Arilla Sun Down

by Virginia Hamilton

  “Sun, we are going to have cake and ice cream now,” Mom says. Angry.

  “Let her open the present,” Dad says, smiling at me.

  “Yea,” Sun says, “Arilla wants to open it.”

  I look up just as he is giving Mom the lightning. “But if Mom wants us to eat —”

  “Yes,” Mom cuts in, “it’s getting late.”

  Sun sweeps the tissue paper off and unravels the hand-done bow. He makes a grand show of wrapping the girls and tying them.

  “Pretty presents,” he tells them. Jiggling and dancing as they swat at the ribbon. They are giggling and saying, “Oh, my hair, you messed my hair. You, Jack. Get out-a-here, you’re terrible. Isn’t he awful?” Even Angel seems to enjoy the party ribbon, like a silver scar on the dark side of her hand.

  “You, Sun!” Mom says.

  “Yes, cut it out, Run,” Dad says. “Let Arilla open the box.”

  I really do want to see what’s in the box.

  I see Sun walk away like he will leave, and the girls come crowding around me.

  “What is it? What’d you get?” they ask me.

  Sometimes I think Mom will prove she doesn’t favor me. I mean, maybe one time she will forget or be too busy and will hurry and buy me just anything. But she never does.

  I open the box to find it is packed full and tight. “Look at that!” I pull out this really beautiful deep-brown suede jacket, a really heavy kind to keep you warm, and real soft, deep-brown corduroy pants to match. Both the jacket and pants have these neat zippers, and on the pockets, too. And this long-sleeved shirt, dyed in the softest yellows and beiges to shape and outline distant geese heading south with a cold winter sun on them.

  “Man!” And in the box — I pick them up now — a pair of dark-brown highboots. Real leather and with an inch heel.

  “Arilla, wear it to school,” Sue Patterson says, speaking about the whole outfit. “I wish …” But she doesn’t finish.

  I’ll wear it to school. After Thanksgiving. Maybe I’ll wear it for a whole week.

  “Mom.” I hold up the jacket and pants against me. “Thank you for everything.”

  “You’re welcome, baby.”

  “Thank you,” I just have to say again and start folding the clothes back into the box. Lou Ann helps me with the boots. I see the girls smiling, but they get uneasy, shaking out their hair. They just seem to stare off. Maybe only Angel ever got such nice stuff for a birthday.

  Mom takes the box and makes it neat beside the other presents. “There. Time for cake and ice cream. Stony, what am I to do, the ice cream is hard still.”

  “I’ll slice it. That will be all right, won’t it?”

  “Noooo!” It’s my brother yelling. He’s standing, peering around from the foyer. “Arilla! One more present for you.”

  “What?” I say. He’s looking so proud of himself, he doesn’t even bother to fool around warrior.

  “From Dad and me.”

  “Really?” I say.

  “Now, would I lie?”

  “Where!”

  “Come on, then,” Dad says. I and the girls follow him across the room toward Sun.

  “Ooooh!” My Birthday girls all excited, ready for the next surprise.

  “Outside?” I’m about to burst. “Really?”

  “Really,” Sun says. “Stop saying ‘Really.’”

  I try to tell if Sun has something up his sleeve, but I can’t tell. Mom has her arm around me. She and I go out the door last and she holds the door for me.

  Outside, there is shade all up and down the avenue. I love shade of an afternoon best. Reminds me of some time when I was little, with shade all around. Just out there on the edge of my memory, it makes me feel strange.

  Never even noticed before how hot it is. Why is this town just ever so hot in the autumn? But we will have a lot of late fall rain, I bet.

  My dad and my brother disappear in the alley. The girls are following close, whispering and walking on Sun’s heels.

  Mom gives me this whisper just as we catch up with the party girls.

  “Arilla? I’d of given you the outfit anyway. Just try to take it easy.”

  “What, Mom?”

  “Your dad just went along with it. Sun meant well, he worked so hard.”

  We stop right where Sun keeps Jeremiah between the buildings. And I get this sinking feeling. “You mean — Mom! The outfit, the boots —!”

  “Keep your voice down. Now, try not to show … Remember how hard they had to work to get it all ready.”

  I feel like choking. There’s Jeremiah, farther back than usual, away from the alleyway. And in front of him —

  No.

  It’s like the party girls fold their arms at the same time. Looking at one another, I know they’ll never be the same with me again. Not that we were ever close. But now it’s like they’re saying it’s not enough that I have Sun for a brother, I have to go and have everything else, too. Why do families have to overdo it?

  But none of them know how I’m feeling.

  So this is my present.

  It is a white. More than anything, it’s a color breed. They say they color from aging grays to the albinos with blue eyes. And I have seen them almost brown.

  It most often is called spotted, but people get it wrong and call it a paint. Paints are always pintos. My brother never liked the pinto, and so I grew to dislike it. But he can go on forever about the appaloosa called spotted. How it came from the Spanish long ago, on through the wild mustangs and was used by the Pierced Nose people against the white-skinned enemy.

  Sun tells how the appaloosa was fast and ferocious: “The enemy hated all those spotted warriors who would fight and kill; people would eat all others that weren’t spotted, too.”

  Sun lies. He says Jeremiah is palomino, but I know better. Jeremiah is too dark, a gypsy no-breed who acts proud and showy. Maybe some palomino bred from a chestnut stallion with a dark mare.

  So this is it. This is mine.

  “Arilla, how do you like it?” Dad says. I can tell how excited he is. What can I say? He just wanted me to have what my brother has.

  Sun brings it slowly forward, holding it lightly by a rope bridle he will use when he is training. He tries to smirk, but he is anxious to see what I will do.

  “Is it a boy or girl?” I ask him.

  Sun bursts out laughing. The spotted’s eyes flare up a sudden. “Horses you call colt for boy —”

  “You think I don’t know?” I cut him off. “Is it a filly?” Keeping my voice low, but the spotted’s eyes still flare.

  “She’s a mare,” Sun says, “going on nine and a half.”

  “What’s her name?” I ask him, like Mom says, all matter-of-fact. Just like I’ve got on the boots and corduroys, I move on up to the animal real slow and take hold of the bridle with Sun.

  “You name her,” Sun says.

  My Birthday girls, Sun and Angel and all the rest. Hear them fidgeting and whispering — “’S hot out here. We going to stand around all day?” Tired of it and burning jealous, they’ve had enough. But this is between Sun and me.

  “She sure must already have a name,” I say.

  “Sure she has a name,” Sun says. “See if you can guess.”

  “Come,” Mom says behind me, “cake and ice cream!” to the startled girls. “Inside! Inside!”

  “But what about Arilla?” It’s Pearl asking. I never gave her a glance.

  “She’ll be along in a minute,” Mom tells her.

  The mare and me are eyeball to eyeball, with all her strength coiled and her ears active and always moving. I can’t help thinking, So I own a horse, just like my brother.

  The mare wasn’t about to back up from me, either. Still, I knew how to stand quiet and not appear afraid. I stay at her head, studying it. For I’ve been around Sun Run long enough to know that, like a person’s face, a horse’s will tell its, well, quality.

  She has large eyes with wide space between them, showing that her brain
is good-sized and she is not a “dumb” animal.

  Good, flaring nostrils. But not so straight, the line from nose to head, looking from the side.

  “You looking at the head when you should be looking at the whole beast,” Sun says.

  My dad just grunts. I forgot he was even there. Next to him, moving up carefully, is Angel. She always seems so interested in things.

  “Let Arilla do it her way,” Dad says. “She hasn’t had your practice.”

  “One thing about Arilla,” Sun says, glad to have Angel for an audience, “she never lets nothing go, but for sure she don’t know it yet.”

  “For sure you don’t know even more,” I tell him. And then I say about the mare: “Her muzzle hair will never change.”

  “Truth,” Dad says. “And she is a good Palouse.”

  “You remember I told you,” Sun says. “The appaloosa name comes from the Palouse River in Idaho, where the Pierced Nose people lived.”

  “I recall,” I tell him.

  “The enemy never liked the Palouse horse.”

  “They liked the dark horse,” I say.

  “The blacker the horse, the swifter the course,” Sun says.

  “So they said,” my dad says.

  “But appaloosa is all its own,” I say.

  “So this Palouse mare is …” Sun begins for me.

  “… is strong and good,” I tell him. I don’t touch her, but stand back from her. “Good, shining coat. Strong neck.” I stand farther back. “She’s some goose-rumped. She’s lean over all, but with straight hind legs. I don’t know. I don’t know something about bone, I forget. But I bet she can run.”

  “So with her color, can you name her?” Sun wants to know.

  Practically giving it away. It’s running added to a color — did you ever see dirty dishwater? As far as I care, appaloosa is the purest grotesque horse in the world. And as far as I care, this one is as ugly as sin. Like dirty dishwater after all the dishes are done. And with white soap chips a-floating on the water. This Palouse has a white-spotted rump.

  Or think of little clouds way off in the distance of gray sky.

  Why does she have to be this different, and apart from everything? Never cared for any horse, and what I care about this one is not far from pure hate. Let me lie down and just pull the covers up over my head.

  “Thank you very, very much,” I tell Dad and Sun, trying to sound like I mean it.

  “A horse all your own,” Angel says. She smiles like an older girl who never spent her time thinking about horses. Would never need to consider one if Sun hadn’t owned one.

  “You can ride her sometime,” I tell her. I’m ready to get away.

  “So what’s her name?” Sun picking at my bones. He has to know so bad. He will never think I have any brains because I’m female.

  “It’s either full or half,” I say to him. I’ll never let him know how afraid I am of horses.

  “Or even new, or quarter,” Dad says, smiling so warm at me.

  “It’s one of them and then running?” I ask. All of a sudden I’m almost sick with the smell of horses on afternoon heat.

  “Better the thing itself and running,” Sun says, looking at me like he’s disappointed I got it.

  “Moon Running, then,” I tell him, and then: “I’m going.” I turn to start back through the alley.

  “Let her go,” I hear Dad say. “It’s too much surprise all at once.”

  “The other way around,” Sun calls after me.

  “Running Moon,” I say softly.

  “You got it. She’s got it,” Sun says. “Happy hunting, kid. I’ll teach you to ride every day on the trail. You’ll love it,” Sun calls after me.

  I walk on back to my party, what’s left of it. Sun took my Birthday, after all.

  “Palouse is so ugly she’s pretty,” Sun is saying.

  “What’s its name — Moon Running?” I hear Angel ask them.

  “The other way,” Dad tells her. He sounds happy. I’m glad. “Running Moon,” he tells Angel.

  Either way, I know two things. I hate the Palouse. I’m stuck with her.

  5

  First time, me. Slipping away from the quiet.

  I’ll be back soon, Mother telling Run. You play with her some, you hear?

  Sun Run saying, You hurry back, you hear? Make me stay all day — you hurry up.

  Hurrying too long and no more Mother talking. Sun Run so high above, throwing his circle. Sun is all, snorting and stamping. Shake the sky with his circle roping. Then I see blue sprinkles cover the hills. Run has done it with his circle? I like sprinkles to touch. Quiet in the hills, and blue dot sprinkles in the breeze. Too many quiet all around.

  “You be all right in the shade,” he saying.

  Never touched so many blues so far away.

  “Nobody bother you under the sumac. You stay, you hear? She’ll be back soon.”

  “You going talking?” Never mind him going. But who to keep me from the quiet?

  Sun staring down, laughing. “No, you. You keep talking.” He laughs again, saying, “Arilla, see the game?”

  Sun throwing the circle on a ground, where catching the green and little stones and one stick I playing with. The circle holding is the game?

  “Now. Take your dibble stick and step in with both feet,” he saying.

  I take my dibble by the knob. Stepping on a green with both feet. The circle holding:

  “Me!”

  I am the game.

  “Yeah, you. Now stay still.”

  “Keep talking, Sun.”

  “Okay, Arilla, but stay where you are.”

  “I am a game.”

  “Sure. Watch the lasso.”

  Sun making a lasso climbing up my feet. Up my knees. He stopping it right around my belly. He pulling back the rope. A lasso tighten. Sun Run is hurrying.

  “Keep talking?”

  Sun Run is hurrying a line over sumac’s arm. Tying it.

  “Now,” he saying. “You can pull on it and even swing on it.”

  Glad with more talking. Still I am a game.

  “You mustn’t loosen the lasso around you.”

  “Sun Run?”

  “You must stay in the circle. If you don’t, the sumac will fall down and hurt you.”

  Sumac. Pulling on a line to the arm. Sumac does not fall.

  “No, only if you untie the circle,” Sun saying. “You stay in the shade and be safe. She’ll be back soon, you hear? You can swing in the shade.”

  “Keep talking.” Sun Run hurrying ca-loping down the way. Too long is hurrying and no more Sun talking.

  Keeping quiet with my stick. Nothing many. Nothing but a breeze. Bright all around a shade. Plenty light by my swing-sling near a porch.

  Now, that’s the place. Never knowing the swing is there. The house is there when I see it.

  Running to get in a house. But circle grabbing hold and pulling me down. So sitting, leaning on a lasso. So tight no hands can get inside it. Hurts. So going on back and leaning on a sumac. Maybe somebody come along to play. Little black ants going up and down a sumac. Fingers standing in their way. Catching ants and shaking them on a ground. Looking like shake a pepper.

  Now hold my hands behind me on a sumac. Nobody coming along. Over there. The way through many trees, so many children go. When it’s cold. Not now. In a snow, tracks, and with things to ride on. Now no snow with a breeze and a shade.

  So many light along the way. We in a yard at an end of the way where more trees. Other way where Mother go and Sun go. So many light up and up to where I can see Sun put sprinkles down the sky. Reach, but never touch them so far away. Leaning on a rope but still so far. Going on back to a sumac. My hands on a circle where it’s so tight. Maybe squeeze a thumbs inside the lasso, all along it until it not so tight. Taking a long time in a quiet. Where Mother hurrying? I like a light all the blue dot things up there. Pieces shaken by Sun. Let me go.

  But stopping. The sumac will fall down?

 
; Pulling on a line. Reaching up to arm of sumac. Lifting feet off a ground. Swinging but hurting my arms pulling. Stop. And pushing sumac and can’t make it fall. Thumbs, loosen a circle some more. Just a little and watching a sumac. Leaves moving. None fall. Maybe when a sumac won’t be looking. Keep watching and loosening. Sumac won’t make a move. So holding a circle in my hands.

  Let it drop? All a time, seeing so sweet a light and blue sprinkles all up and up. Would take a sumac with me if I can.

  Standing still. Slowly. Bringing arms down with a circle. Tall sumac in just a breeze. Sumac arms high and leaves shading in a quiet. Can make my arms high. See? Sumac must not make a move. Dropping that circle down around my feet. Watching. Nothing but a quiet and the leaves. Stepping out of circle.

  And run!

  Not looking back there. And when I do, Sumac is not so tall. All trees stand still but for the leaves. Shading and waving in a breeze. Me going up and up in many sounds coming all around. Leaving quiet with shade. Leaving sumac not falling way down there.

  Sun lies.

  Knowing Mother hurrying the town is somewhere. Knowing but so many trees. Looking back maybe seeing sumac and a house. So many trees all around and stand too tall. Keep on going. Seeing some blue in a sky and some shaken down. Getting close and I having something, my dibble stick. Never know having it in a hand. Maybe sit and playing with it.

  Sitting. Holding stick tight sitting. Feeling little jumps all over me so tiring.

  Mother, I say. But no talking. Just some sound all around better than a quiet.

  Lay me down, blinking at the blue. Holding stick straight way up and pieces stick in crumbs fall a my eyes. Sitting. Cleaning out the eyes. Getting a stick and we going on up the way. Big trees keeping me from seeing. Town and Mother hurrying and talking. Keeping on. Maybe will seeing some blue on a ground where Sun …

  Do see up ahead — something.

  Brother? Take care of me.

  “Sun Run!”

  Sure. Maybe him. Not seeing me in tall trees.

  “Wait, Sun!”

  For me to follow? Follow. But just trees. No finding him or Mother or a town. Go on where I saw him. Trees opening. Running again holding stick. Tallness of weeds now. Banging a stick on one tree to another through weeds. And slow down some. Breathing and walking hard and walking for a long kind of time.