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"Oh sure," Walt said.
"And when the dog got to the end of his chain, the chain would snap the dog's neck back and the dog would be tugged off his feet and land on the pavement of the alley, sometimes knocking his wind out or hitting his head. The cat would never move. The cat knew how long the chain was and he would sit there washing himself with his one eye staring at the dog. The dog went crazy. He barked and snapped and struggled against his chain until the owner of the cafe, his master, would have to come out and shoo the cat away. Then the dog would crawl back under the truck.
"Sometimes the cat would come right back, and the dog would lie under the truck for as long as he could stand it, which was not very long. He'd lie under there while the cat licked himself all over out on the sidewalk, and pretty soon you could hear the dog begin to whimper and whine, and the cat would just stare down the alley at him and go on washing himself. And pretty soon the dog would start to howl under the truck, and thrash around there as if he were covered with bees, but the cat would just go on washing himself. And finally the dog would lunge out from under the truck and charge up the alley again, snapping his chain behind him--even though he knew what would happen. He knew that the chain would rip him off his feet and choke him, and throw him on the pavement, and that when he got up the cat would still be sitting there, inches away, washing himself. And he'd bark himself hoarse until his master, or someone else, would shoo the cat away.
"That dog hated that cat," Garp said.
"So do I," Walt said.
"And so did I," said Garp. Helen felt herself turn against the story--it had such an obvious conclusion. She said nothing.
"Go on," Walt said. Part of telling a story to a child, Garp knew, is telling (or pretending to tell) a story with an obvious conclusion.
"One day," said Garp, "everybody thought the dog had finally lost his mind. For one whole day he ran out from under the truck and all the way up the alley until the chain jerked him off his feet; then he'd do it again. Even when the cat wasn't there, the dog just kept charging up the alley, throwing his weight against the chain and heaving himself to the pavement. It startled some of the people walking on the sidewalk, especially the people who saw the dog coming at them and didn't know that there was a chain.
"And that night the dog was so tired that he didn't pace around the cafe; he slept on the floor as if he were sick. Anyone could have broken into the cafe that night; I don't think that dog would have woken up. And the next day he did the same thing, although you could tell his neck was sore because he cried out every time the chain snapped him off his feet. And that night he slept in the cafe as if he were a dead dog who'd been murdered there on the floor.
"His master called a vet," Garp said, "and the vet gave the dog some shots--I guess to calm him down. For two days the dog lay on the floor of the cafe at nighttime and under the truck in the daytime, and even when the cat walked by on the sidewalk, or sat washing himself at the end of the alley, that dog wouldn't move. That poor dog," Garp added.
"He was sad," Walt said.
"But do you think he was smart?" Garp asked.
Walt was puzzled but he said, "I think he was."
"He was," Garp said, "because all the time he'd been running against the chain, he'd been moving the truck he was tied to--just a little. Even though that truck had sat there for years, and it was rusted solid on those cinder blocks and the buildings could fall down around it before that truck would budge--even so," Garp said, "that dog made the truck move. Just a little.
"Do you think the dog moved the truck enough?" Garp asked Walt.
"I think so," Walt said. Helen thought so, too.
"He needed just a few inches to reach that cat," Garp said. Walt nodded. Helen, confident of the gory outcome, plunged back into The Eternal Husband.
"One day," Garp said, slowly, "the cat came and sat down on the sidewalk at the end of the alley and began to lick his paws. He rubbed his wet paws into his old ear holes where his ears had been, and he rubbed his paws over his old grown-together eye hole where his other eye used to be, and he stared down the alley at the dog under the truck. The cat was getting bored now that the dog wouldn't come out anymore. And then the dog came out."
"I think the truck moved enough," Walt said.
"The dog ran up the alley faster than ever before, so that the chain behind him was dancing off the gr
ound, and the cat never moved although this time the dog could reach him. Except," said Garp, "the chain didn't quite reach." Helen groaned. "The dog got his mouth over the cat's head but the chain choked him so badly that he couldn't close his mouth; the dog gagged and was jerked back--like before--and the cat, realizing that things had changed, sprang away."
"God!" Helen cried.
"Oh no," Walt said.
"Of course, you couldn't fool a cat like that twice," Garp said. "The dog had one chance, and he blew it. That cat would never let him get close enough again."
"What a terrible story!" Helen cried.
Walt, silent, looked as if he agreed.
"But something else happened," Garp said. Walt looked up, alert. Helen, exasperated, held her breath again. "The cat was so scared he ran into the street--without looking. No matter what happens," Garp said, "you don't run into the street without looking, do you, Walt?"
"No," Walt said.
"Not even if a dog is going to bite you," Garp said. "Not ever. You never run into the street without looking."
"Oh sure, I know," Walt said. "What happened to the cat?"
