“I brought carrots and turnips and a good bit of meat on the bone. I thought I might as well pay you a visit and cook up a pot of stew. You don’t eat enough to keep a flea alive.” She lifts a sack she’s carrying. Then she reaches in and holds out a carrot for me. I take a big chomp out of the carrot, chew with my mouth closed, then take the rest from her dainty hand. I nicker again, hoping she’ll take it as thanks.
“You are without a doubt the kindest, most beautiful woman in the world,” Jonathan tells her. “You sing like an angel, making you the most talented, gifted person in the world. Why you ever bother with me is a complete mystery.”
Molly walks over to him. She has the movements of a dancer. Not as practiced as Lena, but very graceful. She stands on tiptoe and reaches up to cup his face in her hands. “My Jonathan. You say something as wonderful as you’ve just said, and then ask me how I can bother with you? You are the only person who has ever made me feel like I’m somebody.”
He takes her hands in his, and they walk into his home. Soon I smell the aroma of stew. And Molly is even thoughtful enough to save me a few more vegetables.
As I munch on the best meal I’ve had in weeks, I know I must find a way to show my thanks. If only I could figure out how to help them get to New York City …
15
If Horses Had Wings …
“Did you ever see so many stars, Fella?” Molly asks.
Molly and Jonathan have been kind enough to include me in their after-dinner relaxation. The three of us are outside under the stars, lying on a blanket. Well, I’m beside the blanket, of course. I gaze at the sky and decide Molly is correct. I can see the entire Milky Way. I can’t help smiling when I think of Bessie’s bad joke about the cow jumping over the moon to get the Milky Way, or some such thing.
I miss Bessie and her friends and hope the cattle drive has gone well. More than that, I do hope Bessie will persevere and make it big in cow comedy.
I feel Jonathan’s hand on my neck. “Say! You look lost in thought, big fella. Everything all right?”
Molly sits up and begins finger-combing my mane, untangling the mats I’ve picked up on my journey. “Of course, he’s not all right,” she says. “He must be lonely for other horses.”
“I hadn’t thought of that,” Jonathan admits.
“Okay, Fella,” Molly says in a cheery voice that sounds lighter than Jingles’s bell. “You’re not the only horse out here, you know.”
I pull myself to a half-sitting, half-lying position used by many colts. I look around, but I don’t see any other horses.
“You’re looking in the wrong place,” Molly says. She points straight up. “Up there. In the skies. See that horse flying across the stars?”
Now, I have been known for my excellent vision, but I don’t see the horse she’s referring to.
“Look harder, Fella,” Molly says.
Jonathan sits up and squints at the stars. “I can’t see a horse either, Molly.”
“Shame on the both of you.” Molly laughs a little. “You’re missing one beautiful winged horse. Let me tell you about Pegasus the Winged Horse.”
Jonathan and I settle in as if we’re children waiting for a story from our mother. As I think this, I get a lump in my throat. If my own mother did tell me stories before she died, I don’t remember them.
But at least I have her song.
“Once upon a time,” Molly begins, “a wild and free-spirited white horse named Pegasus galloped so fast that he took off from the ground and flew through the air, all the way to the Northern Sky. He was happy there, peering down on the earth and meeting other creatures, like the Big Bear and the Little Bear, Leo the Lion, and others.
“Then one day a young girl, Athena, caught Pegasus and tamed the wild horse with love and kindness … and with a fine golden bridle given to her by her father. Athena and Pegasus explored the starry heavens each night, and all of heaven admired the pair, especially Perseus. The three of them—Athena, Perseus, and Pegasus—had many adventures.
“Perseus was riding one evening when Pegasus heard a cry for help. The horse galloped toward the cry, and soon Perseus could hear it too. He recognized the cry of Andromeda. When the woman came into view, she was in a desperate situation, captured by Cetus the Whale. With skill and speed, Pegasus and Perseus rescued Andromeda from the whale.
“Another time, late on a cloudy night after a hard day’s ride, Athena and Pegasus stopped to rest at a great mountain, Mount Helicon. Poor Athena was dying of thirst, and there was no water to be found. Angry and frustrated, concerned for his friend, Pegasus stamped his hoof and pawed the ground. He delivered one giant kick, and something wonderful happened. Water sprang up and flowed from Mount Helicon.
“The spring became known as Hippocrene, and it was said to have been the source of all poetic and artistic inspiration. In the end, Athena made her beloved Pegasus, the Winged Horse, into a constellation.”
Molly turns to Jonathan and kisses him. “And that, Jonathan, is where you must get your artistic inspirations.”
“I rather think I’m more inspired by you, Molly.” He kisses her back.
I gaze at the sky, but I simply do not see Pegasus or any other horse there.
“I still don’t see that horse,” Jonathan complains, echoing my thought.
Molly points to a cluster of stars in the Northern Sky. “First, you’ll only see the front half of the winged horse. Second, the horse is upside down. Now, see that clump of stars, four stars making a square? That’s the body.”
I do see the square of stars, although Jonathan is still having trouble.
Molly points again. “Three stars to the west form the neck, and that bright one is the head. Next to the winged horse, if you look very hard, you can see the outline of a small foal.”
I jump to my feet and stare up. I see it! I see the winged horse. And I see the foal! It makes me think of my cow buddies, Bessie and her son, Moony. I whinny at the stars as if they could answer me.
“Now there’s someone with an artistic imagination,” Molly says.
Jonathan tickles her for hinting that he lacks imagination since he can’t see Pegasus. “Just for that, Molly, you will have to sing for your supper.”
“I already had supper,” she replies, “which I made myself, if you’ll recall. Besides, there’s no music for me to sing to.”
“What’s the matter, Molly, my girl? No artistic imagination?” Jonathan teases. He glances over at me. “Molly will be a famous singer once we’re living in New York City.”
Molly gets to her feet and stands before Jonathan and me. Then she opens her mouth and sings a beautiful song, something about stars and lovers. Her voice is as clear as the night air, as powerful as the winged horse.
As always, I can’t stand still. My tail swishes. Before she reaches the second verse, my body sways and my hooves prance. Then I lose all control and dance, dance, dance. I close my eyes and imagine I’m dancing with Lena at a hoedown or in our favorite church service. I rear up and feel as if I’m flying, like Pegasus, through the starry sky.
Molly finishes, and the night turns silent.
I open my eyes and find Molly and Jonathan staring at me.
“Fella,” Jonathan says, “that may have been the single most amazing thing I’ve seen in my whole life.”
“You’re good!” Molly exclaims. “Really good, Fella.”
She launches into another song. This one is fast and fun. Jonathan springs to his feet and dances with his sweetheart.
“Now, wouldn’t we be a sight at the market!” Molly says, laughing.
Jonathan sounds out of breath. “Talk about drawing a crowd!”
We dance another song. And another. And another, until at last, Jonathan walks Molly home.
When he returns, he chooses to sleep outside under the stars. Only I can’t sleep. Jonathan’s words echo in my pointed ears: Talk about drawing a crowd!
And at last I have an idea.
16
&
nbsp; The Big Mambo
In the morning, Jonathan gathers all his canvases. “I’m off to the market, Fella. Help yourself to the grass out back. And apples from Molly. I filled a couple of buckets for you from the well. I shouldn’t be too late.”
I reach down, pick up his little suitcase, and toss it to my back to help him carry his load.
“Whoa, there, Fella.” He takes the case down. “That’s a very nice offer. But after what happened in the market yesterday, I think you should stay as far away as possible, don’t you?”
I shake my head no. But he insists, so I stop arguing.
“Have a good day, Fella!” Jonathan calls as he strides off, his long legs covering the ground fast, his packages clattering.
When he’s out of sight, I make my move. I have a solid sense of direction, if I do say so myself. I’m fully aware of how to get to the market without following Jonathan.
With equal parts eagerness and anxiety, I start out after him. I do realize I’m running a risk by showing myself in the market again. The vendors were not the most understanding humans I’ve ever met. But I have to chance it.
I take the back streets once I hit town. When I reach my alley, I duck in. I walk through to the end of the alley and poke my head out the market side.
“Oh no!” Jonathan drops his paintbrush and stares at me. “Fella, I thought you understood you had to stay home.” He rubs the back of his neck. “What was I thinking, giving orders to a horse? Did I honestly believe you knew what I was saying?”
I nicker to calm him down.
His breathing improves. “I know. It’s not your fault you didn’t understand.”
From my alleyway, I nicker once again. Sometimes it’s to my advantage that humans don’t realize I can understand their words.
“Well,” Jonathan says, “I know you’re not going to want to stay in that alley all day again. Here.” He pulls an apple from his bag and tosses it to me.
I catch it.
“Nice catch, Fella. Now, stay there.” Obviously not trusting his words, he waves his hand. “Stay. Stay. Stay.”
Jonathan wanders off. A few minutes later, he returns wearing a large Mexican dancing hat on his head. I recall seeing—well, knocking over—a hat stand with hats just like this one yesterday. Without a glance my way, he goes to his paint case and pulls out a tool of some sort. Then he pokes holes in the top of his new hat.
I watch as Jonathan marches straight for me and sticks the hat on top of my head so my ears poke through. “There you go, Fella,” he says. “No one will recognize you now. Come on out.”
I am quite sure this hat looks ridiculous. But I do as I’m asked and tiptoe out into the sunlight. I am pleasantly surprised when the sun doesn’t strike my eyes. I may look silly, but the hat does provide shelter, as well as a disguise.
A woman with a basket on her head stops at Jonathan’s booth and stares up at me. I don’t recognize her from yesterday. “Jonathan, who’s this, then? You go out and get yourself a horse? Why, whatever for?”
“Uh … he’s … my new partner,” Jonathan explains.
“Is he now?” she replies before moving along.
“Lucky for you, Fella,” he says, “almost no one ever stops by my artist’s stall to look at my paintings. Not so lucky for me, though.”
“That’s why I’m here,” I say, knowing he can’t understand me.
What I’m planning will take a good deal of courage. I wait around until the market is busier with people buying and selling. Then while Jonathan sets up his booth, I wander out into the main aisle.
There’s no music here, so I must imagine my own. I think of my mother’s song, and soon I can hear it in my head: Dance, dance, dance, Federico!
And I do. I sway and twist. I rear to my haunches and do a two-step shuffle.
“Will you look at that?” somebody shouts.
“Wilma, you’re not going to believe this!”
“Well, I’ll be a monkey’s uncle!”
“Hey! Come over here, everybody!”
“Isn’t that the funniest thing you’ve ever seen?”
“I don’t think it’s funny. He’s pretty good. He’s really dancing!”
I try to shut out the human voices and listen to the song in my heart.
The voice of a donkey breaks through. “Big deal. So you can dance. How’d you like to pull what I’m pulling, you big lug?”
I shut out animal voices as well. Doing one final twirl, I land on my hooves and open my eyes.
Applause breaks out all over the marketplace. Molly is standing front row center, leading the cheering. “Yay, Fella! Great job!”
The little boy from yesterday comes right up to me. Before I can pull my head away, he peeks under my hat. “Hey, I know this horse! Aren’t you the one who—”
But I cut off his words as I kneel on all fours and nod for him to climb aboard.
The boy turns to a man who appears to be his father. “I want to ride! I want to ride the dancing horse!” he cries.
“I don’t know, son,” the man says. He turns to Jonathan, who is now standing beside Molly. “Is this horse safe to ride?”
“Safe and comfortable,” he answers.
“How much for a little ride?” the man asks.
Jonathan starts to answer. “Oh, I don’t think—”
“Fifty cents,” Molly shouts.
“That’s pretty steep,” the man says.
“I want to ride the horsey! I want to ride the horsey!” The boy begins to wail.
“All right, all right, Matthew,” says his father. He hands Molly fifty cents.
I walk the boy all over the marketplace. He’s a terrible rider, kicking his legs and trying to bounce. But even he can’t fall off my broad back. I keep it slow and steady until we’re back at Jonathan’s art stand.
The boy’s father is waiting there, but I move closer to Jonathan’s canvases. I get as close as I can to the paints and act as if I’m posing for a picture.
“Okay, Fella,” Jonathan says, following me to his stall. “Bow down now so Matthew can get off.”
I nod to the canvases, hoping Jonathan will take the hint.
He doesn’t. “Let’s let the boy hop off now, Fella.” His voice shakes, and he glances to the father, sending him a fake smile.
I don’t want the boy to hop off yet. I try my best to communicate this to Jonathan. I want him to sketch this boy on a horse.
“I want my boy back,” the father says.
“My horse will be kneeling down any minute now,” Jonathan says. “Don’t worry.”
Humans. I take one of Jonathan’s paintbrushes into my mouth and stroke the brush up and down on a canvas. Surely, even a human can get this clue.
“Oh, the horse thinks he’s a painter!” someone exclaims. “Isn’t that the cutest thing!”
Then Molly gets it. “For the price of one of these ready-made paintings, you can have yourself a one-of-a-kind picture of your son’s horse ride. Jonathan can sketch it for you in no time. What do you say?”
“What a good idea,” says a woman who may be the boy’s mother. She’s carrying bundles from the market and hands them to the boy’s father.
“I want a picture of me and the horsey!” the boy cries.
“So do I,” says the woman. “Give them the money, Walter.”
The father hands over a good deal of money to Molly, who tucks it into Jonathan’s money box.
Quick as a whip, Jonathan sketches the boy and me in my hat. It’s quite a lovely picture.
When he hands it to the boy’s mother, she exclaims, “Why, it’s wonderful! You’ve captured my boy perfectly. Now we’ll always remember this moment. Thank you!”
“I tell you,” says the father. “It’s a bargain!”
“Hey! I want to ride!” shouts a young girl. I believe I saw her with the applecart man.
“I was here before you!” cries a well-dressed boy.
“I was first. You do draw adults, don’t you?”
>
“Form a line right here!” Molly shouts. “Right this way for a horse ride and a portrait. Line forms here!”
All day long, I give pony rides, followed by Jonathan’s sketches. People give me carrots and apples. Molly takes the money and keeps order in the long line that forms. Our line grows all day long, reaching the front of the marketplace.
We are nearly finished when a large woman waddles up. Being a gentleman, I don’t wish to sound rude, but this woman is bigger, and rounder, than two Round Rollos.
“I saw your horse here dance this morning. I’ve always wanted to ride a dancing horse,” she says. “Could I get a ride?”
“Well, I …” Jonathan has started packing up.
Molly puts her thin arm around the woman’s plump shoulders. “I’m sure Fella would find it in his heart to give one more ride.”
With a sigh, I lower myself to the ground. Still, it takes Jonathan, Molly, and two other men to shove the woman aboard. It isn’t easy getting back up, but I do manage.
“Marvelous!” she exclaims. “Simply marvelous.”
I start out at a slow walk. The woman stays centered, casting her weight in just the right places. She’s an excellent rider.
“I used to ride every day when I was a child growing up in Cuba, before we moved to the States,” she says, as we weave through the stalls. “Horses and music are my two loves.”
I knew I liked this woman.
She begins to sing. Her words are in Spanish, and the song has a lively beat.
“This is a song from my old country. It’s called the mambo.” She continues singing. I feel her swaying on my back.
And I can’t help myself.
I break into dance.
17
Good Night and Good-bye
“You’re dancing the mambo!” the woman shouts. She herself is swaying and swinging on my broad back.
We pass Molly and Jonathan. They stare, wide eyed, at us. “What are you doing?” Jonathan shouts.
Dreams of a Dancing Horse Page 6