The Horse Healer

by Gonzalo Giner

Of course he knew Basilio. That man traded wool and meat with him, and he did a good job, too. Just a week ago they had spoken about a matter of mutual interest. Marcos had proposed buying his merchandise, since he had barely been able to fill the orders that were coming in from Valencia. The deal would benefit both of them; Marcos would be able to give a good deal to Abu Mizrain, and Basilio would be able to sell ten percent more than he had been to Marcos alone. And the offer had been accepted. For that reason, confronting that man would be a more delicate issue than simply informing the bailiff of his deplorable actions.

  “What are you thinking?” Diego took the mug from Marcos’s hands and looked into his eyes.

  “About Basilio. I remembered a few things about him. … He’s an influential man, Diego. Maybe too much for us and our reputations.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “He’s a trader like me, and I happen to be doing business with him right now. And you know, a problem like this one could—”

  “I understand,” Diego interrupted him. “When you said us, you meant you and your reputation. I get it.”

  Diego stood up from his chair and began striding around the room, very upset. He tried to restrain his desire to smack Marcos for his pathetic attitude.

  “I can guess what you’re thinking, but I promise you that if you report him, you’re the one who will end up being hurt.”

  “I don’t understand why. But if that was true, I would rather that happen than be responsible for the abuse of those girls, not to mention his wife.”

  Marcos dried the sweat from his forehead. The situation was disagreeable, but he thought it would be better to talk it through till the end.

  “You need to know that Basilio is related to the lord of the villa. That means you’ll never get more credence than him if you do report him, unless you have real proof of his crime, and that’s not easy. In these cases, the wife usually doesn’t testify against her husband, since she depends on him for everything, or else from pure devotion or to keep her children from harm. The most likely thing is you won’t have any success.”

  Diego knew that wasn’t the real reason Marcos was dissuading him, that it was his business he was worried about seeing endangered.

  He sighed, disappointed, and took on the responsibility alone. He knew he was going to carry on with his plans.

  “We’ll see, Marcos. … We’ll see.”

  Basilio told his wife he would come back soon, just after he had finished with a job.

  When they saw him disappear with his cart over the hill, the two girls ran into the house to look for their mother. They found her lying down and drowning in tears.

  They got into bed with her and looked for her cheeks to caress and kiss them. They wanted to console her after the brutal beating she had received that morning. They hadn’t seen anything, but they could hear their father screaming at Sancha with an unbelievable fury.

  “Mother, you need a doctor. …” Her older daughter touched her ribs and felt that one was cracked under her fingers. Sancha had one eyebrow split open and her right cheek had an open cut from one of their father’s punches.

  “I don’t need it, honey. It’s not so bad,” Sancha replied. “You’re going to upset her,” she said, pointing at María.

  The little one had stayed in the stable during the brutal fight. Now, as if in a trance, she played with a long curl from her mother’s hair, wrapping it around her fingers. Sancha’s inflamed eye caught María’s attention, and the girl asked her mother how it had happened.

  “My little girl …” She stroked one of her cheeks. “Don’t worry, dear, I accidentally hit myself on something.”

  “Be more careful, Mama.”

  “Of course, my dear. I’ll pay attention and be more attentive.”

  Sancha sat up, a sharp pain in her stomach. One of his kicks had hit her somewhere sensitive, and she had been feeling jabbing sensations for a while now.

  “María, go get Mama a little bit of water.”

  The girl obeyed and skipped away.

  Once they were alone, Sancha looked into the eyes of her older daughter.

  “Tell me the truth, and don’t lie like you did other times to calm me down. Has something happened to you?”

  “No, I promise. But if he tries again, I won’t do like you. I won’t put up with it again, Mother.”

  “Who was that man you showed up with?”

  “His name is Diego, and he told us he was an albéitar. He came to the stable to get protection from the snowstorm. He looked like a good man, but as you saw, he didn’t do anything for us. He’s just another coward. I hate all men; they’re all trash.”

  “Don’t say that, my daughter. He tried, but your father got too violent and he had to flee.”

  “If he had reacted better, maybe you wouldn’t be here now.” The girl looked at her mother, so beautiful before, now full of bumps and bruises.

  María returned with a pitcher and three glasses. She served the water carefully, but it spilled all over the bed.

  “Father will beat me if he sees what I’ve done.” She began to cry.

  “See how María reacts over something so unimportant? Imagine the fear she must be suffering inside to say that.” Hearing those words from her older daughter, Sancha felt her eyes dampen. “Why don’t we leave, Mother?”

  “We can’t, honey, we can’t. Where would we go? He would hunt us down, and it would be worse.”

  “I’ve heard you say lots of times you have family in Laredo, close to the sea. Let’s go there, Mother. Leave him for once! He’s nothing more than a miserable dog. …”

  “Where are you saying you want to go?” The unexpected voice caught them by surprise and filled all three with an immediate foreboding. He had just entered the bedroom without making a sound. He turned directly to Rosa and grabbed her arm, full of rage.

  “You’re hurting me,” she complained.

  “I see how much my daughter loves me, calling me miserable, a dog. You’ll learn your lesson now. Come outside with me!”

  “Leave her in peace!” the mother screamed, trying to get out of bed. He pushed her violently. “Why are you doing this to us?” she cried, full of misery.

  María felt something very bad was going to happen and without thinking twice, she leapt at her father’s back, pounding on him with her little fists.

  Basilio pushed her away without difficulty and threw her on the bed next to her mother. Rosa, furious, bit his arm with all her strength. Basilio howled, then grabbed her by the neck and lifted her off the floor. He dragged her to the kitchen. She kicked and scratched him amid tears of impotence. She wouldn’t allow it, not this time, she thought.

  Basilio sat her on the table and looked into her eyes.

  “You think it’s normal, what you’re doing? I come home and I find you encouraging your mother to leave me … with all I’ve done for you …”

  Rosa wanted to answer, but he squeezed her neck tighter and managed to choke her words.

  “Now you’ll shut up, little girl.”

  “Don’t touch her.” Sancha was at the door, ready to face off against her husband.

  “She’s my daughter … and I can do what I want.”

  The man looked for her cheek to kiss her, but Rosa took advantage of his nearness to bite his ear. She clenched her teeth so furiously that she managed to pierce it. Basilio began to shriek like a mad dog, but the girl wouldn’t let go. The man squeezed her neck harder to choke her and gave her a powerful punch in the chest. Rosa felt asphyxiated, began to cough with pain, and had to let go.

  “You act like a beast and I’ll treat you like a beast. I’ll make you calm down today, you’ll see.” Touching the wound on his ear, the man went to look for his leather riding crop. When he had gotten it, he brandished it in the air, making it whistle.

  He grabbed his
daughter by the waist and threw her on the table. Then he tore her shirt, and with her back exposed, he raised the leather to begin her punishment.

  Rosa, between tears, waited for the first blow to come down, and when she felt it, it seemed like he was splitting her back in two. Her mother got there in time to stop the second with her hand, though a slap from Basilio made her fall down. When he saw her stretched out and defenseless on the ground, her husband kicked her in the stomach, making her writhe from pain.

  Rosa tried to escape but he was holding her down on the table by the nape of her neck.

  Then somebody knocked and called at the door.

  Basilio told everyone to be quiet, threatening to choke Rosa to death. Whoever it was pounded more fiercely.

  “Be quiet or it will be worse. …” he warned them

  At that moment, little María came out from the bedroom, where she had stayed hidden under the covers. There was fear in her eyes.

  Sancha looked at her at the very moment when the person knocked at the door again. The girl knew what she had to do and ran over, opening it.

  Diego entered decisively and found the dreadful scene. He looked for his dagger and aimed it at the man.

  “Drop that riding crop now!” he shouted, enraged. His gaze radiated dangerous intentions.

  “You again?” Basilio replied contemptuously.

  Diego looked at the woman, lain out on the floor, with signs of having passed through genuine humiliation, and then at the back of the girl, red and full of marks. He felt a deep hatred for that man, for his wickedness.

  “You’ll get out of this house right now or else …” Basilio flourished the riding crop, hitting at air. “I’m not going to repeat it again! Go!”

  Basilio charged Diego like a madman, trying to grasp his dagger, and Diego stabbed him in the thigh in response. Basilio brought his hand to his leg and, before he could do anything, Diego struck him again in the arm.

  “I told you to go. … Leave her in peace! Do you understand me?”

  “You don’t know who I am.”

  “I do indeed. And I also know that if I explain to the abbot what you’re doing with your wife and children, and if he knows the terrible sin you’ve engaged in with them, he will put you on trial, whether or not you have blood relations with the people who run this town. And even if you do get off, your name will be soiled forever. I’ll make sure of it, I swear. So get out of here. Leave this place. This is the last chance I’m giving you.” Diego pointed the dagger at the man’s heart.

  “You’ll pay for this. One day I’ll avenge this insult.”

  “Get out now.” Diego pushed Basilio through the door and followed him out to the stables.

  The man saddled his horse and mounted it, shooting a last hateful glance at Diego.

  For a few days, Diego stayed with the woman and her daughters in case Merino came back. But when that didn’t happen, he returned to the house in Cuéllar, still visiting them every day and taking care of their needs. He felt partly responsible for their future, and he helped them with whatever they lacked. He took care of the sheep, treating their worms and kidney problems, and that spring, they had many new lambs.

  After a few months had passed, a great deal changed in that house. The summer brought an abundant harvest of barley, enough to easily sustain their flock. Their income improved and Sancha was flush with money.

  She, Rosa, and María worked hard to recoup their joy and peace, their will to live.

  With the terrible beatings now nothing more than a memory, the real Sancha appeared, a beautiful woman. At twenty-six years old, she had an almost perfect body; tight hips; firm, large breasts; and very dark eyes. Her lips were fleshy and her voice sweet.

  María and Rosa took the various flocks out to pasture in different fields, farther and farther away, and came back at midday. They would make supper with their mother and help her with the rest of the chores.

  Sancha tried to carry on with her husband’s business, but it was impossible; no one wanted to do business with a woman. Besides, Basilio’s disappearance had been looked on suspiciously by nearly everyone, and soon there were voices that criticized Diego’s presence in their house. Some even murmured that they had become lovers.

  Diego didn’t worry too much about those rumors, but Marcos did, since on more than one occasion he’d had to listen to reproaches from some of his clients blaming him for his friend’s behavior.

  During that time, Diego took care of all the assignments that came to him as an albéitar, though he noticed that they were becoming fewer in number. Marcos had been right. His relationship with Sancha had stirred up all sorts of comments and it was damaging his work. Many asked him about Basilio Merino, as if Diego should know where he was. And there were some who even blamed him for the man’s disappearance. But if that wasn’t enough, a strange competitor called Efraím had also appeared in the area. Until now, Diego had never seen him, but he knew he was an old Jew who had recently arrived from Granada, and he had a reputation as a talented healer.

  For some time, Diego had been finding strange objects the man had left on the farms. They didn’t seem to do any harm, but then one morning he saw something truly unsettling.

  He was treating some sheep that had ringworm when some stones hanging from different parts of their bodies caught his eye. The owner explained to him:

  “They are black snakestones. … That’s what Efraím calls them.”

  “I see … And what does he say they do?”

  The shepherd took one in his hands and showed it to him. It was round, with an irregular hole in its center run through with a cord. This particular one was tied to a sheep’s tail.

  “This sheep has always had problems giving birth. He told me if I left this hanging here, they would go away.”

  “And that one?” Diego pointed to another sheep with a stone over one eye.

  “That one has always been really mean to her lambs. She pushes them away and I have to pass them off to other sheep. Efraím put that stone there so she would open her eyes and her heart too, that’s what he told me.”

  “And you believe him?”

  Diego began to feel discomfited by the man. Without any apparent science or wisdom, the Jew was managing to hoodwink many of Diego’s customers. Diego’s presence and his counsels had suddenly lost their prestige. First people called the Jew, and if he didn’t solve the problem, then they would have Diego come.

  “And how could I not listen to him, when he performed an actual miracle for me?”

  “Did he hang a stone on you as well?” Diego smiled, imagining one hanging on the man’s head to help him with his stupidity.

  “Don’t make fun. You know as I do that the sheep don’t go into heat in the springtime easily, but he told me to rub them down with oil and parsley, on, you know, their parts. … And it’s like a blessing from a saint. I have more of them pregnant than ever.”

  “I’m happy to hear that, but I think it might be the result of something else. The land was fertile this year, and the more they eat, the more of them get pregnant.”

  The pastor looked at him with benevolent disdain. The Jew had powers a mere albéitar couldn’t access. It was logical that he’d be jealous, the man decided.

  Diego began to be tired of the Jew, of seeing how his followers increased, of his false abilities, of how they worshipped him. … Tired, until, during the harsh winter that followed, they met each other.

  IV.

  Diego helped pull the girl from the ditch and tried to empty the water from her lungs, but she was no longer breathing. Five worried women surrounded her. All thought she was dead.

  “Let Efraím try, let him through …” one of them said.

  Diego looked back and saw the arrival of a man dressed in black from head to toe, with a pointed hood, scowling, with sunken cheeks. A long goatee hung from
his chin, and his eyes were small and impenetrable. He seemed quite old.

  He made an opening among the women and looked askance at Diego. He pressed his wooden cane into the girl’s chest and waited for some reaction. He clicked his tongue twice when she remained there unmoving, and he began to look around on the ground. He found a group of dogs drinking from the river. To the astonishment of all, he walked over to them and rooted around in their feces. For some incomprehensible reason, he selected a pinch of it with a whitish color. He took the girl in his arms and tore open her tunic, exposing her breasts to the air, and rubbed that filth carefully onto her chest.

  Diego, like the rest of the spectators, covered his nose with disgust and tried to stop that nonsense, but he had to be quiet. Soon the girl began to cough, and at the same time, water shot from her nose and mouth. When she opened her eyes, she saw the man’s emotionless expression. She wrinkled her nose, smelling a repulsive scent, but then she smiled.

  The obscure personage turned to the public and looked at them without saying a word, very mysterious. And without even saying good-bye, he turned back to where he’d come from. The women mumbled among themselves, astonished at the miracle, but they didn’t dare to call after him, because they were afraid of him.

  “Wait!” Diego exclaimed. “Allow me to accompany you.”

  With his look, the old man gave his approval.

  “My name is Diego de Malagón …”

  “I know that, son, I already know,” he responded, his voice grave. “I know much more than you can imagine.”

  Diego looked at him incredulously and studied his profile. A long nose curved down from his forehead, and his face was furrowed with wrinkles, deep, dry, and branching out in some places.

  “In your opinion, what is it in dog feces that manages to cure a drowned person?”

  “There is a power that is present in stones, in vegetation, and in matter. It just needs to be recognized by someone with enough sensitivity to be able to apply it at the right time and in the right place.” He coughed in a violent, almost forced manner. “You’re a healer, I suppose you know what I’m talking about.”