Boomerang

by Stefano Benni

Translated by Claire Taylor

 

Suddenly, one day, Mr Remo began to hate his dog.

He wasn't a bad man. But something inside him had broken when he'd become a widower. He'd lost his wife and he was left with the dog, a roly-poly sausage-shaped mongrel, fat and sort of black, with big bat ears. His name was Boom, or actually Boomerang, because whatever you threw for him he would bring it back, with great speed and tenacity.

At one time Mr Remo and Boom had taken long walks together and talked about the world, human and canine, about Descartes and Rin Tin Tin. They'd had a very special relationship. But now they never talked. The man would sit in an armchair staring into space and Boom would curl up at his feet, gazing at him with boundless affection. 

It was this gaze of absolute devotion and total loyalty that Mr Remo detested most of all.

The world was nothing but loss, loneliness and pain. What was the point of such an incongruous creature on this horrible planet, a creature that wagged its tail and yelped for joy, and filled a cheerless house with its furry, completely over-the-top love?

To begin with, the owner stopped feeding the dog. He left him a whole two days without food. But Boom kept on following him around lovingly. When Mr Remo sat down at the table for his meal, the dog didn't beg, or even approach him. He looked on with meek curiosity, and his eyes said: If you are eating then I am also satisfied. And the more the owner gorged himself, ostentatiously and noisily, the more adoring became Boomerang's gaze. And when finally the dog was given something to eat, he didn't run to his bowl in a frenzy, no...he wagged his tail, calmly and gratefully, as if to say: you will have a good reason for making me fast, thank you for remembering to feed me today.

His owner, possibly poisoned by the final drop of his own remorse, fell ill. He had a high fever and Boom watched over him. At night, almost delirious, Mr Remo woke and saw the wide-open loving eyes of the dog and his long straight antennae-like ears. And he seemed to say: I will even bite death, Master, if it comes near you.

His soul by now withered, Mr Remo's hatred for that inexhaustible love grew. He didn't take the dog for a walk for four days.

With his paw, Boom opened the door onto the balcony and peed discreetly. His metabolism restricted itself to twenty drops of urine and one chickpea-sized poop every two days. He didn't whine, or show signs of agitation, just every once in a while he would look at the garden through the window and give a little grumble, like a sigh of nostalgia, but nothing more.

The owner got better and as soon as he was back on his feet, he kicked the dog for no reason.

Boom hid under the bed and Mr Remo was ashamed of himself.

He called him, the dog came. The owner forced himself to stroke him, without feeling, and said:

Boom, I have to abandon you. I'm sorry. I can't look after you anymore. In fact, although I know you can't understand this, I detest you.

The dog gazed at him with infinite affection and devotion.

Why didn't he give him to an animal shelter or an acquaintance? Out of laziness, above all. But also because he remembered something his wife had said. She'd said to him: Remo, if I was to die, whatever you do don't abandon our Boom.

Well, what she'd said had made Remo angry: how could she even think he would do that?

But actually, poor Dora knew only too well the nasty streak inside her husband's heart.

She had abandoned him.

And now by abandoning the dog, he was taking his foolhardy revenge on destiny.

                          

                                    ********************

 

And so Mr Remo got in his car and took Boomerang out of town, to a big field where they had often played together.

The owner walked behind and the dog was in front.

Remo noticed Boom's characteristic arrhythmic gait. Every twelve steps he would give a limp, raising his back paw as if the ground was red hot.

He and his wife had often found this walk irresistibly funny.

Now the owner watched the sway of Boom's fat rump with disgust.

Consequently, once they were far from prying eyes, he tied the dog to a tree and left without looking back.

He went home, and cooked with great care and attention to detail, something he hadn't done for a long time.  

He kicked Boom's bowl into a corner.

He took the lead and the muzzle, and threw them in the bin. But that night around three, he heard scratching at the door. It was Boomerang.

A little bit dirty and wet, he jumped all over him in celebration, and ran around the house to convey his joy. He didn't suspect a thing. There was no room for betrayal in his simple quadruped's heart.

Mr Remo could hardly sleep he was so angry. He dreamed of seals being massacred and fur hats made from poodles.

 

                                     *********************

 

The following night he put Boom in the car, drove a hundred kilometres along the motorway and abandoned the dog in a service station car park.

He drove back and went to the cinema. He saw a film about a prehistoric monster that emerged from the ice, terrorising the whole of America. He noticed that in one scene the monster banged its tail exactly like Boomerang. The monster was liquidated by deadly missile strikes and even more deadly dialogue. That night, Mr Remo slept soundly. At the supermarket the next day he met a woman, the owner of a little dog called Tommasina, one of Boomerang's friends.

Where is Boom?

Oh dear -- said Mr Remo and shrugged, arms upraised. The woman clapped a hand to her mouth theatrically. She didn't ask anything more, respecting his privacy. Her hand brushed against his.

It must be very painful for you.

You can't imagine -- replied Mr Remo.

He went home. While he climbed the stairs he heard a slight but unmistakeable noise. Claws on marble.

It was Boomerang, on the landing.

The man locked himself in the bathroom and sat on the toilet all night long. Through the frosted glass door he could make out the unmistakeable outline of Boom, waiting.

Towards dawn, the dog scratched at the glass, worried.

Go away, you bastard -- the man snarled.

The dog wagged his tail. His owner was alive, that was the main thing.

 

                                   ********************

 

Two days later Mr Remo got back in the car, drove all day and arrived at the coast with the dog. There he got on a ferry. Some children played with Boom and a man said:

You're so lucky you can take him on holiday. Mine is too big. You can see what a great bond you have.

We really do -- said Mr Remo.

It was sunset. The man took Boomerang to the beach and threw a stick into the sea for him.

Boom swam, grabbed the stick, came back to shore and of course his owner was gone.

On the return ferry Mr Remo gulped down two cognacs and he felt sick.

A week went by. The woman, who had seen Boom after he came back the first time, asked for news of his latest disappearance.

Oh dear -- said Mr Remo -- he got better, then had a relapse.

The woman looked mournful and even little Tommasina shed a tear, perhaps it was grief, or maybe distemper.

It was a sad week for Mr Remo, but definitely not because of the absence of Boomerang. On the contrary, he noticed that the carpet and the sofa in the house stank of dog, and he cleaned them.

Mr Remo was sad because his television had broken.

Finally the repairman arrived.

He got on with the job, talking about this and that, and saw Boomerang's bowl.

Have you got a dog? -- he said.

Not anymore.

Well, I've got one now and he's a real problem. You see, I was on holiday at the seaside. On the way home on the ferry, a fat ugly little dog jumps into the car. My kids are saying: awww dad, look it's an abandoned puppy, let's keep him, let's keep him. You know what kids are like...

Yes -- said Mr Remo.

So, now I've got him downstairs in the car, and I'm looking for someone to give him to. You wouldn't happen to know anyone, would you?

What colour's the dog? -- asked Mr Remo with a shudder.

Black, with two big bat ears.

The repairman left. The television was working. Mr Remo sat down, but he wasn't looking at the screen. He was looking at the door.

A second later, he heard claws scratching.

Mr Remo remembered an old film from his childhood, with people buried alive and corpses that rose from the grave. But it was nothing in comparison to his terror at that moment.

Cute zombie Boomerang had returned. Even fatter than before, because the children had filled him with treats. And he looked at him, with unfailing love, loyalty and trust, and other noble sentiments.

But don't you understand that I abandoned you? -- shouted Mr Remo.

There will be a reason. You are my wise master, and I love you even more than before -- replied the dog using the language of his tail.

 

                                 ********************

 

So the man hatched the perfect plan.

He would leave the country, change continent, travel for a long time. He'd been mulling it over for a while. He withdrew his savings, and bought himself a white jacket and a straw hat. One morning he locked Boomerang on the balcony, and left.

He caught a plane and flew for fourteen hours.

When he got off the plane, he already felt different and tropical. At the baggage carousel he stood next to a suntanned young woman and smiled at her.

Yes he was far, far away from it all. The scent of the sea and the sunshine, not the smell of dog.

It was then that he noticed a strange scene.

A woman was standing between two police officers, crying. She was pointing to a dog cage which had just been unloaded from the plane.

But it's not possible -- she cried in a piercing voice -- where is my Rufus?

Calm down, Madam -- said one of the policemen, scratching his head.

What you are saying can't possibly have happened...

His interest piqued, Mr Remo drew closer.

He heard the policeman talking to the confused baggage handler.

Something very strange has happened. The lady sent her dog, quite correctly, in a cage that was put in the hold. But now she says that this is not her animal.

Impossible...

My dog is an Irish Setter -- said the woman, crying -- this is a horrible fat mongrel. I remember quite clearly that it was roaming around the airport before departure.

Do you mean to say, Madam, that someone switched the dog?

Well yes -- laughed the baggage handler -- or else the mongrel opened the cage and changed places all by himself.

Don't joke -- said the woman -- you don't know how intelligent dogs can be!

Mr Remo didn't wait for the cage to be opened. Pulling his suitcase on wheels he fled at top speed through the airport corridors, and behind him he heard the frantic gallop of Boomerang who was chasing him. He jumped into a taxi and said:

Hotel Tropicana, now, as fast as you can.

I can't, mister - said the taxi driver - there's an ugly dog lying in front of the car that won't let me pass.

 

                                    ********************

 

Mr Remo went up to his room, on the top floor of the hotel. He opened the patio door which led to the balcony. Boomerang, pleased with himself, sniffed the carpet.

Mr Remo took off his white jacket and his hat.

He looked at the sea and the distant horizon.

He took a running jump.

The last thing he ever saw was Boomerang, as fat and compact as a bullet, hurtling headlong beside him, gazing at him adoringly. Is this a new game, master?

The sad, moving story even made headline news in the local paper.

They were buried side by side.

 

Stefano Benni 2009