This is the first part of the novel I'm working on, please, any comments or suggestions are welcome.
The Wild Dogs of Athens
"Outside are the dogs, those who practice magic arts, the sexually immoral, the murderers, the idolaters and everyone who loves and practices falsehood."Rev. 22:15
“… And aren’t we all gods when we sleep?”
It was a fleeting thought, one he couldn’t remember the beginning of. Even as he rolled over to face the sun peeking through the olive trees, the end of the thought disappeared from his memory. Memory. He didn’t have much of one. He didn’t even remember his mother. Perhaps a memory was not a thing he needed; every day was the same. He patrolled the ancient temples that looked so different in his dreams, and ate oranges and olives that fell from the trees. Sometimes a human would leave him part of a sandwich. Deus liked the sandwiches with the fatty meat the most, more than licking the oil of the olives squashed by the mortals as they walked. He spent most of his time watching them. They spilled out onto the slippery stones like ants, speaking languages he couldn’t understand. They walked around the monoliths on two legs and took pictures of his home. Then they walked away, while more took their place. He felt as if he knew the humans somehow, he was familiar with their expressions and gestures. Yes, he knew them, but he couldn’t remember how he knew them, so he watched and waited. He couldn’t remember what he was waiting for.
Deus stretched his muscles and decided to leave the olive grove for a stroll through the ancient stones. He padded past the wooden shack where the bipeds exchanged paper for dough rolled in sugar and the juice of oranges. The people had not arrived yet. It was quiet. He continued down the path of hard concrete and climbed up the steps to the rock where he could command a view of his city. He sat in silence as the sun rose over Athens.
***
He heard her approach before she spoke in her shrill voice. The sun was a quarter of the way through the sky. He did not let his powerful black body betray his awareness. She was called Queenie by the other dogs of the grotto. He called her cow, but only secretly. “Why didn’t you come back to the temple last night?” She howled. She sat beside him on the Mars rock. “You smell like a half-bred bitch.”
Deus sat, stoically. “I slept in the olive grove last night. I missed the grass and the sound of the silvery leaves in the wind.” He cast Queenie a sideways glance.
“Pssht. You went to the city last night and drank from the wells of those… other dogs.” She was right, of course. He was mysteriously one of the only canines who were able to cross through the gate into the bustling city below. He liked to go into the town after dark and drink the wine spilled by the drunken tourists and visit with his female friends who lived on the streets, always keeping an eye out for his lost daughter.
“I am your wife, don’t forget that.” This was one of the things he couldn’t lose consciousness of. He didn’t remember marrying her, but she would never let him relinquish the memory that they were bound for eternity. He gave her a long, quiet look. She was a very beautiful dog. She had big, bewitching cow eyes and strong white teeth. Her fur was milky and shined in the sunlight. The shine wasn’t natural, she was just vain and when it rained, Queenie would roll on the stones that were slick with the juice of olives. Then the other females would comb her fur with their claws. Despite her beauty, she had a repulsive voice, and a terrible temper. Her jealousy of the ladies he played with in the city led her to nag at him constantly, yet he always came back to her.
“I do love you, Queenie. Come, it is time.” Deus said. The two descended together from the rock, up the stairs to the ancient gate and took their places at the crumbling temple. They would spend most of the day there, watching and waiting for something they had forgotten. They would alert the other dogs in their pack to the presence of bad men. They raised their voices to howl when these men bumped into the tourists and emptied their pockets. They let the humans take pictures of them, stroke their fur and feed them bits of lamb and bread with honey. They barked at gypsies. They listened. It was a good life for a dog.
