Botero's Beautiful Horses

by Jan Conn

  5

  One thing guaranteed to send Sage into a rage was seeing a bunch of men in suits and ties standing around the jobsite discussing esoteric bullshit like market value, safety, government regulations or whatever else they thought was so damn important. Most of these men, he knew, had never worked a blue-collar job in their life and never would. Last week he’d watched three of them get a tour of the mine, an escorting of Japanese businessmen similarly attired: blue suits, yellow ties and the mandatory white hard hat in case, God forbid, something landed on their head to disturb the intellect deemed so vital to the operation. This week management toured two men and a woman, and added together, the three didn’t look as old as Sage. He understood the company had important decisions to make in the name of profit, but once the coal was located, the means to extract it determined, the method of transporting it to the hungry freighters waiting at the coal port in Delta decided and the price set, then what else was there? What important job did they fulfill on a daily basis while those who toiled at the mine showed up like sheep day after day? He wondered how they filled their time and imagined most of them had a flask of something in their desk drawers, something that would keep their system moving when things went quiet. Some of the suits that floated around the mine held degrees, he understood that, but many did not. Some had worked their way into their positions of privilege by one means or another, and when Sage asked himself if he would relish the opportunity to do the same, he had to say yes.

  The jobs Sage dreamt of having he didn’t completely understand, and he wasn’t convinced they suited him or, deep down, if he even wanted them for what they were; he thought he might only want what he didn’t have. The road to personal disenchantment he’d been down many times in the past: a road well-worn and in need of repaving.

  It was a Friday, and Emery’s turn to drive, but for some concocted reason, Emery didn’t want to stop for a beer and play pool and stare at Selma’s tits, so Emery dropped him off and entered the pub alone. Last week he’d beaten Emery two out of three, and this week there’d be no pool playing. Emery was wily that way, but Sage didn’t feel like playing pool anyway; he was content to sit and brood on uncertainty. If management got together at the end of the week for a drink, he had no idea where they went, but he never saw them at the pub. They must be huddled together someplace in town with better things to talk about than mining.

  Sage sat alone finishing his second beer. A man he’d never seen before sat a few feet away, also alone. Selma came to the man’s table and asked if he wanted a refill, but the man said no and threw a ten dollar bill on the table. Selma dug into her pouch for change, and the man said to forget it, then as she thanked him and turned toward the bar, the man grabbed her and pulled her onto his lap. A large tip must be worth something, he said, and Selma tried to get up, but the man held his hands, as if in prayer, around her hips.

  Sage finished the last of his beer and stood up. The man was in no hurry to let her go. Sage walked over to his table. Hands off her, he said. Selma squirmed for her release, and her elbow caught the man on his jaw.

  You stupid bitch, the man yelled.

  It’s time for you to go home, Sage said. The man set the waitress free and looked at Sage, trying to calculate his odds, then he got up, waving his arms over his head like the world had gone crazy, and walked outside.

  Thanks, Selma said.

  Sage went to the washroom before leaving, but when he got outside, the man was waiting at the corner of the building and jumped him from behind. Sage hit the pavement hard, and a sharp pain bolted down the back of his neck. The man kicked him once in the ribs and then ran off down the street.

  No one else was in the parking lot. Sage didn’t get up because he’d never experienced such sharp pain before. He rolled onto his back and lay there until a car pulled into the parking lot and almost ran him over. Two young men got out and walked over to where he lay prone on the pavement. Hey, bud. You okay down there?

  Yeah, Sage said. I’m perfectly fine.

  The two men helped him up, and Sage thanked them. He hobbled out to the road that would take him home.

  Della had dinner ready when Sage walked in the door. I guess that was good timing, she said. Franky’s parents picked him up late, and I just finished cooking.

  After years of practice, she had become fluent in deciphering her husband’s moods. Despite her best attempt at a cordial welcome, she sensed something out of balance.

  Fuck, Sage said. He grabbed a beer from the fridge.

  What’s your problem? Della said. Sage said fuck one more time and went into the living room. Hey, mister. You might have had a rough day, but that doesn’t mean you can wear your boots all over the house.

  Sage stood in front of the TV. Stacey sat watching a nature show about how beavers build their dams. He changed the channel until he found the news. What’s the matter with you? Della said. She was watching a show and minding her own business.

  I want to watch the news, Sage said.

  You want to watch the news, so you just come in here and change the channel. God wouldn’t change the channel without asking. Put her program back on.

  Stacey grabbed the blanket layered on the back of the couch and wrapped herself into a tight ball, watching. Sage didn’t move. Nobody moved. The pain in Sage’s neck had softened on his way home, but now it was building again. He lunged at the TV with the heel of his boot, sending it skittering sideways. The channel tuner spun around on top of the TV, twirling there like some kind of magic trick, then the TV emitted a smoky vapour out the back. Stacey cried.

  What the hell’s gotten into you? Della went to Sage, who seemed frozen to the linoleum. Did you hear me? How could you do something so stupid? That’s the family TV you just ruined. Della pushed Sage on the shoulder to get him to turn around. To say something. The pain shot up his neck, and his head throbbed again. He turned around and grabbed Della by the hair and threw her across the room, where she lost her balance and landed on the couch on top of Stacey.

  Sage didn’t turn to see if he’d hurt anyone. He returned to the kitchen and grabbed his coat from the back pantry. This time of year, it got cold soon after the sun went down, and he had no idea how long he would be away.

  6

  Molly the nose decided on a whim to visit her sister living in Calgary, and she suggested Della and Stacey go with her to visit for three days. You can’t keep a kid in a small town forever, she warned. If you do, they’ll grow up thinking that’s all there is. Most of the young people in this town move away as soon as they can. It’s their only hope.

  Della could see her point. She told all her babysitting parents ahead of time she would not be available on Friday, and that would give her a three-day weekend of escape. She felt guilty explaining things because she’d never taken a day off, except for weekends, in three years of babysitting. But Stacey was starting kindergarten in the fall, and she’d heard about Calgary. Someone told her the city was almost as big as New York, and she hoped they could go to the zoo.

  Molly the Nose didn’t drive at all, so that meant Della needed the car. Sage suggested they take the bus, but Molly the Nose said the bus took forever and would cut into their trip. Why isn’t Daddy coming? Stacey asked, and Della told her this was a girls’ weekend away and men weren’t invited. It’s good for men to be alone occasionally, she said. They take things for granted otherwise.

  Della needed a break from everything around the house, Sage in particular. It took months, but they finally got a new TV, ordered from Sears and delivered as a peace offering meant to sweep away the past transgressions for good. Drive carefully on that highway, Sage said, handing her the keys. Some maniacs out there don’t give a damn. And check the oil as soon as you get there. It burns a little oil. He opened the hood and showed her where to find the dipstick. Della watched with mild interest. She would get a gas jockey to check the oil once she got to Calgary.

  Della dropped Sage at work and left in the morning light on an ad
venture that, now she was on it, felt long overdue. She left two frozen dinners in the freezer and reminded him that Saturday was vacuuming day if he didn’t have plans.

  After a year of studying, Sage had earned the right to be a first aid attendant at the mine, and he had worked shift work and weekends for the last few months, but with Emery on holidays for the next two weeks, Sage had his day shift. When he got home on Friday, he showered and sat in front of the TV to eat supper. The TV was bigger than their last one, but somehow the colour didn’t look as good. He had a beer to wash things down and smoked dope and sat by himself to do some thinking. Nothing interesting came to mind, so after nine he walked to the pub, thinking maybe some of his co-workers would still be there. Most of the fellas at work went hunting and fishing. Fishing he might like. It would be better than shooting something, and he didn’t fancy being a man who owned a gun. He might run into someone who would show him the ropes, and sure enough he ran into Bart Sanderson, the accountant at the mine, and listened to fishing stories pour out of the man’s mouth one after another until none of them seemed plausible. Landing a twenty-inch Cutthroat or a thirty-inch Bull Trout with a dry fly is better than sex any day, he said. Sage heard Bart was married for a few years, but he wasn’t anymore. Maybe for him the sentiment had some truth.

  Before he knew it, no one else sat at the bar, and the bartender had cashed out and gone home. You’re a late-nighter, Selma said. She busied herself scrubbing the bar and loading the huge dishwasher. Here, she said. It’s too late to legally sell you any beer, but this one’s on the house. She passed him a beer and leaned against the bar, her head in her hands, and stared into his face.

  Thank you, Sage said. I won’t keep you. You have to make your way home.

  You don’t have to worry about me. I live close by. She pulled up some chairs and turned them upside down on the tables so Sage got up to help. You’re a real gentleman. You know that? Not like most of the people that hang around here.

  I don’t know much about you, he said. About your past I mean.

  You a man who likes to hear good news stories or bad news stories?

  Good news, I guess.

  Well that settles it then. You don’t want to hear anything about Selma Divjak.

  Once the chairs were off the floor, Selma emptied her tip jar onto the bar, then added it up and put half into an envelope and slid it under the cash drawer of the till. That’s the bartender’s half, she said. He trusts me to divide it equally. Most of the time I do.

  You live close by?

  Sure do. I live upstairs. Come on, I’ll show you.

  Sage finished his beer, and Selma put his glass in the dishwasher and started the machine. She checked the back door, and at the main door, she turned off the lights except for one that cast a blue tinge over the bar and made it look more welcoming somehow. It smelled like a bar, but it looked like heaven.

  They walked around to the back of the building and up a set of stairs. Sage had seen the stairs before but hadn’t thought at all about where they led. When they got to the top of the stairs, Selma leaned against the door with her shoulder and he followed her inside.

  You don’t lock up?

  The lock doesn’t work. Most people assume the door is locked, so I don’t worry about it.

  It’s cozy the way you’ve got it. Sage didn’t know what else to say about the old couch covered with a grey blanket and cushions all over the floor. He’d never seen so many cushions in one place except maybe at a store that sold cushions. A small white fridge and stove squatted on either side of the sink, and only a ratty poster of JFK hung on the wall. He couldn’t see the bedroom from where he stood, but if she owned a TV or radio, that had to be where she kept them. He noticed that all the dishes were washed and sitting in the drainboard, ready to be put away.

  This place could use a few windows, he said.

  They don’t charge much for an apartment with only one window, she said. I never drink on the job, but I treat myself to a nightcap before I go to bed. Care to join me?

  Sage said he thought that would be all right. She never asked him what he wanted or gave him a choice of drinks, but she turned away from him and leaned over the sink and pulled two clean glasses from the cupboard, even though similar ones rested on the drainboard ready to go. Sage walked up behind her and put his hands on her shoulders. She turned to face him. I want you to start at the top and work your way down, she said. I want you to take your time.

  7

  Early summer, hotter than usual, and with only one child to babysit, Molly the Nose decided it would be a fine day to walk to the corner store for an ice-cream cone. She invited Della, but she declined. Della had Stacey and Tommy to contend with but also a one-year-old baby who needed a nap in the middle of the afternoon. Stacey and Tommy felt ripped off. Della said she had a headache and lay down beside the day crib in the hottest part of the afternoon.

  Stacey and Tommy busied themselves building irrigation ditches in the backyard. Tommy was five, and Stacey wouldn’t be four much longer. In parts of the garden where nothing had been planted, they dug a trench and fed the garden hose into the channel. When filled with water, it looked just like an irrigation project they’d seen on TV the week before. They left the hose running because they wanted to see if a natural lake would form.

  In no time at all, I think we’ll have a big lake out here. What do you think? Stacey didn’t offer a response. She stared at the grass.

  They had nothing to do until the flow of water proved them right or wrong, so they climbed through the fence to the backyard belonging to Molly the Nose and Hart Ferguson. Tommy figured if they were there when Molly the Nose returned, they might get a lick of ice cream, a bite if they were lucky. Maybe she would even bring two extra ice-cream cones back with her.

  You kids looking for someone to play with? Is that it? Hart had come onto the back porch and found them wandering around, looking lost. Molly’s not home yet. Come on in, and I’ll get you some lemonade made this morning.

  I’ve never been inside their house before, Stacey whispered into Tommy’s ear. I don’t think we should go.

  Don’t be stupid, Tommy said. He’s got lemonade.

  Hart told them to sit themselves down at the table. He poured the lemonade into two glasses and put a plate on the table that held two cookies, making Stacey glad they’d accepted.

  Won’t be long before you two head off to school, Hart said.

  Tommy already goes to kindergarten in the mornings. I’m going next year, and I can read already.

  You cannot, Tommy said.

  I can read some.

  They munched on their cookies and looked around the kitchen. The grey Arborite table matched the grey walls. The floor was black tile, and the ceiling was shiny white. Stacey liked her own kitchen better.

  You kids might be interested in some of my collections, Hart said. Stacey and Tommy exchanged glances but remained silent. Hart stood up and walked to the side of the house, and they both followed. Guns are my favourite thing in the world. I don’t shoot nothing with them. I just like the idea of them. I don’t keep a lot of guns, but the ones I own are important. Here, take a hold of this revolver. Stacey took a step back, and Tommy hesitated. Don’t be afraid. There’re no bullets for it anyway. That there is a Remington from 1875. If you haven’t heard of Jesse James you will someday. Wild outlaws the James gang. Jesse’s older brother, Frank James, this is the gun he used. Took only one bullet at time is all. Heavier than you’d think, isn’t it?

  Tommy aimed the gun against the wall with both hands and pulled the trigger. Stacey took the gun in her hands then passed it back to Hart.

  They call this here rifle a Winchester. They call it the gun that won the West. I don’t have bullets for it either, but it’s capable of shooting off seventeen rounds at a time. Makes sense it won the West, when you think about it. You’ve heard of the Battle of the Little Bighorn haven’t you? Well, maybe not. Anyway, the Indians won that one because the arm
y only had single-shot rifles and the Indians had all sorts of guns, including ones like this that could shoot over and over. Success in war is about technology and always has been. Look over here. This case has genuine Indian arrowheads found out on the Plains. They knew how to put poison on the end so the animals they hit tightened up and couldn’t run away.

  Stacey and Tommy followed Hart’s voice around the room. He showed them what he claimed was a genuine Indian tomahawk, though it looked hardly used, and a single spur once worn by Bill Miner, the gentleman train robber. Tommy found the tour more interesting than Stacey did. She figured even if Molly the Nose brought back extra ice-cream cones, they would have melted by now.

  Hart showed them a chair he had made with a saddle in the big bedroom then told them to take a seat on the couch because in fifteen minutes the movie High Noon would be on channel 2. He got them each another cookie and more lemonade to pass the time while they waited.

  What are you three doing in here? Molly the Nose yelled.

  We’re about to watch a movie, Hart said.

  Don’t you know Della has been having a conniption? She walked the baby in the stroller all the way to the store and back looking for these two. Molly the Nose went to the front door. Della, they’re in here. They’re watching TV with Hart. Without being asked, Stacey and Tommy got up and walked out to the front porch to join Della.

  Hart sat on the couch looking confused. Come back once you’re both in school, he said. I’ll teach you how to make a bow and arrow.

  Della didn’t say a word until they got back inside their own house. How many times have I told you it’s this house or the yard? We’re sorry.

  Sorry? I nearly had a fit. Here, play with the baby on the couch. I need a drink of water.

  Stacey and Tommy put the baby between them and took turns making cooing noises. The yelling bewildered the baby, her eyes darting back and forth between them. Della returned with a cigarette in hand.