Botero's Beautiful Horses Read online

  He’d had a job with a paving company in Vancouver that he didn’t mind for a while. He had started out on the end of a shovel and eventually had run the roller that did the finishing off. His boss liked him a lot, a man who promoted him to running the roller because he didn’t turn up hungover most days. But then the owner made a decision. To play with the big boys, he would need to invest in new equipment and risk contracts not showing up to pay it off. So he sold out and went small. Driveways in the metro area, something the owner and his brother could handle by themselves. But he knew people in Fernie, which was why Sage had ended up there.

  But it wasn’t just the job. Sage was addicted to restlessness, a man who followed a crooked path and didn’t know what to do about it. Every time something changed in his life, he felt excited. But the excitement didn’t last long. A few days maybe. Then after a time, months sometimes, tension built, and he wanted a bigger world. He felt no different from someone addicted to cigarettes. After a time, you get what you want, or you’re filled with anxiety because you don’t.

  Della was as good a wife as any man could expect. She thought of important things before he did. She beamed in her role as a mother, and Della was the only woman he loved. He wasn’t sure he could have made that claim the day he married her, but he loved her now the only way he knew how.

  After that first night Sage visited Selma in her small apartment above the pub, nothing happened for a long time. He wasn’t the type to hang out at the bar for hours on end. Not a man who closed the bar down. Maybe when he was younger, but he had no desire to drink himself silly in middle age. Then Stacey went to church with Della. They had a small Sunday school class Stacey went to while Della took in the service. Stacey didn’t like the class much, but she often went with her mother to the church service itself. She liked the sound of the organ and the tidiness of the church, and she particularly liked it when she and Della had a pew to themselves.

  Sage had no interest in attending church. He said he would rather go for a walk along the river, which he did the first Sunday they were both at church. Then the following week, he visited Selma again. She slept in everyday of the week, and he woke her on Sunday just after nine. Her smell drew him in. The taste of her. He didn’t know Selma’s exact age, but she was much younger than he was, and he wondered if he’d forgotten what younger women smelled and tasted like. He never stayed long Sunday mornings, and she didn’t want him to. If he didn’t show up, she never mentioned his absence, but every time he arrived, she welcomed him.

  Feelings stormed through him as he walked through the town now. He wanted to punch and hurt someone, an enemy of some kind, but Sage didn’t have an enemy. He wanted the people around him to stare at him, incredulous that he would loiter downtown without purpose, but nobody noticed him. He wanted to sit by the side of the river and drink a bottle of whiskey until he didn’t know where he sat. When he stood in one spot and watched the people filled with expectation coming and going, smiling, chatting, kicking an empty pop can down the snow-scraped street, it made him feel like crying. He knew he needed help, but he didn’t know where to turn.

  If someone like Mrs. Brown knew who he’d become, she might not be the only one. For most of the morning, he’d rebuilt an igloo, and then Della had come home from church and he couldn’t face her. She seemed happier than usual. Maybe the sermon had suited her, or maybe she was glad because he’d helped the kids like he said he would. He tried not to think of Selma, if even for a full minute, but found it hard to do. When he thought of Selma, the image of Mrs. Brown’s indignant face and orange lipstick took over unless he looked at something specific and thought about the thing he looked at. That’s why he had told Della he needed a walk to clear his head.

  He walked past the florist and then stopped and turned around. A large brown dog passed him in a hurry without looking up. The dog didn’t look hungry, just intent on where he was heading. Even the dogs in this town know where they’re going, he thought. The sun was out, and the flower shop had filled with light and colour, a store long and narrow and smelling like a summer day. The woman behind the counter was older, possibly the owner willing to work on Sunday. Something about the store, the smell of it and the woman behind the counter, made Sage not want to leave and get back on the street.

  How much is that bunch over there? he asked.

  Those are lovely, aren’t they? I’m afraid you’ve got good taste. That’s the last grouping like that in the store. It costs eight dollars.

  She asked Sage if he wanted them specially wrapped, and he told her as special as she could make them. You’ll want a card, she said. What do you want the card to say?

  Sage thought about it. Put down “Just because,” he said.

  Oh my, the woman said. I don’t believe I’ve ever had anyone say that in all the years I’ve been selling flowers.

  When he got back, he could see from the road that Della was on the couch reading to Stacey and Tommy. He wanted it to be just Della at home when he presented the flowers, but that wasn’t going to happen. In the porch enclosure, he hung up his coat, took his boots off and walked into the living room. I bought you something, he said.

  Della got up off the couch and made a big fuss over the flowers. I’ll get these in water right away, she said. This is amazing, and it’s just like the sermon at church. The minister said if we have faith and just sit back without expectation, providence will come among us. She deserved to be happy, Sage thought, happy his wife liked what he had done. He wanted to say something to make it clear the flowers were his idea, not God’s.

  You know? Della said. I can’t remember the last time you bought me flowers. Sage didn’t say anything. He thought about it too and realized he never had.

  Stacey didn’t have brothers or sisters to play with, but she didn’t need any. Della had four kids on the go one spring, the youngest only sixteen months, so it was as if Stacey were being raised in a large family. Tommy, the flat-nosed boy, was a year older; Leah, who had to be reminded to speak English not French, was close to Stacey’s age; Gobinder, who didn’t smell—but only ate a lot of curry—Della explained to Stacey, was a year younger and only wanted to watch TV; and then there was the baby who everyone, including Della, called Baby.

  Della had extra toys around the house, bought so all the kids could play together, and most of the time, Stacey didn’t mind if others played with her personal toys. But she took her Pippi Longstocking doll, her favourite, to bed with her each night and hid her under her pillow in the morning so no one else would touch it. Everyone, including Della, waited for spring to take hold so playing outdoors was feasible, but for three days in a row, it had rained and everyone, on the tail of winter, felt housebound.

  Mid-morning, Tommy and Leah went into Stacey’s bedroom, and Tommy decided it would be fun to have a pillow fight, which led Leah to discover Pippi Longstocking. When Stacey noticed, she demanded the doll back, and Leah either didn’t understand because of her developing English skills or because everything else in the house was first come, first served. Leah didn’t give the doll back, and Stacey punched her in the nose, and soon blood ran all over Leah’s frilly white blouse. Leah stepped back, stunned and confused. Tommy screamed at the sight of blood.

  What’s going on in here? Leah, what happened?

  Della had Baby in her arms and put her on Stacey’s bed and told her to make sure he didn’t roll off. She tilted Leah’s head back and told her to pinch her nose and went to the kitchen for a wet cloth.

  Stacey punched her, Tommy said. She punched her on the nose.

  Della only half listened as she busied herself cleaning the blood off Leah’s face. Stacey pinned Baby to her bed with one hand and looked down at the floor, crying. Della said, let’s get that blouse off you and put it in cold water. There’s blood everywhere. She removed the blouse, and when Leah saw the blood stains, she cried too. Della grabbed a red plaid work shirt from Sage’s closet so Leah would be warm. It hung past her knees.

  Ri
ght on the nose, Tommy continued. She hit her right on the nose.

  Gobinder heard the kerfuffle but remained in the living room watching The Jetsons.

  The bleeding stopped, so Della propped up pillows on Stacey’s bed and let Leah lie back and look at the ceiling with a fresh wet cloth on her face. She rinsed the blouse, and most of the blood had vanished, but in places you could see where it had been. She added salt to the cold water and left it to soak. Della told Tommy his report had been thorough enough and that he should watch TV while she sorted things out.

  I don’t want to go to my room, Stacey said. She’s in there bleeding and taking up the whole bed. Della dragged her into the room and shut the door. Neither girl wanted to explain what had happened so Della said she would wait until they were ready to talk. She picked up a book from the floor and read it like it was a novel she was halfway through. The robins in the backyard didn’t mind the rain. They were busy sorting out who to make babies with.

  She stole my Pippi, Stacey said.

  She was playing with it, you mean. Is that right, Leah? You were playing with Pippi? Leah nodded.

  Playing with a doll is a lot different from stealing a doll. You can’t punch someone in the face for something like that. If people acted that way, half the town of Fernie would walk around with bloody noses.

  Whether Leah understood the words or not, she giggled, lying there on the bed.

  I can understand if you don’t want the other kids to play with Pippi. We’ll just have to find a better spot to keep her. I think it’s time to say you’re sorry, young lady.

  There’s blood on Pippi’s leg. See it?

  Della tried again. And again. Stacey wouldn’t apologize, so Della picked Leah up and carried her to the living room and told Stacey to stay in her room. I don’t care, she said. I don’t want to play with those dumb kids anyway.

  Della rinsed the blouse out with salty water two more times until the stain became almost invisible. She filled the sink with warm water and bleach and got lunch ready. She asked Stacey again if she wanted to apologize, and when she said no, Della left her egg salad sandwich on a plate just inside her bedroom door.

  You sure bleed a lot when you’re punched on the nose, Tommy said.

  Yes, Tommy. Enough about bloody noses. After lunch I think we could colour some pictures. We got a new set of crayons. Sixty-four of them.

  Stacey heard the cheering that resulted. She didn’t want to crayon anyway.

  The afternoon passed more slowly than normal, and everyone felt the tension in the air. Tommy went to Stacey’s bedroom door at one point and told her to hurry up and get out here. Stacey told him to shut his big fat mouth.

  Sage, on an upgrading course, had said he would be home for dinner but he might be late if he went out with the others for a beer. Della cooked fish sticks, chips and made coleslaw, something both he and Stacey loved. She waited until six-thirty, and when Sage hadn’t returned, she ate hers at the kitchen table and put a small serving on a plate and took it into Stacey’s bedroom. Stacey turned away from her on the bed and faced the wall, still refusing to apologize. Della picked up the sandwich, which hadn’t been touched. Your dad’s not going to like hearing about what went on here today, Della said. Stacey refused to respond.

  Sage didn’t get home until almost nine. Della could tell he’d had more than one beer. He sat down at the table to eat his portion of fish sticks and chips, and while he ate, Della filled him in on what had happened.

  I’ll go in and have a talk with her, he said. I might not be as nice about it as you were.

  Trust me, I was firm. You’ll have to wait until morning now. I haven’t heard a peep out of her for more than an hour. I’m sure she’s exhausted.

  Sage went to the bedroom door, and Della followed. They turned the light on. Stacey had taken off all her clothes but had not bothered with pyjamas. She lay in bed, only partially covered by the sheets. Neither Sage nor Della said anything for a few minutes, trying as they were to take in what they saw. Stacey had found leftover crayons and had drawn all over one wall of her bedroom. A girl with light brown hair and a white blouse stood out in the drawing, as did an excessive amount of blood depicted as splattered all over the room. The likeness to the little girl was uncanny.

  The next morning was a Saturday, a day that Sage did something that suited him, and Della and Stacey cleaned up the house and went somewhere. When Sage left, Della still had heard nothing from Stacey’s room. She opened the bedroom door and found Stacey lying in bed reading, Pippi Longstocking cradled in one arm. The fish sticks from the previous night had drawn the attention of several flies.

  I hope you’re pleased with yourself young lady. Your dad was ready to bust in here and tan your hide, but I set him loose. I was planning on the two of us shopping this afternoon, after we got the house tidied. Now you’ve ruined that too. Do you have anything to say for yourself?

  Stacey turned a page over. Della bent down to pick up her untouched supper, and her knees cracked. When she turned to leave, Stacey turned toward her for the first time. She stuck out her tongue, but her mother never noticed.

  Della thought about the house, what had to be done and about getting on with it. Stacey had to be hungry. She hadn’t eaten for almost twenty-four hours. Della liked being around pleasant people, and she thought she’d been raising a daughter that would be that way too. What set of circumstances had convened to suggest it was okay to punch another child on the nose over a doll? Maybe going to school, the only thing on the horizon about to change, had her worried. Della thought about Stacey not eating and of the reports of anorexic kids in the news. Was this how it started? Going on a hunger strike to establish power? The last thing she wanted was for Sage to step in and, in his words, set her straight from a man’s perspective.

  All right, young lady, enough is enough. You can’t live here and think you can lounge around in bed all day. You can leave your room a mess if you want to, but the vacuuming and dusting are your responsibility and you can get at it. I’ve saved you once, but I won’t do it again.

  Della left the bedroom door open, turned on the radio and washed the kitchen floor. She sang along when she knew the words. Stacey came out of her room and started the vacuum cleaner. She knew she should dust first and vacuum later, but at least she was doing something. She finished and took her book and her favourite doll outside to the backyard. She reached over the fence and extracted two apples from Hart’s tree in the backyard. The apples were best left until late August, Hart always said, but they weren’t all that bad now.

  Sage came home in the middle of the afternoon, and he found Stacey in the woodshed, staring at the piles of wood as if they had a story to tell. He tried to talk to her. He tried to be reasonable in his tone and with what he had to say, but she ignored him.

  What the hell is the matter with that kid? he demanded. She won’t say a word.

  She’s not all that well, Della lied. She has a bad case of laryngitis and can barely talk. It’s been an upsetting couple of days. School starts in a few days so let’s hope she’s over it by then. Sometimes in life we need time to heal. Can you imagine a kid in school who didn’t say anything? Now that would require an understanding teacher, wouldn’t it?

  Sage shook his head in disbelief. He tried to remember why he’d come home so early on a Saturday. For the life of him he couldn’t remember.

  10

  Della had been dreading Stacey’s first day of school for weeks. She planned to walk her there in the morning, and Sage had permission, for the first few days of school, to pick her up and bring her home at noon. Della dressed her in a navy blue skirt and white top, which resulted in her looking like she was starting private school. Still, she looked neat and tidy and clean, and none of the teachers would have anything negative to say about her appearance. There had been a problem with underwear, however. Stacey was fond of pink and Della knew that, and she’d bought seven pairs of pink underwear to start school, only to have Stacey state s
he wasn’t about to start school the following day, a Tuesday, unless she had two pairs of black underwear.

  You like pink. You’ve always liked pink. So what’s the problem?

  Yes, I like pink, but I need two black pairs too. You can never have enough underwear. You said so yourself.

  But why black all of a sudden?

  Because I have to start school on a Tuesday. And after that a Wednesday. It’s a very sad thing to be going to school on a Tuesday and a Wednesday. They’re not like the other days.

  What’s different about them?

  One has seven letters and the other nine. All the other days have either six or eight. I don’t feel safe going to school in happy pink when I should be wearing sad black.

  Della didn’t bother with a coat because it was warm in the early morning and bound to get warmer. She offered to make anything Stacey could name for breakfast, but Stacey opted for cornflakes as usual. Stacey had given little thought to her first day in school; in fact, having talked to Tommy about it many times, she was sure there wasn’t much to learn in kindergarten that she didn’t already know. The way Della was acting, the night before and over breakfast, confused her. Had she been older, she might have thought of breakfast as her last meal before execution.

  Della promised not to cry, and she kept her word until Stacey disappeared behind the main door to the school, then she blubbered her way back home, thinking what a brave soul her little girl was. How absolutely grown-up.

  She only had Charlie to babysit, walking now, and previously referred to as Baby. Dropped off at 9:15, by mid-morning he sat in a high chair, making a ripe banana into playdough while Della worked at the sink, cleaning beets she planned to cook for supper. Charlie had the habit of babbling with a range of intonation that resembled speech but made no sense most of the time, so Della thought she was listening to that until she turned toward the high chair and saw Charlie had his mouth stuffed with banana. She walked into the living room and found Stacey sitting on the couch, TV on, holding Pippi Longstocking, who was absorbing more of her attention than the TV.