Dreams of a Dancing Horse (7 page)

 

16

The Big Mambo

In the morning, Jonathan gathers all his canvases. “I'm off to the market, Fella. Help yourself to the grass out back. And apples from Molly. I filled a couple of buckets for you from the well. I shouldn't be too late.”

I reach down, pick up his little suitcase, and toss it to my back to help him carry his load.

“Whoa, there, Fella.” He takes the case down. “That's a very nice offer. But after what happened in the market yesterday, I think you should stay as far away as possible, don't you?”

I shake my head no. But he insists, so I stop arguing.

“Have a good day, Fella!” Jonathan calls as he strides off, his long legs covering the ground fast, his packages clattering.

When he's out of sight, I make my move. I have a solid sense of direction, if I do say so myself. I'm fully aware of how to get to the market without following Jonathan.

With equal parts eagerness and anxiety, I start out after him. I do realize I'm running a risk by showing myself in the market again. The vendors were not the most understanding humans I've ever met. But I have to chance it.

I take the back streets once I hit town. When I reach my alley, I duck in. I walk through to the end of the alley and poke my head out the market side.

“Oh no!” Jonathan drops his paintbrush and stares at me. “Fella, I thought you understood you had to stay home.” He rubs the back of his neck. “What was I thinking, giving orders to a horse? Did I honestly believe you knew what I was saying?”

I nicker to calm him down.

His breathing improves. “I know. It's not your fault you didn't understand.”

From my alleyway, I nicker once again. Sometimes it's to my advantage that humans don't realize I can understand their words.

“Well,” Jonathan says, “I know you're not going to want to stay in that alley all day again. Here.” He pulls an apple from his bag and tosses it to me.

I catch it.

“Nice catch, Fella. Now, stay there.” Obviously not trusting his words, he waves his hand. “Stay. Stay. Stay.”

Jonathan wanders off. A few minutes later, he returns wearing a large Mexican dancing hat on his head. I recall seeing—well, knocking over—a hat stand with hats just like this one yesterday. Without a glance my way, he goes to his paint case and pulls out a tool of some sort. Then he pokes holes in the top of his new hat.

I watch as Jonathan marches straight for me and sticks the hat on top of my head so my ears poke through. “There you go, Fella,” he says. “No one will recognize you now. Come on out.”

I am quite sure this hat looks ridiculous. But I do as I'm asked and tiptoe out into the sunlight. I am pleasantly surprised when the sun doesn't strike my eyes. I may look silly, but the hat does provide shelter, as well as a disguise.

A woman with a basket on her head stops at Jonathan's booth and stares up at me. I don't recognize her from yesterday. “Jonathan, who's this, then? You go out and get yourself a horse? Why, whatever for?”

“Uh … he's … my new partner,” Jonathan explains.

“Is he now?” she replies before moving along.

“Lucky for you, Fella,” he says, “almost no one ever stops by my artist's stall to look at my paintings. Not so lucky for me, though.”

“That's why I'm here,” I say, knowing he can't understand me.

What I'm planning will take a good deal of courage. I wait around until the market is busier with people buying and selling. Then while Jonathan sets up his booth, I wander out into the main aisle.

There's no music here, so I must imagine my own. I think of my mother's song, and soon I can hear it in my head:
Dance, dance, dance, Federico!

And I do. I sway and twist. I rear to my haunches and do a two-step shuffle.

“Will you look at that?” somebody shouts.

“Wilma, you're not going to believe this!”

“Well, I'll be a monkey's uncle!”

“Hey! Come over here, everybody!”

“Isn't that the funniest thing you've ever seen?”

“I don't think it's funny. He's pretty good. He's really dancing!”

I try to shut out the human voices and listen to the song in my heart.

The voice of a donkey breaks through. “Big deal. So you can dance. How'd you like to pull what I'm pulling, you big lug?”

I shut out animal voices as well. Doing one final twirl, I land on my hooves and open my eyes.

Applause breaks out all over the marketplace. Molly is standing front row center, leading the cheering. “Yay, Fella! Great job!”

The little boy from yesterday comes right up to me. Before I can pull my head away, he peeks under my hat. “Hey, I know this horse! Aren't you the one who—”

But I cut off his words as I kneel on all fours and nod for him to climb aboard.

The boy turns to a man who appears to be his father. “I want to ride! I want to ride the dancing horse!” he cries.

“I don't know, son,” the man says. He turns to Jonathan, who is now standing beside Molly. “Is this horse safe to ride?”

“Safe and comfortable,” he answers.

“How much for a little ride?” the man asks.

Jonathan starts to answer. “Oh, I don't think—”

“Fifty cents,” Molly shouts.

“That's pretty steep,” the man says.

“I want to ride the horsey! I want to ride the horsey!” The boy begins to wail.

“All right, all right, Matthew,” says his father. He hands Molly fifty cents.

I walk the boy all over the marketplace. He's a terrible rider, kicking his legs and trying to bounce. But even he can't fall off my broad back. I keep it slow and steady until we're back at Jonathan's art stand.

The boy's father is waiting there, but I move closer to Jonathan's canvases. I get as close as I can to the paints and act as if I'm posing for a picture.

“Okay, Fella,” Jonathan says, following me to his stall. “Bow down now so Matthew can get off.”

I nod to the canvases, hoping Jonathan will take the hint.

He doesn't. “Let's let the boy hop off now, Fella.” His voice shakes, and he glances to the father, sending him a fake smile.

I don't want the boy to hop off yet. I try my best to communicate this to Jonathan. I want him to sketch this boy on a horse.

“I want my boy back,” the father says.

“My horse will be kneeling down any minute now,” Jonathan says. “Don't worry.”

Humans.
I take one of Jonathan's paintbrushes into my mouth and stroke the brush up and down on a canvas. Surely, even a human can get this clue.

“Oh, the horse thinks he's a painter!” someone exclaims. “Isn't that the cutest thing!”

Then Molly gets it. “For the price of one of these ready-made paintings, you can have yourself a one-of-a-kind picture of your son's horse ride. Jonathan can sketch it for you in no time. What do you say?”

“What a good idea,” says a woman who may be the boy's mother. She's carrying bundles from the market and hands them to the boy's father.

“I want a picture of me and the horsey!” the boy cries.

“So do I,” says the woman. “Give them the money, Walter.”

The father hands over a good deal of money to Molly, who tucks it into Jonathan's money box.

Quick as a whip, Jonathan sketches the boy and me in my hat. It's quite a lovely picture.

When he hands it to the boy's mother, she exclaims, “Why, it's wonderful! You've captured my boy perfectly. Now we'll always remember this moment. Thank you!”

“I tell you,” says the father. “It's a bargain!”

“Hey! I want to ride!” shouts a young girl. I believe I saw her with the applecart man.

“I was here before you!” cries a well-dressed boy.

“I was first. You do draw adults, don't you?”

“Form a line right here!” Molly shouts. “Right this way for a horse ride and a portrait. Line forms here!”

All day long, I give pony rides, followed by Jonathan's sketches. People give me carrots and apples. Molly takes the money and keeps order in the long line that forms. Our line grows all day long, reaching the front of the marketplace.

We are nearly finished when a large woman waddles up. Being a gentleman, I don't wish to sound rude, but this woman is bigger, and rounder, than two Round Rollos.

“I saw your horse here dance this morning. I've always wanted to ride a dancing horse,” she says. “Could I get a ride?”

“Well, I …” Jonathan has started packing up.

Molly puts her thin arm around the woman's plump shoulders. “I'm sure Fella would find it in his heart to give one more ride.”

With a sigh, I lower myself to the ground. Still, it takes Jonathan, Molly, and two other men to shove the woman aboard. It isn't easy getting back up, but I do manage.

“Marvelous!” she exclaims. “Simply marvelous.”

I start out at a slow walk. The woman stays centered, casting her weight in just the right places. She's an excellent rider.

“I used to ride every day when I was a child growing up in Cuba, before we moved to the States,” she says, as we weave through the stalls. “Horses and music are my two loves.”

I knew I liked this woman.

She begins to sing. Her words are in Spanish, and the song has a lively beat.

“This is a song from my old country. It's called the mambo.” She continues singing. I feel her swaying on my back.

And I can't help myself.

I break into dance.

 

17

Good Night and Good-bye

“You're dancing the mambo!” the woman shouts. She herself is swaying and swinging on my broad back.

We pass Molly and Jonathan. They stare, wide eyed, at us. “What are you doing?” Jonathan shouts.

Molly doubles over with laughter, then dances in the aisle behind us until Jonathan joins her. Soon a conga line of vendors follows, dancing to the woman's song.

It is the perfect ending to our perfect day.

That night, Molly comes over with oats and apples and a simply delicious feast.

Jonathan counts the day's earnings as Molly cooks up a great-smelling meal for the two of them.

“This is more than I usually make in a month of Sundays!” he announces. “Molly, my love, when did you come up with the idea of having me sketch people on Fella?”

I'm staring at them through the window. Molly glances out at me and grins. “That wasn't my idea, you ninny. That was Fella's.”

“Well, thank you, Fella!” Jonathan shouts. “It was one lucky day when you stumbled into my life.”

Every day for the next two weeks I give rides to people in the marketplace, and Jonathan sketches, or even paints, their pictures. Molly charges double for paintings. Some humans come to the market just to ride me and get a painting done. It is truly remarkable.

At night Molly counts the money and places it in the little money box.

I am so comfortable with my life here that I can't help wondering if this might be the home I've longed for. I still miss my Lena, but I know I'll never see her again. And Molly and Jonathan could not be kinder to me if they tried.

One evening before Molly comes over to make dinner, Jonathan joins me outside. He puts one arm over my neck and leans against me. “Say, Fella. I need your advice.”

I nicker.

“Thanks to you, Molly and I have enough money to get married now. I'm thinking about asking for her hand in marriage. I'm pretty nervous about it. I mean, we've talked about our dreams together. But that was just talk. What if she doesn't feel about me like I feel about her? What if Molly says no?”

“Well of course Molly won't say no!” I reply. And of course, he can't understand my words.

“Do you think I should ask her tonight?” he asks.

I nod. Up and down. Up and down.

“All right, then!”

Moments later, Molly walks up looking pretty as a picture. “Hi there, you—!”

“Molly, will you marry me?” Jonathan blurts it out.

So much for a romantic proposal.
If my young friend could understand me, I would have suggested flowers and an engagement ring. A candlelit dinner prepared by him, perhaps. Soft music playing while he went down on one knee.

“Yes!” Molly runs to him and jumps into his arms. “Yes! Yes! Yes, I'll marry you!”

Then again, there's no accounting for humans.

Molly breaks into song, and the three of us dance. We dance song after song until we're too tired to take another step. It is a glorious night.

A couple of nights later when Jonathan and Molly finish dinner and are counting the day's income, I peer in at them through the open window. A soft light spills onto the lawn, where I graze on sparse grass. I love eavesdropping on their dinner chats and sharing their joy as they plan their wedding.

“Where do you want to get married?” Molly asks. “I'm not sure our church is big enough to—”

“New York City,” Jonathan says, cutting her off.

“What?”

“Molly, I've counted and recounted the money we've saved. We have enough to get us to New York, to have a big church wedding if you want one. And we'll still have plenty to set ourselves up in our new careers. I'll start painting right away. And you can get a singing job. All they have to do is hear you sing. You'll be hired on the spot.”

“Oh, Jonathan, that would be wonderful!” She grows quiet. “Only there's one big problem with that.” She glances out the window at … me.

I shut my eyes and slump, pretending to be asleep.

“We can't go to New York. Not now,” Molly says.

“I know,” Jonathan agrees. “You're right. Of course, you're right. Fella has been so good to us. We wouldn't be where we are now if it weren't for Fella. We could never leave that horse.”

“I wouldn't trust anyone else to take care of him,” Molly adds.

“Me either.” He sighs.

I open my eyes and gaze in at them.

Molly reaches across the little table and puts her hand on Jonathan's. “We're happy here, aren't we?”

Jonathan puts his other hand on hers. “We'd be happy anywhere, Molly.”

“Absolutely,” Molly agrees.

When Molly steps out of the house, I nicker to her.

“Hey! I thought you were asleep, Fella.” She comes over and wraps her arms around my neck as far as they'll go. Then she kisses my nose. “Good night, sweet Fella. See you tomorrow.”

I watch her walk away, knowing that I won't see her tomorrow.

Through the window I watch as Jonathan packs the money away into his money box and loads his paints and brushes for the morning.

Jonathan and Molly are two of the best humans I've ever known. As long as I'm around, they won't leave. They'll stay and see their dreams of New York City fade and disappear.

Jonathan leans out the window and calls, “Good night, Fella!”

I whinny a good night … and a good-bye.