Lean on Pete

by Willy Vlautin

  We walked until it was almost too dark to see. We stopped at the bottom of a shallow gully. There was nothing there except a dried-out creek and sagebrush. I set down my sleeping bag and opened the duffel and poured out half of the hay. Pete ate and I drank as much water as I could, then I cut the plastic jug in half so Pete could drink the rest.

  It was almost pitch-black dark by then. I turned on the flashlight but I couldn’t find anything to tie Pete to. There were no big rocks or trees or anything. I held on to him but I began to fall asleep, so I tied the yellow rope around my foot and tied the other end to the lead rope, but every time Pete would hear something and startle he’d move around and stomp and drag me with him. Finally, I just sat up and held the rope and waited for night to end.

  Just before sunrise we started walking again. Pete seemed okay but he went along slow and every once in a while he’d just stop and I’d have to pull him forward. We went for a long time before we found a place to cross over the bluff. When we got to the other side I couldn’t see the highway or any houses. In front of us was nothing but desert.

  It was midday when we finally came to a washed-out dirt road. I was hungry and thirsty and it was hot out. There were no clouds and no shade. We took the road and walked on it for miles. I could tell Pete was hot and tired, but he never stopped or acted up.

  After a while the road split in two and I took the nicer-looking one. We went over a hill and then down the other side. I could see nothing. No main road or trees or anything. It was late afternoon. We walked for a long time, then climbed another hill and from the top of it I saw a trailer parked off in the distance. And further behind it I saw what looked like the highway.

  We headed toward the trailer. As I got closer I could see a red car parked in front and there were trees and outbuildings. People were living there.

  The sun was still beating down when we walked up the drive. I could see it was an old trailer. It was white and the outbuildings were nothing but a carport and a rundown barn and paddock.

  The car in front of the trailer home was an older Toyota that looked as though it ran. It wasn’t dusty and the windows were down. I went to the barn and tied Pete to a fence post and set down the duffel and the sleeping bag and walked up to the trailer door and knocked. I waited, but no one answered. So I banged on it again, then I heard talking and the door opened.

  A white man stood behind the screen door. He had short, almost shaved hair and he didn’t have a shirt on. His chest had tattoos all over and he was missing two fingers.

  “My truck broke down on the highway,” I told him.

  “How did you get all the way out here?”

  “I walked. I got lost. I broke down maybe twenty miles back.”

  He shook his head.

  “I have a horse,” I said.

  “You have a horse?”

  “I need to get him some water. Would it be alright if I got him some?”

  The man looked at me, puzzled, then called out to someone and not long after that another man came. He was Indian and was heavy with the same sort of haircut. His shirt was off too and he had tattoos like the other man had.

  “What’s going on?”

  “This kid says his truck broke down and that he’s got a horse.”

  “Where’s your horse?”

  “I tied him to the fence down there.”

  “You walk him here?”

  “Yeah.”

  “From the highway?”

  “I was on the highway for a while but I was worried he’d get spooked so I took him off it and now I’m lost.”

  “No shit?” the Indian said and opened the screen door. “Let’s go take a look.”

  He walked out and the other man followed. They were both dressed in shorts that came down to their knees, and flip-flops.

  “I grew up around horses,” the Indian said.

  “Everyone calls him Pinto,” the other man said.

  “Pinto’s just a piece-of-shit car.”

  “You ain’t named after the car,” the other man said.

  “I know,” the Indian said and laughed.

  We walked down the drive to the fence where Pete stood tied. The Indian walked up to him and pet him.

  “What’s his name?”

  “Pete,” I said.

  “That ain’t much of a name for a horse,” the other man said.

  “Do you think it would be alright to get him some water?”

  “We’ll get him some chow, too,” the Indian said, and untied Pete and led him towards a gate. He opened it and pulled Pete through and unhooked the halter. Pete just stood there. Then the Indian ran his hand down Pete’s back and hit him as hard as he could on the ass.

  Pete ran off. He kicked and ran and bucked.

  The Indian and the other man started laughing.

  “He’s got bad feet,” I said.

  “He looks alright to me,” the Indian said.

  “He’s not,” I pleaded.

  “Okay,” Pinto said.

  Pete kept running around for a while, then calmed and stayed at the other end of the pen.

  “Would it be okay to get him water?” I asked again.

  The Indian nodded and went over to an old metal tub, turned it over, and shook it out. There were boards in it and an old window screen and a rim off a car. He walked to the barn, turned on the hose, and dragged it to the tub. He rinsed it out and flipped it back over and filled it.

  But Pete wouldn’t come near us.

  “He don’t seem thirsty,” the other man said.

  “He’s just scared,” I said.

  “He’ll drink sooner or later,” the Indian said and looked at me. “Do you need to use the phone?”

  I nodded.

  “What did you say was wrong with the truck?”

  “I’m not sure,” I said. He asked me what it was doing and I told him and he told me that the clutch had gone out and that it would cost some money to fix it.

  I followed them into the trailer. It was clean inside and there was a swamp cooler going so it wasn’t too hot. There were wood-paneled walls with paintings of mountains and rivers hanging on them and there was a kitchen with a table and chairs and a stove and fridge. They sat down on a couch and began playing video games. The Indian pointed to the phone and I walked over to it and picked it up. I dialed my old number in Spokane and waited for a while, then hung up.

  “The line’s busy,” I said.

  They both were smoking cigarettes. The Indian got up and took two beers from the refrigerator and sat back down.

  “You’re out in bumfuck here,” the man said.

  “Why ain’t you traveling with a phone?” The Indian said.

  “I don’t have the money for one.”

  “How old are you?”

  “Sixteen,” I told them.

  “Where you taking the horse?”

  “To Wyoming,” I said.

  “Why up there?”

  “I don’t know. I’m just supposed to drop off the horse.”

  “You’re in a world of shit, then, aren’t you?”

  “I guess.”

  “Well, you can use my phone until you find someone,” the Indian said. “And my name ain’t Pinto, it’s Mike, and that over there is Dallas.”

  I told them my name.

  “Maybe we should go get his truck and bring it back here,” Dallas said and looked at me. “What’s wrong with it again?”

  “It’s the clutch. We’ll go after this game,” Mike said. He took a beer off the table, drank it, then threw the can towards a big trash basket in the kitchen.

  “How many is that?”

  “Seven,” Mike said.

  They kept playing the game. I asked them if it was alright if I got a glass of water and Mike said it would be and I went into the kitchen. All the glasses were dirty so I washed one out and drank as much water as I could. They weren’t able to see me from there, and on the counter near me was a loaf of bread and it was open. While they were playing I b
egan shoving bread into my mouth. I ate three pieces that way, then washed it down with more water. I went back to the living room where they were.

  “You can try the phone again if you want,” Mike said.

  I picked up the phone and dialed the same number and acted like someone answered. I explained about the truck and I asked Mike where we were and the phone number and then I talked a bit longer and hung up.

  “Is someone coming to get you?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “They’ll be here tonight or tomorrow morning early.”

  “You can stay here if you want,” Mike said. “Dallas’s best cooking is worse than an MRE, but you can stay the night.”

  Dallas busted out laughing. The video game was one where they were both soldiers working together to kill aliens. The characters had guns and walked through dark corridors and shafts and hallways and aliens would pop out and try to kill them. They played game after game and drank beer and smoked cigarettes. After a while I went outside and checked on Pete. He was in the shade under a shelter that came off the barn. I looked at the metal tub and could tell he’d drunk quite a bit. I sat down on an old milk crate next to him.

  It was hot out. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky and the sun was still strong. Mike had said it was past ninety degrees and I could tell Pete was tired. I leaned against the barn and fell asleep.

  When I woke Mike and Dallas were standing next to the horse. Mike had on black army boots. They were still both in shorts and wore no shirts, and I stood up and went over to them. Mike took the lead rope and threw it around Pete’s neck and tied it to the other side.

  “This is how you make a hackamore,” Mike said. He had a cigarette in his mouth. Dallas was standing behind him holding two beers. “It’s how you turn a lead rope into reins.”

  “How you know all this shit, Pinto?” Dallas said.

  They were both pretty drunk.

  “My folks had ten horses and two hundred head of cattle,” Mike said. “My grandfather, the one who gave me this place, had five. I used to spend a lot of time fucking around with horses.”

  He walked Pete out into the sun and grabbed a bunch of his mane and tried to get on bareback. Pete was uneasy and scooted out from under him. Mike took one rein and pulled it hard to the left and jumped up. When he got on you could tell Pete was spooked. Mike moved him around in circles until Pete finally stopped and was still.

  Mike walked him around a bit, then kicked him hard with his feet and Pete took off. He ran him, then stopped him and got Pete to go in circles again.

  He did this for a while, then came up to us.

  “He’s hardly broke,” Mike said.

  “He’s only ever been a race horse,” I said.

  “No shit. So he’s got speed?”

  “Some,” I said. “But his feet have a disease. He’s sick.”

  “I looked at his legs and his hooves. I didn’t see anything. Somebody probably sold you a bunch of shit.”

  Dallas laughed.

  Pete started moving around nervously. Mike yelled at him and his face got serious. He pulled as hard as he could on the right rein until Pete was going in small circles and finally stopped moving.

  “If I ran him up that hill a couple times he’d calm his ass right down,” Mike said, then rode him around the pen some more. A couple times Pete acted worried, and when that happened Mike would be rough with him until he’d calm down.

  I didn’t have the guts to stop him. I just stood there and watched.

  Then Mike got off. He handed me the reins and took a beer from Dallas and drank from it.

  “Why don’t you get on?”

  “I’ve never ridden a horse,” I told them.

  “You’ve never ridden a horse?”

  “No,” I said.

  “Get on,” Mike said. “I’ll show you what to do.”

  He brought over the milk crate and told me to stand on it. He brought Pete around. He handed me the reins and I grabbed them and a handful of mane and got on the way Mike told me to and then I rode him around the pen for a while. Mike and Dallas were talking and laughing. I kept going in circles and tried to say things to Pete to ease his mind and he seemed alright but he held his neck stiff and walked slowly, with short steps.

  Mike came over to us and moved right beside me and hit Pete hard on the ass. Pete took off like a shot. I held on to the mane the best I could but I fell off and hit the ground so hard it knocked the wind out of me.

  I lay there and tried to catch my breath. Dallas and Mike came over and once they saw I was alright they couldn’t stop laughing.

  “I was just joking around,” Mike said. “That horse of yours is a spooky fucker. I didn’t think he’d take off that hard. Just remember, if a horse bolts on you, you have to get him to stop or you have to jump off. But you got to do something, alright?”

  I was still lying on the ground. I couldn’t breathe, then finally my air came back and I nodded. My nose started to bleed and my ribs hurt. Mike gave me his hand. I took it and he pulled me up.

  Chapter 18

  My right leg hurt when I stood on it but when I walked around it got better and it got easier to breathe. Pete moved back underneath the shelter in the shade. Mike and Dallas went back into the trailer. I got the milk crate and set it by Pete, sat on it, and apologized to him and tried not to cry, but after a while I did.

  My thoughts got to me again. I was a horrible person, and I had gotten us in a huge mess. I felt as lost and lonely as I ever had and I couldn’t stop worrying about Pete. I sat out there and I didn’t know what to do. Then Mike and Dallas came from the trailer and walked over to me. They were both wearing shirts now and had sunglasses on and Dallas carried a twelve pack of beer.

  “We’re going to get you a bale of hay,” Mike said. “You can come along if you want.”

  I stood up and followed them to their car. I got in the backseat and Mike lit a cigarette and started the engine. Dallas gave him a beer. He opened it, took a drink from the can, then drove us out to the main road. Dallas turned the stereo on and he played it so loud you couldn’t hear anything. The windows were rolled down and there was a breeze and the day was almost over.

  We drove for a while on a paved road, then we came to a yellow house set back on a dirt drive and we drove down it and parked in front of a barn. Next to us was a rusted-out pickup truck and a horse trailer and a tractor and farm gear. The barn was twice the size of the house. It was yellow too but the paint was coming off and the whole place seemed like it was leaning.

  Mike finished his beer and cut the engine. He lit another cigarette, then we all got out, walked up to the house, and he knocked on the door.

  An old man answered.

  “Hey, Mr. Kendall.”

  “Is that you, Mike?”

  “It is,” Mike said and he introduced Dallas and me. Then the old man opened the door and led us through the house and out the back door to where there was a deck. He had the radio going and was drinking a can of soda and we all sat out there on folding chairs. His eyes were gray and he wore glasses and his hands were so bent with arthritis that he had a hard time holding the soda can.

  “Can I offer you a beer, Mr. Kendall?” Mike asked.

  “It’s too early for me but I don’t care what anyone else does.”

  Dallas grabbed the twelve pack at his feet and took out two.

  “So you’re back?”

  “We have two more weeks until we have to report again.”

  “You boys are doing us a good service.”

  Mike lit another cigarette.

  “We’re doing something over there alright.”

  Dallas laughed at that. Then Mike told us about a friend of theirs who lost both his legs and got a concussion so bad he can’t talk. He listed a few guys he knew who were killed over there. Then he told us about having to shoot a guy in the head. How the man’s head just blew off but his body stood there for a time. And then he talked about a morning they saw a truck in front of them blow up and t
hen about a guy he knew that blew a girl in half. She was really cut in two parts. He split her at her belly.

  “It’s a real fucking mess over there,” Mike said finally, and no one said anything for a while after that. The sun was going down over the hills. The radio played the news and then the farm reports.

  “When you come back, are you going to take over your granddad’s place?” the old man asked.

  “I don’t know,” he said. “We just had a few weeks off and I wanted to show Dallas. After I get back I don’t know what I’m gonna do.”

  The old man took out a short cigar from his pocket and lit it.

  “I came across a mom coyote and her cubs last week. They were eating on something. There must have been seven of them. They were down in the gully. I had my rifle. I hit the first few while they were eating and a few others as they tried to run up the gully hill and escape.”

  “Did you get them all?” Dallas asked.

  “I think so,” the old man said.

  Dallas laughed at that, but Mike didn’t even smile. He just looked at the hills and seemed tired.

  The old man got up.

  “Can you stay for dinner?”

  “Sure,” Mike said. “If you don’t mind.”

  “It’s sloppy joe night. Let me just make sure Laurie has enough.”

  The old man went inside and Mike leaned over to Dallas and said something I couldn’t make out and they both busted out laughing.

  When dinner was ready we sat in the kitchen. A huge woman stood there cooking. She was so big she used a walker to get around, but she looked young and he introduced us to her as his granddaughter. She was the largest woman I’d ever seen. You could tell it was hard for her to just walk, you could hear it in her struggle to breathe. It was like someone had blown up her body with air.

  Her red hair came down to her shoulders and her face was alright. She wasn’t pretty but she wasn’t the other way either. We all sat around the table while she worked, and no one said anything to her and she hardly spoke at all. Dallas and Mike kept drinking beer and then the old man started drinking them too.