The Mare

Velvet

The third day I went to the barn, somebody new came. She was old and red-skinned like Pat, but her hair was shiny brown and cut neat. She was short and she would’ve been fat except her body was square and hard instead of soft and round. She wore her pants tucked into tall black boots, and when she walked she swung her arms. She looked like she could hit — like she liked to hit — but at the same time like she would only do it if there was a reason. She had a shirt on that said “Beware the Mare.” She was cool.

While I was watching her, Beth came over and whispered, “That’s Beverly. She’s the trainer.” She stood next to me and talked without looking at me. “She used to work at this fancy barn called Steeplechase where she trained horses so the rich girls there could jump ’em and look good at shows even if they don’t really know anything.”

I was trying to think what to say back, but before I could she said, “They fired her. I think she did something messed-up to somebody. Or somebody’s horse.” I almost asked how she knew, but then the retarded boy piped in out of nowhere, like a retarded person will do. “They say dogs are man’s best friend,” he said. “But horses are man’s best slave.” He looked right at me. “Are you Mexican?”

I said, “No, I’m Dominican.”

“What’s that?”

“Somebody from the Dominican Republic.”

“I never heard of that,” said Beth. “Where is that?”

Before I could answer, the weird boy said, “So why does a Mexican kid walk around like she owns the place?”

“It’s in the Caribbean next to Haiti.”

“So why does a Mexican—”

“Would you shut up?” said Beth.

He said, “It’s a joke, and she isn’t even Mexican!” But he shut up like he knew he was retarded, which made me feel sorry for him instead of mad.

—

The next time I saw Beverly, she was leading Blue Boy. The way Blue Boy followed her was different from how he followed Pat. With Pat, he walked normal; with Beverly he walked sharp—like a kid who knows he better not do nothin’ wrong. I thought, That’s how I want a horse to walk with me.

While I was watching, she stopped to talk to Gare Ann, who was cleaning the stall of a horse called Spirit. She was cleaning with Spirit standing in the stall with her. When I got closer I heard Beverly say, “You want to watch that one. He kicked Beth on the cross-ties last week.”

That girl usually ran her mouth, but not to Beverly; she kept her head down, said, “Yes, ma’am.”

“He kicked me once. Then we had a little conversation about it and he never did it again.”

“What did you say to him?” I asked.

Everything stopped. Beverly turned like in slow motion and stared the crap out of me. Her strong red face had thin lips and small deep eyes. It was a face that could make you do things just by looking. “I hurt him,” she said. “I hurt him more than he hurt me.”

Gare was looking at me too, probably because that was the first time she heard me say anything. She wasn’t gonna crack on me though. Not with this lady there. Even though she was turning around and taking Blue Boy away.