The Book of Horses and Unicorns

by Jackie French

  ‘I don’t mind,’ said Sam. ‘Besides, I want to see the foal.’

  ‘How’s the foal?’ asked Sam. It was the same question he always asked, every Sunday night when Dad rang Gramma.

  ‘It’s fine,’ said Gramma. ‘It almost stood up by itself yesterday. I’m getting Willie to rig something up for it. You’ll see when you come down. How’s school?’

  ‘Okay,’ said Sam. ‘I’m in the basketball team. Hey! Guess what, Gramma?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘My warts are gone. Just like that. I woke up yesterday and they were gone.’

  ‘Gone where?’

  ‘I dunno. They must’ve dropped off. I looked in the bed but I couldn’t see them.’

  ‘They must’ve flown away,’ said Gramma. ‘Warts do that sometimes.’

  ‘How’s the old mare?’ asked Sam.

  ‘She’s getting fat,’ said Gramma. ‘All this grass. It’s green as a new carpet after all this rain. You wouldn’t think she was the same horse. Look, I have to go. I’ve got a cake in the oven. I promised to take it to the tennis club tomorrow. You take care won’t you? Love you, Sam.’

  ‘Love you, Gramma,’ said Sam. ‘Give my love to the foal.’

  ‘I will,’ said Gramma.

  Gramma’s house looked different as they drove down the drive that Easter. Someone had painted it pale blue and there was grass now instead of dust. The hills looked like green balls waiting for someone to play.

  Gramma was in the vegie garden. She waved as they came over. ‘Just picking corn for lunch,’ she said. ‘It’s a good garden this year, isn’t it? I had Willie put it in just after you left.’

  ‘I’ve never seen corn that big!’ said Sam. ‘Those cobs are as long as a cricket bat, almost.’

  ‘Unicorn dung,’ grinned Gramma. ‘I bring a bagful down every morning.’

  ‘Gramma, there’s no such things as unicorns.’

  ‘Sure there is. There’s such a thing as unicorn’s dung fertiliser there is. Come on up to the house and I’ll show you the foal. You won’t believe how he’s grown.’

  The ugly foal had grown, thought Sam, but not much. It looked like it’d never be a full-sized horse. It was like it didn’t have the energy to grow. As though it was saving all its energy — for what? Sam thought. The foal gazed slightly to one side of them with its milky eyes.

  ‘Looking good, isn’t he?’ demanded Gramma.

  ‘Yes,’ said Sam doubtfully. ‘Is that what you had rigged up, Gramma?’ He pointed to the cage structure around the foal.

  ‘That’s it,’ said Gramma proudly. ‘You see the sling goes round its body and holds it up so its feet can touch the ground without any weight on them. Then the cage supports the sling. When the foal tries to walk the wheels go round and the foal can move along … well, it moves a bit anyway. That way it can graze for a couple of hours all by itself. I keep moving the sling so it doesn’t get too sore. How’s school?’

  ‘It’s great,’ said Sam. And it was, sort of.

  Gramma grinned. ‘Let’s see your hands.’

  Sam held them out. ‘No warts,’ he said. ‘Not a single one.’

  ‘I bet they don’t come back either,’ said Gramma. ‘You’re immune to warts now. There’s something else I want to show you too.’

  ‘What, Gramma?’

  ‘You wait and see,’ said Gramma. She led the way to the shed. It looked better now, thought Sam, with the broken palings replaced and new posts put in on one side. Gramma pulled one of the doors aside. ‘Look,’ she said.

  Sam looked. ‘Gramma! It’s a farm bike!’

  ‘Good as new,’ said Gramma. ‘Except it isn’t. I got it from Bob Braddon up in town, who got it from … well, never mind that. Point is it still goes. Willie uses it when he’s out fencing, but I thought you’d like to have a go while you’re here.’

  ‘Gramma!’

  ‘Now you ask your parents first. And make sure you wear a helmet and long sleeves and jeans and boots … and no haring off at a hundred miles an hour either. You be careful.’

  ‘I’ll be careful,’ promised Sam, staring at the machine. ‘Wow!’

  Gramma laughed.

  Paddocks were made for farm bikes, thought Sam, feeling the tussocks bump beneath him. You felt like you could ride forever — over the ford in the creek, the water spraying in your face, down the track to the fence and up the fence line. You could see the highway from here through the thin barrier of trees along the fence, cars and trucks and the odd motorbike looking hard to one side then beetling off to who knows where.

  Sam paused, as a semi slowed, then drew off the road a little way ahead. Sam accelerated to catch up with it.

  ‘Is anything wrong?’ he called out through the open window. ‘I could ride back to the house if you like and ring the garage.’

  The truckie leant out of the window and grinned. ‘No worries, kid. I’m just stopping for a snack. Most of us stop along here now.’ He gestured out the window.

  Sam looked around. The truckie must be right. There was a clear track now beside the gum trees, long enough for a semi to park and be quite off the road.

  ‘Why here?’ asked Sam. ‘I mean, no one used to stop here.’

  The truckie shrugged and looked embarrassed. ‘Dunno,’ he said. ‘Started last Christmas I reckon. This bloke broke down here, or so he thought. But when he tried to start her up again she ran like a dream. Since then people just stop here.’

  ‘Why not down the road though?’ said Sam. ‘There’s a proper rest stop there with a toilet and everything.’

  The truckie looked even more embarrassed. ‘This spot’s different,’ he said. ‘Most of the blokes’ll tell you that. You stop for ten minutes here and shut your eyes and it’ll seem like you’ve slept the whole night through. You don’t get accidents if you stop for a bit of a break here. Least that’s what they say.’ He passed a thermos out to Sam. ‘You like a drink, kid?’

  ‘No thanks.’ Sam shook his head. ‘I need to get back for lunch.’

  ‘You live round here?’ asked the truckie.

  ‘No. Just staying with my gramma.’

  ‘You’re lucky,’ said the truckie. He paused. ‘I’ve got a kid your age. It makes my heart break sometimes thinking of him cramped in the city in the holidays.’ The truckie grinned. ‘Not that he seems to mind. The only thing that bothers him are these great plantar warts on his foot. Says it stops him playing soccer.’

  The bike began to mutter. Sam gave it more accelerator. ‘You should bring him out with you some time,’ said Sam. He hesitated. ‘I’d better get back,’ he said. ‘Gramma’ll be expecting me. We have to feed the …’ He stopped.

  ‘See you,’ said the truckie. ‘It’s got a good feel to it, this place. Feels like … well, I dunno what it feels like. But it does you good. You must love it down here.’

  ‘It’s a good place,’ said Sam.

  ‘I reckon,’ said the truckie.

  Gramma was picking apples when Sam rode up. He parked the bike in the shed and fetched another box to help her.

  ‘Thanks, Sam,’ said Gramma, piling another armful of apples into the new box. ‘That’s six boxes full so far. I’ll be making apple jelly till the cows come home with this lot. You’d better take some back with you.’

  Sam nodded, though he didn’t like apple jelly much. ‘I thought the apples all fell off this tree before they ripened.’

  ‘Always have before,’ said Gramma. ‘I’ve been feeding it this year though. Couple of buckets of unicorn manure every week. I reckon that’s all it needed, just a bit of feeding.’ She looked at her watch. ‘Time for lunch,’ she said. ‘I have to go into town later. It’s my line dancing afternoon.’

  ‘Your what?’ asked Sam.

  ‘Texas line dancing. It’s the latest thing. We all get into these two lines and do the same steps. It’s twice a week now at the Returned Services Club. Don’t you have Texas line dancing up in the city?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Sam.
‘It sounds sort of … energetic. Can you manage it okay, Gramma?’

  ‘Of course I can,’ said Gramma. ‘I was a bit stiff at first, that’s all. But it’s done me the world of good. I just needed some more exercise, that’s all. How about you come with me? Lots of kids round here do line dancing.’

  ‘No thanks, Gramma,’ said Sam politely. ‘I’ll just stay here. Maybe I’ll take the foal for a walk.’

  Gramma looked at him sharply. ‘It doesn’t walk much,’ she reminded him.

  ‘Well, a sort of a push then. Maybe down to the creek — the grass looks all soft there. Maybe it’ll like it.’

  ‘It probably will,’ said Gramma. ‘Probably tastes different from the grass up here. Things like that must mean something to a horse.’

  ‘Is the old mare still down there, Gramma?’ Sam wondered what the horse thought of her foal now.

  Gramma shook her head. ‘I gave her away,’ she said. ‘You don’t mind do you? Funny thing, these people were just driving past and this girl saw her and fell in love with her.’

  Sam snorted. ‘Girls always fall in love with horses,’ he said. ‘She probably thinks she’s going to win a ribbon at the Easter show with the poor old thing.’

  ‘Not this kid,’ said Gramma. ‘She didn’t even want to ride her. I told her the mare was too old to do much with, but it didn’t matter to her. She had some sort of palsy I reckon. Her hands were shaking like mad. I think she just wanted a pet — her parents asked if they could buy her. I said she hadn’t cost me much, they could have her if they promised to take good care of her. I think they will. They looked that type.’

  ‘I hope they had a decent paddock to put her in,’ said Sam.

  ‘They said there was a paddock just down the road from their place,’ said Gramma. ‘Hired a horse float for her and everything. You know, it’s funny, but I could have sworn she was in foal again. Impossible. I mean at her age, and there hasn’t been another horse around for donkey’s years. I warned them she might be, but they didn’t seem to mind. I hope there wasn’t anything too bad wrong with the kid. Maybe she’s better now.’

  ‘Maybe she is,’ said Sam.

  It was peaceful in the house with everyone gone, Gramma off to her whatsit dancing up in town, and Dad had hauled Mum off to meet some old friends of his. They had a property the other side of town, but no kids his age, so it sounded pretty boring to Sam.

  The foal was lying under the old apple tree. It didn’t even try to struggle as Sam approached, just looked at him sort of sideways with its milky eyes. Sam wondered how much it could see. Maybe it just saw differently, that was all.

  He stroked its head. The hair felt smooth, not like a horse’s at all, sort of moist and flat. Like a seal’s fur, thought Sam, who’d never felt a seal.

  ‘Come on, boy,’ he said. ‘Let’s go for a walk.’

  The foal leant against his arm as he fixed its harness, limp and impassive. Like it was waiting, thought Sam, but waiting for what? Its feet pulled tentatively at the harness, far too slow and delicate to move it much, so Sam had to push it all the way.

  The creek was thick with autumn shadows and the faint smell of cooling rocks and water. Sam unstrapped the foal, and made sure it was settled comfortably on the grass. The foal sniffed and whinnied once, a short sharp cry like a small baby’s, then tore a mouthful of grass. It chewed it slowly then seemed to go to sleep.

  Sam lay down as well. The grass was soft and thin on the sandy ground. He could see the casuarina needles toss against the sky, still faintly red tinged from autumn pollen. He thought he heard the foal whimper again. He listened for a moment more, but it was silent.

  Sam closed his eyes.

  It was a funny dream. He was by the creek, but the casuarinas were dark green now. The creek looked sort of different too, as though the rocks had shifted in a flood … or two … or three … but things always looked different in a dream.

  He wasn’t alone. There were other people too. Two men, a woman. They were important people. Somehow in the background of his dream he knew they were important. They had problems to discuss. Important problems. They couldn’t agree. So he’d said, ‘Let’s take the whole day off. I’ll take you down and show you Gramma’s unicorn.’

  They’d laughed. ‘There’s no such thing as unicorns,’ one of the men had said. But still they’d come down to Gramma’s, down to the creek, down to see the unicorn …

  The men had taken their jackets off. The woman’s shoes lay by the bank. Now they sat on the soft grass … but it was thicker now, thought Sam, and there were tiny orchid heads among the green and the problems seemed to dissolve into the flash of water …

  The unicorn whinnied softly and Sam woke up.

  Sam walked slowly back up the track to the house, pulling the unicorn behind him.

  A Present for Aunt Addie

  ‘You’re old enough,’ said Dad thoughtfully.

  Harry looked up from the TV. ‘Old enough for what?’ he demanded warily.

  Dad was silent for a moment. Harry expected him to say to clean out the chook shed. To bring the steers down from the back paddock by yourself. To make sure your room is tidy without telling you all the time. But he didn’t. He looked out the window instead.

  ‘To visit Aunt Addie,’ said Dad at last. ‘There’s something that she needs.’

  Harry looked out the window too. There was nothing to see. Or nothing special anyway. Just the hills beyond the lucerne paddock, hazy in the blue green heat.

  ‘Who’s Aunt Addie?’ he asked. ‘Hey, she must be your sister if she’s my aunt. I didn’t know you had a sister.’

  ‘I don’t,’ said Dad.

  ‘Mum’s sister then,’ said Harry. ‘But I thought her only sisters were Aunt Sue and Auntie Sheila.’

  ‘Not your mother’s sister,’ said Dad.

  ‘Well, what then?’ asked Harry, exasperated. This wasn’t like Dad at all. ‘You mean she’s not really an aunt. Just a friend I’m supposed to call Auntie but she isn’t really related to us.’

  ‘She’s related to us,’ said Dad. ‘Oh my word, she’s related to us.’

  ‘Well, what then?’ demanded Harry.

  Dad reached over and turned off the TV. The chooks out the back clucked in the sudden silence.

  ‘She’s my great-great-aunt,’ said Dad slowly. ‘Your great-great-great-aunt that’d make her. I think that’s right. I get confused with all these greats.’

  ‘But that’d make her …’ Harry stared. ‘She can’t be that old.’

  ‘Well, she is,’ said Dad softly. ‘Aunt Addie’s very old.’

  ‘Where is she then? In town? In the nursing home? Or the hospital? Heck, she should be in the papers if she’s as old as that.’

  ‘No. She’s not in the nursing home. Or in the hospital for that matter either. She lives here. On the farm.’

  ‘But I’ve never seen her.’

  ‘No,’ said Dad. ‘You haven’t seen her yet. She lives up in a hut up past the hills.’

  ‘By herself! Dad she can’t! Not an old woman like that! She shouldn’t be living by herself.’

  ‘She wants to live by herself,’ said Dad.

  ‘But …’ Harry stood up. ‘It isn’t right. We should visit her at least. See if she’s all right. Take her food and stuff.’

  ‘She doesn’t need food,’ said Dad. ‘Aunt Addie grows all she needs. Or gets it somehow, anyway. All she needs is … well, you’ll find out.’

  ‘But … but someone should at least keep her company! What if she breaks her leg? Old people’s bones are fragile. We learnt that at school …’

  Dad held up a hand. ‘All right. All right. I said it’s time you visited her.’

  Harry nodded. ‘Well, sure.’ He blinked. ‘How long is it since you’ve seen her?’

  ‘Fifteen years,’ said Dad. ‘It’s been fifteen years since I last saw Aunt Addie.’

  ‘What? You haven’t seen her since before I was born? Why not?’

  ‘That’s t
he way it turned out,’ said Dad.

  The hills glared gold in the morning light, as though the sun shone from them as well. Not much feed, thought Harry automatically. It had all dried up since last month’s rain. The sheep lay like sleeping boulders under the scattered stringybarks.

  Harry pulled his hat down lower. He wondered if he should have brought some water. It was too dangerous to drink from any of the streams nowadays, what with hydatids and giardia and sheep droppings, but Dad said there was no need to take anything.

  It seemed wrong not to take anything though. You always took something when you went to visit people — a cake or jam or a leg of lamb. He’d thought of taking flowers, but they’d have wilted by the time he got there, and if anyone saw him he’d look a burk carrying flowers across a paddock.

  Surely there was something Aunt Addie needed. Maybe she was really independent, like Saul’s grandma. Saul’s grandma just lived on sardines and bread and powdered milk and what she grew in the garden. She didn’t even need lights because she went to bed when it got dark. Saul’s mum wanted her to go down to the nursing home in town, but Saul’s gran wouldn’t budge. But even she needed to buy the sardines and milk and flour …

  Maybe it was just company Aunt Addie needed. Or some repairs maybe? Or digging in the garden? But how would Dad know if he hadn’t seen her for fifteen years?

  Harry shooed the flies from the back of his neck. They were probably thirsty too, but let them find their own water and leave his sweat alone.

  Why hadn’t Dad let him take his motorbike? It was a Honda 110, he’d only got it last Christmas, only two thousand and twenty k’s when he got it from Phil up in town, though he’d put a lot more on it since then. Phil was moving down the coast and couldn’t use a motorbike down there. But Dad had said he’d never find Aunt Addie on a motorbike, which was crazy, ’cause a bike could carry you anywhere, just about.

  Walking was crazy in this heat. Dad was crazy. The whole thing was crazy too.

  How could he have an aunt living at the back of the property that no one ever saw? He’d explored the whole place hundreds of times, and he’d never even seen a hint of someone living there.