Nebraska

He thought he heard a scratching at the door. He couldn't read the time on his watch. He stayed in bed and listened for the sound. He heard a whimper.

There was a faint pink glow from the fireplace. The door opened heavily with snow packed against it. He stood outside, shivering in his slippers and pajamas. The snow slanted in from the lake and, when the wind died, made the slightest crackle in the trees, like someone way out there was wadding cellophane. He walked around the cabin, sloughing through drifts, and saw nothing.

***

The snow jeweled in the sunlight. There were two sets of powdered prints around the cabin. He looked at them, a cigarette in his mouth, rubbing the sleeves of his flannel shirt.

I could've done that, he thought. I could've walked around the place twice. I was sleepy.

Then he sagged a bit and pressed his eyes with his thumb knuckles. He turned to go back inside when he heard a bark.

His dog plunged happily through the drifts.

He ran to her and waded and fell. He laughed and they rolled together and she ate big chunks of snow. She sneezed. He sprawled in the snow and smiled and playfully cuffed her head. His dog licked his face. He clutched the fur at her neck.

Baby Baby Baby.

She woke to a hammering at the door. The latch rattled like a broken toy. His dog sat there, her ears alert and her head cocked, like the dog peering at the Victrola.

A deep voice said, I'll huff and I'll puff and I'll blow your house down.

His dog whined, then yelped, and walked from side to side.

The door burst open and he stood there in his mackinaw and rubber mask.

Scare ya?

She greeted him and happily pushed her paws into his stomach. Her tongue dangled from her grin.

Look what I got.

He brought a transistor radio from behind his back and clicked it on. Then he picked up her paws and waltzed her to the music while she nipped at his fingers. He let her down and she rolled to her back, barking once. He knelt beside her and took off the mask. He touched sweat from his lip.

That was my last job, he said. I'm retired now. This time it's for real.

She stood over him on all fours in bed. His hands were behind his head. He gazed at the rafters as he talked.

I don't know. I guess women are all right, but they're demanding. They always want to make you something you're not. They're critical of how you act. I don't need that.

She nudged his chin and he smiled.

I need you.

He dusted the windowsills and the mantelpiece. He shoveled the fireplace ashes onto a spread of newspapers. Dog hairs collected everywhere and blew away from his broom. He shook his head with annoyance. He washed the dishes and straightened up his room, and he came out carrying a large, gilt-framed mirror.

He set the mirror against the wall and turned the chair around to face it. His dog walked to him, her nails clicking on the floor. She sat at his feet.

He pointed to the mirror. See what I found?

In the mirror he was sitting in the chair in khaki pants and green rubber boots, his legs crossed at the ankles. He was wearing a Pendleton shirt and his hands rested heavily in his lap. Light slanted in from the window.

I wish I had a camera.

He glanced down and squeezed the flesh of his belly. I'm getting fat.

He could see in the mirror that his dog's head was tilted up at him. She dropped her chin on his knee.

Look at us, he said.