The boys’ eyes are big and their mouths are open. Isabella has stopped petting Anansi.
They are listening carefully to Uncle’s story. Only Anansi sleeps. Uncle Junior gazes out at the night sky. He turns back to the children. He takes a breath and resumes his story…
“I remember one day, a pickup stopped in front of the unpainted house across the road. All the dogs in the neighborhood lifted their heads from their paws and pointed their ears at the pickup. A young man stood in the back of the pickup and dropped a box over the edge. A puff of dust rose where the box hit the road.
The neighbor dogs shook off their post-lunch drowsiness and pointed their noses at the box. The pickup drove off. The dogs followed it with their eyes. When the pickup was out of sight, they returned their attention to the box in the road.”
“No dog moved. None ventured toward the box. They continued to lie in the spots they had chosen to spend the afternoon in daydreams and snooze. Their ears and eyes and noses were attentive. But they did not move toward the box. The dogs had never before seen a box in the road. They had no idea what was in the box. None moved to investigate.”
“The box sat in front of the unpainted house, the home of Rolly and Pully who resemble two mops. Rolly and Pully lay together on the verandah, unmoving. Their eyes, open wide under their hairs, did not blink.”
“Scout, the dog with the big head who keeps neighbors awake at night, slowly crept to Hudson’s house. Hudson, with hairs that stand straight up like a lion, did not come running as if to attack. Hudson did not make ferocious noise. Hudson was afraid.”
Uncle Junior pauses and looks at the boys and at Isabella. They are listening to each word. Even now Anansi is listening.
“Should I continue?” Uncle Junior asks.
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