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University of Northern Iowa
Dreamside BestiaryAuthor(s): Harold BondSource: The North American Review, Vol. 253, No. 3 (May - Jun., 1968), p. 28Published by: University of Northern IowaStable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/25116787 .
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handles and arrowheads worth a great deal of money and was thus able to tell the company to shove it, which he did. "Shove it," he told them.
And then ... his bankroll restored, and also his considerable pride, Jay was faced with the choice of 1 ) going on to South America proper and continuing on his merry way, or 2) returning to his wife and job in New York.
But then ... a third choice was made for him, and it was a choice he would always remember, in his fif
ties, and sixties, and seventies, on those mornings when he waked up with a smile of secrecy and a lifted brow of remembered amazement and a warm glow all over and not a little yearning for his lost youth. He went
swimming in the ocean to think about things, only he went in the buff and he went in shark-infested waters.
And then . . . the sharks left him alone, but he was
dragged out and dried off by some men in unpressed green coats carrying straight white jackets and hypo dermic needles and placed in an isolated and padded
cell for observation. He flunked the observer test, which was to sit calmly with no show of emotion for twelve hours, really not so long. Jay however, to
break even this monotony, started reliving and rehears
ing in his mind all the many adventures he had had so
far so he wouldn't forget them in his declining years. He also started planning his course of action in South America.
"All you swingers down there in Brazil, watch out!"
he said once during the twelve hours. "Jordan is
spreading out!" With all the many and wondrous things going on in
his busy mind, he smiled a lot during his observation, once or twice even showing his gleaming teeth.
But then ... he was removed from the cell and giv en a series of 24 high voltage electric shocks, com
pletely destroying his speech and his memory forever, but preserving forever the smile and the lifted brow of
amazement and the warm glow all over.
And then . . .
DREAMSIDE BESTIARY
Home has been a tree-house all
along, I find, somewhere off in the woods. Going there, I say
to myself, why have I not before thought of it
in that perspective. At the dream's edge,
later, I turn. I hear them, first, the raccoon, his
paws frisking the room like shovels, then the girl, the tall, beautiful
albino girl who follows the raccoon, her milk-white skin
and silver, shoulder-length hair
dazzling the room. Her intention becomes apparent:
to order the animal's
rummaging, the stove, breadbox, bureau drawers spilled open,
knowing, in fact, the precise position of each
rummaged item. When the animal stops, he sees me in her light, and
as I see him, a fox
now, he turns from the girl, sidling
back to the furthest corner
of the room. The girl nods yes and yes, her pink eyes like suns.
And the raccoon, later a fox, breathes deep in his heat,
witnessing the silences between them.
THE MENAGERIE
You say you know me. I am the one
who appears suddenly at parties. When I am late, which I am always,
you cry procrastinator, and flap your ears like any old basset hound.
Your jellyfish women take my hand,
feeling the hoofed fingers stuck with glue. In our various wars of attrition,
you come paddling up your Rubicon
with nothing but a jackass' jaw to lay me under. You cry stopgap over the potatoes I have dropped,
the fumbled passes, the killed Smalltalk. And when I huddle in some corner
and hunch my shoulders against your clear
plastic tombstones for warmth, sir, you cry
schizophrenic. I am your burlap bag of glue, your palomino frothing
at the mouth. You carry me around
with you always. Do you understand me?
Say it. You understand perfectly.
Harold Bond
HAROLD BOND lives in Boston. Jie has published in The
New Yorker, Harper's, Saturday Review, and elsewhere, and
is a former member of the Writers Workshop at The Uni
versity of Iowa.
28 The North American Review
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