by Jack Gantos
There was a long pause while Dad leaned back in his chair. He gazed up at the ceiling and breathed deeply. Then more deeply. It seemed as though all the air in the room, the curtains, the tablecloth corners, the little table flowers, all nodded toward his flaring nostrils. After a moment, he exhaled and looked Betsy directly in the eyes.
“We are not a bunch of nobodies,” he said. “I know we’re starting over here and we don’t have some long family history filled with snotty blue bloods. But that’s not what is important. We are a family at the beginning of greatness. All those British royalty had to come from somewhere. At some point they were living in caves, wearing animal skins, and beating each other with sticks. So, big deal, they’ve had a head start on us. Now they’re at the butt end of their empire and we are at the beginning of ours. And, for my money, I’d rather be part of something new and great than be some royal has-been.”
“Honey,” Mom whispered. “Keep your voice down. We don’t want to cause a scene.” There were a lot of British guests at the hotel.
Betsy lowered her head. She had taken it too far. There were times when she could beat him in an argument. But there were also times when he reared back and let her have it. He had just nailed her.
“So,” he said, wrapping up his point, “you can face your fear and give them a call.”
I felt like an idiot for revealing my fear of horses. A call would be easy to make. I should have said I had a fear of something like spending money. Then Dad could give me a bundle and let me face my fear by letting me go on a spending spree.
He turned toward Mom.
She put on a cheerful face and saved the mood of the dinner. “No doubt about it,” she said. “Driving a car is my greatest fear. And now with the baby I’ll be trapped if I don’t learn to drive.”
Dad nodded. “Very good,” he said with a jolly voice. “I’ll get you a car and lessons.”
“What about the baby?” I asked.
“He’s exempt until he’s three,” Dad replied. “Then he has to join the rat race like the rest of us.” He propped his elbows on the table and narrowed his eyes. “We’ll start tomorrow.”
But Betsy wasn’t finished. “What’s your fear?” she asked, still trying to corner him. “Everyone has something they’re afraid of. Even you!”
He tucked in his chin and stared out at us. “My fear,” he said, “is that you all will let me down.”
In the morning Dad came into our room. He woke Pete and me. “I’ve been thinking how to conquer fear,” he said. “It’s a combination of dread and encouragement.
“Jack,” he ordered, “you’ll help Pete build up his confidence today. Give him some easy lessons. Show him how you swim. All he needs is encouragement.”
“Okay,” I replied. I looked over at Pete and gave him our brothers-for-life wink.
“I’ll provide the dread,” Dad said, and sat down on the corner of the bed. “Listen to this. I knew a man once who was a great big guy. Huge. Big arms, big legs. All muscle and not afraid of a thing. But his son was afraid of the water. Couldn’t get near the stuff without shaking all over like a girl. The father tried everything to teach the boy about the water. YMCA swim lessons. Swim camp. The whole thing. Finally he got frustrated. He picked up the boy and put him in a speedboat and roared off into the harbor. He pulled up to a buoy and set the boy on the little floating platform. ‘You’ll either swim in or you’ll starve to death out here,’ he growled, and roared off. And you know what?”
Dad paused.
“He starved,” whispered Pete, with his face all white and his hand over his eyes as he imagined the boy on the buoy.
Dad grabbed Pete by the head and gave him an Indian rub with his unshaven chin. Then he let him loose. “No, knucklehead. The boy swam to shore. He could swim all along. He was just being stubborn!”
“But I’m afraid,” Pete said.
Dad had reached his limit. He stood up. “Jack will help you swim. Just as you’ll help him with his fear of horses.” Then he left.
Pete dropped onto the floor and peeked up at me like a kitten about to be drowned.
“I’ll help you,” I said. “We can’t let him down.”
“And I’ll help you with the horses,” he replied. “I’m not so scared of them.”
After breakfast I wanted to get started but Pete refused.
“You can’t swim on a full stomach,” he said. “Let’s do the horses first.”
He was right. “Okay. But let’s just get it over with.”
Horseback riding was advertised in the hotel brochure. There were stables and long horse trails cut through the brush and trees on the land side of the hotel.
We had started down the footpath to the stables when Pete said, “Stop, I have to tell you a story of dread before I give you encouragement.”
“I have enough dread,” I said, groaning.
“We have to play by the rules.” Pete sat down on the path. “I won’t help unless you listen.”
I sat next to him.
“Once there was a boy named Alexander. His father owned a huge horse and everyone who tried to ride it was thrown off and killed. Alexander’s father said that if anyone could tame the horse they could have it. Everyone who had tried to ride the horse faced it toward the sun. So Alexander faced the horse away from the sun. Then he jumped on the horse and rode away. When his father saw what he had done, he gave him the horse and called him Alexander the Great.”
I glared at Pete. “You’re scaring me because I can’t figure out what you mean,” I said. “Where’s the dread?”
“I mean that if you use your brains you can win. Horses aren’t very smart.”
“They don’t need brains,” I said. “They’re killers.”
We walked down to the stable. A short, heavy man named Mr. Doobie cared for the horses. I figured he was an old jockey who’d retired to eating.
“I got a nice one,” he muttered, and pointed to a dark, nervous giant. Its eyes were like polished stones. “He used to be a racehorse at the track down below until his accident.” He pointed at a two-foot jagged scar running down the animal’s neck. “He can be a little moody if he don’t sleep well. He still has nightmares of that picket fence.”
I hoped he’d had a good night’s sleep. His name was Winny and he was wearing a Western saddle, which I liked because it would give me something to hang on to. Still, as soon as I got close to Winny my fear of him made me weak. When he shuddered and waved his big head from side to side and snorted, I jumped back a few steps. His hind leg twitched and I was sure he wanted to kick me into the water trough.
Pete wasn’t impressed. “Horses know when you are afraid of them. Just treat ’em like big dogs.”
Finally, he had said something dreadful. I also had a huge fear of big dogs.
“Are you afraid of riding horses?” Pete asked.
“I’m more afraid of being kicked in the head,” I said.
“Then let’s conquer your greatest fear, like Dad said. If you get over being kicked, then riding them will be a breeze.” He took the bridle and walked the horse down the path and away from the sun. I waited until he had gone about twenty feet before I followed. When he stopped, I stopped.
“Come here,” Pete said. He pulled his T-shirt up over his head. “Tie this around your eyes.”
I did.
“Give me your hand.”
I held it out. He clutched it and pulled me along. I hadn’t covered my ears very well and heard the horse pawing the ground and shuddering.
“Now stand here,” he said.
I stood as stiff as a pillar. With each breath I smelled the horse and figured it smelled my fear. I felt the ground move as it tramped up and down. I could sense it was lining me up for a world-class kick. I gritted my teeth and waited for the blow.
“Reach your left hand straight out,” Pete ordered.
I did. I touched the horse and instinctively pulled back.
“Just do what I say and you’ll be f
ine. Now stick out your hand.”
I extended it, slowly. I felt horsehair and the roundness of his rump. I lifted my hand just so it hovered over the horse. I didn’t want to disturb it.
“Move your hand down until you feel the tail,” Pete ordered.
Slowly, I lowered my hand until I felt the long, coarse hairs.
“Now gently grab the tail.”
I did.
“Now give it a little tug.”
I froze.
“Just a little tug,” he insisted. “Then you won’t have to do any more and I’ll tell Dad you conquered your fear.”
I took a deep breath and yanked the tail as though I were pulling a bell rope. The horse kicked me so viciously in the thigh that I skipped across the ground, staggered up the dirt path, and collapsed sideways into the bushes. The horse galloped off as I reached up with my free arm and jerked the shirt over my head.
Pete was laughing so hard he had dropped onto his knees. When he saw me staring at him, he stood up and backed away.
“I’ll kill you! I’ll murder you!” I shouted. “No, I won’t murder you. I’ll drown you! I’ll make you go deep-sea diving without a hose. You’ll do more than face your fear. You’ll face your Maker!”
“I was just trying to help,” he cried. “You faced your fear and you survived. It wasn’t that bad.”
I may have survived, but my fear had multiplied. I untangled myself from the bush and put all my weight on my leg. It held. It wasn’t broken, but it throbbed. I undid my belt and dropped my pants. There was a red horseshoe-shaped bruise glowing on my swollen thigh. I could even see where the nail heads had made little circles on my skin. The horse had branded me. It owned me. I pulled my pants up.
“You’re dead,” I said, and began to limp up the path. “Just return the horse to the stable before I drown you.”
I needed to lie down.
Pete didn’t wait for me to drown him. After I rested my leg, I put on my bathing suit and went down to the pool. He was in the shallow end with a Styrofoam bubble strapped to his back and little plastic water wings on his arms. He couldn’t sink if I sat on him.
“Hey,” I said. “You’re doing great.”
He turned and smiled up at me. “Thanks,” he sputtered and thrashed his arms around. “I was so afraid you’d drown me I started without you.”
Dad was right. Fear of one thing can really get a person to face the fear of another thing altogether.
I stepped into the water and waded over to him. “Okay,” I instructed. “I’ll hold you up as you swim from side to side. But first you have to take off the water wings.”
“I keep the bubble on,” he insisted.
“Okay.”
“Sorry about the horse,” he said. “I was just doing my best.”
“You’ll notice,” I said, “that I am not asking you to practice in the deep end. What you did to me was like pushing a blind man into traffic so he could get over his fear of cars. Now let’s go.”
I held him under the belly as he began to swim the crawl with his legs kicking and his arms flailing. Then I unsnapped the clip on his bubble and stepped away.
“Excuse me,” I shouted above his splashing. “I forgot to tell you a story of dread. Once upon a time there was a demented older brother with a horseshoe branded on his leg …”
He finally noticed he was alone. “Help,” he gurgled.
“You need help holding your breath?” I asked, and pushed him under. I counted to three, then hauled him up.
“Help!”
“Who is the boss?” I asked.
“You are.”
“Who is the master?”
“You are.”
I led him over to the edge. “Tomorrow I’ll teach you the fine points of swimming,” I said.
He grabbed the edge of the pool and held on. Now he had plenty of dread.
When we sat down to dinner, everyone seemed to be smiling except for me.
“Well,” Dad started. “I didn’t tell you this last night. I didn’t want to jinx myself by talking about it. But I was afraid that my bid on a hotel renovation might not be accepted. I thought I had bid too high. And without that job I would have let all of you down. But I found out this morning that the bid was accepted, and I’ll be working close to where we’ll be living on the other side of the island. The job is good for at least half a year.”
Mom leaned over and gave him a kiss. “Congratulations, honey,” she said. He beamed.
Pete was next. “I did some swimming,” he blurted out.
“Good work, son,” Dad replied. “I knew I wouldn’t have to drop you off on a buoy.”
“And I did some driving,” Mom chirped, and nodded approvingly at herself.
“But you’ve always been terrified of driving,” I said. I was really counting on her not to face her fear. “And the drivers here are insane.”
“I know. But your dad told me a little story that really hit home.”
“What’s that?” I asked.
Mom glanced at Dad.
“You tell him,” Dad replied and nodded.
“It was back in Fort Lauderdale. There was a woman who had a baby that was choking on a leaf. She couldn’t unblock the baby’s throat. There was a second car in the garage but she didn’t know how to drive. She called the fire department but they couldn’t get there right away. The hospital was only about ten blocks down the road and so in a panic she grabbed the baby and began to run. But the baby died in her arms just as she reached the emergency-room doors. If she had known how to drive, she would have saved that baby’s life. When your dad reminded me of that story, I knew I couldn’t let something like that happen to any of you kids, so I got in one of the staff cars with the chef and we practiced driving in a straight line up and down the service road.”
“Very impressive,” Betsy said and clapped politely. “And, believe it or not, even I have something to report.”
“What?” I spit out. “What?” I could feel the world slowly closing in on me and my horse fear. I was going to be the only loser.
“Before I tell you, I want to apologize to Dad for talking the way I did last night. I was wrong to be so critical of us all.”
What was wrong with her? She must have been turned into a zombie overnight. She never apologized for anything in her life. Never!
“It happens to the best of ’em,” Dad said with a chuckle. “Now, what’s your news.”
“Well, after that little story you told me,” she said, nodding toward Dad, “I faced my fear. I called the British couple you saved and told them who I was. And they were really nice. They said you were a hero and they’d told all their close friends about this great American man who saved them and they apologized over and over for not thanking you in person but they weren’t supposed to be on Barbados since they told their snoopy families that they were going to Italy because they wanted some privacy from the hundreds of royal relatives that would want to join them on their honeymoon.”
“See,” Dad said proudly. “If you hadn’t called, you wouldn’t have known the truth of the matter.”
“What story did you tell Betsy to get her going?” I asked.
Dad smiled at Betsy. She turned toward me. “Dad told me about his older sister who had a big crush on a man named Harvey Jacobs from the rich side of town. She never told him she liked him, because she was from the poor side of the tracks. She ended up marrying someone she didn’t like as much. After the wedding, her new husband said to her, Boy, I feel lucky to be married to you because Harvey Jacobs has been in love with you forever. So if she had had the courage to call Harvey Jacobs and tell him how she felt, she would be with her true love and not with some yokel she settled for. The lesson is, if you don’t have the guts to ask, you’ll never find out what people think of you.”
I’ll never have to read another book for the rest of my life, I thought. I just have to hang around Dad all day and I’ll hear a story on every subject known to man. But where was mine, I
wondered. What could he possibly tell me that would get me over my horse fear?
Then very slowly I could feel everyone turning their eyes on me.
“Jack, do you have anything to tell us about your day?” Dad asked.
I looked at Pete. He was sucking on a lime wedge. He had a story to tell, but he kept it to himself.
“Can I talk to you about this later?” I asked. “I’m not feeling well.”
“Certainly,” Mom said.
I pushed my chair back and limped out of there as quickly as I could. I went to my room and sat on my bed. I imagined our coat of arms, which would be passed down to future generations. There will be a picture of Mom driving a car. Under the picture will be the word Bravery. Dad will be painted standing on top of a pile of money that spells out the word Success. Betsy will be wearing a little royal crown and under the picture will be Courage. Pete will be pictured leaping off a high diving board above the word Fearless. Then there will be me. I’ll be shown being trampled by a horse above the words Weak Link.
I stood up and looked into the mirror. I wanted to scare myself. “Weak link,” I jeered at my reflection. “Weak link.” After a moment my reflection whined back. “I can live with that.”
Just then Dad came into the room.
“After you left the table Pete told us he tried to give you some encouragement. Said it didn’t work.”
“It backfired,” I said.
“Well, I could tell you a story that would point out how facing your horse fears would make you a better man. But instead of making up a story, I’d just rather tell you the truth.”
He sat down and draped his arm across my shoulders. I had a feeling that the truth was going to be scarier than a story.
“Simply put,” he stated, “you can’t fail. I won’t allow it. You are named after me. If you fail, it’s like me failing. If I hadn’t saved that couple, I wouldn’t be able to look you in the eyes. If you can’t ride that horse, you won’t be able to look me in the eyes. And a son that can’t look his father in the eyes is a coward. And if we can’t look each other in the eyes we will go through life like strangers.”
