4
NEW YORK
I waved goodbye to the flight attendant to take up some time while I tried to remember what I might say in English to the Horseman, but he was holding out a thick red hooded jacket for me.
I shrugged into it as he wound a scarf around my neck: pink with rabbits prancing up and down.
Good grief, bunnies munching on baby carrots. I tried not to look embarrassed. But what would people think of me wearing a scarf meant for a three-year-old?
We spun through the revolving door and outside to a polar-bear cold. Even the ocean, which Tio Paulo had said was nearby, must be frozen like the Arctic.
My eyes began to tear from the wind in that strange world with cars blaring at each other. People rushed around, stepping on my feet, saying something that must have meant sorry.
“You’re welcome,” I said back, trying to be polite, ignoring Rafael, who laughed.
The Horseman herded us around the other travelers and across the street. Would I ever be warm again? I thought of the poor lemon shivering in my backpack; it should still be on its tree in the sun.
But soon we were inside the truck, where the heater blasted warmth onto my frozen legs and numb fingers.
I kept stealing glances at the back of the Horseman’s head, at this stranger I’d thought about all this time. He was leaning forward, both hands on the wheel, maneuvering his way in the traffic.
I looked at Rafael, next to him in front. Rafael turned toward me, grinning without saying a word.
Rafael, who had finished high school but on the phone said idiotic things like How is your doll? or Do you still sing songs from Snow White?
I closed my eyes, swaying a bit with the motion of the truck, and jumped as I heard the Horseman’s voice again. “There’s the most beautiful track in the world.”
I craned my neck and caught a glimpse of stone pillars before the track disappeared behind us.
At that moment, I saw myself on the porch at Tio Paulo’s, the library book in my hand, the sharp scent of geraniums around me, and Santos the dog chewing on a drooly old bone at my feet.
How many times had I paged through that thick book, touching the pictures of that very race course, the great grandstand, the horse barns, the oval tracks?
I had seen the huge white pine tree, so beautiful that the track had been built around it long before I was born. And I had longed to be there.
Now the Horseman pointed to a school and, a few blocks later, a row of stores. We turned a corner, and then another; we drove along a road lined with bare trees and evergreens, then turned into a long driveway, the tires grating against the gravel. “Here’s the farm,” Pai said.
We passed a large house, shadowy in the darkness. In back, lights beamed down on a barn and an exercise track.
“I train all the horses for Mrs. Januário,” he said. “She has seven, and we have—”
Rafael laughed. “One and almost two more.”
I was too tired to ask what he meant. But then I saw a small house with light streaming from the windows.
“It’s waiting for you.” Pai smiled at me. “Home.”
I stumbled out of the truck behind them and scurried up the front path in the freezing cold. We dived through the front door into a room that was truly warm.
The living room looked almost like Titia Luisa’s, with pale yellow walls, but the green couch and the chairs were lined up in a row, reminding me of the dentist’s waiting room in Jales. Terrible.
In the kitchen, a cake was on the table, with pink flowers and welcome words swirled across the top: Bem-Vindo. “I remembered you liked pink,” Rafael said.
I hadn’t had anything in pink for years: an insipid color, as Mrs. Figuerido, my teacher, would say.
I sat there trying to smile around a huge bite of cake with the strawberry taste sweet in my mouth, but I could hardly keep my eyes open.
Pai waved his hand. “And in the hall,” he said, “is the computer. Use it whenever you wish.”
At last we went upstairs, passing a large painting of a jockey on his horse. Pai ran his fingers over the frame as we went by. I was too tired to do more than glance at it.
At the end of the hall, Pai opened a door. “Here’s your room.”
I looked around and gulped. It was a bedroom meant for a little girl. Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs had been painted on one wall, and reflecting them on the other side was a mirror with a pink bow.
They stood in the doorway, waiting. “We painted.” The Horseman waved his hand.
I tried to smile, but I could see my face in the mirror. It looked as if I’d just had a tooth pulled.
Rafael pointed to the floor. In front of the bed was a small rug with the face of Minnie Mouse in the center.
“Boa,” I said at last.
They both smiled, nodding at each other, pleased with themselves.
Ai!
“Rafael’s idea,” the Horseman said, and then they were gone.
I sank down on the edge of the bed, so tired I could hardly yank off my sandals.
But I made myself go downstairs to the computer. I e-mailed Titia Luisa: XOXO, and Tio Paulo: So I’m alive. Then I went up to bed and pulled the quilt over me.
I lay there, feeling numb; it was all so different from what I’d expected.
All strange.
I shook my head. What had I expected anyway?
Don’t think about Jales, or the Horseman, or Rafael, who’s so proud of his Minnie Mouse rug, I told myself.
I closed my eyes.
5
AIKEN, SOUTH CAROLINA
She was no longer a foal, drinking her mother’s milk. She was a filly now. Her coat was a mixture of black and white hairs, and underneath, her skin was a gleaming black from a forebear of hundreds of years ago, an Arabian whose dark skin protected him from the desert sun.
The filly spent her days in the warmth of the field with its sweet-smelling grass.
She wasn’t alone. The mare was there, and a bay colt and a roan, too. She waited as they began to run, standing still as if she were rooted to the earth until they were halfway across the field.
She chased them; the wind flattened her ears and raised her mane. She ran like the swift birds that flew over her head, or lightning when it flashed across the sky. She stretched her neck, stretched her nose, stretched her legs; she reached the gate at the end of the field before they came near her.
A lake ran along the side of the field, and sometimes she drank, or cooled her legs in the shallow water. She always jumped back, surprised, when a small creature plopped under the surface, or a shell-like creature moved slowly along the mud away from her.
She never stopped watching, though, to be sure the mare was resting in the center of the field with one of the other mares, their necks crossed. And sometimes she went back to stand with the mare, or to feel the swish of that long tail in her face.
The one fearful part of her life was the two-legged one. He wore something to cover his small head, and a few times he had pulled it off and hit her flank with it.
He sucked on pieces of hay with his mouth, and when he made sounds with that mouth, they were loud and grated on her ears. With him was a small but fearsome creature with four legs; it raised its sharp claws when the filly came near and hissed at her.
The filly tried to stay away, but they were always there.
6
THE FARM
The bedroom windows rattled against their frames, and a poor tree branch, naked without its leaves, tapped lightly against one of the panes.
I lay there listening to the soft clank of the radiator bringing up the heat. But how quiet this house was.
In our kitchen in Jales, Titia Luisa would be singing as she prepared our rice and beans. On the porch, Tio Paulo would be clucking over the news in the papers, the pages he’d finished drifting down the steps. And outside, Santos the dog would be barking as he chased animals he could never catch. The only quiet one was Gato the cat, up
on my bed, staring down into my face, while Maria the canary …
I padded over to the closet and reached into my backpack, first touching the lemon, then pulling out my horse pictures and the box full of thumbtacks I’d thrown in at the last minute. Who knew whether they’d have tacks in America?
Standing on the bed, I covered Snow White and the dwarfs. With my shoe, trying not to make too much noise, I hammered up some of my pictures: Native Dancer; Gallorette; Man o’ War, who was called Big Red, and Whirlaway, my favorite of them all.
I tried to tell myself this was like my home in Jales. But where was the sunlight that used to splash over the floor and make plaid patterns of light on the wall? Where was the noise of the dog, the canary, Titia Luisa singing, and Tio Paulo complaining?
I went to the window and leaned my head against the cold glass. I was facing the back, and I could see a wooden barn on one side, and beyond that a single oval track, where a rider exercised a chestnut horse.
A white fence stretched around all of it, and at the far end, an orange cat was perched on top washing one paw. She reminded me of Gato.
Someone was walking along the path, whistling, and the cat jumped off the fence and disappeared into the trees as he opened the barn doors.
Suddenly I was excited. In that barn were horses. Horses! And I was going to be part of this new world.
I spotted Pai leaning against the fence, looking up at the sky. I looked up, too. A pale swirl had appeared in the gray sky, something I’d never seen before.
Snow!
I hugged myself. Maybe it was time to bring the lemon to Pai.
I scooped up the jacket up from the floor. It had spent the night covering the face of Minnie Mouse. And then I held the lemon in my hands, feeling its smoothness, smelling its faint scent.
Yes, I’d bring it outside.
I remembered to close the bedroom door behind me. I’d never let them see what I’d done to their new baby-pink walls or to their mural.
I flew down the stairs, past the dentist-office living room with the fireplace that looked as if it had never been used.
I struggled with the lock and went out the side door in bare feet. The bushes along the fence were covered with white; they looked like old men with their heads bent.
Snow covered my hair. I pulled up the hood and twirled around, arms up, breathing in the cold smell of the air. I tried to catch the flakes with my tongue, then took a breath; my bare feet were freezing.
The Horseman turned; snow had coated his graying hair and the shoulders of his leather jacket. “Your first snow,” he said. “Isn’t it beautiful!”
Suddenly I was shy, wondering if I should give the lemon to him. But before I had a chance to reach into my pocket, he swept his arms around, first toward the barn, and then toward the track. “Lucky,” he said. “We’ve been so lucky. All of this belongs to Mrs. Januário, but I’m training her horses.”
He spread his hands wide. “I learn from them, how they like to run, how they race. Some are in a hurry to win, others like to come to the front at the last minute.” He touched my shoulder. “We’ll use their strengths and win race after race.”
I heard the excitement in his voice. My own heart fluttered as I held the lemon out to him.
He looked surprised—no, puzzled. He took it, shaking his head. “From the kitchen?”
“It’s from the lemon grove.” I swallowed. “From Jales.”
He turned it over in his hand. “Ah, yes, I remember the grove. It belonged to the farmer down the road, didn’t it?”
I nodded. A pain began in my throat and grew until it filled my chest. I felt almost the same as the day he’d left.
When I send for you, you’ll bring me another.
But he hadn’t even remembered.
I took back the lemon as if I’d only wanted to show it to him, and buried it deep in my pocket. Then we watched the snow coming down, covering the roofs of the house and the barn. I raised one icy foot and then the other.
Pai pointed to the front. “Mrs. Januário lives in that big house,” he said. “She’s in the South for the winter, but now that spring is coming, she’ll be back soon.”
Spring!
My feet were turning blue.
I tried to think of something to say as I reached down to scoop up a bit of the snow.
He looked down. “Bare feet! You’ll freeze, child.” He took my hand and we ran across the yard to the house.
A faint acrid smell came from the narrow kitchen, where Rafael was flipping eggs in a pan. “I’m a great cook.” He rolled his eyes at me.
When we sat down at the round table, I realized he was joking. The eggs were rubbery, the beans were dry, the bacon almost black. Rafael’s eyes were dancing. “I’m a jockey who will ride horses in the races. I’m not a cook. Besides, Pai and I take turns with the meals.”
The Horseman laughed. “After breakfast, we’ll take you outside, Lidie, and show you the horses and the barn—”
“And now that you’re here,” Rafael broke in, “we’ll teach you how to ride. Don’t worry, we’ll find a gentle horse. You won’t have to be afraid.”
I felt a quick flash of anger. They didn’t know me, not at all. They were thinking I was the seven-year-old they’d left behind. I swallowed over the burning in my throat, reaching into my pocket, curving my fingers around the lemon.
Tio Paulo had said once that I was born knowing how to ride. I thought of Cavalo and the rides we’d taken, bending my head against the overhanging tree branches, climbing the rocks….
Oh, Cavalo.
I took a breath. They didn’t know that. How could they?
“I can…,” I began, but Rafael was pushing his egg around his plate, and the Horseman’s head was bent over his coffee. I closed my mouth again.
Under a leaden sky, we took the path with its deepening snow around the track to the barn. The roof was low, with icicles hanging along the edge. Rafael reached up, knocking two off, and handed one to me. “It’s the taste of winter,” he said.
The icicle was cold in my fingers, cold against my lips, reminding me of ice cubes that clinked in a soda glass on a summer day.
We went through the open doors into the barn, where a few chickens wandered around in the hay. Stalls lined both sides of the aisle, and horses looked out over half doors: three chestnuts, and a bay so dark his coat gleamed almost black. They were as curious to see me as I was to see them, their eyes wide under their long curving eyelashes.
I brushed my hand against one of the chestnuts, and reached down into a pail of carrots. I stood watching as the horse took the carrot and chewed with her thick yellow teeth.
A man with leathery skin sat on a stool in the aisle.
“José. That’s me. I do everything around here.” He laughed, his Portuguese thick on his tongue. “Well, a few things, anyway.”
“Lidie,” I said. “And that’s me. I saw you carrying a pail before.”
That reminded me. “Is the cat…” I hesitated before I said ours. The word seemed wrong; nothing here really belonged to me.
Pai lifted one shoulder. “The orange cat? A stray. He doesn’t belong to anyone.”
I swallowed. “Poor cat.”
Pai’s hand swept around the stalls. “Only one horse here is actually mine, but two more are coming. One who might race someday …” He paused. “And another …”
“Who won’t.” Rafael rolled his eyes. He beckoned to me, and we walked to the end stall. “Doce, our horse. Sweet like his name.”
I raised my hand to touch his soft muzzle and to rub his chestnut forehead.
“I’ll ride her in a few weeks,” Rafael said. “And by that time, Lidie, you’ll know how to ride, too.”
I smiled, a secret smile. I pictured how it would be, how I’d surprise him.
Rafael would be on one horse and I on another. I might even hold back and let him get a head start. And then …
Then.
He’d see.
And so would the Horseman, who didn’t remember the lemon.
Even Tio Paulo would be smiling if he knew about my plan.
7
AIKEN, SOUTH CAROLINA
During the night, the filly heard the sound of the bay whinnying, and the low grunts of the roan. She heard the creature, too, his footsteps outside her stall.
Next to her, the mare’s ears were pricked forward, listening. The filly raised one hoof uneasily and moved behind the mare. She felt the swish of that long thick tail and nibbled at it.
After a while, she slept again.
In the morning, she and the mare were led out to the field. She looked for the roan and the bay, but they never came.
Later the creature moved along the outside of the fence. She watched as he opened the gate to the far field—the field with sweet grass and clover.
The creature was gone.
The filly moved slowly, taking her time. Even when she was within a few feet of the gate, she wasn’t sure if she’d go through.
She glanced back at the mare, then took a step, and another, into the field with its wonderful smell of clover.
And behind her …
Behind her …
The gate slammed shut.
She ran along the fence, once, twice, back and forth, but there was no way out. And near her, on the fence, the small one raised its claws and hissed.
The filly whinnied, her voice high with panic. She was able to take one last look at the mare, that huge chestnut body with its swishing tail, the great dark eyes. The mare was trying to get to her, too, running back and forth on the other side of the fence, making frightful sounds.
But the creature was back, pushing her until she was inside a space like a stall—not her stall. She kicked out at him, but he jumped away.
She felt movement under her. The sound of her own voice was as terrible as the rumble of noise as the tiny stall bumped across the field and away.
She didn’t stop her cries.
Not for a long time.
She was alone.
Then it was night again, and she slept.
Wild Girl Wild Girl Page 2