“Exodus of All the Magic Animals” - Short Fiction

Originally published in TOURIST Magazine, London, UK 15/07/2010

Dog cried at the airport. We were all terminally ill: stricken with a leaving sickness. 

Dad took Dog outside into the taxi-clogged tunnel.  I could see them standing there in the fumes, breathing little consolations to one another and making quiet fun of the meandering multiculturals shivering in the new fall night.  Dad brought Dog around and they re-entered the terminal all bucked-up, though Dog’s face is splotchy-red in the photograph.   

Stork and Unicorn, shining white against the black landing strip, boarded the little dragon’s smooth back and curled out of the airport in a wide revolution.  The magic beasts left us standing in a wash of crackling energy; we wiggled our fingers around in it.  Dog removed his little nose from the big glass window—leaving behind a translucence—and whimpered into his own shoulder. Dad gave him a playful little shake by the scruff of his neck before drawing him in close. 

“Give me a call sometime,” I said to Dog as we all trooped out of the terminal.  He blinked at me with his big wide eyes before nodding, unable to speak, and gulping.  Dog has never called me before.  He’s lousy on the phone.  Not a casual conversationalist.  But God, do I love him.

Dog and I went Go-Karting at a little track in the East End.  We had been once before: with Stork.  Stork’s gift was life, fresh faced and enthusiastic.  He had whipped around the track, often in the lead and sometimes twisting his helmeted head with its sparkling visor around to laugh at us. Afterwards, at the Dairy Queen, Stork ribbed us ‘till we blushed and giggled into our fizzing cokes and agreed that he was king of the racetrack, that he had beaten us by miles and miles. 

The karts weren’t as fast this time, Dog and I both agreed.  They were a little sluggish; perhaps they weren’t being serviced regularly.  Their little slicks seemed worn and mottled, nearly catching in the hairpins: setting the frames to shuddering. “Good thing Stork wasn’t with us,” I said afterwards. Dog nodded in a serious way. We both new that Stork would have gotten a kart in good repair—perhaps the only one; he would have leaned his head back and laughed up into the warehouse roof of the indoor track, showing us his back as he dashed on ahead of us.

 -Am I a magic animal?

-You are a dog.

-Are dogs magic?

-I don’t think so.

-Oh.

-Dogs have other special attributes.

-Oh?

-Like loyalty, and—and a certain amount of speed. And a good nose—really quite amazing, the nose is really quite good.  And most dogs are very kind: they are very accepting. But not magic.

-Is Dad a magic animal?

-I think he might have been once.

-But not anymore?

-I don’t think so—or maybe he is a little.

-But not like Stork, or Unicorn right?

-Right.

-Are you a magic animal?

-No, I am a dog.

-You don’t look like a dog.

-Well, I am one.

-Are you sure? You kind of look like Falcore from “The NeverEnding Story”. I thought he was a flying dog for most of the movie. Ever notice how Chinese dragons look like dogs? In the face especially.

-Listen, I’m your brother; we’re the same kind.  You are a dog and I am a dog.

-But Stork—

-Yes, but Stork was born first, firstborn go ahead: they are different. They have to be—they are always going ahead, they are always leaving to go ahead of us.

-Is Unicorn firstborn too?

-No, she is a middle child.

-Like you!

-Like me.

-…

-That whole family is magic.  They are a very old name.  They have always been magical. They go ahead of us.

-Do you think that Stork and Unicorn will write to us?

-I think so.  If you get a letter first, don’t open it.  If I get a letter first, I won’t open it either.  We should wait until we’re together, and read it then.

-Ok.  Goodbye.

-Goodbye.

-…

-…

-I hate hanging-up first.

-Me too.

-Well, I’ll hang-up first this time—you can go first next time.

-Ok; goodbye.

-Bye.

I told Unicorn that I would miss her very much.  We were in the airport coffee shop. Steam rose from our mugs.  “You should come too,” she said, “You were really born to do it, come join us in the winter, our apartment has two bedrooms.” But I begged off.  It was highly impractical. “Well at least come and visit us—and so should you!” Unicorn directed this last part at Dog. Dog could only grin a little; he nodded a couple of times. The conversation moved on and Dog’s face collapsed.  It was a long face.  He looked at the table top and swallowed a lot, not touching his chocolate milk. My throat hurt too and I took a sip from my tea to loosen it up.  I burnt my tongue and my eyes watered.      

Unicorn wrote to us; the letter was addressed to both Dog and I. Stork did not write; he signed the bottom of the last typed page and scrawled, “Miss you” in the margin. The letter was addressed to both Dog and I but the address was clearly Dog’s, or rather, Dad’s, so Dog got the letter and I got a phone call. 

The envelope showed signs of worry, but it had not been opened. 

-I put it under my pillow. 

-Hmmm. Did Pops ask after it?

-No. He got a letter too.

-From Stork and Unicorn?

-From Mom.

-Oh.

We split the letter down a seam and it came bursting out: five pages and two photographs.  I kept one photo and Dog took the other one—the one with Unicorn and Stork on a wide white beach; they are waving.  Dog put his up in his room.  I put mine in the book I was reading and used it to hold my place. 

-How come you don’t go too?

-I don’t want to go.

-Why not?

-I’d rather stay here with you and Dad.

-But you don’t live at home anymore; you’re not really here very often.  You’re mostly gone already; why not go all the way?

-How would I get there?

-Fly.