Every Boy Should Have a Man Read online

A short distance away, concealed by the rise of a low hill, their two missing mans were found, but entangled in such a way as the poor boy had never seen. The pale-skinned man in blue with the nearly lidless eyes was riding the back of his female man, who was emitting a rhythmic, shushy breath through her mouth.

  The poor boy asked, “What are they doing?”

  “I don’t know,” replied the wealthy boy, “but I don’t like it. I think she’s hurting him.”

  “But he’s on top.”

  They watched for a few more seconds until the man with the lidless eyes contorted and began to groan. The female man closed her eyes and yelped, burying her face in the grass.

  The two boys had seen enough. They shouted harsh commands and spanked their mans, separating them.

  Then they replaced their loin pouches, said goodbye to each other, and went each to his own home.

  * * *

  That evening, the boy was wroth with his female man.

  When she came to him with big, apologetic eyes, he shook his head. When she came to him and rested her head on his chest the way she did when she wanted to be petted, he pushed her away.

  When she brought the small singing harp into his room, he said, “Okay, girl, you want to be friends again? Okay. Good girl.”

  And in the boy’s bedroom his female man played the small singing harp and made it sing. He did not know why, but she was playing the same song over and over. He did not recognize the tune, though it was beautiful and vaguely familiar.

  Evening became night, and eventually the boy fell asleep.

  It was only the next day, as he was on his way to school, that the boy realized the song that she had been playing was the song he had heard the three mans in blue singing earlier that day at the field.

  * * *

  She began to change after that, but the boy did not notice until a month later.

  Her diet had shifted. She was eating more often—she was stealing their food. She would even steal a piece of dried meat from the cupboard once in a while, which was cannibalism. She was gaining weight.

  He took her to the field on a day when there was no school, and she lost two fights in a row.

  He found a stick and spanked her with it to make her fiercer. He made her growl and show her teeth. He sent her into two more fights and she lost them both. Four in a row. That had never happened before.

  “Maybe you’re sick,” he told her as he walked home holding her hand. Her eye bruised, her nose leaking blood, she was too exhausted to flinch when they were pelted with pebbles and provoked with jibes and hoo-haws by the wealthy boys who had triumphed at last over the poor boy and his mighty champion.

  As tears spilled from her emerald eyes, the boy promised her, “You’re sick, but when you feel better we’ll be back. We’ll teach those guys a lesson.”

  Yet her tears kept falling. He had never seen her like this.

  He gave her what he thought was ample time to heal—a week—and he took her to fight again. But she had lost all interest in fighting and refused to do it.

  He spanked her with the stick to make her fiercer, he even poked her with the stick, but she let the other mans pummel and scratch her flesh until she was shedding blood along with her tears. She would not lift a hand to her own defense. Each time the boy was forced to stop it by crying surrender. It was another bad day at the fights. She lost three in a row that day.

  The wealthy boys cackled with glee and pinked their tongues rudely as the poor boy walked his badly beaten fighting man home in a hail of pebbles and hoo-haws.

  And she was playing the small singing harp every evening in his room—the same song the three singing mans in blue had sung that day at the field.

  * * *

  When he went into the backyard to feed her one morning before school, she was not there.

  He went to her sleeping tent under her favorite tree, and she was not there. He went back into the house to look for her because on evenings when it was cold, she would come inside and sleep under his bed or under the couch in the grand room near the fire. He looked everywhere in the house, and she was not there.

  He said to himself, Now, I hope she didn’t jump the fence again.

  Puzzled, he went back outside, and she was in her tent as if she’d been there all along.

  She was grateful for her food, which she devoured, and then she held out her bowl to him for more. He replenished her bowl with vegetables and grain, and as he watched her eat, he said, “I see you’re very hungry. I guess you jumped the fence to go look for food. Don’t do that. The authorities will pick you up. You’ll get in trouble. If you’re hungry, come into the house and wake me. Okay?”

  To make her understand, he knocked on the wooden fence that ran the perimeter of their backyard and shook his head.

  “Don’t go over the fence,” he repeated. “Obey me. Obey me.”

  * * *

  The next morning when he went to feed her before school, he caught her climbing down the fence and ducking into her tent. She had just returned from wherever it was she roamed at night.

  He spanked her and scolded her harshly. When he set out her food, she still had tears in her eyes, but he was at the end of his patience.

  “You’re going to get us in trouble! Don’t force me to tie you up or lock you in the house!” He pounded the wooden fence. “Don’t go over the fence! I know you understand! Obey me! Obey me!”

  She stared at him blankly, then went back to her food.

  He went into the house and came back out with an extra bowl of food and set it beside the first. “Now give me a hug,” he said to her.

  He held open his arms and she came for her hug. He lifted her for her hug. She is getting so heavy, he thought.

  “You’re my best friend in the whole world, you know?” He kissed her cheek, petted her head, and set her back on the ground.

  She looked at him with perfect understanding.

  She went back to her food and he left for school.

  When the boy got home from school that day, his mother had left a note: Meet me at the kennel.

  He checked the backyard. His female man was gone. He threw down his school sack and ran to the kennel.

  * * *

  They had put his female man in a large cage with several other mans.

  She was not the only female, but she was the biggest of the dozen or so mans in there, most of whom were screaming wildly at the top of their lungs or running around in circles like mad mans.

  One man, a pale talking one with dark sun spots burned into his cheeks, was proclaiming over and over, “I didn’t do it. I would never ever do it. Please believe me.”

  His female man ran to the front of the cage as soon as she saw the boy and he reached through the bars and petted her on the head. “It’s going to be okay, girl. Don’t worry. Mother and I will get you out of here.”

  The boy turned to watch his mother, who stood a few paces away talking to the boss of the kennel.

  The kennel boss had a long oval face and eyes that were set far apart. He was munching a green leafy vegetable as he talked to the boy’s mother. The mother was doing a lot of head shaking as her mouth opened and closed. The kennel boss inhaled another large green leaf into his mouth and crunched it between large, crooked teeth.

  “It’s out of my hands,” he explained to the mother. “When the man becomes a danger to society, then the law has to step in.”

  “I assure you,” said the mother, “this is all a misunderstanding. She is the most gentle of creatures. She is well mannered and well trained. She is a danger to no one. Mans get out of their yards all the time and wander. It is their nature. This is no reason for them to be destroyed.”

  The boy grabbed his female man’s hand through the bars of the cage when he heard that. Destroyed.

  The leaf-munching kennel boss raised a finger. “I never spoke that word. I only said that putting her down is one of the options, and not even the most desirable or most likely of options. It all depe
nds on the injured party—whether or not they want to pursue it. But the charges are serious. A home was broken into. A child was bitten.”

  The boy reached his arms into the cage and hugged his man. A child was bitten.

  “You see,” said the mother, “it’s words like that that scare me. We love our man, and I assure you that she is incapable of doing the things you claim she has done.”

  The kennel boss shoved the entire vegetable into his mouth and it made a crunching sound. “I simply read the record to you, ma’am.”

  “But she is incapable of—”

  “Ma’am, I know all the old sayings—Train your man to be playful with children, but cross with thieves. There is no creature more loyal than a man. A happy man is a well-fed man, but a cross man keeps the home free of sneak thieves. Every boy should have a man. I don’t mean to sound insensitive, but you are like so many owners of mans. You are incapable of seeing him for what he is. Man is a predator, first and foremost. He is but good at two things: hunting and making baby mans. He is a predator. He is a carnivore. That’s right. He is no different from us. And don’t look down at me because I do this job, ma’am—I have degrees in animal science. Times are hard, so I must work here, but I am no pinheaded oaf. I have seen the studies. We keep mans from eating meat because we fear what they’ll do if they get a taste for it. Remember, ma’am, we are meat too. I know some of them have interesting talents and they make good pets, but truth be told they are wild beasts and should be left to roam the forests for us to hunt. It wasn’t too long ago that they were our top food source. You don’t look wealthy—I bet you eat your fill of man, right? The meat is plentiful, inexpensive, and tasty. I love to eat man, though I don’t want man to eat me or my children. But the wealthy—oh, they want us to protect man, to bring him into our homes as pets, to hug him. Oh, they say that it is the great creator’s will that we give up eating meat altogether, they say it is the great creator’s will that we all turn vegetarian. Vegetables are nice—I like vegetables just fine. But man is meat and meat is good to eat,” he said with a loud crunch. “Like my mother used to tell me, Stop playing with your food and eat him.” The kennel boss grinned.

  The mother said, “You are a stupid oaf.”

  “We’ll see who is the stupid oaf when the injured party gets here,” came the muttered retort.

  The kennel boss picked up a brass cup and slurped whatever liquid was in it and gargled it to help suck free the strands of green from the vegetable that had gotten stuck in his ugly teeth. The mother turned away in disgust.

  “Don’t worry,” the boy comforted his man, “Mother and I will free you.”

  The boy hugged his female man through the bars, and the frantic little man man proclaiming his innocence ran over to them and grabbed one of the boy’s hands and kissed it. “I didn’t do it, kind sir. They have the wrong man. You and Mother must free me too. You must. You must.”

  Just then the kennel boss came over and rattled the cage noisily with the brass cup, and when the frantic man didn’t back away from the bars, the kennel boss reached in and slammed the cup against his head.

  Pock!

  The frantic man released the boy’s hand and retreated to the safety of the center of the cage, holding his head and crying, “It is a lie. I didn’t do it. I didn’t do it.”

  The kennel boss said to the boy, “Take your hands out of the cage, boy. They may look pretty, but some of these mans will snap your fingers off.” He pointed to the frantic man proclaiming his innocence in the center of the cage. “That one there maimed his master, a boy about your age. Chewed two of his fingers clean off. Don’t let him fool you. His kind has a reputation for turning on you. Now scoot. Get away from that cage.”

  The boy ran to his mother, who put her arms around him. “It’ll be okay.”

  Tears rolled out of the boy’s eyes. “She didn’t do it, Mother.”

  The mother kissed him on the head and assured, “All will be well once the injured party gets here.”

  * * *

  In walked a wealthy boy wearing expensive clothes and his equally well-dressed father.

  As he walked past the mother, the kennel boss sneered, “At last, they’re here. The injured party.”

  The wealthy boy and his father lingered at the display cages at the front of the kennel, pointing at this or that man with sighs and hoo-hahs of amazement at the sheer beauty and diversity of them. And indeed, they were beautiful and diverse. In color, they ranged from the crystalline pale of a sea bell to the golden yellow-brown of a burnt meat stick. In size and shape, some were longish and thin, others smallish and thickset. In countenance, some were peppered with frecks, some with birthmarks and sunspots, others unstained. And their noses! They were generously bulbous, impertinently pointed, gallantly winged, impudently pugged, or nobly sloping like an oaf’s. One had a face so normal-looking that but for his size, he could have walked near undetected in a crowd.

  The wealthy boy pointed to this one with a gleeful utterance. The wealthy father asked the kennel boss to open the cage, and with keys a-jangling, the kennel boss did so.

  Observing this, the mother felt better about their prospects for a happy resolution. Luck is on our side, she thought. The injured parties are lovers of man.

  Then her son exclaimed, pointing to the wealthy boy, “I know him!”

  “Where do you know him from?” asked the mother.

  “From the field. He has three singing mans. He is my friend.”

  “What were you doing at the field after I told you not to go back there? Man-fighting again, after I told you not to?”

  “Yes, Mother,” the boy quietly admitted.

  “Well,” she said, “maybe it will work out.”

  The boy and his mother watched as the kennel boss removed the selected man from its cage, leashed it, and filled out the forms and had the father of the wealthy boy sign in various places. To complete the transaction, there was an exchange of silver.

  “I just love mans,” they heard the wealthy father say with a laugh. “And we already have so many of them at home.”

  The mother and the boy waited patiently, not wanting to behave impertinently, and so it surprised them when suddenly the wealthy boy and his father announced their thanks to the kennel boss and then exited the kennel without a word to them.

  The mother stiffened at the offense. “What is going on?”

  Without acknowledging her, the kennel boss swept the entire kennel floor with a short-whiskered broom while humming an ugly tune before ambling over to the main cage, unlocking it, and unceremoniously expelling their female man.

  The boy took his female man into his arms. She was happy to be out of the cage and happy to be hugged.

  The kennel boss said to the mother as she signed the release form in the designated places, “His boy says he is a friend of your boy, so no harm done. It was only a scratch anyway. But they do have a few demands. You will pay to have the latch on their door repaired, or they will have her thumbs removed. You will build her a proper kennel with a proper lock to keep her at home—a proper lock which they will inspect upon completion, or they will have her thumbs removed. Finally, you will surrender the baby man—or mans—as soon as it, or they, are born.”

  The boy, hugging his female man, glanced up and echoed, “Baby man?”

  “What baby man?” the mother asked sharply.

  The kennel boss had refilled his cup and now he took a long slurping sip from it, gurgled, and gave the stuff caught in his teeth another good suck through. “Your man is pregnant, in case you didn’t notice. As I told you, they are only good for two things, hunting and giving birth. She has been sneaking out of your yard to take company with one of their mans. Now she is pregnant and her litter belongs to them,” he proclaimed airily.

  The mother seethed. “That is the very height of cruelty to mans! I will not sign to have her give up her child!”

  “But you have already signed, Madam Pinhead Oaf!” taunted the kennel
boss, snatching up the papers the mother had signed and waving them in her face.

  When she lunged for them, he pushed them into a drawer, locked it, and coolly ordered her and the boy to take their man and leave.

  3

  A Proper Kennel

  The sermon was about loving all creatures great and small, and the boy, who usually fidgeted in church, listened today with attentiveness to the sacred speaker’s words. It seemed to the boy that the sacred speaker, who was also his history teacher at school, was addressing the message especially to him as they kept making eye contact.

  “And now we come to the mans,” spake the sacred speaker. “Of all great nature’s creatures, he is the most like us in appearance and habit. There are those among us who say that the mans are related to us. In truth, they are like unto us in appearance. Their life span is but a third of ours, but the stages they go through are identical to those that we go through. Like us, they are hunters. Left on their own in the wilds, they dominate the other creatures, hunting and harvesting them as they see fit. They can use simple tools. They can build shelter, of a sort. Indeed, some among the educated say that mans are related to us. Some go so far as to speculate that we are descended from them. That they are an unevolved form of us. Or that from the mixing of their blood and angels’, came we. I don’t know anything about that. I know only that great scripture says that we have dominion over them as we have dominion over all beasts. This does not mean that we are to abuse and mistreat them. This means that we must be wise stewards of the land and all the creatures in it. We must not abuse them when they are our pets. We must not overhunt them in the wild. We must see to it that their natural habitats in our forests and our swamps, in our seas and our mountains, in our deserts and our frozen places, are protected from overhunting and from the encroachment of our civilizations. The other day, I took my son on an adventure to the southernmost end of our continent, just before the place where the great sea abuts the sandy shore and to the west where flows the great river of grass. And we did walk in our water shoes to the very end of our civilization where the land becomes more water than soil. We were in the swamp of the crocodilians and the mans. We were in the swamp that is named the Eternal Grass. There were birds aplenty, amazing aviators and hunters these. Wading with legs like long reeds in deep water, these feathered fowl of the water and of the air hunted with long snakelike necks and sharp swordlike beaks the abundance of fish swimming in schools around their submerged feet. There were enormous turtles there with leathern shells and varicolored faces, sunning themselves on the rocks as they watched the hunting of the birds. There were creeping creatures, furry rodents scurrying up the trees and slithery snakes making their way through the grasses. There lurked by the hundreds the large somber scavengers in black, the hunchbacked and hooked-face vultures. And there were other birds, hundreds of other birds, flitting through the sunlit skies, loudly singing their various songs, their boisterous cacophony of joy—joy at being alive—alive, yes, alive and happy to be in that moment right then and there in that holy tabernacle of nature. In this wet place, in this place of water and soil and grass, life abounded in all its diversity. We watched from a safe distance and with respectful caution the lesser masters of the food chain of that region, the proud and awful crocodilians, the giant swamp lizards, the le-gators. Among all the creatures that walk on land or swim in sea, the le-gator possesses the most powerful bite. We were warned by the guide that the le-gator will eat anything that it can catch, including my son and myself if we were not careful. And while it looks slow and ungainly as it drags its large bulk out of the swamp to sun itself on the shore, we were cautioned that it has amazing and surprising speed, which was demonstrated when a le-gator, at rest on the shore, accelerated suddenly and caught and ate a large white-feathered bird which had been standing a seemingly safe dozen or so hla-cubits away. When the le-gator finished its feathern meal, it roared loudly, a roar that set all winged creatures to flight, and it slunk its bulk back into the water and swam out to the middle of the pond, its eyes and nostrils the only parts of its dragon-serpent body above the waterline. The guide explained to us that the le-gator, which was once hunted almost to extinction by our kind, is now plenteous again in the swamplands of the Eternal Grass after strict laws prevented hunting and poaching of the magnificent beast. The le-gator, as powerful and ferocious as it is, has but one enemy in nature, and that enemy is man. But where is man, the greater master of the food chain? my son and I wondered as we watched the great le-gator’s leisurely swim. Then the guide cried, Look over there! as they burst through the trees—about a dozen of them—carrying long sticks sharpened on stone. These were not the mans that we have as pets. These were not the mans that we see in zoos or who perform for us at our circuses and festivals. These were feral mans—wild mans in their natural environment—with their lithe, naked little bodies covered over in dirt and mud. The stench of them reached foully across the pond to us, and we had to put our hands over our nostrils. They were the breed with lidless eyes and pale skin, though it was hard to judge the skin pigmentation with all of that dirt and filth on it. One of them had a length of braided twine, which he flung with perfect skill and aim around the neck of the great swimming le-gator that had just devoured the bird. As a team they hauled the le-gator up onto the shore—it took all of them pulling on the braided twine, for this le-gator was a monstrous creature that was easily the size of any three of them put together—and it fought against their makeshift rope, twisting and turning, whipping its great tail frantically, and snapping its mighty jaws dangerously. But there were no casualties of the swamp mans that day, as the nimble creatures danced out of the way of both whipping tail and snapping jaws. They stabbed him many times with the pointed sticks, and we watched in awe as the mighty le-gator began to weaken. Now the le-gator, in desperation, turned his face toward the swamp again, hoping to escape into the safety of the water. His legs clawed the muddy shore helplessly. The mans stabbed him a few times more with the sharpened sticks, and the le-gator with a final, loud roar yielded his life to death. Briefly did they look down upon his body with a kind of quiet reverence, and then they dragged it into the forest and were gone. Man is indeed dangerous in his beauty, invention, and skill. Among beasts, he sits at the top of the food chain. He is a top predator, as are we. But unlike us, man is not wasteful. He does not eat more than he needs. He does not hunt for sport or industry. He gives back to nature as much as he takes. He is at one with his environment.”