Rimbaud On a Moonlit Night

Alice Whittenburg

 

The woods behind the abandoned shopping mall were marked with No Trespassing signs, but there was no fence and no one to enforce the signs. So after dinner on warm evenings Todd and I would often drive to the former mall, leave our car in the otherwise empty parking lot, and walk in the woods until the sun went down. One night when there was a full moon and a nice breeze, we decided to stay for a while after dark.

"Let's go listen to some bullfrogs," Todd said, and we started down the trail that led to a small stream-fed pond. Suddenly up ahead we could see two circles of light, and a few seconds later, a policeman and policewoman hurried toward us. They stopped a few feet away from us, holding their flashlights like weapons; we couldn't see their faces at all. Their radios emitted only static, and the volume rose and fell in an oddly cadenced way that sounded like a panting dog.

"What are you doing here?" asked the policeman sternly.

"We're taking a moonlit walk," Todd said.

"Leave now," said the policewoman, aiming her flashlight at Todd's face.

"But why?" I asked, sounding like a plaintive child; I really did want to hear the bullfrogs.

"Because this land is private property, which means you're trespassing. And because there's a manhunt going on. Now get out of here."

"Only two officers on a manhunt?" Todd asked.

"We have some very special back-up," said the policewoman smugly.

"Come on," Todd said, catching me by the elbow. "We don't want trouble," he added as we turned to walk back toward the parking lot.

Before we had gotten very far, we heard a dog barking, and the officers began talking excitedly together. Then the policewoman shouted, "Freeze! Now!" We did as we were told and stood stock still until a huge dappled dog with long ears and a cropped tail appeared. It ran up to Todd, who flinched away from it, expecting to be mauled; then it froze into place, front paw uplifted, its nose pointed at Todd.

"Attaboy, Rimbaud!" said the policewoman.

"Rambo?" I asked, wondering about the odd pronunciation. "Is he dangerous?"

"It's Rimbaud!" said the policeman. "Like the poet. This is his recognition style. This is the way Rimbaud does it."

"The way he does what?" I asked loudly. The dog, intent on Todd, seemed not to notice anything else.

"It's his recognition style," the policewoman repeated in an impatient tone of voice. "When we put him on a scent, this is how he tells us he's found the one we're looking for."

"And who does he think I am?" Todd asked nervously. He waved his hand in front of the dog's eyes, but there was no reaction.

"Rimbaud doesn't 'think' you're anyone, sir," said the policeman. "You are a transgressor, and in this situation you've become a stand-in for the perpetrator we're tracking."

"I beg your pardon," Todd said. "A transgressor? Am I being charged with something?"

"No, sir, but you are trespassing, and considering that Rimbaud dropped into a perfect point the minute he saw you, I'd say we're working with more than one transgression here. Am I right?"

"Don't be ridiculous. I'm not answering any questions without a lawyer. You have to let us go if you're not going to charge us."

Both officers ignored what Todd had just said, and the policeman said, "Rimbaud! Guard!" The dog was oblivious to everything but Todd.

"Now, if you know what's good for you, you'll stay right here," said the policewoman. "We're going to finish this business." Then the officers walked away.

"Hey!" shouted Todd. "What am I supposed to have done? Call off your dog!" But the officers didn't answer, didn't look back once as they disappeared down the moonlit trail.

For a few minutes we just stood there, dazed, looking at each other and at the huge dog beside us. By the pale light of the moon, the skin of Rimbaud's face seemed to fold and wrinkle excessively. "He looks like he must be part sharpei," I said, and at that moment Rimbaud looked up at the moon and began to bark loudly. This went on for a couple of minutes, and when he paused, as if to catch his breath, we heard shouts and some splashing sounds. Then Rimbaud flopped down on the trail and rested his head on his paws.

I said, "You know, this dog doesn't seem very vicious. I don't think he'd do anything if we just walked out of here."

"That's where you're wrong," said the policewoman as she stepped out of the shadows and pointed her flashlight at us once again. Her radio was panting softly. "Actually, Rimbaud found the man we're looking for, so you're free to go."

"Excuse me," Todd said in a tired voice, "but Rimbaud couldn't have found anybody. He was here with us all along."

"And was he sounding?" the policewoman asked impatiently.

"You mean barking at the moon? Yes, he was."

"That's his completion style," the policewoman said, bending to scratch Rimbaud's drooping ears. "Completion can be a very complicated process, and sometimes it doesn't work well on a moonlit night, but tonight I'd say we've had a real success.  You're free to go now."

I was relieved, but at the same time angry about what we had just been through. "We plan to file a complaint about unlawful detention!" I said.

"You're trespassers, aren't you? Consider yourselves lucky," said the policeman as he came out from behind a tree. He was breathing heavily, and his uniform was very muddy.

"Come on." Todd took my arm and we turned once more to walk away. Rimbaud barked excitedly and trotted along behind as though he belonged to us.

"I'll be damned! He's picked up another scent," the policeman shouted. "Halt! Remain where you are."

"This is going to be a long night," Todd said as Rimbaud froze on the trail and pointed his long nose straight at me.