‘“And yet…”’

‘Right: and yet, nevertheless, he says, it was impressive about the neck. At this point he invites you to go ahead and feel, right here, and he thrusts out his throat to you and takes your hand in his and gently guides it to his jugular, letting you run your fingertips over the leathery flesh there, kneading deep to try to feel the stuff yourself, leaning in closer and closer until—’

‘I think I see where this is going.’

‘Until without warning, when you’re least expecting it, my dad springs forward like a mastiff from his kennel, eyes gone white and his mouth roaring RAR RAR RAR with rabid passion, the spittle flying in your face, gnashing his teeth at you point-blank.’

‘Tell me he didn’t do this to Dougall.’

‘Well that’s the thing. This was my dad’s favorite joke. Pounced on any opportunity. If someone made an unwitting reference to reincarnation, palmistry, voodoo, or even New Orleans, he’d sidle into the conversation sly as anything and announce, you know, has he got a story about reincarnation, palmistry, voodoo, or New Orleans. My whole life, growing up—at all my parents’ football parties, when the adults were gathered around the coffee table eating chips and dip and drinking beer and laughing—I would keep one eye on my dad. Because no matter what conversation he and the other adults were having, I could tell—I could just tell—that the bastard was sitting there biding his time. Lying in wait and listening for the least mention of reincarnation, palmistry, voodoo, or New Orleans. Assuming he wasn’t insidiously steering the conversation in that direction himself. It could be like watching a cat hunt birds, at times—his grace and patience. It got to where you started to wince whenever you heard a newcomer say, some uninitiated friend, “I’ve been reading about reincarnation lately.” You just knew it was coming. My dad didn’t miss it. He’d been waiting for it the whole night. The gleam in his eye.’

‘So, what? MacDougall comes over one weekend and says, “Mister Cookie, Mister Cookie, do you believe in reincarnation?”’ ‘Close enough. My dad and MacDougall are talking, and MacDougall says something that leaves him wide open, and I see the gleam. And from behind MacDougall I’m shaking my head like Noooo! in slow-motion, the way you do when someone strikes a match near a gas leak. But how’s Dad supposed to know? We don’t have a dog. He’s never seen MacDougall burst into tears. And it’s not as if I’ve given him any prior warning.’

‘You let it happen.’

‘I was transfixed.’

‘You did nothing.’

‘The second my dad took MacDougall’s hand in his hand, it was over for me: I could only stand there, helpless and paralyzed, and watch with nightmare dread as the joke unfolded.’

‘MacDougall falls for it.’

‘Because of course he does. He’s twelve, thirteen.’

‘He leans in to feel the neck.’

‘My dad hasn’t barked for half a second before he’s blubbering, “Mister Cookie, Mister Cookie!”’