joined him out of sheer loneliness, until Errol Flynn rescued her.

“I’m sorry.” She stops herself. It’s true she never should have touched the man. In the fresh air, though, does it matter so much?

“It’s okay.” He rises. His phone rings and he answers it as he leaves. “No, no. Just reminding another senior about wearing a mask. Typical.”

Maudie smiles, glad she passes for normal. She’s lived much of her life feeling anything but. She closes her eyes, and a rush of disturbing images—some vivid, some vague—nearly causes her knees to buckle. She blinks rapidly and sits back down on her own bench. Errol snuggles himself onto her toes. Every now and then he whines. Maybe she dozes off; it’s hard to stay awake with such cozy feet. He’s her only friend, but what a good one he is.

When she eventually rises, the shadows are longer, and the park is still empty. She holds tightly to Errol’s leash, allowing him to lead the way. On the way home, he begins to limp.

“Did the man step on you?” Maudie asks.

They stop halfway. Maudie coaxes Errol over to a lamppost. She grips it and slides her way down inch by painful inch until she achieves a shaky crouch, pulling at her hem to cover the tops of her raveling knee-highs. He gives her his paw. She can make out the general shape of the black pads and nails, but can’t detect any injury. Errol lets her squeeze and prod. He thrusts his fuzzball face into hers and gives her a vigorous lick.

“Oh, yavrum,” she says, before pulling her way up to an approximately upright position. “You’re such a hambone.”

When they start walking again, though, Errol continues to hop on three feet. At Maudie’s building, she has to sit on the stoop and haul to get him up the two concrete steps and across the threshold into the colorful shabbiness of their ground floor flat. Crocheted afghans cover every surface, concealing worn-out upholstery and scratched wood, and Maudie chooses the softest one to wrap herself and Errol in. In time, she dreams—violent flashes, streaked with red—and her eyes fly open. Fortunately, Errol slumbers on.

For the next two days, he lies around the house. Sometimes he stands, and each time, Maudie’s heart rate quickens, but then he lurches, and she sighs.

By the third night, her terrors are worse. Over and over, she is torn from her father’s arms. The aching grey loneliness of her childhood, with only a traumatized aunt to raise her, returns. Sleep is impossible. Careful not to disturb Errol, she tiptoes to her husband’s framed photograph and kisses it, choking back a sob. Lionel had been the one to convince Maudie she was worthy of love. She brings the picture back to bed and whispers endearments to it, and occasionally to Errol, until she sinks into a dreamless sleep.

The next day, there is no improvement in Errol’s condition.

 “Does it hurt very badly, Errol Flynn?” She touches his shiny black nose, and he grins.

Why are there no phone books anymore? She has a phone—a very old-fashioned, stupid one with a curlicue cord that’s getting more tangled each year—but she doesn’t have the name or number of a vet. Lionel would have known how to help, and she wastes an hour having a little cry, before remembering the vet’s office she’s passed once or twice on her walks. Then she opens her underwear drawer and feels her way under the stack of fraying nylon panties until her fingers pincer Lionel’s crackly wallet. It’s thinner than it was last month when she had to have her broken bridgework fixed. The dentist scolded her for leaving it too long. She’s been economizing, trying to spend as little money as possible—except for the premium dog food she feeds Errol. In the autumn, dogs require extra energy, being distant relatives of bears, and all.

She chooses Errol’s fancy red leash, which looks jaunty with his white fur. After rooting through her hallway closet, she puts on a matching red beret over her own snowy hair. When she catches a glimpse of herself and Errol in the hallway mirror, she nods. They leave, Maudie tottering on two feet and Errol hopping on three.

The vet’s office is several blocks away. By the time they arrive, Maudie is breathing in short wisps of air, and her juddering heart threatens to quit. She guides Errol inside. The reception floor is ancient, stained linoleum, but the place smells of strong astringent, and Maudie’s eyes water in a reassuring way. Errol sneezes. He repeats this seven times, and the receptionist, who is sitting so low behind the registration counter that Maudie can’t see her, offers up a giggly blessing.

Once Errol composes himself, Maudie leads him to the counter. She’s all of five feet tall in her one-inch heels, and can barely see over the rim, and the thick plastic divider distorts everything to smeariness. From what she can make out, the receptionist has long hair that’s dark at the roots and white at the tips. There’s an embossed nameplate, and Maudie runs her fingers over the letters that spell “Kalli.”

“How may I help you?” the girl asks.

“My dog is injured. He limps.”

“Do you have an appointment?” Kalli’s nose is two inches from her computer. She jerks her head back and forth, although nothing seems to be moving on the screen.

“I’m afraid not. But I’m wondering if the doctor will see Errol. He’s not himself.”

Kalli scrolls and clicks her mouse in a businesslike fashion. “Dr. Parker appears to have an opening, if you could wait with Errol for five minutes.” She waves toward a cluster of molded vinyl chairs. “But please put on your mask.”

Damn those masks. Once again, Maudie has forgotten. She takes off her beret and hangs the rim over her nose. It falls off. Kalli points to a box of disposable face coverings on the counter. Maudie straps one on, muttering her thanks.

The vet appears. She’s wearing a mask that features a close-up of a dachshund’s snout. Her dark almond eyes are a perfect complement, and Maudie laughs.

“What seems to be the problem with this fine fella?” Dr. Parker asks, taking Errol by his leash.

“Right hind foot. Lame.” Maudie is having a hard time breathing. Her mask is hot and makes her skin slick with moisture.

“Let’s take a gander, shall we?”

Maudie wonders why vets talk in that folksy way, but she says nothing. Dr. Parker trots Errol around, his toenails clicking across the linoleum.

“Hmm. There’s definitely something wrong here. I need to take him back into the examining room.” The vet leads Errol away.

Minutes later, they reappear. “We can do X-rays if you like, but they’re very expensive.” Dr. Parker’s dachshund eyes soften. “I think what we’ll do is rest Errol for a few days, and I’ll prescribe Rheumocam to treat his inflammation and pain. If you’ll leave your number with Kalli, I’ll call you Friday to check how Errol’s doing, okay?”

At the reception desk, Maudie asks how much she owes.

Kalli smiles up at her. “Dr. Parker says it’s on the house, for a first-time patient. Now do take care!” She goes back to keying something on her computer.

Maudie jams her beret over her wiry hair, attaches Errol’s leash, and leaves, pulling her mask off at the first whiff of fresh air. On the way home, they both stagger. Her heart does its best to eject itself from her chest, and she almost passes out from lack of oxygen by the time they reach their front steps.

Over the next three days, Maudie dispenses the medicine as instructed. She massages Errol’s leg and back, but he gets worse. Now, he whines when he rises from a prone position. He can’t jump onto the bed at night, so Maudie, bit by agonizing bit, manages to drag her mattress onto the floor. She lies on it beside him, crooning an Armenian lullaby about the moon and the sun until he twitches off to sleep. In his waking hours, he hardly eats. Maudie scrapes his untouched food onto her own dish when it starts to harden on the edges.

Another day goes by. Why hasn’t the vet called? Lionel would have remembered to take a business card from the receptionist. Maudie hugs Errol Flynn and cries into his fur.

On the fifth day, Errol yips and falls down when she tries to pull him to his feet. Maudie can’t wait any longer. After a peek out the window, she tugs galoshes on over her shoes and shrugs her way into Lionel’s old double-breasted short coat. She glances in the mirror, wincing at her Ottoman soldier image. She’s nearly to the door when she remembers to grab a scarf, which will have to do as a face covering. It belonged to Lionel, and when she wraps it around her neck she smells oregano and cigarette smoke. She whimpers along with Errol as she cajoles him out the door.

The vet’s office seems even farther away today. Rain slashes at her face; Errol’s snowflake fur turns to sludge. He falls down every few steps. She is too weak to lift him, so she stands, begging him to rise, tears and raindrops flowing into her scarf. A man in a trench coat approaches and Maudie holds her hand out to him, but he just looks at them and keeps walking.

When they finally arrive, the door is locked. Taped to it, a typed notice announces the office is closed, indefinitely. Dr. Parker and Kalli have tested positive for the virus. People who have visited here within the last two weeks should self-isolate. If any symptoms manifest, they should see a doctor.

Maudie crumples onto the steps. Her legs have stopped working, like Errol’s. Maybe she’s contracted the virus but doesn’t know it yet. Maybe she’ll die in a week or two, and that will be okay, except for Errol—she needs to be here for him. That’s what the deal is when you adopt an animal—it’s just like marriage, and like parenting, too. When she was tiny and the vigilantes came, her father cradled and protected her. She stayed with him, safe and warm, until at last her aunt pried her from his dead hands.

She’ll never leave Errol.

She pulls the scarf higher over her face and inhales. As she walks, she has to almost yank poor Errol behind her. She’ll strain his food and feed him with an eyedropper when they get home. They’ll self-isolate and stay inside as much as possible. In two weeks or so, the world will be a brighter place. They’ll see Suhana and her mom in the park, and all the kids will laugh and tumble again.

When they get home, Maudie gives Errol as vigorous a rub-down as her tired arms allow, before settling him on the mattress. She goes to the kitchen and opens the freezer, looking for the plastic bag filled with pills—leftovers from dentists and hospital visits over the years. Only in the direst scenario will she use them. Only then will she and Errol simultaneously leave this world of isolation and disturbing quiet, where no children play. They’ll be like Errol’s remote cousins, the bears, and hibernate their way into whichever heaven accepts dogs. Lionel will be there on the other side to welcome them, along with the parents she has ached all her life to meet.

She’ll leave the apartment door unlocked, making it easier for whoever smells them first. That’s what Auntie did, and it’s the considerate thing to do.