“What is it?” the three-year-old asked in his high-pitched voice.
“It’s a dog cage,” said Father.
“Oh.” Son got on all fours. “Woof, woof! Hey, Daddy?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m a talking doggy! Woof, woof!”
“Woof, woof,” added his younger sister, crawling underneath the broken tabletop that functioned as a roof for the “doggy cage.” The sides were overturned bookshelves and a nightstand. In the back was a tunnel created by a curtain over smaller pieces of broken wood.
“Is that safe?” Mother said.
“Safe, woof, woof?”
“It’s firm,” Father answered. “Come, let’s get in.” Father crawled into the doggy cage as well. “Daddy-doggy’s tired.” He pretended to snore.
“Wake up, woof, woof!”
“Night-night,” said Sister, pretending to sleep as well.
Suddenly, Son stopped prodding Father. He sat up straight, looking around. “What’s that?”
The noise came from outside the house they had taken shelter in, from a block down. “It’s just some people.”
“Scary people?”
“They won’t find us here. Wake up, little doggy.” He touched Sister, who sat up, smiling and proud.
“Why were the people scary?”
“Remember when the house fell down? Remember how it scared you? It scared those people, too.”
Son’s lower lip jutted out; his face stretched; he began to wail. Sister watched him for a moment, then began to cry too.
“Good job. It took us an hour to calm them down last time,” Mother said. She sat slumped and dusty and exhausted in the corner. She had watched the children for long hours while Father scouted out a safe place.
“Come here, guys, come here.” Father drew them out of the doggy cage. “Everything’s fine. We’re on an adventure now. Isn’t it fun to be on an adventure?”
Son, trying to hold back his tears, shook his head solemnly.
“Sure it is. We’ll all sleep together in a big cave. I’ll make it in the corner over there. It’ll be even bigger than your doggy cage, and we’ll all be together.”
Sister had almost stopped crying. Mother took her and held her close.
“I’m sad, Daddy,” said Son.
“It’s okay to be sad sometimes.” He held his son close, the boy’s head on his shoulder. Mother rocked Sister back and forth.
“I have an idea,” said Father. “Let’s dance.”
“Let’s not,” said Mother.
“Come on, little boy, let’s dance.” Father twirled in a circle, a rough, wild waltz, and Son held on tight. Around and around they went, spinning, bouncing up and down. Son laughed, and Father began to sing wordlessly. It was a simple melody he used to sing silly phrases to Mother, like “Oh, I love you, you cute thing,” or “Will you please hand me the plate of beans.” Now it was a rousing romp.
“Dance! Dance!” Sister cried.
Mother joined half-heartedly. Father hoisted Son onto his shoulders and danced across from Mother.
“This isn’t the time,” she said.
“It is most certainly the time, my dear, just the time,” he sang, off-key. And he added to it:
The world, indeed, is a grand old place
With a grand old sky and a grand old face.
With a boy in my hair and a girl on your hip,
We’re out and about on a wonderful trip.
What care we about the world over there?
We’re secreted away in this grand old house over here.
Sing for the sun and sing for the moon,
Sing for the roof and sing for the tune!
Dance with your legs and clap with your hands!
We’ll make ourselves a very grand old band.
And we’ll sing and we’ll dance,
Sing and sing and sing, and dance, dance, dance!
These last lines were accompanied by great gymnastic feats and fancy footwork, in which even Mother joined.
The song ended.
“Again! Again!” cried the kids.
“Again,” Mother said.
“Again,” agreed Father.
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