The Horse Healer

by Gonzalo Giner

He turned the foal’s neck and pushed it toward him, then felt for its front hooves. He moved them bit by bit when he could, but whenever he managed to get them to the right place, the foal would return to its previous position.

  Diego sighed, terrified by the delicacy and difficulty of the work that stood before him. He took the small forelegs again and managed to move them, but they slipped away once more. Sabba began to complain. He tried once more and managed to get the legs. He tied them, and then, now more hopeful, he passed the end of the rope to Marcos so he could hold it tight and keep the foal from reacting.

  “Tell me if you feel anything strange. I’m going to start with the hard part.”

  Now Diego would have to turn the rest of the body with nothing but his fingers, overcoming the foal’s resistance. He clenched his teeth and tried with all his might, but it had hardly any effect. He felt weak, he wasn’t sure of what he was doing … the fact was, he was still too drunk.

  Then he felt a heaving, and he left Sabba and ran to a corner to vomit. When he came back, there was a terrible powerlessness in his eyes.

  He slid in his hand again and looked for the foal’s mouth to get a sense of where things stood. Then he found its neck with his fingers, and when he reached its backbone, he put his weight on it, trying to drag the creature out; but strangely, he felt no reaction from the foal.

  He pulled again and felt a small quiver, barely anything, or so it seemed. He couldn’t tell, because in that moment he grew sick again, and when he came back, there was nothing he could do. Marcos looked at him with pity. Diego looked for the foal’s heart and couldn’t feel it beating. It was dead.

  If what had happened was already bad, what lay ahead was worse; he would have to cut the creature into small pieces, take everything out, and then clean the mare’s interior.

  He explained it to Marcos, asking for more hot water and thyme to prevent problems in the wounds, as well as silk thread and needles to sew, and a set of thin iron saws that he himself had forged.

  “We have to stand her up; if she’s lying down, it’ll be impossible to tell if she’s completely clean.”

  “She’s too tired. …” Marcos warned, trying without success.

  Whenever Diego gave her a pat on the rump, Sabba would normally stand. He tried two or three times, but she wouldn’t react. He whispered to her and pinched her at the base of her mane, the way she had always liked. Sabba snorted in response, flared her nostrils, and moved her ears a little, her exhaustion evident. When he touched them, they were hot, she had a fever.

  A terrible grief overcame Diego at that moment. His eyes went damp, and for a flash he was afraid of being left without his mare. He felt guilty for all that had happened. He hadn’t been at her side when she needed him, the way he had always been. If he hadn’t been drinking that night, he would have gotten the foal out alive. Diego looked at his arms, his hands, and he saw how they were shaking, and then he looked at his mare.

  And then he made the decision to act.

  It was then that Marcos saw him work one of those miracles that only Diego knew how to bring about.

  He had hunched down over Sabba’s back, placed his head against hers, embraced her neck, and kissed her, in a scene full of tenderness. Marcos heard him whisper in her ears, making brief, almost inaudible sounds in Sabba’s language, so that she understood.

  Soon the animal began to breathe more energetically. Diego spoke to her and she seemed to respond with short whinnies, snorting, hardly perceptible echoes, and soft grunting; it was a strange conversation, intimate and profound, but effective.

  At that instant, though with obvious difficulty, Sabba stood up, and remained there still for as long as the extraction of the foal took. Diego sped up the work as much as he could. Several times, he made sure he had left nothing of the placenta inside her, sewed her wounds, and then began to wash her insides with a system he himself had devised. It was a hollow can sewed to a pig intestine that he filled with warm water and a brew of garlic and thyme.

  After three cleanings and a last inspection, he considered his work done. Then he helped her lie down and rest on a soft bed of new straw.

  Diego watched her, choked with guilt. That foal had died because of his irresponsibility, as a consequence of how slow his hands had moved during the operation, all as a result of the damned wine that had blurred his thinking.

  Sabba was anxious. She raised her head and began to look around in all directions, as though she was expecting her little foal to appear at any moment. A thick milk began to flow from her teats and her eyes reflected a sharp pleasure. She whinnied a few times, calling her offspring, without understanding why the creature wouldn’t call back.

  Tired from receiving no response, she rested her head on the straw, disappointed, though her ears remained attentive.

  “I’m going to change, Marcos. When I got to Cuéllar, I made a series of decisions that have turned me into a complete wreck. I took the wrong path, and now I’ve hurt a creature as innocent as Sabba.”

  “Will you stop going to the tavern?”

  “I will devote myself to working. That is what I’ll do. Yes. I’ll get back my way of being, my goals, my lust for learning …”

  Months after her foal had died, Sabba was better physically, although from then on, she seemed sadder.

  Diego stopped drinking and took his work much more seriously. He thus reached a degree of fame throughout the region, and without realizing it, he was provoking a growing interest among a number of women. He was an attractive, well-built young man, and single besides, and he soon became the target of their desires.

  Over the following months, he turned from one to the other, leaving his old self behind. That definitive, conclusive love he felt for Mencía gave way to other, more fleeting feelings, less vital but still interesting. He decided to imitate Marcos in that game of his, enjoying whatever woman crossed his path.

  And thus an entire year passed, until one cold Christmas Eve.

  It was then that he came in contact with a person full of mysteries, disgraces, and worse. …

  Her name was Sancha de Laredo.

  II.

  Sancha de Laredo was a woman of normal appearance, married, and a mother of two daughters. Her life seemed like that of any other woman in similar family circumstances: working at home, making her living from a small flock of sheep. But in her case, it wasn’t that way. …

  Diego met her by chance, during a thick snowstorm. He was coming back from a neighboring village were he had taken care of a sick cow.

  The snow was more than three feet high, and Sabba could hardly walk over the arduous road. For some time, Diego had been looking for refuge to wait out the storm with a roof over his head, but since night had fallen, he had found nothing.

  Between the thick curtain of snow, close to a frozen stream, he finally made out a house. He didn’t remember ever seeing it before, but it didn’t matter. He went there with the hope of getting in, not knowing the house belonged to Sancha.

  “Look at that smoke, Sabba. Maybe they’ll let us pass the night sheltered there.”

  He called at the door a number of times without getting a response. He also looked through the window, between the curtains, without seeing anything.

  There were some stables beside the house. He thought they wouldn’t be closed and he rushed over to them against the vicious wind that was striking him like a lash. When he saw the owners, the next day, he would explain everything.

  When he entered the stables, which were small but well cared for, he heard a clamorous chorus of bleats from a pen full of lambs. To one side of them, in another pen, Diego counted no fewer than three hundred sheep. They looked fat and well treated. He looked in his saddlebags for a wool blanket and tied Sabba close to another horse, well built and of an indeterminate breed. The presence of so much livestock would guarantee they would sleep warmly,
as long as the sheep would quiet down.

  Between the wall and the pen where the sheep were enclosed, there was a narrow passage that Diego walked down, looking for a place to lie down. Halfway along it, he heard a strange sound that came from one of the corners. It could have been a violent dog, so Diego armed himself with a long board he found at his feet.

  “Who’s there?”

  He looked for the corner, step by step, squinting his eyes to see better. And then he discovered two little girls huddled down and holding each other.

  “Who are you?” The older one spoke to him, her voice quavering. “This is our house, what are you doing here?”

  The girl was around thirteen years old. She had straight hair and a frightened face, peeking up at him as she held on to a long stake.

  “Don’t be afraid, little girl. My name’s Diego and I just want protection from the storm. What are your names?”

  “Get out of here!” the younger one yelled. She couldn’t have even been six.

  “If you want, tell your parents. I’ll speak to them so they’ll let me spend the night here. Tell them I’ll pay.”

  They looked at each other and began to whisper. Diego couldn’t hear them, but he knew they were arguing.

  “Don’t worry, I’ll go to the house to talk to them.”

  As soon as he turned, the girls screamed at him.

  “No, don’t go, please.”

  Diego interrogated them with his stare.

  “He’s with her right now, and if you bother him, he’s going to get mad and then we …”

  “Are you talking about your father?”

  “He’s with Mama,” the smaller one responded.

  “And why aren’t you inside the house?” When he saw them from closer up, he was stunned by the fear he saw on their faces.

  “So we don’t have to hear Mama cry.”

  “Be quiet, María,” the older one said.

  “Do you know why she’s crying?” Diego began to assume something.

  “She does it every night,” the girl answered, though her older sister nudged her.

  “And you, what did you say before, when you were talking about your father being angry?”

  Though he meant his question for the older one, Diego looked at the younger sister. She rubbed her hands together without stopping, and her dress and hair as well. The poor girl was very nervous.

  “Nothing. I didn’t say anything,” said the older girl.

  “It’s not true. … Sometimes he hits us, very hard,” the other exclaimed.

  “You don’t have to explain anything to this man,” her sister shrieked. “You’ll see; now Papa will find out.”

  “I don’t care.”

  Diego imagined the father must be intransigent and authoritarian; the girls were probably being punished for some minor misbehavior. But still, with the terrible weather that night and the rough state of their lodgings, he felt bad for them. He heard the older girl call her sister María, and for some reason he remembered Estela. The girl had her same smile and a similar expression in her eyes, and her forehead was as broad as his sister’s too.

  “How long have you been out here?”

  “Two days,” María answered innocently. “Papa said we couldn’t come out till tomorrow.”

  When he heard that, Diego was paralyzed. He couldn’t understand. If this was some simple trick they’d pulled, it seemed excessive.

  “You mean you’ve been out here for two days without your parents? And what do you eat?”

  María rubbed her belly and pointed to a sheep that was suckling a little lamb. She ran to it and grabbed onto one of her free teats. To Diego’s astonishment, she put it into her mouth and began to suck. The animal grunted, sniffed at her angrily a few times, but finally accepted it.

  Diego looked at the older one, still unable to believe what he had just seen. Rosa confirmed it, nodding her head.

  It seemed incredible to him that someone could treat two innocent beings that way, as if they were animals. How could their parents act that way?

  In an instant, María ran to Sabba and he followed her. The mare sniffed at her with evident curiosity, and the girl scratched her muzzle.

  “What’s her name?”

  “Sabba.”

  “She’s very pretty.” María hardly reached the animal’s knee, but she caressed it so sweetly that Sabba snorted with pleasure.

  Diego sat her on top of Sabba and the girl, shouting with joy, grabbed onto the mane and pulled, imagining herself galloping, bucking over and over in the saddle.

  “Run … Fly!”

  Diego held her arms tight to keep her from falling.

  “Don’t touch my sister again!”

  That scream from the older sister left him shocked. There was fear, panic, rage in the girl’s expression. Diego was disturbed, and a terrible thought came upon him.

  “Get out of here, I beg you … Please.” The first tears sprouted from Rosa’s eyes. “If my father finds out you’ve spent the night here, he’ll kill us, and you too. He’ll do it to me again … no …”

  Diego got María down from the horse and stood in front of them, upset. On the one hand, he had no right to insert himself in these people’s lives. But if he listened to them and left, he would hardly make it far, because of the force of the storm. He understood something strange was happening here and that it wasn’t anything good.

  María ran to his side and grabbed his leg with a force that was moving. He saw them so fragile and defenseless in those moments that he felt incapable of just doing nothing.

  “I’m sorry, I’m not listening. I’m going to go talk to your parents.”

  “No! Don’t do it now.” Rosa grabbed his sleeve and pulled on it, begging him.

  “But why?”

  “Because Mama always says we need a father, and even if he hits her a lot, she can take it, and she’s teaching us to do the same.”

  Diego understood what was happening. That bastard was so wicked, he must be mistreating all of them.

  “What is your father’s name?”

  “Basilio Merino.” For some reason, he seemed to recognize that name.

  Then they heard a terrifying roar coming from the house. Diego ran out with the girls to see what was happening.

  They pushed open the door and went into the house. Crawling along the floor in a nightdress, a young woman was covering her head with her hands.

  “Filthy whore! You’re a waste!” The man beside her made as if to kick her.

  “What are you doing?” Diego ran toward him with clenched fists.

  “And who are you?” With olive skin, the man’s enormous eyebrows seemed to take up the whole of his face. His eyes showed incredulity and then fury. “You want to tell me what you’re doing in my house?”

  “It doesn’t matter who I am.” Diego grabbed the man’s shirt and twisted it. “You’re a coward. I dare you to touch me and not those poor girls.”

  The man stood still until, when Diego stopped paying attention, he grabbed a kitchen knife and threatened him.

  “Don’t butt into issues that don’t concern you.” He aimed the sharp point at Diego’s stomach. “Get out now if you don’t want to get sliced from end to end.”

  “You’re not even a man. You should be ashamed of what you’re doing with these poor girls.”

  Basilio called them over with his free arm, as if he needed to protect them from Diego, but Rosa pushed him, escaping him.

  “Don’t touch me, Father! I hate you!” she shouted.

  The man lifted a hand to strike her, and Diego charged him. He stopped, seeing the point of the knife, and then found himself pushed toward the door. The man’s face reflected pure madness. Diego could do nothing. The man seemed bent on using the knife, and Diego didn’t know how to respond. He looked a
t the woman. Her face was covered in bruises and her lip was split. She looked back at him, unable to express anything other than desperation.

  “I’ll tell the authorities about you. …” Diego threatened him from outside. “I’ll leave, but you should know there will be punishment for this, I swear to you.”

  “And who is it who’s threatening me, if I may know?”

  “You’ll know when the time comes, and don’t worry, it will be soon. And I’ll warn you of another thing. You touch them again, and I promise you, I will chase you to the far edges of the world. And when I find you, you’ll suffer just the same as they have.”

  “Look how scared I am,” the man said, shaking his hands.

  III.

  Marcos noticed Diego was furious, beside himself.

  While he told him what had happened, he was so upset that he wanted nothing more than to return to that house and see what had happened with those three unfortunate girls.

  “I’ll go see them this very afternoon. Yesterday I couldn’t do anything, but today I’ll return better prepared.”

  “He’s not even worthy to be called a man. How can someone be so terrible?” Marcos was deeply disturbed by the story Diego had told.

  “If you could have seen that poor woman. … She was so wretched! But in spite of that mask of suffering, she was beautiful.”

  “And you think he hits the kids as well …”

  “Yes, and I’m afraid he does even worse with the older one. I don’t know, the girl’s face expressed something more than terror when he grabbed her, while he was trying to throw me out of the house.”

  Marcos clenched his fist, indignant. That wickedness, wherever it came from, deserved a severe punishment.

  “His name is Basilio Merino and he has a good flock of sheep, maybe one of the best you can find in the whole community.”

  Marcos’s eyes widened and he sat there stunned.

  “You know him?”

  “Well, yes … Maybe I’ve heard of him …”

  He took a mug of wine in his hand and drank slowly, taking his time and thinking.