HOUND

xxxii

Jack drank a lot those days.

It was a way to hold the pain back, to stifle the misery and the memories. But mostly, for Jack, it was a way to pass time. He didn't have much else to do, except read last week's paper or mope. His wife barely put up with him, and they fought more often. They weren't usually together so much.

At least he wasn't really there, when he was drunk. Jack wasn't a sad drunk or a mean dunk. He was a zombie drunk, if there is one. He would start drinking and his eyes would glaze over and he'd stare off into space. His face would have no expression--but his eyebrows drooped just enough to convey his depressed state. His wife would speak to him but there'd be no answer. It wasn't clear if Jack was ignoring her, or if he really didn't hear her. He went off to the dreamy places in his head, and he wouldn't return until he sobered up or passed out.

On a brisk Tuesday, Jack's wife slams down a frozen TV-dinner tray on a fine china plate. Jack stares at it, confused.

"You're disgusting," she says. "All you do is drink the time away. You're not looking for a job. You're only drinking. You expect me to do all the cooking and cleaning! You're not doing anything productive. It's a disgrace, Jack. It really is."

Jack shrugs, and picks up a icy roll. He takes a bite, the cold bread like a rock. A sharp intake of breath, and then he slams his head into the table, groaning. His wife rolls her eyes, frustrated.

"You don't even touch me anymore." Jack's wife sinks into the chair across the table from him. Jack winces. Bitterly, he mumbles under his breath:

"Why would I even want to?"

Tears well in her eyes, the words stinging. Jack's wife clutches at her chest, then folds shaking hands into her lap, twiddling her wedding ring. She won't look at him.

"Oh--I'm sorry--I didn't mean it--" He says, stumbling over his words. Who knows if he feels regret for his words, or if he's only saying it so she won't whine?

"How could you?" She whispers.

Jack folds his arms over his head. "Why not leave me alone?" He moans, his voice raising an octave.

She slams her fist on the table, her eyes watery and her face pinched. "I swear you act like a child. All I've done in this stupid marriage is leave you alone! And what do you do? You get fired. You whore around. Please, Jack, for the love of God--do something! Stop being a waste of breath."

Jack stands up, his face red. "Fine," he says bitterly. "I'll do something."

Marching to the door, he grabs his keys.

"Where are you going?" The crow shrieks. "Can't we have a conversation?"

Jack laughs, and steps out the door.