The red coat

Literary Review, Fall, 2004 by Tony D'Souza

"Take it off, Jack," Ellen said, not even bothering to look as she heated the beans on the propane stove.

"Take it off? Why?"

"Because it's not yours."

"It's not?"

"No."

"Then it must be yours, right?"

"It's not mine either," she said and sighed. "Put it back on the peg. Then come over here and help me get these beans into bowls."

There was this dog that came around. A happy dog with a golden and healthy coat, a retriever. Ellen fed it leftovers of our meals, pet it on the steps holding its head in her lap, called it "Beauty." We'd go for hikes on the high ridges around Girdwood with Beauty. Girdwood was a collection of white houses in the green valley when you looked down at it, and on its far edge where the swamp was sat the gray cabin. From high up, everything looked like toys.

"Look Ellen. There's our house," I'd point and say.

"That's cute, Jack," Ellen would say. I'd throw a pinecone ahead on the trail for Beauty to retrieve, and she would hurry and snatch it, return, wag her tail as she waited for me to take it from her mouth.

"And here's our dog."

"That's cute, too."

We'd walk up there often, the dog always with us.

"You know what, Ellen?" I said to her one evening as we held hands on the ridge and walked Beauty. "I guess I really do want to own that coat." There were moose up to their shoulders in the swamp like prehistoric things below, grazing in the settling night.

"Why do you want it for so badly, Jack?"

"I don't really know," I said. "Because it's red."

"That's a dumb reason to want something."

"Then why do you want it?"

Ellen shrugged and smiled. "Because it has wood buttons."

We walked awhile. A wind came up in the tops of the trees, but not enough to change the mood. Ellen said, "Isn't it great to be on your own like this, Jack? Know what I mean? To have come to life for a change? To live? And it's scary, too, isn't it? To be away from everything you've known, to realize how big the world is and that you're alone in it?"

"Yeah," I said to her. "Sometimes it is scary. "

"Still, it's great. Great that there are people like us to meet in the world, great that there really are some things left to do in it, don't you think?"

"Yeah."

"I'm glad I fell into watching this place, and I'm glad you showed up when you did."

"I'm glad too."

As she held my hand, Ellen stopped us. She said, "Jack? What's going on? Are we in love?"

"In love?"

"Yeah. In love. I've been thinking about it. It would be nice, wouldn't it?" Before I could say anything, she added, "But Jack ... I don't know. Maybe something's wrong with me. I just don't think I'm really in love."

"You don't?"

She paused a long time. It was like she was trying to be cautious, like scenting the air the way deer do. Then she shook her head. In a small voice she said, "No. I guess I don't. Not really." We started walking again. We walked and walked, the dog sniffing things along the trail ahead of us. After a minute Ellen squeezed my hand, said, "Aren't you going to say something?"

For a minute I didn't say anything. I didn't know Ellen, didn't even think she was all that pretty; I didn't have a real reason to feel the way I did. I said, "Yeah, I'll say something, Ellen. I knew I should have been Sioux. Isn't that right? That you would have liked me if I'd been Sioux?"