Jesus Man

Laika was the first living creature in space. She was a dog. Her picture,

wavering frames on a black and white television screen, had never been

forgotten by Tommy. Her long thin face, and the pert ears. The accomplishments

of humanity were listed in a monotonous tone by the scowling Mr Morris; the

classroom replied by rote. Ancient Greece. The birth of Christ. The printing

press. The discovery of the Americas. The Renaissance. The Indistrial

Revolution. The World Wars. Man on the moon. Tommy mouthed the words but he

couldn't forget the dog. Starving to death in perpetual orbit. At home, his

father drinking beer, his mother preparing dinner, Dominic reading Mad

magazine in bed. Tommy started crying. Breathlessly, too fast, he told his

story. -Laika, Laika, they just left her. It's horrible, horrible. He was

screaming. And Artie was laughing. And his mother said, shaking her head, why

are you worrying about a stupid dog? And Dominic, who had got out of bed to

find out what the tears were all about, joined his father in laughter. -What

do you care about some stupid mutt? And Tommy called his brother a cunt, and

shouted to Maria that she was a stupid wog, and before he could say anything

to his father, the man delivered the thundering slap. And then Tommy stopped

crying and fell silent. When Somers, coughing, not looking at him, told Tommy

that he was to be retrenched, that the corporation was downsizing to reflect

the realities of the current ecomonic situation, Tommy's first thought was of

Laika, a fuzzy black and white image of a sad dog in space.