Goatscape by Craig Ellsworth

#

Jack sat in the chair near the crib. He could not see his newborn boy in the dark, but he could feel the baby’s presence. He was there, in the crib, and there, he stretched his little legs, and there, he rolled his little head about! The newborn was dreaming. Jack guided him with a modern lullaby, whispering the last gentle chorus in the dark.

“When you dream, what do you dream about?”

The darkness was broken by a sudden light from the kitchen filtering through the cracks in the door. Mary was up. Perhaps it was her mother’s instinct to check on her newborn, or perhaps she just wanted her husband back in bed.

Jack continued the lullaby, trying to ignore the sound of Mary filling a glass in the kitchen. He wanted this moment to last forever. He’d run out of lyrics before that, but he could always repeat and repeat and repeat until the end of time.

Jack had dreamed of this beautiful moment for years. He did not want in ruined now by the intrusion of his wife.

A name. The baby still needed a name. Jack wanted something with meaning; Mary wanted something that would not get him beat up in school everyday. Hakim, no, maybe Hank. Alvis, no, maybe Alan. Enki, no, how ‘bout Eric. Shannon, no, that’s a girl’s name these days, how ‘bout Sean.

Jack finished the last of the lullaby, and before starting again for the dozenth time tonight, the name for the baby took his thoughts completely, leaving him mute.

The light in the kitchen turned off, and Mary did not bother Jack. Jack sat still, staring through the darkness at his son in the crib. Maybe Mary was right. A good-sounding name was all that mattered. Something timeless that no one would question. Maybe inspiration would hit before his boy learned how to spell.

But for now, the newborn probably didn’t care about having a name. He was a little tied up at the moment, dreaming of music or mathematics or planets too far for the eye.

#

The region was rocky, but not altogether mountainous. The gray piles were settled in, allowing no pebble to move from the light-yet-audible breeze. A single black goat stood at the top of an outcrop, surveying the area for any bit of grass. The low sun was obscured by cloud cover, leaving a flat rusty shade in the sky.

Another goat, somewhere far off, bleated. The black goat straightened its neck up and looked ahead for the source. The goat’s beard fluttered back in the wind.

The bleat came again. It sounded like a kid.

The goat checked its footing and climbed down the outcrop, heading for the sound.

A bleat. The goatspeak sounded like human anguish. Maybe the kid had a leg stuck between the stones; perhaps it was injured; perhaps it was starving.

A bleat. The black goat climbed over the next pile of rock and finally saw the source a little ways off. The kid was safe. It had found a small patch of grass, and was calling to invite anyone else to share.

The buck headed for the kid, stumbling in a clumsy, speedy way to make it to that patch of dirt and grass before it was all gone.

The kid heard the echo of hoof on stone, and looked up to watch the buck charge toward him. The kid chewed his bit of grass, watching his unsteady elder race to the vegetation.

The buck did not slow down when he neared, however, and the kid bleated in warning. The buck put his head down and charged the last few leaps to the kid, and slammed into the kid’s ribs, knocking him over. The kid bleated in pain and landed on his side, cutting his skin on the sharp edges of the rocks.

The buck backed up a couple paces, then charged again, this time trampling the kid over the neck and head, closing its windpipe and slamming its eye into a sharp rock under it. The kid could not bleat again, but tried to anyway from the sting of a pierced eye.

Unable to get up, the kid kicked its back legs, thrashing, shrieking.

The buck trotted back to the kid and stood over it, bringing its face down close to the crushed neck. The buck examined it, then sank its teeth in and ripped the jugular open, pulled off a chunk of flesh, and chewed it delicately, savoring the taste.

The kid died slowly, watching the buck eat him with his good eye, until the buck dug in and ate that, too.

#

Jack shot awake when his body shifted to almost fall off his chair. He sat up straight, sat in silence and listened to see if any noise he made woke his son. No sound came from the baby.

Feeling about to fall asleep again, Jack forced himself to stand up and leave the room.

In the master bedroom, he slid under the sheets, and vaguely noticed that his wife was still not back in bed. He was asleep the moment the covers covered him.

#

Jack woke to the bleat of a black goat in heat, he thought. But when it came again he knew it was the scream of his wife.

Jack leapt up and ran to find Mary in the crib room, holding their newborn boy close to her chest.

Mary was wailing, her eyes closed, head up, letting the sound of her heart disintegrating escape her sore, rotting chords.

But no sound came from the baby.

#

The doctors said it was crib death.

#

The funeral-goers thought it was the smallest casket ever made. Each and every person cried, even the priest. Not always for grief, for the baby had little impact on most of the lives of the people there; they cried because such a small casket was so distressing to see, and because such a small person was inside it.

Embossed on the grave was John Owens, posthumously named after Jack. As the casket was lowered into the ditch, Jack mumbled a modern lullaby.

#

A lonely black goat trotted along the rocky landscape, searching for a blade of grass to quell its hunger. The overcast sky was deep red. There was no breeze. The hot, humid air smelled of iron.

The goat climbed the outcroppings and bounced down them, clumsily but without incident, always listing slightly so that it circled the same perimeter over and over without ever noticing. It couldn’t find anything to eat no matter how many times it made the same path.

The goat bleated, hoping for assistance, hoping for reply. No answer ever came, not even an echo.

#

Jack knew that he was sleeping; he was conscious of his bed, but he could not move or open his eyes until his sleep relinquished control of his body back to him. He could still see the goat clearly, even when trying to drive it from his mind.

Eventually, the agonizing numbness went away, and he pushed opened his eyelids. The goatscape disappeared in the darkness.

Jack rolled over to touch his wife, but the other side of the bed was empty and cold.

#

Mary stood in front of the crib, picturing her baby sleeping in it. She could still see what he looked like, so clearly. He had his mother’s eyes, cheeks, ears; it was a little baby boy version of herself.

She heard Jack walking down the hall to the baby’s room. She did not want him to come in. She wanted this moment to be for her. She wanted to imagine her baby in that crib without distraction. He had been right there.

The door creaked and Mary could feel Jack looking past her. He found his place next to her and looked at the crib.

He tried to imagine his boy, but no vision would come.

Jack took his wife’s hand. She neither gave it willingly nor stiffened. Her hand was dead weight in Jack’s.

Jack broke the silence. “What did he look like? Did he look like me?”

Mary stared at the empty crib for so long Jack was unsure she heard. Tears watered her throat and stung her face from inside. “Did you know?” Mary asked.

“At one time… I thought I knew. I guess I was wrong.”

“You knew.” Mary pulled her hand away to cover her face and catch her tears.

Jack put his arms around her, but she pushed him away weakly, and left the room.

Jack stood mutely, staring off into space, unsure whether to go to her, until the empty crib caught his eye again, and all he could do was stare at it.

#

In the morning, Jack noticed that Mary did not acknowledge his presence. She sat at the kitchen table, her hands around a cup of cold coffee, only blinking and breathing.

He put his hand on her arm, and squeezed gently.

She said, “Was it worth it?” not turning to look at him.

“Sorry, baby?” Jack said.

“Was it worth it,” she repeated, not a question this time.

“I don’t know what you’re asking,” Jack said. “What’s going on, Mary?”

“I just want to know if it was worth it. If you think it makes us even.”

Jack was lost. Grief made her babble, he supposed. He kissed the top of her head and rubbed her arm. “Everything will be alright soon,” he said.

#

When Jack got home from work that day, he was met at the door by a hammer to the head. One sharp blow cracked his skull and sent blood across the wall.

As he screamed and went down, Mary dropped the hammer and gasped. Her tears came as quickly as his blood. She ran to the phone immediately and called an ambulance.

#

Jack had a depressed skull fracture and needed surgery, but did not suffer any brain damage. Jack did not press charges, and they pretended it was an accident.

#

They got divorced.

Mary moved back in with her parents until she could get back on her feet. Jack moved into another state and got an apartment.

The house was sold quickly.

#

The black goat bleated in search of a friend.

It stood at the top of an outcrop and surveyed, but the barren landscape offered nothing but rocks. The clouds looked full and massive, ready to break open if the goat’s sharp bleat were any louder.

Far, far in the distance, the goat saw a leafless tree, perhaps dead, having broken through the rocks once upon a time.

The goat bounded toward it, stopping at every outcrop to reorient itself and catch a small breath.

But the tree never seemed to get any closer, and the goat cracked its hooves a little more with each misstep.

#

Jack slowly woke up in his single bed to the rock on the radio, trying to get the dream out of his head. Every night, it was the same dream. Nothing ever changed. Since Mary left, the dream was stuck. It never continued, it never ended; it just replayed over and over a hundred times a night. A goat that could not get where it wanted to go. It tired him out.

#

It took Jack some years to start dating again. But when he did, he did so with gusto. He went to bars, clubs, speed dates, blind dates, dating websites, and even met strangers in bookstores. He searched and searched and searched until he found.

By chance, he was in a tattoo parlor, after an unsuccessful night at a bar, and the place was the only thing open after last call. He was really only there to sober up enough to drive home, perusing the samples to give himself something to do.

Although there were books of fantasy tattoos, cutesy tattoos, tramp stamps, pop culture tattoos, goth tattoos, and even books of famous art, he found himself flipping through a book of animal tats. Most of them were cute things, dolphins and kittens.

"Help you?" a woman asked. She wore fishnets and leather, and her arms and neck were covered in tattoos.

"Don't suppose you have any goats?" Jack asked, with a measure of giddiness from his beer buzz.

"Like this?" she asked, and pointed to a black goat on her forearm, wedged between Frankenstein's monster and Jesus on the cross.

"Something like that. What's your name?"

#

The black goat’s hooves were broken, the skin at the edges cracked and bleeding, dampening the fur. The goat trudged along, as if the blood at its feet were weighing it down. Its head down, staring at the ground and trying to place each hoof carefully, the goat did not notice where it was going until it bumped into the side of another goat.

The second goat bleated in surprise, and the black buck looked up to find a doe in its way. The buck took a step back as the doe turned to face him.

The doe bleated, and the buck lowered his head in apology. The doe bleated a second time, then nuzzled her face against the buck’s.

The buck raised his head and returned the gesture.

#

Beth’s alarm clock blasted metal to shock her awake, and she quickly slapped it off. A quick second of it was enough; any more and she'd be lulled back to sleep by it.

Jack woke up as well, though he was already near consciousness when the alarm went off. He put his hand on Beth’s lower back.

Beth turned to him and whispered, “Sorry, sweetie, go back to sleep.”

“I love you,” Jack said.

Now Beth was truly shocked awake. “This is the first time you’ve said that to me,” she said.

“You know how I know I love you?”

Beth stared at him.

“Remember that goat dream I always have?”

Beth nodded.

“It changed tonight.”

#

A month later Jack proposed to Beth, and she considered for another month, but finally accepted.

#

They got married, and when Jack was ready again, they tried to have children. They tried for a year solid before going to the doctor. The good news was Beth was fine. The bad news was: Jack was sterile.

#

The goat circled and circled, speeding up, slowing down, becoming more frantic with every step. It bleated whenever its throat could stand it. It had no doe for company.

The goat felt a drop of rain hit its back, and stopped moving. It felt another, and watched the drops fall. The drizzling rainfall was warm.

The goat looked at the ground nearby and found that a small dip in a rock created a basin to catch the rain. The goat took a few steps toward it and looked at the puddle.

The rain was red. The goat tentatively bent down and sniffed. It was sweet. It stuck its tongue out and dipped it in the puddle. It was blood.

The goat lapped it up, licking the wet rocks when the puddle was gone, drinking every drop it could get to.

#

Jack drove out six hours to the side-of-the-road cemetery where the baby had been buried.

Jack sat down next to the simple rectangular stone, occasionally glancing at the name then looking away. He sat in silence. His mind was buzzing and blank at once. He did not know what to think. The possible accusations that tried to penetrate him were carefully evaded.

When he closed his eyes, he thought of the black goat, so he kept them open as much as he could. He spent his energy trying not to blink. When the image of the goat in the rocky terrain started to appear in his vision even without closing his eyes, he looked up at the sun to burn the image away.

He could not stare at the sun for more than a few seconds, but even so, it did nothing.