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By Root 268 0

and stood rooted, its eyes fixed on him. One ear was torn, and its small unbecoming eyes made it seem all the more shifty. It sniffed at him. Would it take it into its head to bark? he wondered. Just let it try. He gripped the shears in his pocket. Let it make a sound and he would put a hole in its brains with these! The dog stared back at him defiantly, but in silence, not even growling. Was it a wild dog? It had a seedy, lusterless coat, and its muzzle was covered with scabs. They say it’s a dangerous dog that doesn’t bark. Damn! He should have brought some food. And speaking of food, he had forgotten to bring along his potassium cyanide. Oh well, let it go. The woman would probably never find where he had hidden it anyway. He held out his hand and gave a low whistle to see if he could get the dog’s attention. For an answer, the dog curled its thin lips, which were the color of smoked herring, and bared its yellow sand-incrusted fangs. The brute certainly couldn’t have much appetite for him, he mused. It had a beastly large throat, though. He had better manage to get him on the first try, but …

Abruptly the dog looked away, his scruff went down, and he ambled lazily off as if nothing had happened. It had apparently given in to his unbending will. His mental power was not in bad shape if he could stare a wild dog down. He let himself slide into the hollow and lay as he was, against the slope. He was screened from the wind, and he gave a sigh of relief and contentment. The dog, staggering under the gusts, disappeared beyond the blowing sand. The fact that a wild dog had made the place its home was a guarantee that people did not come around. As long as the dog did not go tale-bearing to the office of the farm co-op, his safety here seemed assured. In spite of the sweat that began slowly and steadily to ooze out, he felt well. How quiet!… Quite as if he were enveloped in gelatin. Although he was clutching a time bomb, set for moment X, it bothered him no more than the sound of the balance wheel of his alarm clock. His Möbius friend would have immediately analyzed the situation, so:

—My friend, what you’re doing is consoling yourself with the means of your escape and not keeping your eye on the goal.

And he would have agreed easily:

—Very true. But I wonder if you have to distinguish so precisely between means and end. Wouldn’t it be all right to use the definitions as need dictates?

—No, no, that wouldn’t do at all. You can’t spend time vertically. It’s an accepted fact that time really goes horizontally.

—What happens if you try spending it vertically?

—You’re a mummy if you do!

He chuckled and took off his shoes. Indeed, time did seem to run horizontally. He could not stand the sand and sweat that had collected between his toes. He took off his shoes and socks and stretched his toes, letting the air in between them. Hmm, why did places where animals live have such an unpleasant smell? Wouldn’t it be fine if there were animals that smelled like flowers! No. It was the smell of his own feet. A curious feeling of friendliness welled up in him when he realized this. He recalled that someone had said that there was nothing that tasted so good as one’s own ear wax, that it was better than real cheese. Even if it weren’t that bad, there were all kinds of fascinating things one never tired of smelling … like the stink of a decaying tooth.

The entrance to the house was more than half blocked with sand, and it was almost impossible to see in. Was it the remains of an old well? It would not be so strange if a shack had been built over a well to protect it from the sand. Of course, you could hardly expect to find water in a place like this.… He tried to look in, and this time he was enveloped by the real smell of dog. Animal smell is beyond philosophy. He remembered a socialist saying that he liked a Korean’s soul but he couldn’t stand his smell. Well then, if time did run horizontally, it had better show him how fast it could run.… Hope and uneasiness … a feeling of release and impatience. He found it most unbearable to be