Cormac: The Tale of a Dog Gone Missing Read Online Free PDF Page B

valiant, and mild.’ Now that’s a kingly name.”
    “Now, how can you know such a piece of trivia? You made that up, Sonny Brewer,” Diana said.
    “No,” I said. “I know of Cormac Mac Art because I looked into the background of Cormac McCarthy’s name. I’d love to name our dog Cormac, and we could think of him as a king.”
    “I like Cormac alright, I suppose. You did write the check, after all.” Diana turned toward me. “If I help you sell the name to the boys, can we dispense with the hyperbole about ancient Irish kings? It would be such a chore to go through all that when someone asks how he got his name.”
    “Ah, yes, lassie,” I said, “let ’em know ’tis Cormac McCarthy for whom we be namin’ the pooch. Aye, and done it is, then.”
    Several of my customers at Over the Transom have heard me say that Cormac McCarthy’s literary craftsmanship is unexcelled, have heard me preach that McCarthy’s penchant for infusing violence with a love of language is exquisite. I believe, and have hand-sold the opinion, that Cormac McCarthy’s unblinking eye catches man’s blood-smeared meanness in the glaring light of his particular art and renders it required viewing. It occurred to me that Mr. McCarthy might not be flattered to share his name with such a sweet, doe-eyed fellow as the Golden Retriever in the backseat of my Jeep. But, if Cormac McCarthy knew that I was a bookseller specializing in used and rare volumes, that I’d invested $750 for a first edition of Blood Meridian, then perhaps he might not judge his name taken in vain.
    I shifted my musings to the rumble in my belly, and suggested we stop off at a little café that served blue-plate lunches, “a meat-and-three place” as Drew called it. I made up my mind to order the fried chicken and turnip greens and mashed potatoes and green beans. “Mama Joe’s would be great,” Diana agreed, “but what about—” she paused, “Cormac?”
    “I didn’t think of that,” I said. “Hmm. Well, I don’t want to leave him alone in the Jeep for that long. I guess we’ll just have to skip it and go on home.” Printed on the cover of the folder Mr. Bennett had given me were these words: I will take care of you. And so I would, and it would mean sacrifice, beginning with the blue-plate special at Mama Joe’s. Mr. Bennett had said it might rob my bank; it would cost money to keep Cormac. And what had Diana said? Commitment. It would take some of that, too.
    “Oh, well,” I said. “A homemade peanut-butter and jelly sandwich doesn’t sound so bad.”
    By the time we pulled into our driveway, both the boys and the dog were asleep in the backseat. Diana cautiously, quietly opened Dylan’s door. I opened the other. John Luke’s eyes popped open right away, as soon as I laid my hand on his shoulder. He stepped out of the Jeep and ambled awkwardly toward the house. “What’s for lunch?” John Luke asked and disappeared inside. Dylan slept on his mother’s shoulder. They, too, went inside. I was left alone with Cormac.
    Almost as if he had been waiting for the chance of some privacy, the young Golden opened his eyes but kept his muzzle down on the seat. I bent down, putting my elbows on the car seat, and brought my face close to Cormac’s.
    “So, want some peanut butter, Cormac?”
    Cormac stretched his face toward mine and licked my chin. I closed my eyes and let the pup slobber me down good. “Well, come on, pal. I hope you like crunchy.”

FIVE
    I SAT ABOARD the swiveling stool behind the sales counter at the bookstore. I kicked the Birkenstock sandal off my right foot and stroked Cormac’s head with my toes. He sat on his haunches looking through glass display case at the knees of the man on the other side of the counter.
    I had rigged a gate at the open end of the counter to keep Cormac from roaming about the bookstore. Some customers were uncomfortable with him. Most days, I left Cormac at home to play in the yard, to chase any