the+Roog



Phillip K. Dick: //The Preserving Machine and Other Stories,// Pan Science Fiction 1972



Phillip K. Dick: //The Preserving Machine and Other Stories,// Pan Science Fiction 1972 **

Down on the edge of the stove and went into the pantry(14). When she came back Alf was standing at the door of the kitchen. He put his glasses on. ‘You bring in the paper?’ he said. ‘It’s outside.’ Alf Cardossi walked across the kitchen. He threw the bolt on the back door and stepped out on the porch. He looked into the grey, damp morning. At the fence Boris lay, black and hairy, his tongue out. ‘Put the tongue in’ Alf said. The dog looked quickly up. His tail beat against the ground. ‘The tongue’, Alf said. ‘Put the tongue in.’ The dog and the man looked at one another the dog whined (15). His eyes were bright and feverish. Roog!’ he said softly. ‘What?’ Alf looked around. ‘Someone coming? The paper-boy come?’ The dog stared at him, his mouth open. ‘You certainly upset these days,’ Alf said. ‘You better take it easy. We both getting too old for excitement.’ He went inside the house.

The sun came up. The street became bright and alive with colour. The postman went along the sidewalk with his letters and magazines. Some children hurried by, laughing and talking.

About 11:00, Mrs Cadossi swept the front porch. She sniffed the air, pausing for a moment. ‘It smells good today,’ she said. ‘That means it’s going to be warm.’ In the heat of the noonday(16) sun the black dog lay stretched out full length, under the porch. His chest rose and fell. In the cherry tree the birds were playing, squawking (17) and chattering (18) to each other. One in a while Boris raised his head and looked at them. Presently he got top his feet and trotted (19) down under the tree.

He was standing under the tree when he saw the two Roogs sitting on the fence, watching him. ‘He’s big,’ the first Roog said. ‘Most guardians(28) aren’t as big as this.’ The other Roog nodded, his head wobbling on his neck. Boris watched them without moving, his body stiff and hard. The Roogs were silent, now, looking at the big dog with his shaggy ruff (20) of white around his neck. ‘How is the offering (21) urn (22)?’ the first Roog said. ‘Is it almost full?’ ‘Yes.’ The other nodded.’ Almost ready.’ ‘You there!’ the first Roog said, rasing his voice. ‘Do you hear me? We’ve decided to accept the offering, this time. So you remember to let us in. no nonsense, now.’ ‘Don’t forget,’ the other added. ‘It won’t be long.’ Boris said nothing. The two Roogs leaped off the fence and went over together just beyond the walk. One of them brought out a map and they studied it. ‘This area really is none too good for a first time trial,’ the first Roog said. ‘Too many Guardians…Now, the northside area-‘ ‘They decided,’ the other Roog said. ‘There are so many factors-‘ ‘Of course.’ They glanced at Boris and moved back farther from the fence. He could not hear the rest of what they were saying. Presently the Roogs put their map away and went off down the path. Boris walked over to the fence and sniffed the boards. He smelled the sickly, rotten odour (23) of the Roogs and his hair stood up on his back (24). That night when Alf Cardossi came home the dog was standing at the gate, looking up at the walk. Alf opened the gate and went into the yard. ‘How are you?’ he said, thumping the dog’s side (25). ‘You stopped worrying? Seems like you been nervous of late (26). You didn’t use to be that way.’ Boris whined and looked intently (27) up into the man’s face. ‘You a good dog, Boris.’ Alf said. ‘You pretty big, too for a dog. You don’t remember long ago how you used to be only a little bit of a puppy.’ Boris leaned against the man’s leg. ‘You a good dog,’ Alf murmured. ‘ I sure wish I knew what is on your mind.’ He went inside the house. Mrs Cardossi was setting the table for dinner. Alf went into the living room and took his coat and hat off. He set his lunch pail (28) down on the sideboard and came back into the kitchen. ‘What’s the matter ?’ Mrs Cardossi said. ‘That dog got to stop making all that noise, barking. The neighbours going to complain to the police again.’ ‘I hope we don’t have to give him to your brother,’ Mrs Cardossi said, folding her arms. ‘But he sure goes crazy, especially on Friday morning, when the garbage men come.’ ‘Maybe he’ll calm down,’ Alf said. He lit his pipe and smoked solemnly (29). He didn’t used to be that way. Maybe he’ll get better, like he was.’ ‘We’ll see,’ Mrs Cardossi said.

The sun came up, cold and ominous (30). Mist hung over all the trees and in the low places. It was Friday morning. The black dog lay under the porch, listening, his eyes wide and staring. His coat was stiff with hoarfrost (31) and the breath from his nostrils made clouds of steam in the thin air. Suddenly he turned his head and leaped up. From far off, a long way away, a faint sound came, a kind of crashing sound. ‘Roog!’ Boris cried, looking around. He hurried to the gate and stood up, his paws on the top of the fence. Ion the distance the sound came again, louder now, not as far away as before. It was a, crashing, clanging (32) sound, as if something was being rolled back, as if a great door were being opened.

‘Roog!’ Boris cried. He stared up anxiously (33) at the darkened windows above him. Nothing stirred nothing. And along the street the Roogs came. The Roogs and their truck moved along, bouncing against the rough stones, crashing and whirring (34).

‘Roog!’ Boris cried, and he leaped, his eyes blazing (35). Then he became more calm. He settled himself down on the ground and waited, listening. Out in the front the Roogs stopped their truck. He could hear them opening the doors and stepping down on to the sidewalk. Boris ran around in a little circle. He whined, and his muzzle (36) turned once again towards the house. Inside the warm, dark bedroom, Mr Cardossi sat up a littler in bed and squinted (37) at the clock. ‘That damn dog,’ he muttered. ‘That damn dog.’ He turned his face towards the pillow and closed his eyes. The Roogs were coming down the path, now. The first Roog pushed against the gate and the gate opened. The Roogs came into the yard. The dog backed away from them. ‘Roog! Roog!’ he cried. The horrid bitter smell (38) of Roogs came to his nose, and he turned away. ‘The offering urn,’ the first Roog said. ‘It is full I think.’ He smiled at the rigid (39), angry dog. ‘How very good of you,’ he said. The Roogs came towards the metal can, and one of them took the lid from it. ‘Roog! Roog!’ Boris cried, huddled against the bottom of the porch steps. His body shook with horror. The Roogs were lifting up the big metal can, turning it on its side. The contents poured out onto the ground, and the Roogs scooped the sacks of bulging, splitting paper together, catching at the orange peel and fragments of toast and egg shells. One of the Roogs popped an egg shell into his mouth. His teeth crunching the egg shell. ‘Roog!’ Boris cried hopelessly, almost to himself. The Roogs were almost finished with their work of gathering up the offering. They stopped for a moment, looking at Boris. Then slowly, silently, the Roogs looked up, up the side of the house, along the stucco (41), to the window, with its brown shade pulled tightly down.

‘ROOG!’ Boris screamed and he came towards them, dancing with fury and dismay (42). Reluctantly (43), the Roogs turned away from the window. They went out through the gate, closing it behind them. ‘Look at him,’ the last Roog said with contempt (44), pulling his corner of the blanket up on his shoulder. Boris strained (45) against the fence, his mouth open, snapping wildly. The biggest Roog began to wave his arms furiously and Boris retreated (46). He settled down at the bottom of the porch steps, his mouth still open, and from the depths of him an unhappy, terrible moan (47) issued forth, a wail of misery and despair (48). ‘Come on.’ The other Roog said to the lingering (49) Roog at the fence. They walked up the path. ‘Well except for these little places around the Guardians, this area is well cleared,’ the biggest Roog said. ‘I’ll be glad when this particular Guardian is done. He certainly causes us a lot of trouble.’ ‘don’t be impatient (50),’ one of the Roogs said. He grinned (51). ‘Our truck is full enough as it is. Let’s leave something for next week.’ All the Roogs laughed. They went on up the path, carrying the offering in the dirty, sagging blanket.