The Mare

by Mary Gaitskill

  I picked them up at the station because Ginger was getting ready for the show. They were standing there like a bundle, outwardly ragged but powerfully linked inside: the woman holding the boy close to her, the boy tensely looking down with his fist by his mouth, Velvet trying to pull his jacket down and pants up so his butt-crack didn’t show. The platform was crowded with people walking quickly past them, but the mother looked straight ahead as though she were alone.

  When I got closer, I saw why. She looked exhausted, too tired to smile, though her eyes saw me with pleased relief. She took my outstretched hand, but when Velvet came to hug me, Mrs. Vargas snapped at her and pointed at the little boy’s feet; his shoe was untied and though he looked at least seven years old, Velvet knelt to tie it.

  I took them straight to get dinner before the play. It was a big casual place with pictures of the owner’s pit bulls on the wall; as we waited to be seated, Mrs. Vargas stood with her arms across her chest and viewed it harshly with her brow pulled down like a cap. She and Velvet exchanged hard/entreating words. We were seated; Mrs. Vargas sat with an incredibly erect posture and snapped her napkin open on her lap. I conferred with the boy and decided we should both get burgers. Velvet got mac and cheese. Mrs. Vargas ordered the chicken by pointing at the menu imperiously.

  The boy and I talked about the dogs on the wall; he wanted to know if maybe they’d come out and walk around. His voice was sweeter than I’d heard before. He said he liked fighting dogs. Velvet and her mother fought in a low furious mumble. Her mother glanced at me with a laughing string of words meant to link us as adults. Dante said, “This man’s dog where I live acted bad and the man made the dog scream.” I said that was wrong; the boy looked rebuked and confused.

  When the chicken came, Mrs. Vargas took one bite and grimaced. “She says it’s disgusting,” said Velvet. Mrs. Vargas made them take it back and cook it some more, and even then, she cut it in two and put the bigger part on Velvet’s plate. Velvet said she was too full, but she made the girl eat it, all of it, hectoring her the whole time. When I took out my wallet to pay, she cut her eyes at my money, seeing just how much this lousy meal was.

  We walked to the theater in silence. I thought I saw Mrs. Vargas looking approvingly at the Christmas lights. I saw she’d put lipstick on. The boy’s shoe came untied again and she made Velvet stop to tie it. I asked, “Don’t you know how to tie your shoes, young man?” He said, “She does it for me. I’m only seven.” I said, “A seven-year-old man needs to tie his own shoes, and before you go home, I’m going to teach you.”

  The boy looked down. Mrs. Vargas gave me a sharp look, and I thought, She understands. But we were at the ticket booth by then, and there were people with their radiant children. Her sharpness deserted her; she put her hand on the boy’s shoulder. The boy frankly looked the other kids up and down; Velvet led the way upstairs; she looked back and smiled at me. There was a burst of happy voices and then children running up and down a hallway in half costume, rosy families getting out of their coats, a vibrant little girl handing out programs amid papier-mâché castles and trees with brown trunks and balls of green sitting atop them. A girl recognized Velvet and spoke to her. Mrs. Vargas sank back into herself.

  “Hola! Bienvenidos!” Mrs. Vargas blinked and looked up. Bearing down on us through the crowd was Ginger wearing pajamas and a bonnet with a man in blue face-paint holding out his arms and gesturing at his heart like to long-lost friends.

  Body and eyes, Mrs. Vargas rose to the welcome instinctively. And then she sagged back, bewildered. The blue-faced guy put his arm around her shoulders and began talking to her in Spanish. She talked back, but her body still sagged. Ginger was talking to somebody else in a bonnet. Dante was slowly wandering forward, looking with great interest at plastic knight’s armor, assorted masks and weaponry.

  Silvia

  He said, I hear you might be moving up here, is that true? I said, It looks too expensive for me. That depends where you go, he said. You can live simply here. Me and my wife moved up here from the city and at first she cleaned houses. I painted houses, she cleaned. I’m not somebody who needs to live fancy. I can have a simple meal of beans with a little meat and be happy. I said, The place we just ate was simple for a lot of money. He said, Ah well, I don’t know where you went. I have to perform, but let’s talk later.

  Everything he said was a boast and he wanted me to join him. But I couldn’t. I didn’t sleep the night before, and in the morning I accidentally dropped this old lady on the floor and she broke her ribs. I called 911. I told her, You know, I have children. I said, Please. But I don’t know what she’s going to say.

  Ginger

  I went backstage and I said, “Listen! There’s some people here who came all the way from the city to see this. I want you to act your guts out for them!” And somebody said, “Okay.”

  Velvet

  It was something I used to see on the old movie channel, except it was done ridiculous funny, people painted blue and wearing pajamas underneath dresses and hats. Ginger came out in a old-timey hat being a dumb nice woman who wants this mean old man to give money. Little kids ran out and sang Christmas songs; one of the little kids messed up and started crying, which made me on her side. I looked at my mom; her eyes were soft, her lips coming open like she’s dreaming. This guy who looked like the science teacher everybody bugs on came out wrapped in bike chains, groaning and yelling. My mom’s mouth was still open, her eyes closed. Dante whispered, “He’s going to say, ‘You’re nothing but a bit of undigested beef or a piece of cheese!’ ” That’s when I realized it was that story about the mean old man who hated poor people until ghosts came to him on Christmas Eve.

  Silvia

  Painted people came out onstage; Ginger led little girls around making faces, singing, like weird prayer cards come to life. A little one forgot to sing, just looked at us, smiling—sweet. The old lady I dropped on the floor has whole walls covered with prayer cards, pictures of grandkids, crayon drawings, and presidents, yellowing away or bright as Easter. St. Clare with full ruby lips, St. Lucy with her eyes on a plate, a snowman drawn in orange, a boy, a dog. I close my eyes and disappear in the wall of pictures. “Mami!” Velvet jabs me, and I jab back. Boring; an old man is on the stage eating from a bowl. The pretend clock is striking. This lady keeps her dishes in the oven and her refrigerator full of disgusting dry cakes like they sell from the food truck at work. I scold Velvet and pinch her. The old man looks up; someone is moaning, rattling around. I pinch myself, wake up. The old man shouts, Who’s there? The old lady thinks the neighbor boys are coming to steal her panty hose, but she’s got her purse open on the table. She wants to know, What kind of person would take your panty hose? I hold my tongue, wash her scabby ass. Easy, easy, she whines. The old man clutches the other man in pretend-chains, begging. She says the same thing every time: came to New York, job at the candle factory, lost her husband, had a child, lost the child. The stage goes dark. Music starts. I feel my head drooping. There’s music on the subway, people singing and begging. Velvet jabs me. A girl stands in the spotlight, holding a doll and crying out, trying to sound unhappy, but she obviously has no idea what it is. People, singing and crying in rags, crawl from behind the black curtains. The subway beggars tell their stories, play guitars; one man has cats riding his shoulders. They do tricks, their faces smart like people…wait, that’s Ginger’s face, she’s on the floor, crawling, making a face that is—well, that is funny, worth coming to see. Now she’s holding up play money, they’re all giving play money to the girl with the doll, but she won’t take it, doesn’t see it. She screams, “Help, help!” but doesn’t take the money—what in hell is this thing about? In the subway I saw a man with no legs stuck in the door. Somebody took him here to beg and now he’s stuck in the door, how did he get there? I try to turn around and help him but it’s crowded; they push me in. I look again and he’s not there. The stage goes dark again. Velvet and Dante press near me. A lot of people do steal fro
m the old ladies. But I don’t. Not unless they leave it right out on the table. That’s just stupid. The light goes out; the subway goes into the tunnel. I speed along on my belly. Above me, they carry crosses and dollar signs. Above me there are songs of love; the ugly woman is transformed by love. I speed on my belly down the side of the road. Leave it on the table, that’s not even stealing. That’s— Suddenly I am lifted up. My love is here, our hands are about to touch—that’s not even—but I don’t remember who he is.

  “Mami, you snore!” Dante pokes and I sit up among strangers. The old man is singing alone in his pajamas. As he sings, he turns the crank on a little music box; his voice is beautiful and broken. Three young girls in white gowns turn with the music like they are inside the box; they face each other, turn away, face each other, step away.

  I looked at Velvet, shining with her eyes, picking at her nose. My poor daughter. My poor worthless girl.

  Ginger

  I peeked out once between the curtains to see how she was enjoying the play. It was during the scene where Scrooge sings about the past love he had forgotten, and three girls mime the ideal figures in a music box; Mrs. Vargas’s face was upturned and enchanted. The nurse couldn’t really sing, but that only made it sweeter, and she felt it, I could tell.

  When I’d asked Yandy how it was to talk to her, he’d shrugged and said, “She didn’t seem all there. Like maybe not too bright.” But her face when I looked was bright, bright, soft, and alive.

  Paul

  When we got home, it was past ten and they wanted to go to bed. They all slept together, so we gave them our bedroom. The upstairs thermostat was in that room and when I went in to turn it down for the night they were already asleep: the woman holding the boy to her breasts, he embracing her fiercely; Velvet with her back to them, rolled as far away to the other side of the bed as she could go. I thought, That says it all.

  I went to tell it to Ginger, but she was already in bed with the light out. When I lay down with her, I could feel her rigidity even before I touched her; she was inaccessible, locked. Like I did not exist. And not for the first time. “What is it?” I asked.

  She said, “Human love is the vilest thing in the world.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I just said it.”

  “Why?”

  “Because she loves them. I can tell she loves them. But when they were getting into their nightclothes, she made Velvet come stand out in the hall in her gown and she talked at me. And Velvet translated. She said, ‘My mom wants you to look and see how ugly I am.’ ” Ginger breathed hard and slow, like she was pushing with all her might against something that would not give.

  Ginger

  When I came down in the morning, Velvet’s mother was there, already dressed. Her face was so clear and calm; her cruel words to Velvet evaporated in her clear gaze. Paul was in his pajamas, making coffee. He handed her a cup and she said to us, “Pretty. You house is pretty.” She said it earnestly, like she’d asked somebody the words and then rehearsed them. I thought, Velvet, and said, “Thank you.” Then we were all quiet, like we’d reached some place of strange and yet natural peace, where we could for a moment be more real than our real lives allowed. Paul made us scrambled eggs with herbs. She ate and looked out the window at grass wet from just-melted frost. I thought: Eye of the storm.

  Later she took a shower with her son. They were in there a long time. Velvet looked at me and said, “That’s not normal, is it?” I said, “Not for me, but…” The girl watched my face. She said, “Can I show them the horses?”

  Velvet

  My mom came but like she didn’t really want to, like looking at horses was stupid. Like I was stupid and Ginger too. On the way over, she basically looked at the sky and the trees like they were stupid. Dante too. He said in Spanish, “Horses are boring.” I said, “We haven’t gotten to the horses yet.” He said, “And last night was boring too.” “Shut up,” I said. “It wasn’t that bad.” I remembered the part where this little girl who had something wrong with her leg came out and sang by herself and then ran away when the old man yelled at her. It made me think about Strawberry. It made me picture being in a movie where I would sing that song in front of people and Strawberry would stop and remember me and how we used to talk. And everybody would see it. I don’t know why, but it seemed like a song about something you forget and then the song makes you remember. Dante said, “I kept waiting for the commercial. I wanted to see that commercial where Santa gets stuck in the chimney and then he has diarrhea.”

  I didn’t say anything. We were close enough to see the horses were out, and they looked big and brawling. Dante stopped talking and looked. I could see my mom looking too, her head up like she was a horse. I thought, Now she will smile. Joker and Totally ran around each other; they kicked up dirt, they got hard and curved in their shoulders. “Ho, snap!” said Dante and he smiled. Joker and Totally faced each other and stood up on their back legs to fly at each other with their fronts. Mami, smile. Please, Mami. Like she heard me, Ginger turned to me and smiled. She smiled like a mother. My mom stood with her hands on the fence and her back to me.

  Then Pat came out of the barn. When Ginger introduced my mom, she said, “Good to meet you. Your daughter’s an excellent worker,” then said hello to Dante. I didn’t translate, but my mom understood anyway like she does. In Spanish, she said, “Thank you. Your animals are beautiful.” She still did not look at me.

  Suddenly from around the side of the barn, there was this woman I never saw before. She was dressed in high boots and tight pants and she was leading Diamond Chip Jim. She was tall, with the sun hitting her eyes so they looked silver. Her nose was like something carved. In her helmet, she had a face like a square block with curly blond hair and perfect lips. She looked down at us. She looked especially at me. “Who’s this?” she said.

  I felt like a thing, poking up from the ground. My family felt like small, dumb things. I felt angry. Then numb.

  “This is Velvet,” said Pat. “She’s the talented young lady I’ve been telling you about. And this is her mother and little brother, who came all the way from the city.”

  And the square face smiled and said, “Oh, the little Fresh Air girl!” She took off her helmet and shook out her hair; her eyes shined all over me. I did not want to like her, but her eyes raised me up; I felt myself shining in her eyes.

  “Velvet, meet Estella Kadner. Estella, meet Velvet and Ginger and…”

  My mom just stood there. I could’ve helped her. Every other time I would’ve helped her. But now I didn’t. Ginger said, “Mrs. Vargas.” I said, “And Dante, my brother.”

  Estella Kadner shook my hand and said, “It’s so wonderful to meet you.” She shook Ginger’s hand and thanked her for making a difference. She reached for my mom, who shrank behind her hard eyes. She reached for my brother, who stared at her, so she dropped her hand. She tried my mom again; she said, “You must be proud. I hear your daughter is a very talented rider.”

  My mom looked at her like she wasn’t there.

  “She can’t speak English,” I said.

  “Oh! Well then—” And Estella Kadner looked straight at my mom and said, “Pat me dice que su hija tiene mas talento para montar que cualquier otra.”

  My mom’s face went dark with blood.

  Ginger

  Her face filled with blood; her eyes went hot. Sweat came out my armpits. Estella just kept talking. Pat looked at Mrs. Vargas, then at Velvet, at Estella, and at me, stopping on me. Estella turned to Velvet and said in English how much she’d love to see her compete one day. And then I guess she said that to the mother too. Who smiled with her dark face, through her hot eyes; an enraged and cringing smile. I saw: She was helpless before this woman. I saw: Velvet grow ever more animated and glowing as her mother shrank.

  “Do you have a favorite horse?” asked Estella.

  “Yes,” said Velvet in her glowing voice. “I like Fugly Girl.”

  “Really!” sai
d Estella. “Shall we go see her?”

  And we all walked into the barn, Estella and her big horse with Velvet by her side, Pat behind Velvet. Well behind the horse, I walked with Velvet’s family. Velvet’s shrunken mother looked at me and her eyes said “Judas.” “Forgive me,” I said in a low voice. “Por favor.”

  She didn’t answer or look at me. It was like she’d disappeared.

  Velvet looked back and the triumph on her face was unmistakable.

  I saw: Dante was afraid.

  Velvet

  She cursed Ginger to her face, but she took the sandwiches Ginger made and laughed. Paul drove us to the station and she was laughing then too. He didn’t even know, I could tell. His eyes kept going in the mirror, like, What the hell is this? At the station, Ginger got out the car, she kneeled down and hugged me. She said, “We’ll work it out. Call me.” My mom took my arm and yanked me up on the train. She told me to sit. She took Ginger’s sandwiches out of her purse and threw them at me. “Mami,” I said, “that lady was just being nice. I’m not riding horses.”

  “Liar!” She dropped my ticket on the seat and walked away with Dante, her back hard and hating. I wanted to call for her, but I was ashamed. I sat forward in the seat and tried to act not ashamed. People looked at me, their eyes stretched and sorry. I turned my body back around and watched them walking down the aisle. Dante looked back at me with a scared face. I tried not to cry. They left the car. I thought, She’ll have to come back. If she doesn’t, the court will take Dante away. Then I thought, What if she says she lost me? I got up and followed them, not crying. A man in a uniform came out of the other car where they went. He looked at me like it was my fault and said, “Where is your ticket? Who are you with?” I said, “It’s on my seat. I’m trying to find my mom.” He took me to her and made her be with me. She told him I was a worthless liar and didn’t deserve to sit with them because I didn’t even want to be part of the family anyway. Everybody could hear. He didn’t care; he tore my ticket and went away.