by Jane Smiley
Abby said, “You did well today.” I looked at my watch—yes, the lesson was the normal length, but it seemed to go by in a flash.
I gave Tater a long rein and he dropped his head. I said, “Did your dad get home yet?”
“Oh, he’s going to be gone for another week.”
“How many horses do you have to ride every day?”
“Six for now, but Da is coming to stay tomorrow.”
I said, “You’re kidding me.” I tried not to grin.
Abby pursed her lips, then stepped up to me as if someone could hear her secret. “Jane says he’s driving her crazy. I said that we would take him on approval.”
“What does that mean?”
“That we can send him back anytime. My mom likes him, though. He makes her laugh. She thinks that maybe he can’t get into as much trouble out here.”
“What trouble has he gotten into at the stables?”
“He galloped one of the horses on the golf course, he jumped into the pool with his clothes on twice, because he said he was hot, and he rode that pony, what was his name?”
“Little Bighorn?”
“Yeah. He rode him into the clubhouse and up to the bar and ordered himself a lemonade, and then he drank it, and left the glass on the bar.”
“I wish I’d done that! Da is a phenomenon!”
Abby smiled.
“I have a lesson Saturday.”
“Well, he has three to ride. I think your lesson is at one.”
“I can get here early.”
“Get here when you can, and we’ll see what works out.”
After I got off Tater, I untacked him, gave him the rest of the one carrot, put the tack away, wiped him down with a cloth, and combed his mane a little while he ate his hay. Yes, I was doing everything correctly, straight out of the book, because when Abby went to the place where they kept the feed bins and the hay bales, I took the second carrot and walked over to the gelding pasture. Of course Gee Whiz was the first to meet me, and in my mind, he said, “Gimme gimme,” but that was just me talking to myself. I pushed his nose away and walked along the fence. Then Beebop showed up. His ears were pricked and he snuffled a little, but he wasn’t demanding anything. He said, “Please?” I kept walking, and in his Beebop way, he trotted off and leapt into the air. He had gone to rodeos in the spring. Now he was taking a break until the weather cooled off. A third horse came over, one of the boarders. I didn’t know his name, but I called him Ginger because he was a chestnut. He said, “Nice to meet you.” I shook my head. Now I was smiling. I got to the end of the pasture and turned around. Ned was across a little dip, up the hillside, staring at me. He looked shiny and grown-up, not so much like a puppy, and then he cantered toward me in his even, agile way, almost as smooth as a lynx. He got to the flat part by the fence and stopped on a dime, and he looked me in the eye and said, “Thank you. All they have around here are apples.” I smiled, broke the carrot into four pieces, and gave them to him one by one. I petted him on the neck, which he stood quietly for, and said, “Do you remember when I got on you in the round corral and rode for a few steps?” He finished eating his carrot, dropped his nose to check the grass, then lifted his head, looked me in the eye, and bobbed his head up and down. I decided not to tell anyone about this, except maybe Ruthie, because telling Ruthie something is like putting that into a bank vault and throwing away the key.
Saturday is Dad’s big day at the Ford dealership, so I knew what I had to do. I put on my barn clothes, then heard Mom and Joan Ariel babbling in Mom’s room. I was quiet as I went down the stairs. Dad was in the kitchen, drinking his coffee and reading the paper. I could see him from the hallway. I raised my eyebrows, rushed in, and said, “Oh, Daddy, can you please take me to the ranch? I have so much to do. Abby’s dad is on a trip and Abby can’t do everything herself!”
He pursed his lips and looked at his watch, then said, “Okay, but we have to leave in five minutes. Even then, I’ll be late.”
I grabbed two carrots out of the refrigerator and said, “I’m ready. We can leave now.”
“Write your mom a note.”
I did: “Dad is taking me. Please pick me up about five. Love, Ellen.” I left it on the tray of Joan Ariel’s high chair. I ran out the door, and Dad hurried to keep up with me. He was driving one of the used cars from the dealer—a Country Squire with something that looks like wood along the sides and enough space in the back for a pony. I had my seat belt on before he’d even closed his door, and so he laughed and was in a good mood all the way to Abby’s, especially since the Country Squire just zipped along. If it hit a bump or a hole, you didn’t even feel it.
He dropped me at the driveway, turned around, and zoomed off. I went through the small gate beside the big gate (it’s unlocked) and got to the barn just in time to see…
Well, I thought I might see Da swinging from one of the overhead lights in the barn, then letting go, doing a backflip, and landing on Sissy, who would then gallop away, which would be scary but also like going to the circus, but what I saw was Da sitting on the mounting block, eating an English muffin and yawning. He said, “What time is it?”
“It’s ten minutes to nine. Don’t you have a watch?”
“I lost it somewhere.”
“Are you driving Abby’s mom crazy yet?”
“She didn’t mind me pretending I was a dog when I put my hands behind my back and ate my dinner last night.”
I smiled. Then I said, “Who did you ride yesterday?”
“Well, Little Bighorn came with me, because everyone else at the stables is too heavy for him, so I rode him, that mare—”
“Sissy?”
“Yeah. And Mordecai.”
“I don’t know that one.”
“Look up the hill. See the dark bay with four white feet?”
I did.
“He’s a boarder. I guess Abby’s going to take him to a show and try to sell him for the owner.”
I did recognize him now. He was the one who grazed with Tater sometimes, but he always backed away when I approached Tater. I said, “He’s a shy one.”
“It took me fifteen minutes to catch him. I guess that’s why the owner wants to sell him.”
“How did you catch him?”
“I took two apples, showed them to him, then offered one to your horse, what’s his name?”
“Tater.”
“He didn’t like Tater getting the apples and him not getting them, but it still took a while, especially since after I offered Tater the apple, he was following me around like a dog because I couldn’t give it to him until I caught Mordecai. Mordy’s nice to ride, though.” He looked up the hill again, and said, “Who’s the other bay, the one to the right of Gee Whiz?”
“That’s Ned.”
“I never heard of Ned.”
All I said was, “He’s been here a while.”
“He’s the best-looking one of the bunch.”
And Gee Whiz let out a piercing whinny.
One thing I liked about Da was that we could just talk and talk, as if we’d known each other for years.
My penalty for getting there before nine a.m. was to clean not only my own saddle and bridle but also some halters that were sandy and dusty, and two bridles, and a couple of martingales. Then I soaked all the unused bits in a bucket of water and wiped them down, saying the names to myself—kimberwick, Pelham, eggbutt snaffle, French link snaffle, curb, Tom Thumb, which Abby’s dad uses on the Western horses. After that, Abby and I took Sissy and Jack So Far for a walk. My job was to go in front, leading Sissy, while Abby walked behind, leading Jack, and to hope for the best. Horses injured at the track, especially if the injury doesn’t hurt too much, are ready to go go go, and you can’t let them. Jack did bump Sissy one time, but she didn’t do anything, and he was fine as we kept walking. After tw
enty minutes of walking, Abby put him in the round corral and I put Sissy in the mare pasture.
When we got back to the barn, I stood there and panted like a dog, with my tongue out, which made Abby laugh, and so we went inside and had some water and some peanut butter on crackers, which was good, and then it was time for my lesson, and what Da had been doing this whole time I had no idea, but he was smiling to himself when he joined us. Abby didn’t ask him anything, and while I was tacking up Tater, he tacked up LB.
Usually, Abby has a plan for a lesson. She sees the things that I did right in the previous lesson, and also the things I did wrong, and she gets me to practice the right things and not do the wrong things. Tater also gets a lesson, because he has to learn to bend in the turn and take the proper lead in the canter and do his transitions up and down as soon as I ask him. Lessons are orderly and I like order. I like grown-ups to say what they plan to do and then do what they said. The other thing about order is that without order, you can’t have funny things, like jokes. My dad tells jokes:
Three guys are driving in the country. One is from New York, the other is from Wyoming, and the third one is a lawyer. Late that night, the car breaks down and they go to a farmhouse and knock on the door. The farmer says he can put them up, but he only has two bedrooms, so one of them has to sleep in the barn. The guy from New York says he’ll sleep in the barn. Everyone goes to bed, but pretty soon there’s banging on the back door. The guy from New York says he can’t sleep in the barn because the horses keep whinnying. So the guy from Wyoming says he’ll sleep in the barn, but after they’re all lying down, he comes banging on the door and says he can’t sleep in the barn because the cows keep mooing. Now it’s really late, so the lawyer throws up his hands and says he’ll sleep in the barn. Everyone goes to bed. But then there is a terrible racket, and the farmer goes to the back door. It’s two horses and three cows, who say they can’t sleep in the barn because now it stinks to high heaven.
My mom and dad always laugh at this joke, which I don’t really get. The one I like is:
A horse walks into a bar. The bartender says, “Why the long face?”
The thing about a joke is that you have to expect one thing and then you get something else. So, yes, our lesson was a joke.
Two ponies walk into an arena.
An instructor follows them. She closes the gate.
The instructor says, “What do you want to do?”
The boy doesn’t answer.
The girl doesn’t answer.
Six geldings gallop down the hill.
The pony that the boy is on rises into the air.
The boy grins, lets go of the reins, and slides off the back of the pony and lands in the sand of the arena. He laughs.
The pony trots away, tossing his head.
The pony that the girl is on lifts his tail, drops some manure, and walks along the rail.
The instructor puts her hands on her hips, but she doesn’t say, “Are you all right?” because the boy is now running around in a circle, jumping over the cavalletti and laughing. When the pony comes up to him, he pats him on the nose; then, instead of mounting with a stirrup, he throws himself into the air and lands in the saddle.
The girl on her pony understands that the other pony is very small.
The boy and his pony mosey around the arena.
The instructor calls out, “Pick up a nice forward trot.”
The girl on her pony decides she should be ready for anything.
They trot.
They canter to the left.
They canter to the right.
The girl on the pony does a figure eight.
The boy on the pony, without being told, does a figure eight going the other direction.
The boy and the girl and two ponies weave past one another at the trot, and then the canter (with flying changes), and then the boy turns toward the rail and rises into a hand gallop.
The girl on the pony follows him.
The instructor’s mouth drops open.
The girl on the pony takes the lead. She crosses the diagonal, turns left, rises into a canter, jumps a fence, comes down to the trot, turns left again, crosses the diagonal again.
The boy on the pony tries to do the same thing, but his pony refuses the jump. He does not fall off. He tries again and makes it look easy.
The girl on the pony is having a wonderful time.
The boy on the pony canters to the left, nice and slow, and just when the instructor is about to tell him to do something, he starts singing a song. The song is:
Once a jolly swagman camped by a billabong
Under the shade of a coolibah tree,
And he sang as he watched and waited till his billy boiled,
Who’ll come a-waltzing Matilda with me?
The boy’s pony canters easily and rhythmically.
The girl on the pony follows at the canter and sings along:
Waltzing Matilda, waltzing Matilda,
Who’ll come a-waltzing Matilda with me?
And he sang as he watched and waited till his billy boiled,
Who’ll come a-waltzing Matilda with me?
The instructor puts her hand over her mouth, and when the boy on the pony and the girl on the pony come to a halt in front of her, she says, “This is the weirdest lesson I ever taught.” And then she adds, “I never knew I could have such a good time.” And that must have been the punch line, because after that, we walked the horses out, untacked them, and put them away.
By now it was 1:23, and I remembered I was hungry. As soon as I thought that, Da said, “What’s for lunch?” and Abby’s mother came up behind him and said, “Tuna sandwiches,” and Da was so surprised that he nearly jumped out of his boots. Then, when he saw us smiling, he did jump into the air and kept jumping like a kangaroo all the way to the house.
It turned out when we were talking over lunch that his mother was born in Australia and that his aunt still lives there on a big ranch where they have grass all year round and don’t have to buy hay—they just move the horses from one pasture to another. I know that “Waltzing Matilda” is an Australian song, but Da explained to me what a billabong is (a small lake), and also a billy (a little pot) and a coolibah tree (a type of eucalyptus, which we have, too).
I said, “Why didn’t your mom stay there? It sounds perfect.”
“She came here when she was ten. I’ve only been there once, and I can hardly remember it, because I was four when I went.”
“I can remember being four like it was yesterday.”
“Name one thing.”
I said, “One day in the fall, we came back from the market, and while Mom was putting away the groceries, I went out to the side yard and climbed a tree that was there, because Dad had left his lawn chair by the trunk. I got to the first branch and then the second, and then I looked down, and realized I was stuck, but I was afraid to get caught, so I sat there for a long time while Mom ran around looking for me. I didn’t dare say a word, so she never looked up until some birds started squawking and she saw me.”
“Did you get in trouble?”
“No spanking. I think I didn’t get a piece of apple pie for dinner.”
Da said, in his Colonel Dudgeon voice, “And so, you continued to misbehave!”
“I continued to try things out.” But even as I said this, I knew I hadn’t come close to trying things out the way Da did.
Abby’s mom patted me on the head.
After lunch, Da told me that they were making him sleep in a stall and eat horse feed for dinner, and Abby heard this and said, “Oh, that’ s interesting. I thought you were staying in Danny’s old bedroom. I saw your stuff in there. And as I remember, last night you ate some pork roast.”
Da said, “I guess I forgot that.”
Maybe so that he
would remember it, Abby told us to clean the two stalls in the barn that two of the boarders lived in, and once upon a time when I was eight, this would have tired me out, but now it is easy as can be, and the manure smells like flowers. Thinking that reminded me to go out into Abby’s mom’s garden and look at the plants. Things were kind of spare, but there were some blossoms on the lemon tree that smelled wonderful, and there was mint and plenty of rosemary and some green beans and some agave. Oddly enough, the garden was not far from the gelding pasture, and it was amazing how I had that carrot broken up in my pocket, and so what should happen but I went to the fence, and here came Ned, and I said the word “carrot” three times, and he ate the pieces and then said, “Thank you.” Then, it was very strange, the way I slipped between the fence railings (after looking around and not seeing anyone, even Da up in a tree or on the roof of the house), and I stood beside Ned and petted his silky brown coat all along his neck and his ribs and he dropped his head and flopped his ears and cocked his back hoof, and it sure looked like he fell asleep. I kept petting him for a few minutes, then sneaked between the railings again and walked along until I was going up the hill, looking for geckos and ground squirrels and little birds, like woodpeckers, and then I was on the hill where I could watch Da ride Mordecai again, this time not having a lesson, and he did a wonderful job. I do not understand how someone five months younger than I am could do everything so well. But I decided not to be envious, because being envious is what makes the girls in my class at school fight all the time. They’re best friends one day, and then one of them shows up in a skirt that the other one saw at the department store, and then at lunchtime they have a big fight about something completely different, and maybe they’ll become friends again and maybe they won’t. I watched and watched. He sat deep, shifted his weight side to side and backward, had a light hand, always looked where he wanted to go, kept his heels down and his shoulders straight, and was supple as a snake, and it was like that suppleness just slid down his back and into Mordecai. I thought, “Thank you, Da,” but I wasn’t going to say anything. I thought that the best way to be his friend was to keep teasing him and making him laugh.
