He’d put his two hours in, hard labour, perspired, moaned, and swayed, but when he went to his desk for his reading glasses, so he could read the paper, they were nowhere to be found, even though he looked everywhere three times (they were in his shirt pocket – Alina would have found them); frustrated, he took his beige windbreaker and driving cap and went for a walk. It was Saturday late morning and the sun was shining. Negotiating the ascent to Castle Park, he bethought himself he should get a dog – he seemed the only pedestrian not trailing behind one. Not that he’d have the heart since old Dentulus died. It would be a disloyalty. The park was spread over a rise beside the banks of the Fraser River. There was a cement-ringed pond at its centre where young boys sailed boats, facsimiles of battle ships and sail boats and tugs, generally of the store-bought variety, though a few were homemade, out of Popsicle sticks, cardboard, paper. He was amused to witness the launching of such a one with “Helen” crayoned on its bow.
The Familiar
