Gee Whiz

by Jane Smiley

  For lunch, we had grilled cheese. Dad’s had bacon in it. I was yawning when Dad said, “I need to go over to the Marble Ranch this afternoon. Can you come with me?”

  What else did I have to do but take a nap? Really, when there was no school, the days got rather long. I said, “Why are you going there?”

  “They have a couple of calves that might work out for a few weeks. Or I could send Lady over there and Danny could work her. I haven’t decided. But she needs the work.”

  He drove past the Marble Ranch, though, and stopped at the Vista del Canada gate. I said, “What’s going on?”

  He was grinning. He said, “All I know is that your instructions are to go to the gate, push the buzzer, and say that you are meeting Danny.”

  “You aren’t coming?”

  “No, I really do have an appointment at the Marble Ranch. When you’re done, Danny will bring you over there, and we’ll head home.”

  I got out of the car and he drove off. I pushed the buzzer. I was asked if I had a car. No. Then I was to go over to a smaller gate and wait. I looked around, saw a little paved path, and followed it. That gate opened, and I went in. It was a cool day, a little cloudy, and you could see that in the next day or so, it was going to rain. But here, at Vista del Canada, it was going to be a sparkling, beautiful rain—perfect drops that land on all the green leaves and hang there before slipping into the murmuring river.

  A car showed up as I was walking down the road—it had VISTA DEL CANADA painted on the side, and in it was Ike. He said, “Hey, Abby! Good t’ see ya! That colt is somethin’ else. Now you get in, and we’ll drive back there. Dan is shoein’ a two-year-old, almost done, but couldn’t get away. I guess yer gonna see yer boy go for a little jog, or maybe somethin’ more excitin’, but he’s comin’ along real nice. Wayne’s already makin’ a futures book for his Derby run.”

  I said, “What’s a futures book?”

  “Ah, ya bet a year in advance, or more. Great odds, but the chances of the horse even gettin’ t’ the post are pretty slim.”

  We drove past the big hillside pasture. All the mares and soon-to-be yearlings were grazing happily.

  I said, “Why do I get to see this after lunch? I thought all the horses worked in the morning.”

  “Well, they mostly do. But Wayne was a bit under the weather this mornin’, so since it’s a nice cool day, he decided ta get on his late, and Roscoe said better late than never, so here ya are.”

  When we pulled up near Danny, he was still leaning over the back foot of a chestnut, rasping the outside of the hoof. He looked up, let the hoof drop, and waved. I got out of the car. The person holding the horse was Mr. Pelham. He waved as he walked the horse back to its stall. Danny was putting away his tools.

  Now Wayne came off the track with a dark bay, almost a black. He jumped down, and one of the other grooms took the horse while Ike was coming with Jack. It wasn’t possible, but Jack looked bigger. It had only been a few days since I’d seen him, but he’d grown, and if not in size, then in muscle and education. He seemed to know what Wayne was going to do, and when Wayne did it—sprang onto him, twisted into the saddle, and picked up the reins—Jack walked out onto the track smoothly and easily. Wayne was taking no chances, though. He had his toes in the stirrups, and he was hunched over, gripping both reins with both hands, making a bridge across Jack’s neck. The reins weren’t tight and weren’t loose. There was no one else on the track—they had finished in the morning, and since it was almost three, there was no one in the center, grazing, either. Besides Danny and me, only Encantado was watching. Roscoe Pelham came and stood next to us. He said, “He has good manners. These colts who live out with each other for a year and hardly see a human don’t seem to know how to say please and thank you. Nice shoulder, too.”

  Jack looked catlike and leggy. Roscoe Pelham said, “His walking strides are big and easy and his overstep is pretty impressive—see how the prints of his back hooves in the sand are a foot in front of the prints of his front hooves? That means that he’ll have a big gallop and lots of power from behind.” Danny nodded. I just stared. They walked along beside the rail. Jack tossed his head once or twice, and then Wayne let him go up into a trot.

  I knew Jack’s trot as well as I knew anything in this world, but still it looked different with a rider. Danny said, “Look at that,” and how could you help it? He sprang along the ground, eating it up. But it was more than that—it was that his legs were so graceful and quick. He hardly seemed to be touching down.

  Roscoe Pelham said, “See how he’s built? He’s built like a suspension bridge. He’s just so well knit together from his ears all down his neck and withers and back to his haunches and his tail. Look how his tail just flows out of his backbone. The rider means nothing to him.”

  They trotted all the way around the track once, and then partway around. Just at the point where they were passing Encantado’s paddock, the stallion whinnied, and Jack rose into a canter—not with a rush, as if he were afraid of the stallion, but his usual let-me-see-what’s-going-on-over-there sort of lope. Wayne let him go about twenty strides, then eased him back down to the trot. “No hurry,” said Mr. Pelham. “Got to build up a little muscle before he runs in the Derby.”

  But I didn’t want to think of that—racing and crowds and all those strange things I knew nothing about except for exciting words. It was enough for me to watch him stretching those long legs, and being a good boy. He finished the second circuit at the trot, and then came down to the walk, and Wayne let him go along on a looser rein. Jack looked at this and looked at that. When he passed us, he was breathing a little bit—his nostrils were wide—but his sides weren’t heaving or anything. Everything he had done was easy for him. His ears flopped a little, showing that he was happy and relaxed. He walked once around, and then Ike met him at the gate. Wayne jumped off, patted Jack on the shoulder, and said, “So far, so good,” and laughed. Jack So Far.

  Roscoe Pelham headed for his truck and I followed Ike and Jack over to the little walking ring. Once Ike untacked him and put his halter on, he gave me the lead rope, and I walked him. Ike said, “Half an hour and don’t just laze around. Want him ta move out, and stretch a little. I’m gonna put him in his paddock for an hour after this, but we want him ta look at the stall and say, ‘Hallelujah, I can get a rest and eat my supper.’ ”

  “He’s been out his whole life.”

  “That’s why ya gotta take it slow. But they git ta like the rest, that’s what I think. I had a filly, we put her on stall rest after she tore her check ligament. Well, she was sleek and shinin’ and never seemed at all anxious the whole time, and then when the doc examined that check ligament a month later—no progress at all, and I said, ‘Well, why should she get better when bein’ injured is such a pleasure for her?’ ”

  Jack and I marched around the circle. Once or twice he sniffed my pocket to see if I had a treat, but he wasn’t pushy about it. Twice when Encantado whinnied, he lifted his head. Over in the two banks of stalls, the other horses were pulling bits of hay out of their haynets, and staring at us, just a little. When I passed Ike, who was soaping bridles, I said, “What does he do tomorrow?”

  “Oh, same as t’day. He aluz does what he wants ta, he just hasta do it under saddle and with Wayne pointin’ the way. We don’t push ’em at this age. Y’okay here?”

  I nodded. We kept walking. Jack stayed just behind me, as he had been taught to do, but I could feel his energy, his youth, and even (something new) a sort of power. In the chilly air, his body was warm, but not cuddly. Every so often, I looked at him, wondering if in eight years he would have that solid, self-assured look that Gee Whiz had—not only the look of a mature horse, but the look of a horse who has been around, figured out his job, seen crowds and excitement. And then I wondered if maybe I wasn’t misinterpreting Gee Whiz’s curiosity—maybe he wasn’t saying, “What’s over there?” Maybe he was saying, “What happened to all the fun?”

  After a wh
ile, Ike finished his work and left, so Danny and I put Jack in the paddock, and while Danny was raking the gravel just a little bit, I stood at Jack’s gate and stroked his face and neck, up under his cowlick and down his cheeks. He let me, at least for a minute or two. I murmured, “They like you, big boy. They like you. But I love you.”

  On Wednesday, when I got to the stables at ten, Barbie was already there, and she was watching Sophia take a lesson with Colonel Hawkins on Pie in the Sky. I hadn’t told Barbie much about everything that went on with Pie in the Sky and Sophia over the fall. Now, as I looked back on it, it seemed to me like I made a mountain out of a molehill (and who has ever seen a molehill, really?). But what happens is, you think about something and think about it and think about it, and it gets bigger and bigger, and there you are, you can’t think about anything else. What was great about the Carmichaels was that they did everything differently from everyone else, and watching them sort of woke you up, and once you woke up, you could think about things in a new way. Even if you ended up doing things mostly the way you always had, thinking about the new way helped you understand it better. I could see that now with Sophia. Her form was still perfect, and she was still brave and determined, but her body was just a little looser, her hands were just a little lighter, and she talked more. When I’d seen her taking lessons from Colonel Hawkins before, she’d always followed orders and never said a word (or cracked a smile). Now, while I was walking over to the fence, she was saying, “Okay, can I do a kind of spiral? I could take the triple in-and-out, then the brush, then the turn inward to the oxer followed by that brush, then finish with a circle through the three jumps at the center of the arena.”

  The colonel said, “What would that accomplish?”

  Sophia said, “Well, it would be fun, I’ve never done it, and I think it would make him pay attention.”

  The colonel put his hands on his hips and blew out some air, then said, “Well, maybe you’re right. Go ahead and try it.”

  I wasn’t sure that the colonel was used to taking suggestions—he was a colonel after all, and there were no generals around. I leaned on the railing beside Barbie and watched. The inward spiral would be to the left. Sophia turned Pie to the right, asked him to canter from the walk (which he did, beautifully—I remembered that rocking, balanced gait), and made an elegant circle. Then she asked for the flying change, went to the left, and headed down over the nine jumps. You would never get a course like this in a show—they always want you to turn different directions, change leads, et cetera, but it looked graceful, and it was not that easy for Pie to bend ever more tightly, shorten his stride, pay attention. After the last fence, Sophia loosened her reins and let him gallop off. He tossed his head and kicked up, but as if he was enjoying himself, not as if he was angry. Sophia, of course, just went with his motion. Barbie said, “Was that really good, or do I just not know anything?”

  I opened my mouth, but behind us, Jane said, “It was really good.”

  I said, “I thought so, too.”

  The colonel called out, “Excellent!”

  Sophia leaned forward and patted Pie on the neck, then grinned.

  Barbie said, “Sophia is very interesting. ‘Wheels within wheels,’ is what my mom would say.”

  I glanced at Jane, whose eyebrows flicked upward. We were used to thinking of Sophia as a great rider and sometimes a riddle, but “very interesting”? That was a new idea.

  Jane said, “Ready?”

  Barbie and I turned, and I introduced them, then we walked over to where Rodney had Blue all tacked up. He nickered to me, and I patted his cheek, then gave him a lump of sugar. Rodney, of course, had bathed him, pulled his mane, and shaped his tail, which now floated behind him in a light puff. And his bridle was cleaned and oiled, and his saddle, too, since I was using one of Jane’s, a German jumping saddle called a Stübben. Rodney gave me a leg up, and we walked to the arena, not the big arena where Sophia was cooling Pie out, but one of the faraway ones, at the edge of the trees. I said, “Now that Blue is here, I could take him down to the beach through the forest.”

  “You could,” said Jane. “It’s a beautiful trail.”

  “Who would I ride?” said Barbie.

  “We have plenty,” said Jane.

  The arena had a few jumps in it, and was neatly groomed. Jane said, “You show me, Abby.”

  So, after walking for ten minutes and stepping over and backing once or twice to warm up, I put on a little performance—walk, trot, canter, circles, figure eights, all three gaits on a long rein, faster walk, shorter walk, animated trot, sitting trot, hand gallop, lead changes. Blue was his usual smooth and cooperative self. I felt him listening to me as he always did, and I knew that part of his problem when I was having trouble in the fall (I was reminded of this by looking at Sophia and Pie) was that, yes, he was listening to me, but I was talking gibberish—do this, no do that, no speed up, no slow down, no don’t worry, no worry! If your horse wants to please you, then you have to know what you want him to be doing.

  Now Jane set the jumps at about 2’9”, two down the long side, two at an angle in the center. I trotted one of the angled ones, then went around the end of the arena and came back over the other angled one, then I did that again, and after that, I trotted the two down the long side, first one direction and then the other. Blue behaved himself very nicely. Now I picked up the canter and did a sort of flat figure eight: down the long side to the right, loop at the end, over the first angled jump, then over the first jump on the long side, but to the left, then a loop, back over the second angled jump and the second jump on the long side, then around the whole arena and back over the two jumps down the long side. Eight jumps with a lot of easy turns. Blue took them all in stride, literally, and did proper lead changes. It didn’t feel electric and floating, the way it did with Pie in the Sky—it felt smooth and routine, no big deal. But for a nervous horse, that was a true accomplishment. I came down to the walk and let him go around on a loose rein. Here and there he glanced toward the trees and flicked his ears, but he was just curious, not nervous.

  Barbie said, “I love him.”

  Jane said, “He is a good boy. He was perfect with Melinda and Ellen—he seemed to adapt very nicely to their different riding styles.”

  “What are their different riding styles?” said Barbie.

  “The nervous and the pushy. But he stayed calm for Melinda, as if he wanted to take care of her, which doesn’t surprise me, since he took care of his owner for a long time before he came here. And patient for Ellen, as if he wasn’t taking her seriously. I think she could do backflips on him, and he would say, ‘Oh, right. Backflips.’ I was impressed.”

  “When can I have a lesson?” said Barbie.

  “Tomorrow?” said Jane.

  “Yes, but I’ve only ridden western. I would love to try this, though.”

  I, of course, had been eavesdropping on this whole conversation. I said, “She has a good seat and great balance. And a good sense of rhythm.”

  I walked away on Blue. I had not meant to encourage this. We moseyed along the far side of the arena. The other thing about the woods was that they smelled piney. The trees were hugely tall and close together, growing in a bed of brown pine needles that lay up against the bottoms of the trunks. They were also filled with birds that flew here and there, and sat up high and cheeped and muttered. There was a woodpecker on the trunk of one tree at the far end of the arena—he was stashing an acorn in a hole he or another woodpecker had made; the entire trunk of the tree was a pantry of holes filled with acorns. I saw Jane and Barbie hurry away, chatting, and I kept walking Blue.

  Of course they came back, and Barbie was in riding clothes, with a hard hat. Jane had a room full of used breeches, boots, shirts, coats—some right out of old movies like National Velvet. I went over to the gate, and Jane said, “Why not just try it out? Even if you only have twenty minutes, that’s enough to get a sense of how far along you are.”

  I jumped off.


  I didn’t mind seeing Barbie on Blue—she’d ridden him several times, anyway, but here I was seeing her on him in this place, where he didn’t have the air of being my horse, where horses of all kinds came and went and were trained and shown. This was a place where horses had jobs that they worked at every day. They might be your friends and they might be happy to see you, but their lives were their own, somehow. Barbie stepped onto the mounting block and got on.

  Of course, Blue was perfect. Barbie was a little shaky to begin with, and Blue was careful with her, even shifting his weight to stay with her when she lost her balance a bit. An English saddle asks different things of you than a western saddle—to sit more forward, to put more weight in your heels, to use your back differently. After about ten minutes, Barbie seemed to get this, and she did make a nice trot circuit, posting rhythmically, first one direction, then the other. When the twenty minutes was over, she almost had it. I said to Jane, “She’s very musical.”

  “That’s evident,” said Jane. “He’s good with her, too.”

  I knew that.

  Barbie changed her clothes and left to go to an afternoon concert at the Mission, and Rodney took Blue, though only after I’d given him a carrot and two more lumps of sugar. Of course Mom wasn’t there yet, and so I had to go into Jane’s office and be told something, or a few things. Most people would have thought they were good things.

  Jane said, “My heavens, girl, you have done a wonderful job with this horse! He is solid as a rock!”

  “He was always a good boy.”

  “Yes, he was, and well disposed and responsible, but now he actually knows things, and he’s very good at translating.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Well, your way of telling him what to do is not the same as Melinda’s or Ellen’s or your friend Barbie’s, but he pays attention and figures it out. He’s patient, but more importantly, the way they are doesn’t make him nervous. You can find very nicely trained horses, but when they can’t understand what the rider is getting at, they get irritated or worried, so they have a hard time being school horses. Most school horses are just dull, frankly. That’s the safest type to have, and that’s what most riding schools have. But he’s responsive. He’s quite nice.”