The Horse is Dead

by Robert Klane

  "Yeah," Nemiroff said, "I guess you're right."

  "It's the same with your kids at camp," Miss Booe went on.

  "What do you mean?" Nemiroff looked puzzled.

  "Why do you treat them the way you do?" she asked.

  Nemiroff thought for a moment, then he spoke. "Well, it's just that I didn't want them to grow up thinking life was just a bed of roses." He looked at Miss Booe. "It isn't, you know."

  "Go on."

  "Well, I figured I'd give them a taste of what life was really like. Sort of show them how things really are. Get them ready for it."

  Miss Booe held Nemiroff's hand. "But it isn't like that for everybody. You made things tough for yourself."

  "Maybe you're right. But then, I didn't have you." He leaned over to kiss her again.

  She held his hand tighter. "Give them a chance. Show them you like them. Show them you trust them."

  Nemiroff pulled his hand away. "Are you kidding?" he shouted. "Besides, it's too late now. How could I do it?"

  "Well," Miss Booe said, "you could ease up on them. Show them you're with them. Then, when you have their confidence, show them you trust them. Do something significant, like turning your back on them."

  "What," Nemiroff screamed. "Turn my back on those sons of bitches?"

  "Why not?"

  "I'll tell you why not," Nemiroff stammered. "Because it would be the last time I turned my back on them. They'd kill me."

  "Don't be silly," Miss Booe said. "Once they know you like them and trust them, they won't do anything to you."

  "I don't believe it"

  "Try it, Nemiroff," she said, "for me."

  Nemiroff looked down into her eyes and weakened. "I'll tell you what," he said, "I'll start slow. I'll give them a little freedom. I won't try to get them, and I'll see what happens."

  "Thanks," Miss Booe said, blowing him a kiss.

  "But I won't turn my back on them. Never."

  Nemiroff slowly marched his group over to the baseball field. They fought him all the way, but he made them go. Nemiroff wanted his group to play this game. Without Nemiroff as the umpire. Nemiroff sat down in the sand and watched as his group took the field. They were very suspicious, thinking that maybe Nemiroff had mined the baseball field late at night, and that the only reason he wouldn't step out on the field was that he was afraid he would blow himself up.

  Nemiroff's group took their positions. They were playing Mr. Robinson's group, and Mr. Robinson found himself in the unfamiliar role of umpire. The first kid up hit a high fly ball. The centerfielder ran under it and stuck out his glove. The ball fell in. The centerfielder immediately ducked to get out of the way of Nemiroff's flying body. But it wasn't there. Nemiroff actually let him make an out. The kid looked over to the sidelines and saw Nemiroff stand up and cheer him.

  "That a boy, Howie, give 'em hell," Nemiroff shouted. "That's the old stuff."

  The centerfielder couldn't believe his ears. He looked around at the rest of the group, but they all just stared dumbly at him. Nemiroff didn't make a move. He just smiled and waved at them. The centerfielder threw the ball in to the pitcher. The next two outs were quick.

  Nemiroff's team played as they never played before. The chains were gone. They were playing like champions. They completely demolished Mr. Robinson's team, and were cheering wildly when the game was over. "We won, we won," they shouted. Then they looked over at Nemiroff, who had worn himself out cheering for his team.

  "Let's have a cheer for Nemiroff," they began. "Two, four, six, eight who do we appreciate? Nemiroff. Nemiroff. Nemiroff."

  Nemiroff looked back at them, a small tear starting in the corner of his eye. Nobody had ever cheered for him before. Maybe Miss Booe was right "O.K.," he told them, "now let's bring on Marshall Pace and his fucking group of gentiles."

  Nemiroff poured a cup of coffee for himself, and another cup for Miss Booe. "They actually cheered for me," he said.

  "I know." Miss Booe smiled. "I heard them. They're not so bad, are they?"

  "No," Nemiroff said.

  "See, I told you," Miss Booe went on. "All you had to do was give them a chance."

  "Yeah," Nemiroff admitted, "maybe you're right."

  "Did you turn your back on them?" Miss Booe asked very quietly.

  Nemiroff exploded. "No," he shouted. "Just because they give me one lousy cheer doesn't mean I'm going to commit suicide by turning my back on them."

  "I think you're being silly," Miss Booe said. "They won the game for you, didn't they?"

  "Not for me," Nemiroff explained. "They won h for themselves."

  Miss Booe grabbed Nemiroff's hand. "If you trust them, they'll trust you. They'll get their confidence back and they'll never lose again. At anything."

  "Is that good?" Nemiroff asked.

  "Didn't you like winning when you were a child a lot more than you did losing?"

  "I don't know," Nemiroff said. "What do you mean you don't know?" Nemiroff stared into her eyes. "I never won."

  Nemiroff let up completely on his group. He even started calling them pal, and buddy, and little friend. And they started improving at everything they did. They did everything better than anyone else in the camp. Nemiroff was amazed. Nemiroff was looking forward to Tournament Day, the day that all the groups competed with each other, and the winning group got the Camp Winituck Trophy. And the counselor of the winning group got a bonus of ten dollars from Uncle Bernie. And the parents of the kids came to Camp Winituck to see their children compete. It would be a great chance for Nemiroff to redeem himself.

  On the morning of Tournament Day, Nemiroff stood with his group and watched all of the parents drive in and park. Most of the other parents walked over to shake hands with their children's counselor, but all of Nemiroff's group's parents stayed a good distance away. He started to get nervous. This was the last time he would see the parents. If they didn't lay some bread on him, he wouldn't have enough to complete a whole semester in college. The draft would be back after him. He wouldn't see Miss Booe for two years. He would die. He would wither away and die. Uncle Bernie blew his whistle and Tournament Day was under way. Some of the parents were very anxious when they saw Nemiroff walking with his arm around some of their children. They were afraid he would try to strangle them. But when they noticed that the kids didn't mind it, and in fact seemed to like it, they relaxed. They relaxed more and more as they watched their children perform. Nemiroff's group had won every event they were entered in. And they had especially creamed Marshall Pace's gentiles in the volley-ball game.

  One of the fathers walked over to Nemiroff as the volley-ball game ended. "I didn't know my kid could play volley ball like that," the father said.

  "Yes, sir," Nemiroff said, "he's a real tiger. One of the best in the camp." Nemiroff stopped long enough to let that sink in before he hit him with the clincher. "Yes, sir," he continued, "a real tiger. I'm glad he's Jewish like I am."

  The father's hand came out of his pocket with five crisp new ten-dollar bills. He crushed them into Nemiroff's hand. "So am I, son, so am I."

  "Yes, sir," Nemiroff went on, "I just hope I can make enough here this summer to get back to college. Then I can come back next summer and have some more great Jewish kids like your son." Another fifty found its way into Nemiroff's hand.

  Nemiroff sat with Miss Booe and counted the money.

  "How much?" she asked. "Seven hundred and fifty dollars," he said. "Oh, that's wonderful." She kissed him on the cheek.

  "Yeah, fuck the draft," he said. "Plus a check for ten dollars from Uncle Bernie for winning Tournament Day."

  "I'm so happy for you," Miss Booe said.

  "I'm kind of happy myself," Nemiroff said. "You know what," he went on, tenderly holding her hand, "I think I'd like to marry you. I mean things just never went this well for me before, and I know how much you had to do with it. So I want to marry you."

  Miss Booe was surprised. "But you have to go back to college."

  "So, you can co
me with me." He was excited.

  "Yes," Miss Booe said, "I suppose I could. I could even get a job and help you through."

  "Right," Nemiroff said. "There's just one thing," he said, running his fingers through the money, "you're gonna have to convert. I'm not gonna marry any gentile. What would my friends say?"

  Since Nemiroff's parents weren't around, he decided to break the news first to Uncle Bernie.

  "That's wonderful," Uncle Bernie shouted. "I'm very happy for both of you. If only I could have found a Miss Booe to marry instead of a sissy boy like Mr. Green."

  "Still haven't broken it off yet, huh?" Nemiroff asked.

  "No," Uncle Bernie sighed. "The sissy boy threatened to sue me for breach of promise if I didn't marry him."

  "You're not going to marry him, are you?" Nemiroff asked.

  "No," Uncle Bernie snapped, "don't be silly. It's just that, well, it's just that I don't want to go to court. You know, he's crazy enough to do it! And the publicity wouldn't exactly bring parents by the thousands to sign up their kids for next summer."

  "I see what you mean," Nemiroff said.

  "Look," Uncle Bernie continued, "you don't think you could get the ring back for me, do you?"

  "Me?" Nemiroff asked.

  "Yes, he likes you."

  "I know that that's why I'm not going near him."

  "Listen, I'll tell you what." The sweat was pouring out of Uncle Bernie's brow. "If you get the ring back, you can give it to Miss Booe."

  Nemiroff thought for a moment. "It'd be nice."

  "Sure it would," Uncle Bernie went on. "And I don't care that much about the ring as long as I don't have to marry that sissy boy."

  "I don't know"—Nemiroff paused—"he might try to rape me when I try to get the ring back."

  "You can do it you can do it," Uncle Bernie said.

  "I don't know."

  "Look"—Uncle Bernie was pleading—"if you get the ring back, I'll even throw a wedding."

  Nemiroff turned to walk out. Uncle Bernie grabbed his arm. "Get me off the hook and I'll say a blessing for you."

  "Never mind the blessing, just don't forget the ring and the wedding."

  Tears came to Uncle Bernie's eyes, his lower lip jutted out slightly. "For a person who wasn't Jewish for so long, you certainly got back into it fast."

  Nemiroff approached the door to the arts and crafts room very cautiously. He could hear Mr. Green humming a Bach Fugue. Nemiroff peeked around the door and saw Mr. Green in the middle of some strange dance. Mr. Green saw Nemiroff and stopped immediately.

  "Go away," Mr. Green said, "it's too late now. In case you haven't heard, I'm engaged to Uncle Bernie.

  Nemiroff moved carefully inside the door and positioned himself with his back to a wall. "That's what I want to talk to you about," he said.

  Mr. Green started to dance again. "I told you, you should have grabbed me when you had the chance."

  "I'm not interested in you," Nemiroff said.

  Mr. Green stopped dancing. "You're not?"

  "No."

  "Then what do you want?" He took a step toward Nemiroff.

  "Don't come any closer, I can talk to you from there."

  Mr. Green stopped. "Oh, you're such a tease." Mr. Green giggled.

  Nemiroff figured he better get it over with fast "Listen, Mr. Green."

  "Miss Helen, Miss Helen," Mr. Green protested.

  "O.K." Nemiroff started again. "Listen, Miss Helen, Uncle Bernie doesn't want to many you. He thought you were a girl when he proposed to you."

  "That's his problem," Mr. Green sniffed. "He asked me to marry him."

  "But he didn't mean it," Nemiroff tried to explain. "You've got to give him the ring back."

  "I will not," Mr. Green snapped. Nemiroff's patience was running out. "But he's not going to marry you, so you might as well give him the ring back."

  Mr. Green stared at Nemiroff. "Did Uncle Bernie send you in here?"

  "Yes." Nemiroff figured he might as well tell the truth.

  "Well, you can tell that fat slob that I was promised a wedding and I expect to get one." Mr. Green stamped his foot. "I love weddings, and besides, I have the most beautiful gown picked out."

  "I tell you Uncle Bernie is not going to marry you," Nemiroff shouted.

  A light dawned in Mr. Green's eyes. "Has he found another guy?"

  "Don't be stupid," Nemiroff screamed. "He doesn't want to marry a guy, that's why he's not going to marry you. Now give me the ring back."

  Mr. Green started to pout "What are you so interested in getting the ring back for?"

  "Because if I get it back, I can give it to Miss Booe as an engagement present"

  Mr. Green stopped for a moment "You're going to marry Miss Booe? You picked her over me?"

  "Yes."

  Mr. Green put his hands on his hips. "What the hell is wrong with everybody around here?"

  "Nothing is wrong with us," Nemiroff said.

  "What else did he promise you?" Mr. Green asked.

  "He's going to give us a wedding," Nemiroff admitted.

  Mr. Green started to jump up and down. "He's going to give you a wedding? What about my fucking wedding?"

  "It's off," Nemiroff said.

  "But I blew three hundred dollars on a dress," Mr. Green said. "Nobody'll even see me in it"

  "Tough," Nemiroff said.

  "Unless"—the light was back in Mr. Green's eyes —"unless you let me be the maid of honor at your wedding."

  Nemiroff's heart jumped. "You're crazy. You're out of your fucking mind."

  "Uh um," Mr. Green said, "no maid of honor, no ring, no wedding."

  Nemiroff was ready to kill him. "That's blackmail."

  "That's life," Mr. Green said. "What do you say?"

  Nemiroff thought for a few moments. What the hell, it wouldn't be too bad. So he had a guy as his maid of honor. If it would solve the problem, might as well. "O.K.," Nemiroff said. "Now give me the ring back."

  Mr. Green squealed with delight He gave the ring back to Nemiroff and planted a wet kiss on his mouth.

  Nemiroff fought him off. "If you do that again, you're out of the wedding," Nemiroff said.

  Mr. Green just kept squealing.

  "So that's the deal," Nemiroff was telling Miss Booe. "Either I let Mr. Green be the maid of honor, or there's no wedding."

  "That's all right Nemiroff," Miss Booe said. "Just think of how much money we'll save by letting Uncle Bernie pay for it."

  "I'm glad you're not mad," Nemiroff said. "I love you."

  "I love you, too," she said.

  Nemiroff was awakened from a sound sleep by the ringing of the telephone. He drowsily reached for it and knocked the receiver on the floor. "Hello," he shouted down to the receiver.

  "Hello, Nemiroff?" came a weak answer.

  Nemiroff bent down and picked up the phone. "Hello," he said again.

  "Hi," said a cheery voice. It was a woman's voice. It sounded vaguely familiar to Nemiroff.

  "Who is this?" he asked.

  "This is your mother," the voice said.

  "My who?"

  "Your mother," the voice repeated.

  "I don't know anyone called Mother," Nemiroff said and started to hang up the phone.

  "Wait, wait," the voice shouted, "it's me, it's Mrs. Nemiroff."

  "Oh," Nemiroff said, surprised. "Mrs. Nemiroff. How are you?"

  "We're fine. Your father and I have decided to come home."

  "What for?" Nemiroff asked.

  "We've been speaking to people," she went on. "They've been telling us how you've changed. How you became Jewish again and how you even got a girl friend who can stand you, and who's going to marry you."

  "Yes," Nemiroff said, "I guess it's true."

  "So your father and I decided to come home." She paused for a few seconds. "You didn't sell anything, did you?"

  "No," Nemiroff said, "everything is still here."

  "Good," she sighed, "we'll be home in a few days. Goodbye."<
br />
  "Goodbye, Mrs. Nemiroff," he replied.

  "Call me Mom," she said.

  "What?"

  "Call me Mom."

  "Goodbye, Mom," Nemiroff said, hanging up the phone.

  Miss Booe rolled over in the bed. "Who was that?"

  Nemiroff was white. "You're not going to believe this," he said. "It was Mrs. Nemiroff. She wants me to call her Mom." He stared into Miss Booe's eyes. "Can you imagine," he said, "she wants me to call her Mom."

  Miss Booe reached out and touched Nemiroff. "I think that's wonderful."

  "I think you're wonderful." He blinked back a few tears. "I think the whole fucking world is wonderful."

  On the way to camp the next morning Nemiroff realized that the world was full of colors. Beautiful colors. After years of seeing everything in black and white it was a thrill to suddenly discover greens and reds and blues and yellows and browns. Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful world. Those beautiful kids. Those great kids whom Nemiroff loved with all his heart and soul. Beautiful Mrs. Nemiroff. Beautiful Mom. Mom. Beautiful Uncle Bernie, who was blowing for the wedding. And most of all, beautiful Miss Booe. Lovely Miss Booe. Wonderful Miss Booe. Compassionate Miss Booe. Great Miss Booe, without whom Nemiroff never would have discovered all the other beautiful things. It was too much for one person. Nemiroff didn't deserve this kind of happiness, but here it was. And it was beautiful.

  For the next few days Uncle Bernie was very busy planning Nemiroff's wedding. He decided that it would be a great public relations bit to have the wedding right at Camp Winituck. He would invite all of the parents, serve them a lot of booze and get them all smashed up, and then get them to sign their kids up for the next summer. It would save Uncle Bernie a lot of time and trouble.

  The kids in Nemiroff's group had all agreed to serve as ushers, and Nemiroff was proud as hell that they were eager to be a part of his wedding. These kids were terrific.

  The wedding was set for the last day of camp. It was going to be a real blast Uncle Bernie had set up a big tent in the middle of the baseball diamond. He even rented an old coach that would pull the bride up to the entrance of the tent. Since the coach needed six horses to pull it Uncle Bernie decided to use his own horses. He had a little bit of trouble hitching up the dead horse, but at least Uncle Bernie stuck him way in the back where nobody would notice. "It looks great" Uncle Bernie said. "It looks great. Except for the flies."