Mary Gaitskill - The Mare

I was first afraid he would kick her, but then I saw him with his head way down, looking so weak and hurt he could hardly stand. I thought he would cry out when she went in, but he didn’t; his poor body just got crunched up and horribled, like when the dentist is getting in your mouth. Pat talked soft to Nut and worked her arm. The wind got bad and started shaking the barn and the mares talked to each other. Pat pulled out the shit and handed it to me. “Feel that,” she said. I did feel it — it was like a cooked rock.

“At least it was warm in there,” she said.

Then we cleaned the stalls and groomed Chloe and Girl. By the time we were done, Pat said Nut would be okay. Later when we were in the house getting warm, Pat told me you shouldn’t do what she did. Her face was sick-white when she said it, and her fat cheeks were hard. She said she could’ve killed Nut by tearing his butthole. I asked why she did it, and she said she couldn’t afford a vet. She said she had to face reality. She said she had to do that a long time ago. She said it old and tired, like she forgot I was even there. “I have the ability,” she said. “I have the quality animals. But I don’t have money, and it’s all about money in this business.”

I didn’t know what to say. I felt the dirt and the broken things around us. There was wind and the sound of the furnace. There were all the ribbons on the wall saying “First prize” and “Scorpio” and “Handsome.” I didn’t know what to say, but I did know not to talk about Spindletop. Not then, maybe never.

But at night I was wondering, Why was I at the poor, dirty place? I used to think it was so cool, but now it just seemed like crap — as Ginger would say, literally, like it had to be pulled out of the horses.

Something happened at Spindletop. Not something bad — I would’ve known if it was actually bad — she wouldn’t be able to hold it back. No, it was something confusing. She was trying to understand it, that was the most obvious reason she would ask those questions in the car.

But it felt like something else was going on. It felt like she was being aggressive with me. Like she did with her mom that time they came up for the play, the subtle way she sided with the tall blond woman at the barn and shut her mother out. Velvet knew all about weakness and power, and it felt like she was pressing on my weak spot, just to see what would happen. She didn’t push it; she didn’t have to. She was just letting me know she saw it. And that she was curious about it.

Before I left I went across the street to look at the old barn again. It was freezing cold but still I thought someone would be there, maybe Pat giving a lesson in the arena indoors. But nobody was there except the horses chewing grain and giving out heat. Then Gare came around the corner singing something corny — she saw me and got her friendly shy-dog face, which made me feel embarrassed but sorta happy. She said she was going to ride in the arena, did I want to?

I liked Gare, even if she was dumb, because of how she helped me get up on Fiery Girl and also for how she cried for Joker when Beverly was a bitch to him. But I still didn’t know what to talk about with her. That I lied about being in a gang made it worse, but I couldn’t take it back, it would be too embarrassing. She’d say, “What’s it like being in a gang?” and I’d say, “We don’t talk about it unless we know you.” And she’d say nothin’.

But we didn’t have to talk about anything to ride together. I tacked up Little Tina while she tacked up Joker three stalls over and she yelled to me that it was better now ’cause Heather wasn’t at the barn anymore since she had a fight with Pat about never cleaning Totally’s feet and he got thrush. Then we led the horses out and the talking was all in their eyes and soft-up necks and our hands on the reins and the heavy gate coming open.

Then we were riding, Tina following Joker until I passed on the outside, Gare yelling, “Bitch!” but laughing. Some of the lights were out, so the arena was dark and like a place bats would fly, except for broken parts that let in the cold and light, you could see tiny branches covered in ice. We warmed up, walk, trot, canter, and even though we were going in different directions and not following nobody, it was like we were together at the stomach. And then I did the two-point, stretching, not leaning. She said, “Horse whisper-ass!” I put my leg on Tina, made her feel me, counting my strides, rushed seven, then slow seven. I sat back and controlled my release, and she took them easy, three in a row; I could feel her happiness like I can smell perfume. Gare couldn’t make Joker take any jump and she fell off trying. But she just cursed and got back on him. She said, “Damn, you really are the horse whisper-ess!”

And I felt good again. Everything felt right again. Nut was okay and even if Pat didn’t have money, she had the ability. And I had Fiery Girl. And I had new things to teach her. And Ginger didn’t care about that woman at the party, so it must not’ve been what I thought.

When she left, I walked alone. Snow and brilliant light poured through splotchy clouds. Family things were heaped on porches: boots, cheap round sleds, statues, hidden flowers sleeping in red pots. Somebody still had their Christmas lights up. Because there was no traffic, I walked in the middle of the road.

“You and she have nothing in common.” Paul always said that. But what did I have in common with these houses and the people in them? I thought of Velvet’s powerful music, the song of guns and dogs—“Ronca!”—and the song we sang in the Christmas play that time, Danielle running around with her blue face, Yandy pounding the piano, Mrs. Vargas looking out of her tank. The horsewoman who ruined the day with her bad Spanish, the horses running, Mrs. Vargas cursing me like I couldn’t understand her, then taking her daughter home and beating her. The time we biked on the broken pavement, me yelling “Lumpety-bumpety!” What did any of it have in common?

I told Kayla I was not sure I should keep sending Mrs. Vargas money if she had a job and a boarder. Kayla didn’t think I ever should’ve started. “When you have to cut that money off, trust me, she will feel anger at you. It’ll be like now you owe her, not the other way around.”

But I knew that wasn’t true. She wasn’t like that. I knew because of how she’d looked me back in my eyes.

It was Velvet I wasn’t sure about. Because it still felt like she asked me that question in the car out of aggression. Or anger. Or scorn. Because of something she saw.

“So I heard your young lady rode out at Spindletop,” said Becca. “She made a good impression.”

We were on the phone talking about Edie’s spring break visit when she dropped that in.

“Joanne said they’d maybe have room for her as a work-study — apparently that place she’s been training isn’t the best quality.”

“What in the fresh hell?” I said. “You’ve been aggressively icing Ginger for years and now you’re interested in her…her—”

“I’m not interested in messing with your wife’s project, although I was under the impression it was your project too. Spindletop wasn’t my idea. It was Joan who suggested it, and because she knew I was going to be talking to you today, she asked me to mention some event they’re going to in the early spring, a big show that a lot of people from all over the country come to. It’s called EQUAL for some reason — anyway, her daughter was thinking Velvet could come along, act as a groom, get a look at a different part of the horse world. She asked me to mention it. That’s all I’m doing, mentioning it. I’m not trying to sell it.”