Mary Gaitskill - The Mare

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?”

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.

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!” said 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.

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.