A Goat Chase

            by Jessica Tong

 

            A thin tendril of steam rose slowly from her cup, meandering as it wound its way up a sunbeam filtering through the kitchen window. She blew on the coffee and the faint wisp twisted away into nothing. A small smile twitching at the corners of her mouth, she took a sip and leaned back in her chair, glancing out the window. Above the tangled jungle of weeds that was once a serviceable backyard, the early morning sun hung suspended in deep blue sky.

            A faint thump sounded from the front of the house. She set down the coffee, frowning. Had something fallen over? With a sigh, she stood up and wandered into the living room. Everything looked in order: the coffee table's dark wood surface was stark and gleaming, the pillows on the couch were still nestled in the corners and the cardboard boxes were still unfilled, their tops gaping open expectantly like hungry mouths. It was all the same, exactly as it had been the day before, the week before.

            "Hello?" Someone was tapping on the door. "Is anyone there…?"

            Curious, she made her way to the door and fiddled with the lock, finally swinging the door open. She blinked down at the visitor, a stocky, solemn adolescent. She cleared her throat. "Hello."

            The boy in the doorway looked up dubiously through thick black bangs. She was suddenly aware that she was still wearing her pajamas and bathrobe. "Hi. Look, this is going to sound really weird, but… Have you seen a goat recently?"

            "A goat?"

            "Yeah, like a farm animal," he explained." It's my grandma's. She keeps it in her garden to eat all the plants, because otherwise they'll grow out of control and stuff." He peered behind her, into the living room, eyes wandering through the gloom from the couch to the barren walls. He looked up suddenly, pointing at the stack of half-packed boxes inhabiting one corner of the room. "Are you moving?"

            "No." She cleared her throat and looked down at the ragged welcome mat. His stare unnerved her. "Sorry. I haven't seen your goat."

            He sighed. "I've been looking since yesterday morning, and no one's seen him, even though he's a goat and stands out."

            "Hmm." She tucked a stray lock of hair behind one ear and stared at the ground.

            The boy waited a moment, expecting her to say more. "Well, if you see him, here's my Grandma's phone number, okay?" He scrawled the number hastily on a scrap of paper and shoved it forward. 

            "Sure." She turned the paper over slowly in her hand, as if unsure of what to do with it. "Good luck."

            "Yeah." He turned and hopped down the dusty porch steps, his hands shoved in his pockets. Gravel crunched beneath his feet as he walked back down the driveway, ignoring the derelict footpath that wandered through the weedy, overgrown front yard.

She swung the door shut slowly and paused behind the solid wooden barrier, the phone number clutched in one hand. She turned around and stooped to pick up the mail, then trudged back to the kitchen with the small bundle under one arm.

§

            She was sorting mail; chain letter, magazine, junk mail, bill, junk mail, junk mail, junk mail, when an odd sound broke through the monotonous ticking of the kitchen clock. She looked up; there was a goat in the neighbors' yard. It bleated as it decimated their prized marigold patch. She picked up the grandmother's phone number and the phone. For a moment, she paused and smoothed the crinkled paper, the dial tone humming in her ear. She cleared her throat and dialed the number.

"Hello?"

            "Hi." She took a breath and continued; "Your grandson came by my house earlier about your missing goat. Um, I think it just went through my neighbors' yard. I mean, it's still there. In my neighbors' yard."

            "Hello again," the boy replied. "I'll be over in a sec. Where's your house again?"

            "Amsterdam Road, two houses from the corner." She twisted the phone cord around her finger.

            "What corner?"

            "Oh—um… Cairn Avenue."

            "Got it. Bye."

            "…Bye." She put the phone back slowly and looked anxiously out the window again. The goat had finished with the marigolds. She thought about going out and catching the large white animal, but reconsidered. She'd have to explain what she was doing to Jerry and Margaret, her neighbors. That, she was sure, would be awkward. And who knows? Maybe the goat was scared of people. Maybe it would run away if she approached it (Maybe it would bite her). Then it would be her fault that it left. It was best, she decided, to sit and wait. She leaned over in her seat; head propped up on hand and hoped fervently that the goat didn't leave.  

            Luck, however, was not on her side. Margaret burst from her house, the screen door banging noisily behind her as she charged towards the alarmed animal, arms flapping in distress over the condition of her garden. A bewildered Jerry emerged a moment later, followed by two fascinated children. His wife screeched and gestured wildly at the goat, which headed immediately for a gap in the hedge. Its gleaming white coat vanished swiftly into the undergrowth. Margaret collapsed on a garden bench and loudly bewailed the fate of her beloved garden. 

            She was halfway to the back door, one shoe on and the other missing, when the goat disappeared. She sighed and returned to her seat and her coffee, kicking off the shoe as she did so. She was finishing a crossword puzzle when there was a knock on the door. She shoved the newspaper away from her and headed to the door. What would she tell him? In the end, she'd called him over for nothing. Hopefully, she thought as she swung open the door, he wouldn't be too upset about it.

            "So, where's the goat?" He was considerably more cheerful this time, she noticed with a sinking feeling. He wasn't going to be happy.

            She cleared her throat. "Well… it was in my neighbors' yard, and I was watching it, but they chased it away." She fidgeted with the handle of the door.

            "Oh." He was clearly annoyed. "Uh, why?"

            "It was eating their garden," she replied humbly. "I would've stopped them," she added, "but it happened before I could get out the door…"

            "Ah." He pulled out a cell phone and jabbed in a number with his thumb. "Grandma, it's me. Your goat's not here. It's gonna take a lot more time…" he trailed off. An irritable expression crossed his face. "I know that! You told me a billion times already! Look, I'm sorry that I kept the gate unlocked, but I have stuff I need to do. Can't someone else look for it?" he demanded. "No, just stuff. Homework, I guess." He paused, listening, his head cocked to one side. He started drumming on her porch rail, clearly frustrated. "Yeah, I know I know I know. Bye." He shoved the phone back into his pocket and rolled his eyes.

            "Sorry." She fiddled with a strand of hair.

            He shrugged and turned down the steps, obviously irritated. "That's okay."

            "Well, I could at least tell you which way it went," she tried anxiously. "It's only been ten minutes, I think… since it left…"

            He turned around again, interested. "That would really help," he admitted.

            "My next door neighbors' yard…" she pointed vaguely. "They have some bushes in the back, and it went through there."

            "Okay." He headed down the steps and paused at the bottom. "Not coming?"

            She hesitated. "No, I don't think so."

            The boy shrugged and turned down the driveway. His sneakers scuffed the paved walkway as he made his way up to the front door.

She shut the door with a click and watched from the window as the boy knocked and explained his plight to Jerry. The middle-aged man glanced at her house and saw her through the window. He waved and gestured at her to join them. She flinched. The boy looked at her curiously, then at Jerry. With a sigh, she slipped on a pair of shoes and joined them. "Hey!" Jerry grinned.

            She looked up and smiled nervously. "Hi, Jerry."

            "Come in!" He opened the door wider to let the two of them in. "We haven't seen you in ages! How are you? How've you been doing?"

            She shrugged, nervous fingers digging lint from the inside of her sweatshirt pocket. She stared at a pair of scuffed children's shoes in the doorway. "I'm okay."

            Jerry looked at her carefully for a moment. "That's good," he said finally. He turned to the boy. "So, if you'll follow me, I'll take you to the back yard."

            "Thanks," he replied. "Sorry about your flowers."

            "Don't worry about it," Jerry chuckled and looked at his neighbor. "It was actually pretty funny. Did you see the look on Marg's face?" The walked through the kitchen, a disorderly room scattered with children's toys and the remnants of a pancake breakfast. Two children were collapsed on the rug, mesmerized by the TV. "She'll get over it."

            She nodded mutely as she followed the other two down the gravel path towards the hedge.

"Hey," Jerry stopped, cleared his throat and looked at her seriously. "If there's anything we can do for you, let us know, okay?" The boy looked curiously between the two, his gaze finally resting on his companion.

She looked down at her shoes. "Thank you. I appreciate that," she replied quietly. The toe of her sneaker dug into the dirt.

            Jerry grinned. "No problem." He glanced at the hedge. "Well, here's where your goat disappeared. Good luck finding it."           

            "Thanks." The boy stepped through the break in the trim greenery, followed by the woman.

            They emerged in another backyard. The boy glanced from the concrete patio, complete with lawn chairs and a large, faded sun umbrella to the dry, sparse lawn beneath his feet. There was no sign of the goat. He turned to his companion, grey eyes frank and curious. "Do you have cancer or something?"

            "What?" She blinked, taken aback. "No. Why?"

            He shrugged. "Never mind. I thought that it'd make sense  'cause of what your neighbor said."

            She turned away and looked around hastily. " Your goat doesn't seem to be here," she said. She gestured vaguely and the barren surroundings. "And we probably shouldn't stay here. It's somebody's backyard, so…."

"Oh yeah." He headed towards the gate and down the side path, the woman following close behind. "Why'd he offer to help you, then?"

            "Jerry was just being nice." She shrugged. "I don't really need anything." She stopped at the sidewalk and looked around. There was no sign of the missing animal on the dark asphalt of the road or the silent houses. "Which way now?"

            The boy looked down the street. "I dunno." He started towards the nearest house. "Maybe someone's seen it."

            She watched, askance, as he knocked on the door. He leaned against the rusty porch railing as he waited for someone to answer the door, one worn sneaker tapping absently on the ground. She stood in the middle of the sidewalk, unsure of what to do. Should she follow him? Deciding not to, she turned and looked down the street, then at the trees that lined the sides of the road. The branches swayed slightly with the wind and a cluster of small birds erupted from hiding places among the leaves, twittering. The sound was comforting and natural, unlike the cold, precise ticking of a clock or the rumbles of her refrigerator. It had been a while, she realized, since she'd been outside doing anything but grocery shopping.

            The boy tapped her on the shoulder and she swung her head around to look at him. "This way." His pace quickened as they walked down the street. "It was here about ten minutes ago, so if we hurry we might get it."

            They walked in silence past empty houses and manicured gardens until the sudden screech of car tires made them both look up. Further up the block on the other side of the street, the goat, bleating loudly in alarm, and trotted away from a crashed car. Its hooves clattered on the sidewalk as it fled, plunging through a neat row of bushes. With an exclamation of frustration, the boy broke out into a sprint. The woman hurried toward the car.

            "Are you okay?" she asked the driver urgently.

            The middle-aged woman shoved open the car door and got out of her smoking vehicle. "I'm fine, surprisingly." She surveyed the damage and then turned to the other, her bewilderment giving way to indignation. "Did you see that?" she demanded. "That goat just ran into the street! I missed the stupid thing by inches! And what about my car? Insurance doesn't cover that sort of thing. Augh, what a day…" She brushed her hair away from her forehead and rubbed her temples. "And why is there a goat in the middle of a suburb, anyway!?" She shut her eyes. "This is so stupid."

            The bushes rustled and the boy emerged moments later, a peeved expression on his face as he brushed debris off his shirt. He looked at his companion. "It got away," he explained.

            The middle-aged woman spun towards the boy. "Was that animal yours?" she demanded.

            "My grandma's," he replied cautiously. He looked at her car, his nose wrinkled at the acrid smell of burnt rubber from the tires. "You probably want her phone number, right?"

            "Definitely," she said grimly, arms folded across her chest.

            He searched his pockets and produced a pen. "I don't have any paper."

            The driver snapped open her purse and tore a sheet from a small notebook. She held it out wordlessly, and the boy scribbled the number down. She snatched it back and looked at the number, then stored the sheet in her pocket. "Thanks," she said grudgingly.

            The boy shrugged. "No problem. Sorry 'bout the car."

The two of them walked away at a considerably slower pace. The boy shoved his hands in his pockets and glared at the ground.

            "What happened?" the woman asked.

            He shrugged. "I didn't see it." They turned the corner. "I'm guessing that it'd come out somewhere around here, but I really have no idea." He sighed. "I was really close, too… At least it didn't get hit by the car."

            "I had a dog that kept getting loose when I was a kid," she remarked. "We never figured out how it escaped, and one day it got hit by a car."

            He paused a moment, surprised by the sudden comment. "Oh." The boy cleared his throat. He looked up at the sky, then glanced at her. "Don't you have work or anything?"

            She shook her head. "I'm on leave."

            "That's cool," he replied. She didn't respond. "What sort of leave?"

            She stared at the pavement. "Personal business."

            "How much time do you get?" he asked, wistfully thinking of an extended summer vacation.

            She was quiet for a moment. "I haven't worked for two years…" she mumbled, avoiding his gaze as she spoke.

            "Whoa! Lucky… I wish I could quit school for that long," he said.

            "No, you don't." She shook her head fervently. 

Surprised, he opened his mouth to ask her a question, then stopped abruptly and pulled his cell phone out of his pocket. "What, Grandma?" he demanded, his voice immediately taking on an irritated tone. "Kinda. I'm on Lark Street right now." He grinned suddenly. "Finally! Yeah, I'll be there in a sec. Bye." He hung up and dropped the phone back in his pocket.

            "Good news?" she asked.

            "Yup. Someone caught the stupid goat!" His grin widened. "After we go get it, the rest of my weekend is free!"

            She smiled. "That's good." They turned the corner and walked up the street.

            "So, what were you saying before?" He looked at her curiously.

            "Never mind." She shook her head. "It was nothing important."

            "Really?" Disbelief was evident in his voice. "Okay, then."

            She stared at her feet for a while, then relented. "Well, the truth is-" She stopped abruptly and looked up in amazement when the boy started to walk up the rambling stone path of a small, shingled house painted a charming pale blue. "This is the house!?"

            His thick black eyebrows disappeared in black bangs as he looked at her in surprise. "…Yeah, why?"

            "This has to be a joke." She shook her head incredulously. Nervous fingers toyed with a strand of hair. "Look, um, you've got the goat already, so I'm just going to go back home now."

            "Wait, why?" He stepped away from the house in alarm. "What's wrong with this house?"

            "Nothing," she stammered hurriedly. "I need to go home and… I don't want to see him so go without me. You'll be fine."

            "Well, okay." He shrugged and walked up to the door. "Bye." He waved.

            "Bye." She hurried off back down the street, stumbling slightly over a crack in the sidewalk.

            He shrugged, feeling vaguely disappointed, knocked.

"Coming!" someone called from somewhere within the house. Heavy footsteps came nearer and the boy heard a lock click. The door opened and a tall, solidly built man smiled down at him. "Oh, you must be the grandson, right? The goat's in the backyard." He grinned ruefully and admitted, "It was pretty hard catching it."

            "You have no idea," he grumbled. "I spent all yesterday looking with no luck, and today it caused a car accident and destroyed somebody's flowerbed."

             "Sheesh." The man closed the door behind the boy and led him through the house to the yard. His gray eyes took everything in, from the bookcase stuffed with formidable-looking books to the photos on the wall. "Are you a psychologist?" he asked. "You have a ton of books…"

            "Psychiatrist," the man corrected. "I specialize in trauma incidents, actually."

            "That's cool", the boy nodded. "Trauma… that's like mental breakdowns and stuff, right?"

            "For the most of it."

"Andy? Did you get the door?" a woman's voice called from upstairs.

"Yeah!" he replied loudly. "Sorry about the mess," Andy called behind him. "We've been doing a bit of remodeling."

"This is nothing," the boy replied. "This morning I stopped by this house that was really bad. The garden was practically a jungle, and the living room had tons of boxes everywhere. She told me she wasn't moving though."       

"We haven't quite reached that point, fortunately," Andy commented as he shoved a battered red toolbox out of the doorway, and, in the process, bumped into a short bureau, knocking a tall stack of paperwork to the ground. Andy bit back a curse and bent to pick up the scattered files.

"Hey, I know her!" With some surprise, the boy picked up a paper with a crude photocopied picture featured in one corner. "She's the one with the messy house."

Andy snatched back the paper. "Sorry, that's confidential." He paused and stared at the file, perplexed. "I thought she moved, or got really busy."

The boy shrugged. "It didn't seem like she got out much. I don't think she's busy."

The middle-aged man sighed. "That's not good…" At the boy's questioning look, he explained; "Her husband died a couple of years ago in a car accident. I was working with her for a few months." He frowned and folded his arms across his chest. "But then she suddenly stopped coming."

"I think she's avoiding you," the boy confided. "She was with me until I came here, and then she went back home when we got here."

Andy scratched his head. "Sheesh." He turned away from the refrigerator and slid open the door to the backyard. "Well, here's your goat."

The animal was haphazardly tied to a fence post with a climbing rope. It fought against its restraints in a vain attempt to eat a clump of grass just out of reach. The boy grinned and sauntered over to the animal and patted it none-too-gently on the head. It bleated plaintively.  He turned back to Andy. "Thanks for catching it."

"Don't worry about it," he replied. He walked over to a small side gate and opened it. The boy untied the rope, grabbed the goat's collar, and dragged it with some difficulty towards the exit.

Andy watched with some concern. "You got it?"

"Yeah," the boy replied through gritted teeth. "It'll be easier once we're on the sidewalk."

"Okay then." The gate shut with a click behind them. "Bye!" Andy waved.

The boy nodded, his hands full with the goat. "Thanks!" He dragged the protesting animal down the path running alongside the house and onto the sidewalk. He had yanked it down two blocks and halfway through a third when he stopped, surprised to see a familiar figure making her way towards him.

She smiled. "You got the goat."

"Three blocks, at least," he admitted. "It's a lot heavier than I thought it'd be."

She nodded. "I'd give you a hand, but I'm going that way." She pointed the way he just came.

He shrugged awkwardly, both hand still tugging on the goat's collar. "That's okay. It's less than a mile, at least."

She nodded again and toyed with a strand of hair, smiling as the goat bent its head towards a flower bush, dragging the boy over with it. He yanked it back. The toe of her shoe digging into the pavement, she gestured towards the end of the street. "Well, bye."

"Bye."

She walked up the street, the clattering of the goat's hooves on the sidewalk fading as she walked. She paused at front of the house, then stepped onto the stone path and walked slowly up to the door.