Percival Everett: Half an Inch of Water: Stories

And how does she know that? Sophie, said laughing.

The rooster told her, Sam said. He looked out the window. I figure the office phone will start ringing soon. Now that everybody has figured out they’re all right, they’ll start seeing stuff wrong with their animals.

The phone rang.

Sam picked up.

It was Terry Busch from north of town. She was a new transplant, from California to live the quiet life. I want to buy a horse and I need a vet check, she said.

What’d you think of the quake? Sam asked.

That was hardly a quake, the woman said.

I guess not for you.

There’s this beautiful leopard Appaloosa down near Randy Gap. Can you meet there this afternoon? Two?

Sam looked at the clock. It was twelve thirty. Two thirty?

That’s good.

I’ll meet you at the flashing light at two thirty.

He hung up.

Didn’t sound like an emergency, Sophie said.

City woman wants a horse, Sam said. Everybody ought to have a horse. And the lucky ones of us can have mules.

You and your mules.

I’m supposed to look at Watson’s mare at one. That won’t take long and that’s on the way to the Gap.

What about lunch?

I’ll take an apple with me.

Sophie made a disapproving face.

Two apples.

Just make sure you don’t feed one to a horse.

Yes ma’am.

Sam walked out of the house and to his work truck, where he inspected his vet pack. It was his habit. He restocked every time he returned home and always checked his supplies before setting out. The sky remained clear, if a little cool, but heat was on the way. Zip hopped into the truck before him.

He drove the unused back roads to the ranch of Wes Watson. The back way was actually faster, but rough on the suspension, the truck’s and his. He looked at Zip as they bounced along. Probably not the best thing for my prostate, he said to her. The mare he was seeing he’d seen before for vaccinations and once for a hoof problem. Now Wes wanted to breed her.

Wes met him at his truck. Greetings.

Greetings to you, Sam said, laughing.

I thought it seemed like a pleasant way to, to—

Greet someone? Sam offered.

More or less.

So, you want to breed the Paint. She in season?

You’re here to tell me.

Going to use live cover?

Nope. Sperm’s on the way.

Sam nodded. He followed Wes into the barn. The quarter horse was standing calmly, already cross- tied in a washstand and backed up against a rail. Sam looked at her while he pulled on his glove. Well, her tail’s up, isn’t it?

Her tail’s always up, Wes said.

Sam gave the horse’s neck a stroke and moved down to her flank. He inserted his gloved hand into the animal’s vagina. She took a step but stayed calm. He could see she was in estrus before he was inside. He felt around, shook his head.

What is it? Wes asked.

We might have a problem, Sam said. He felt around more. I think she’s got a hematoma.

Is that bad?

Sam slowly removed his arm and hand. No, not bad. But she won’t be getting knocked up for a while. She’s going to have to cycle a few times before this resolves itself. Won’t affect her fertility. We’ll keep an eye on her.

How do you know it’s not a tumor?

The other ovary feels normal. If it were a tumor, the other would probably be smaller than normal. Plus, she’s not acting all crazy with hormones. I’m going to take some blood to be sure.

All right. That’s disappointing.

Sam flexed his hand, rolled down his shirtsleeve. She sure is a pretty horse, I’ll give you that. I see why you want to breed her.

She’s a looker. Even tempered, too.

They walked back to Sam’s truck. Zip lay in the vehicle’s shadow.

So, did you feel the shaker? Wes asked.

Oh yeah.

We hardly did. The wind chimes on the porch shook. That was about it. So, where you headed from here?

Down to Randy Gap. Vet check.

Wes nodded. So, I just leave her alone? Wes asked about the horse.

Leave her alone. Treat her like a horse. Sam opened a cabinet in the pack in the back of his pickup, pulled out a syringe kit and some vials. I’ll get me a little bit of blood and I’ll be on my way.

You know, you’re okay, Wes said.

Sam looked at him. How’s that?

You know, being a black vet out here. I have to admit, I had my doubts.

About what exactly?

Whether you’d make it.

You mean fit in?

I guess that’s what I mean, yeah.

Wes, I grew up here. Grade school. High school. I’ve never fit in. I probably will never fit in. I accept that.

Wes’s face was now blank. He didn’t understand. He was just a degree away from cocking his head like a confused hound.

Sam said, Thanks, Wes. I’m glad you think I’m okay.

That’s all I was saying.

I know, Wes.

Randy Gap, eh? Bad medicine down there.

That what folks in the tribe say?

No, that’s what I say. You don’t have to be no Indian to spot it.

I suppose that’s right.

Sam left Wes there in the sun, walked back into the barn to collect blood from the Paint mare.

Randy Gap was the confluence of two draws and two roads and had nothing to do with anyone named Randy or Randolph. It had been so named because supposedly whenever old-timers drove cattle through there the bulls would get crazy horny and slow everything down. Now it was the weather in the gap that slowed everything down; snow and rain and wind seemed to concentrate on the area. It was windy when Sam found Terry Busch waiting there, leaning against her Subaru. He crunched to a halt on the gravel roadside.

Hey, Terry.

Doc.

So, you want to buy yourself a new horse.

It’s not far, she said. Couple of miles.

I’ll follow you. He watched the woman walk back to her car. She was his age, but she looked younger. Or maybe it was that he looked older. What was forty-four supposed to look like?

He trailed her to a dirt road and then a half mile in to a trailer home surrounded by pipe corrals and paddocks. Horses stood in most of the enclosures, some clean, some not. He’d seen places like this before and there was little good about them. He parked behind Terry and got out. He left Zip in the truck.

A teenage boy came from the trailer. He wore a tight T-shirt that said One in the Oven with an downward-pointing arrow. He tossed his cigarette into the dirt.

Well, here I am, Terry said.

I’ll get him, the kid said without expression.

Warm, Sam said, referring to the boy’s greeting.

The teenager came back with a fifteen-hand Appaloosa gelding with a nicely defined blanket on his rump. The horse was clean and freshly shod.

Isn’t he beautiful? Terry was not playing the role of the cool buyer. She stepped back and looked at the horse.

Sam circled the animal. Nice markings, all right, he said. But that’s not why I’m here, is it? He reached out to shake the kid’s hand. I’m Sam Innis, the vet.

The boy shook his hand. Jake.

Sam let go of the boy’s limp mitt. Let’s take a look at him. Anything you want to tell us?

The boy shook his head. I don’t know anything. They come in, we sell them. This one eats everything we put down, I can tell you that.

You mind trotting him over there about twenty yards and then back to me? Sam watched as the kid led the horse away. They kicked up dust. Sam studied the animal. As they were coming back he said, He’s a little wide in the chest. See how he paddles? Like he’s swimming.

Is that bad? Terry asked.

Better than being too narrow and knocking his feet together. He won’t be much good at jumping anything. He asked the boy to repeat the trot away and back. He’s loose in the caboose. Terry, his legs are everywhere. What do you want to do with him?