Botero's Beautiful Horses Read online

  Stacey, what are you doing back home? Kindergarten goes until lunch time.

  I didn’t like it there.

  What do you mean you didn’t like it?

  I didn’t like it. You ask a question, and she tells you to wait a minute. She has too many kids to look after.

  Della cleaned up Charlie and put him in the stroller. She figured if Sage were home he’d get mad and march her back there right away, but she would not get mad. Going to school every day was like going to work. It was natural to not want to go. She sat on the couch beside Stacey and explained how school was a morning thing and that she couldn’t just go for an hour and come home because the school and her mother had to know where she was. Stacey agreed to return but wanted to take Pippi with her. On their way down the street, they encountered Molly the Nose, out front and curious. Della explained and Molly said kids are just like dogs, and once she was fed snacks every day, everything would be just fine. When they got close to the school, Stacey handed her doll over because she knew Pippi wouldn’t like it there anymore than she would.

  Are you missing anything? Della asked when they found the kindergarten room.

  Missing? the teacher asked.

  Yes, missing. Stacey’s been home for an hour. I thought you might have noticed.

  Della couldn’t remember the teacher’s first name. Deerhome was her last name, and she was young. Her face turned crimson, and she tried to offer an explanation but had none.

  Less than an hour later, when Della was back home tending to Charlie, Sage drove up and Stacey got out and went into the backyard. Della wanted her out of her good clothes but thought better than to press the issue. Sage did not understand what had gone on, so Della filled him in.

  I can’t believe she wandered off and came home. The teacher hadn’t even noticed. Do you realize how dangerous that could have been?

  The school is only eight blocks from home, Sage said. She knows her way.

  I know that, but anything could have happened. She could have been abducted, and no one would have noticed.

  At supper that night, Della tried to quiz Stacey about her partial day of kindergarten. We learned the rules and sang a song, Stacey said.

  What else?

  That was it, except she explained about the alphabet, and everyone got to colour a picture of the letter A.

  What colour did you make yours?

  I didn’t. I found a Curious George book in the corner and read it instead. They let us outside for a few minutes, but we weren’t allowed on the monkey bars, and a boy with cross-eyes peed his pants, and a girl cried because she got her dress dirty. Then Dad came and it was over.

  Della looked at Sage, now laughing quietly. It’s not funny, she said.

  Well, I think it’s damn funny, Sage said.

  Della wanted to know if Stacey looked forward to going to school the next day but was afraid to ask.

  Hart had sold life insurance for twenty-two years. To his credit, he never pestered Sage or Della, even though he must have guessed neither of them had insurance of any kind. He went to his office downtown for some part of every morning and made house calls in the afternoons and evenings, Molly the Nose said, but from what Sage and Della observed, Hart was not a man to stretch himself out of shape. He spent most of any free time he could gather inside the house, and they knew he was in there somewhere because they saw his car parked outside. He bought the TV Guide and circled in red pen any Western movies scheduled. Often the movies he wanted to watch aired on weekday afternoons and Saturdays, and his flexible schedule allowed him to view most of them. Molly the Nose, now that she babysat weekdays, went to bed earlier than in years past, which allowed Hart to take in, without contention, shows like The Johnny Cash Show on Wednesdays at nine. He took out of the library and read voraciously any books, both fiction and nonfiction, that dealt with the life and times of the Wild West. The way Hart saw it, once people had settled North America and cities harnessed their attention, something of spiritual value disappeared.

  Every year both Hart and Molly went to Calgary the first week in July without exception. Molly mostly visited with her sister, and Hart went to the Calgary Stampede. Tie down roping, bull riding and chuck wagon races were his favourite events, but he also enjoyed things like sheep shearing and blacksmith competitions. Molly and her sister went with him for one day, and they liked the Musical Ride and petting the miniature donkeys. Hart always came back from his one week of holiday with a smile on his face and a few well-chosen artifacts, ones he suspected he’d paid too much for.

  Since Stacey had started kindergarten, the weather had been bright and warm in the afternoons with just a hint of cool around the edges, weather that pulled you outside as if some force of nature suggested one ought to memorize the sun on the leaves of yellow and brown and red so they might be fondly remembered in the whiteout that would soon descend upon the valley. With kindergarten a morning affair only, Stacey could stay home and enjoy the afternoons that fall, and on one particular Monday, Sage stayed home too because he hadn’t felt well enough in the morning to go to work.

  There’s a horse in Molly’s backyard, Stacey exclaimed with such enthusiasm that both Della and Sage got up from the couch to investigate.

  It can’t be a horse, Sage said.

  Dad, I know what a horse looks like.

  It was a horse all right, a huge chestnut brown horse with a thick mane that matched a black saddle, glistening in the afternoon sun. Hart stood beside it, wearing a pair of cowboy boots, brushing the already shimmering hair and chatting with two police officers who kept their distance, more from the horse than from Hart. The three Howards made their way through the gate and onto Ferguson property without invitation. It wasn’t every day a horse showed up in the neighbourhood.

  So you don’t claim to own the horse? one of the officers said.

  No, of course not, Hart said. You asked me that already. I took the horse for a ride. Rode it in from Bull River.

  You’re trying to tell me you rode this horse all the way from Bull River?

  That’s what I’m trying to do.

  It’s almost an hour by car to Bull River from here.

  By car it is, yes, officer. You’ve got that right. It took two and a half hours, but I took a shortcut through the mountains. That’s what our forefathers had to do. Take the shortest route possible.

  The two policemen exchanged glances. It was clear they didn’t believe a word Hart was telling them.

  Can I touch him? Stacey said.

  Touch him? You can get up on him if you want. Come here, I’ll give you a boost. Della was about to suggest it wasn’t a good idea, but Sage shoved Stacey forward and Hart grabbed her and helped her up.

  It’s high up here, Stacey said, stroking the horse wherever she could reach.

  They do rent horses in Bull Creek, one officer said to the other.

  I know they do. But no one could make it through those mountains on a horse. It would take days to do such a thing.

  Okay, Hart said. Maybe I exaggerated. It may have taken me a bit more than three hours to get here. I didn’t have my watch with me.

  Where’s Molly? Della said.

  She’s in the house. She’s afraid of horses.

  Della turned and went inside. It would have been Molly the Nose who phoned the police when her husband showed up with a horse, and Della, as a fellow church-goer, felt the need to offer comfort.

  And do the people who own the horse know where it is?

  Probably not. I told them I was going on an extensive ride, but I didn’t say where. I plan on phoning them and explaining that I won’t have the horse back there until tomorrow. I’ve ridden horses before, but it’s been some time. My butt’s sore if that makes any sense. Hart kept brushing the horse while he talked. He helped Stacey down and undid the straps and removed the saddle, talking to the horse as he did so. He’s got plenty to eat in the backyard for now, Hart said. I’ll get him some water, and he’ll be fine. It will be good to
have a horse around the house for a change.

  Sage watched the whole procedure without comment. Hart wasn’t the sort he would likely engineer a connection with, and he wasn’t sorry about it either. He wasn’t feeling too perky, and just observing his obsessed neighbour wasn’t improving his health any.

  What’s the horse called? Stacey said.

  Murphy, Hart said. Well, it’s Jesus Murphy, they said, but I call him Murphy. The horse is an important part of our history. If it weren’t for the horse, none of us would be here right now.

  Tommy wasn’t being cared for after school by Della that day, and Stacey couldn’t remember why. She was happy about it though. Tomorrow when she saw him at school, she would talk horses until he couldn’t stand it anymore.

  When they were back home, Stacey said, Can we get a horse like Hart’s horse?

  That’s not Hart’s horse. That man doesn’t own a horse, and he doesn’t have his wits about him. You can’t own a horse in the city.

  Hart’s interesting though, Stacey said. He does interesting things. And he knows a lot of stuff.

  Sage opened a women’s magazine Della had borrowed from Molly the Nose. He lit up the biggest joint he’d ever rolled and thumbed his way through the pages. The ads appealed to him the most, and he wondered about the people in the ads. They all looked like nice people on the page, but he realized some of them were probably not nice at all. Not everything a person sees is what they think they see. Stacey might find someone like Hart interesting now, but over time he knew she’d grow out of it.

  11

  Follow the map as far as argenta, then turn around and drive exactly five miles back, park at the side of the road and wait inside the car for thirty minutes and someone would come to fetch him. He wasn’t to get out of the car, just sit tight, and if anyone came along and asked what he was doing there, he was to say he wanted to enjoy looking out over Kootenay Lake. Sage set out on his own, and the trip from Fernie took longer than he’d planned. Only once did he stop for gas and a chocolate bar, and it still took him almost six hours. He left early Saturday morning and told Della he was going fishing for Kokanee with a guy from work he refused to name. He hoped to be back late on Saturday, he told her, but if the fishing was good or there were problems, he might not be back until Sunday because his fishing partner had a two-man tent.

  What’s wrong with fishing in the river right here in town? Della asked, and Sage told her the river didn’t have Kokanee and it was Kokanee he was after.

  It was a clear fall day with a noticeable chill in the air, and Sage hoped to complete the trip in a single day. He wasn’t keen on sleeping out on what would be a frosty night in the Kootenays. He had made a big deal about packing his fishing equipment the night before, and Della told him when he got back maybe he could put the same organizational skills to work in the back shed and workshop.

  The lake, when he arrived, was beautiful. A slight breeze riffled the water, and it glistened like diamonds in the sun. Soon after he got there, a pickup truck passed his parked car, heading back to the north end of the lake, and then nothing broke the serenity. His eyes focused on the water, but something told him to look across the road and into the woods where darkness filled the spaces between the close pines. Loping along, parallel to the road, a grey wolf stopped every ten feet or so and looked out at Sage sitting in the car. There weren’t many cars on the road, and maybe the animal had never seen a purple car before. Sage had been told to stay inside the car and wait. It seemed like a good idea.

  About twenty minutes later, the pickup truck came back down the road and pulled up beside his car. Sage rolled down the window. Is anything wrong? the man asked.

  No, Sage said, just enjoying looking out over the lake.

  Perfect, the man said. Follow me. He turned on the gravel road and headed north, and Sage had to hurry to keep up. A few miles farther, the truck turned off onto a side road that led away from the lake but quickly turned into a dead end. The man pulled to the side and told Sage to drive to the end, then turned his pickup truck sideways, blocking any easy exit. The man lit a cigarette, then he got out of the truck and turned away from Sage and peed into the loose gravel.

  You understand we don’t deal in anything less than ten pounds? You won’t get it any cheaper, I can tell you that much, and you got the cash on you or we don’t go any further.

  I got the money. A thousand bucks. I need to see the stuff.

  Smoke some if you want, the man said. You may end up driving back on a slow road is all.

  Sage had papers with him and rolled a small joint. When he lit up, the forest around him came alive, and the man in charge kept looking back into the woods. Sage figured someone was planted nearby, probably with a gun, in case he caused trouble. It doesn’t feel like ten pounds, Sage said, lifting the huge black bag off the ground.

  That’s because we hung and dried it for close to a week. There was at least ten pounds in there when we picked it. Of course it weighs less now.

  Sage knew how much a small bag would sell for in Fernie, and he knew people were hungry for it in Cranbrook. He wouldn’t have a problem making money from his one-time investment. Sage reached into his pocket and pulled out the envelope that contained the thousand dollars. The man ripped it open and counted it twice, then looked back into the woods one more time.

  All right, he said. The stash is yours. If you’re stupid enough to get caught, you don’t remember where you got it.

  Don’t worry, Sage said. I won’t get caught. If this goes well, when can I come back for more?

  We’re almost done for this year, Bud. This time next year will be your best bet. You can check with your contact, and if we’re still in business we’ll do it again.

  The man got in his truck and drove away. Sage lifted his gear out of the trunk, including the spare tire, and set the bag deep in the well and covered it up with the tire, the fishing equipment and his green sleeping bag. He needed gas and drove slowly back to the main road. He didn’t want to drive so slow he drew anyone’s attention, but he didn’t want to burn up much gas either.

  He drove around the end of the lake, then south until he got to Kaslo and filled up with gas. He’d never been to Kaslo and got out to walk around town, and down by the docks, he watched a man and his son pull their boat out of the water and unload their gear.

  Looks like you were lucky out there today, Sage said. Is that two fish you got there?

  It is, the man said. I didn’t catch either one of them, can you believe it? My son caught both. First time we tried White Shoepeg Corn, and it worked like a hot damn. With a dodger, of course.

  Of course, Sage said. I’ve never caught one of those. I told my wife I’d bring her back a Kokanee for our anniversary. I don’t imagine you’d consider selling one of those, would you?

  That’s up to Brent, not me, the man said. He and Sage both looked at Brent who looked down at the two fish at the bottom of the boat.

  I’m not selling the big one, Brent said.

  I’ll give you twenty bucks for the small one then.

  Twenty-five bucks, Brent said. But Dad’s gotta take a picture first.

  Sage offered to take a picture of the two of them in front of their boat, then he handed over twenty-five dollars and accepted the fish in a plastic bag.

  Are you going to tell your wife you caught it? the kid wanted to know.

  I am, Sage said. But I’ll tell her a young man named Brent taught me how to do it.

  Sage had a sandwich and coffee at the local cafe. Pods of hippie types huddled on the sidewalks of town, wearing leather moccasins and baggy clothes. One group had a cat on a leash, and most of them looked stoned and paid little attention to the pedestrians who walked around them. These would not be his customers. They had little money, that much he knew, and they grew their own pot anyway. One man had his eyes closed and still played a clear tune on a hand-carved flute. Sage thought about returning to work at the mine on Monday, and he envied them.

&nb
sp; He didn’t plan to stop unless he had to, and even then he wouldn’t be home until close to midnight, but having the fish in the trunk of the car left him elated. He doubted he would be stopped along the way, but a fisherman with a fish in the trunk provided a reasonable story, plus the trunk would smell like fish instead of weed. On his way home, Sage would have plenty to think about. His landlord, who lived in Vancouver, wanted to sell the house they were renting, and he’d told Sage if he didn’t buy it before New Year’s, he would put it on the market in the spring. The bank told Sage he would need five thousand to qualify for a mortgage, and he only had a little more than a thousand dollars saved up.

  Della had fretted day and night since they’d found out. She didn’t want to move, she said. She didn’t want to start all over again now they were settled. He knew it was about Stacey more than anything. The town knew them as a family now, and she didn’t want to change that. Sage told her not to worry. He would look after things. Rich people knew how to run their own business, and Sage was in business now.

  Only five girls attended the morning kindergarten class of sixteen. The boys in the class wanted to run around and build with blocks, and whenever they got the chance to draw, they drew cars and coloured them red or blue. Stacey became fast friends with Amber. Amber tolerated her attendance as much as Stacey did, and the two of them, during free time, huddled in a corner and read books. For both, snack time was the best part of the morning. After snack time, when Amber read in their reading circle, Stacey never tired of staring at her face that had so many freckles they looked spray-painted in place. In the afternoons, Amber walked to her grandmother’s house to eat tomato soup and a cheese sandwich, not toasted, and then she watched her grandmother knit while listening to the radio because her grandmother had no TV in the house. Stacey suggested Amber should come to her house in the afternoons, and about a week later, Della had another client to look after, thanks to Stacey’s persistence.