Watchers

of that pit of private anguish—nothing except kiss him, hold him for a moment, then send him off to bed to get some sleep.
    When Travis was gone, Nora sat on the floor beside Einstein and said, “There’re some things I have to tell you, fur face. I guess you’re asleep and can’t hear me, and maybe even if you were awake you wouldn’t understand what I’m saying. Maybe you’ll never again understand, which is why I want to say these things now, while there’s at least still hope that your mind’s intact.”
    She paused and took a deep breath and looked around at the still surgery, where the dim lights gleamed in the stainless-steel fixtures and in the glass of the enameled cabinets. It was a lonely place at three-thirty in the morning.
    Einstein’s breath came and went with a soft hiss, an occasional rattle. He didn’t stir. Not even his tail moved.
    “I thought of you as my guardian, Einstein. That’s what I called you once, when you saved me from Arthur Streck. My guardian. You not only rescued me from that awful man—you also saved me from loneliness and terrible despair. And you saved Travis from the darkness within him, brought us together, and in a hundred other ways you were as perfect as any guardian angel might hope to be. In that good, pure heart of yours, you never asked for or wanted anything in return for all you did. Some Milk-Bones once in a while, a bit of chocolate now and then. But you’d have done it all even if you’d been fed nothing but Dog Chow. You did it because you love, and being loved in return was reward enough. And by just being what you are, fur face, you taught me a great lesson, a lesson I can’t easily put into words . .
    For a while, silent and unable to speak, she sat in the shadows beside her friend, her child, her teacher, her guardian.
    “But damn it,” she said at last, “I’ve got to find words because maybe this
    is the last time I can even pretend you’re able to understand them. It’s like this . . . you taught me that I’m your guardian, too, that I’m Travis’s guardian, and that he is my guardian and yours. We have a responsibility to stand watch over one another, we are watchers, all of us, watchers, guarding against the darkness. You’ve taught me that we’re all needed, even those who sometimes think we’re worthless, plain, and dull. If we love and allow ourselves to be loved . . . well, a person who loves is the most precious thing in the world, worth all the fortunes that ever were. That’s what you’ve taught me, fur face, and because of you I’ll never be the same.”
    The rest of the long night, Einstein lay motionless, lost in a deep sleep.
     
     
    Saturday, Jim Keene kept hours only in the morning. At noon he locked the office entrance at the side of his big, cozy house.
    During the morning, Einstein had exhibited encouraging signs of recovery. He drank more water and spent some time on his belly instead of lying limply on his side. Head raised, he looked around with interest at the activity in the vet’s surgery. He even slurped up a raw-egg-and-gravy mixture that Jim put in front of him, downing half the contents of the dish, and he did not regurgitate what he had eaten. He was now entirely off intravenous fluids.
    But he still dozed a lot. And his responses to Travis and Nora were only those of an ordinary dog.
    After lunch, as they were sitting with Jim at the kitchen table, having a final cup of coffee, the vet sighed and said, “Well, I don’t see how this can be put off any longer.” From an inner pocket of his old, well-worn corduroy jacket, he withdrew a folded sheet of paper and put it on the table in front of Travis.
    For a moment, Nora thought it-was the bill for his services. But when Travis unfolded the paper, she saw that it was a wanted flyer put out by the people looking for Einstein.
    Travis’s shoulders sagged.
    Feeling as if her heart had begun to sink down through her body, Nora moved closer to Travis so they could read the bulletin together. It was dated last week. In addition to a description of Einstein that included the three-number tattoo in his ear, the flyer stated the dog would most likely be found in the possession of a man named Travis Cornell and his wife, Nora, who might be living under different names. Descriptions—and photographs—of Nora and Travis were at the bottom of the sheet.
    “How long have you known?” Travis asked.
    Jim Keene said, “Within an hour after I first saw