The Dog Who Knew Too Much Read Online Free PDF

could come up with was the lovely, smiling face I had seen on her parents’ piano and in their photo album.
    Not average, her mother had said.
    Avram returned with Dashiell padding along at his side as if they were old friends. He took my hands in both of his.
    â€œI am so glad you came,” he said, his eyes filling, as if he would cry. But then he let go of me and stepped onto the polished wooden floor of the studio and faced the mirror again.
    â€œI do not want you to worry about what you look like. Just copy. Come, come, come, stand behind me. One day soon, you will feel what t’ai chi is. I cannot explain it to you any more than I could explain Lisa to you. You will feel it for yourself. And then one day you will feel Lisa.”
    I stood behind him, heels together, toes to the diagonal, and shifting my body and then my legs and feet, ever so slowly, I found shoulder width. My arms lifted as if a string were tied to my wrists, gently pulling them toward the heavens, and I moved as Avram did, slowly through space, my dog lying at the edge of the tan carpet with only his front paws touching the light oak flooring of the studio.
    Each time Avram stopped, I stopped, and we would begin again; sometimes repeating the same few movements over and over again; sometimes Avram would go ahead as I struggled to mimic him, clumsy where he was graceful, shaking where he was steady, struggling where he was authoritative, worried where he was calm.
    After a while my legs were burning, especially the few times he spoke, asking me to hold a position while he looked at me. Several times he gently moved me, adjusting the position of an arm, a foot, straightening my spine or wrist, and afterward I felt something like a breeze, but inside, not on my skin, something cool and calming, something moving slowly, something wonderful, and when that happened, I wanted never to stop.
    We worked from eleven to three in the morning, and finally Avram stopped and sighed audibly.
    â€œI’ve forgotten everything already,” I said in a panic.
    â€œGo home, Rachel. You’re tired. We’re both tired. You couldn’t possibly hold all the movements in your mind. Your body is learning t’ai chi. Your body will remember for you.”
    â€œBut when will you—”
    â€œShh, shh, shh,” he said, holding his head as if I had given him a headache. “Are you familiar with the parable of the tiger?”
    No, I told him. I shook my head no.
    â€œA man was walking alone in the country, and he came across a tiger. He began to run, but the tiger also ran. It pursued him. Finally he came to the edge of a cliff, and grasping a vine, he attempted to escape from the tiger by climbing down. As he climbed, he looked beneath him. There below him was another tiger, looking up, waiting to devour him.”
    What was he talking about? He might as well have been speaking Chinese.
    â€œOne tiger above, one below. Only the vine saved him. But when he looked back up, he saw two mice, one black, the other white, gnawing away at the vine. That’s when he noticed, right in front of him, growing on the side of the cliff, a perfect strawberry. He plucked it and ate it. It was delicious.”
    He smiled, then shut off the light in the studio.
    If the man had something to say, why couldn’t he just say it?
    â€œYou’ll be safe walking home,” he said. Again, a question that wasn’t one.
    â€œI have Dashiell,” I told him.
    I slipped into my own shoes and put Lisa’s carefully back where they had been, toes pointing to the wall. Everyone else’s shoes were relegated to the hall. Only Lisa’s shoes had a place of their own inside.
    â€œTomorrow night classes end at ten. Come at ten thirty. Bring your boy.”
    â€œLook,” I said, standing in the doorway, “this was interesting, tonight’s work. But I didn’t come here to learn t’ai chi. I came—”
    â€œFirst