Moo (6 page)

(As I said, way back at the beginning . . .)

The truth is

Zora was ornery and stubborn

wouldn't listen to a n y b o d y

and was selfish beyond selfish

and filthy

            
caked with mud

                               
and dust

and moody:

you'd better watch it

or

she'd knock you

                    
f l a t

                               
s p l a t . . .

We found this out, me and Luke,

on our next visit to Mrs. Falala's.

Bring her in
, commanded Mrs. Falala.

Erm. How—

Get her. Bring her.

Mrs. Falala tossed a halter in my direction.

Come on, Lukey, we are going to do this.

Surely I could imitate what I'd seen the kids do at the nearby Birchmere Farm. Surely I could just toss the loop over Zora's head and pull her on in. Right?

Lukey's eyes were open so wide. He stayed well behind me.

Zora was standing in a mud puddle when we approached her. When I tossed the loop at her head, she dodged it.

Mooooo. Mooooooooo.

Talk to her, Reena. Tell her you're not going to
hurt her.

I talked to her. I told her I wouldn't hurt her.

I tossed the loop again.

She dodged it.

Mooooo. Mooooooooo.

Zora turned and walked farther away.

I tossed the rope from behind. Missed.

I tossed it again.

Zora stomped in the mud

                    
s p l a t t e r i n g

me from head

                            
to

                                  
foot.

Look, Luke, why don't YOU talk to her?

Why don't YOU try to get this halter on her?

Watch out, Reena—

Zora had turned and was coming toward us.

She was picking up speed.

Run, Luke—

Zora was chasing us.

Mooooooooo. Mooooooooo.

When we reached the gate

Luke scrambled up and over it

instead of through it

and I was trying to follow

when Zora's

            
E N O R M O U S
  
H E A D

loomed up below me and

                               
u
  
m
  
p

                            
b
             
e d

me into the air

so that I landed

ungracefully

on the other side

where

Mrs. Falala was standing

with a sly little smile on her

sly

little

face.

That Mrs. Falala!

That Zora!

You didn't do it
, Mrs. Falala said, taking the halter from me and holding it aloft.
You think
it eez too hard?

We didn't answer.

You babies?

Luke stamped his foot.
We are
not
babies
.
Don't—

What Luke means is that we—we—

We are
not
babies!

Then do it
, said Mrs. Falala.
Put halter on Zora.
She dangled the rope in front of me.

You could practically see steam rising from Luke's head. He grabbed the rope, climbed the fence gate, and, sitting on the top rail, dropped the loop of the rope over Zora's big head while she stood perfectly still.

There!
Luke said, tossing the loose end of the rope to Mrs. Falala.
There!

You catch flies with your open mouth
, Mrs. Falala said to me.

I couldn't have been more surprised if Luke had suddenly grown wings. He roped the cow?
That big-headed cow? And the cow didn't object?

Mrs. Falala opened the gate and handed the rope to me.
Bring Zora in.

To the stall?

Yes, yes, of course the stall. What you think, we
are taking her to the grocery?

There stood Zora. I gently tugged on the rope.
Come on, Zora, here we go.

Nothing.

Come on, time to eat.

Zora moved backward, pulling hard. I dug in my heels, sliding in the muck.

Come on, Zora.

Luke said,
Tell her you won't hurt her. Tell her—

I told her. I pulled. She pulled back.

Tell her not to be afraid.

I told her. Zora pulled. My heels slid in farther. I fell on my butt.

That cow!

The next day, Mrs. Falala was waiting for us at the barn.

I tell you the plan, yes? You are not so good yet,
but you practice. You do all things and then you
will be ready.

Ready for what?
I asked.

Mrs. Falala opened the pasture gate and ushered me and Luke inside.
Ready to show Zora.

What does that mean?

She tossed me the rope.
Show her. At the fairs.

What fairs?

Luke was standing there, swiveling his head from me to Mrs. Falala and back again, not saying a word.

You don't know about fairs?
Mrs. Falala slapped her hand against her forehead.
Where you eez coming from that you don't know fairs?

You mean like a carnival?

Carnival? No! A
fair.
They show the horses, the
cows, the pigs, the goats, the bunnies, the chickens.
The judges choose best cow and best chicken and
best piggy, like that. A fair. You got it now?

Luke and I had never been to this sort of fair. In big cities, they don't show the horses, the cows, the pigs, the goats, the bunnies, or the chickens.

Mrs. Falala was waving us farther into the pasture.
Go. You get Zora. You think you can do
it today?

I don't think Zora likes us
, I said.

Of course not. She does not know you from nobody.
What if you are bad person? You have to introduce
yourself.

On our way across the field, Luke practiced,
Hello, Zora. My name is Luke. This is Reena. We
are not bad people.

I don't think she meant like that, Luke. I think she
meant that Zora has to get used to us.

Zora was not in the mood for introductions that day. She knocked me over with a push of her big, fat head, and she stubbornly refused to budge from her muddy spot near the bushes. She startled us frequently with loud
mooooo
s, she slobbered profusely, and then shook her head to splatter us with the slobber. She lifted her tail to let loose a long, smelly stream of urine and two runny dung pats. Flies zoomed around Zora and ventured over to us.

We returned to the barn without Zora.

Mrs. Falala clicked her tongue.
You might have
to come more often.

But—but—
I tried to think of a polite protest but was caught off guard by Paulie the pig rounding the corner squealing. Paulie tore past me and knocked Luke flat, sending his notebook flying from his satchel.

Mrs. Falala retrieved the notebook.
What this
eez?
She flipped through the pages.

That's mine.

You make these pictures?

Yes.

You copy?

No.

How you do?

Luke was looking up at Mrs. Falala, shielding his eyes from the sun. He staggered back, tugging at my arm.
Reena, Reena, up there—

Slithering across the barn roof was the snake, long and thick and black.

Mrs. Falala followed our stares.
Eez just Edna.
She eats the mice.

We took a day off from going to Mrs. Falala's and rode our bikes all around the town. The sun was sparkling off the water and the boats in the harbor, and people were strolling along with their kids and their dogs and lined up at the ice cream stands and the lobster roll shack. We stopped at one stand for the creamiest soft-serve ice cream and got a cup of corn to feed the ducks in the river below. It was the perfect Maine-y kind of day.

Up Chestnut Street we rode and down the hill to the farm with the Belted Galloways, where we leaned our bikes against the fence. The girl and boy I'd seen before, Beat and Zep, waved from the barn.

Where you been?
Beat called.
Haven't seen you in
a few days
. She put down a bucket and walked up to where we were standing.

Busy. Helping an old lady.

What old lady is that?
Beat was wearing the same orange overalls and tall black boots I'd seen her in before. She had sparkly black eyes and a kind smile.

Mrs. Falala.

Beat clapped her hand to her mouth.
Oh!
Really? Mrs. Falala?

Yep. You know her?

Everyone knows Mrs. Falala.

Do you know her cow, Zora?

Beat put her hand on my arm.
Oh boy, do I know
Zora! Hey, Zep, come here. Look who's helping
Mrs. Falala and zonky Zora.

The tall, redheaded boy, Zep, ambled up to the fence. He nodded at me and at Luke.
That
riot?

Pardon?
His Maine accent seemed stronger today.

He spoke louder, as if we were deaf.

THAT RIGHT? YOU HELPING MRS. FALALA?

Erm. Yes.

Beat and Zep exchanged a look that maybe meant
Are they crazy?
or maybe
Can you believe
that?
or maybe
Poor kids.

Beat said,
And they're helping her with Zora, too.

Whoa! Zora! Whoa! Now that's a stubborn one,
that Zora.

Yes
, I said,
we discovered that. Mrs. Falala wants
us to show Zora. At the fairs.

Again, Beat and Zep exchanged a look.

But,
I said,
we don't know anything about cows or
fairs, do we, Luke?

Nope.

Beat grinned.
Well, we can help you with that,
can't we, Zep? We know about cows and we know
about fairs, don't we, Zep?

Ayuh.

So just like that, we arranged that Luke and I would come to the farm for a couple hours each of the days we did not go to Mrs. Falala's.

We'll train you!
Beat said.

Ayuh
, Zep agreed.
Train you riot up.

One morning when we arrived at Mrs. Falala's, she said,
In barn, go see, now
. She flicked her hand at us, shooing us toward the barn.

There we found farm clothing intended for us: sturdy canvas overalls, long-sleeve denim shirts, tall black rubber boots, and thick suede work gloves.

Eez not new,
Mrs. Falala said, as if to let us know she would never consider something so
extravagant,
but eez good. Maybe a little big, but
okay, eez good. Try. See.

If, a few months ago, anyone had asked either me or Luke to wear these items, we would have refused. But now, Luke said,
Hey, just like
Zep and Beat at the farm
, and I was thinking the same.

Mrs. Falala pulled on her braid.
Better to wear
those when doing the work, yes? The work gets
messy.

Yes, we'd noticed that, and so had our parents, who said we were
extremely stinky
lately. They made us change in the garage before even coming inside and said our shoes were
foul.

But now we had real farm gear.

It felt good.

But we tried not to show

how
good

because we were a bit

suspicious

that Mrs. Falala had

done

something

nice

like

that.

She told us that we should leave the clothes and boots in the barn at the end of each day.

But maybe we could take them with us and bring
them back?
I asked.

No.

We could use them at the farm—

What farm?

Luke jumped in, rattling on about Beat and Zep and the Belties at Birchmere Farm, and then he pulled out his notebook and showed Mrs. Falala some of his drawings of the farm and the cows.

Sit here,
she said.
Wait
. She made her way back to the house.

Uh-oh
, I said.
Did we make her mad?

Were we dis-suspect—what's that word?

Disrespectful.

Were we that?
Luke asked.

Mrs. Falala emerged from the house carrying something pressed close to her chest. She sat on a hay bale beside Luke, and tapped on his notebook.
Show
, she commanded.
Show how!

In her arms was a white tablet, which she placed on her lap. From a pocket she withdrew a stubby pencil.
Show!

Maybe Mrs. Falala was not familiar with the word
please
. Mm?

Show what?
Luke asked.

That
, she said, tapping on Luke's open notebook.
How you do. Show to me.

Luke cradled his notebook against his chest.
I
don't—

You draw. Show to me.

Mrs. Falala had pulled her braid around to the front and was chewing on the ends. She looked like a child sitting there on the hay bale, hair in her mouth, her small feet crossed one over
the other.
Show how you do.

Luke uncapped his black marker and turned to a fresh page. He looked around, his gaze settling on the open barn door. Quickly he sketched the outlines of the barn sides and roof and then the door frame. Mrs. Falala bent her head close, her eyes moving from his hands to the paper to the barn and back again.

Luke added a pig to the top of the barn and a fierce eagle swooping down on the pig.

I no see that
, Mrs. Falala said.

Luke drew a braided dragon curling around the base of the barn.

That not there
, Mrs. Falala said.

I opened the gate to the pasture and went in
search of Zora. She was not under her favorite bushes this time, but in the shadows of another corner of the pasture, near a small pond. Zora was facing me, standing completely still, the only movement the occasional swish of her tail. I approached her slowly, talking softly.

It's just me. I'm Reena. Remember? I won't hurt
you. It's okay.

When I got within two feet of her, she spoke:
Moo. Mooooo.

Yes, yes
, I said.
Look, I don't even have a halter.
I'm just here to see you.

Mooooo. Mooooo.

I eased up beside her and carefully stroked her back. Her ears flicked this way and that.

Mooooo.

Zora was about four feet high and two feet wide and five feet long from end to end. At Birchmere, a heifer that Beat worked with weighed eight hundred pounds. Zora seemed only slightly smaller than that one.

Zora's fur was deep black on her face, neck, shoulders, and forefeet. Around her middle was a foot-wide belt of pure white fur, and behind was the deep black on her hindquarters, hind legs, and tail. I stroked her head and neck.

Mooooo.

I stroked her shoulders and back.

Mooooo.

I stood in front of her and looked into first
one big black eye and then the other. The eyes were so far apart, it was hard to look into both at the same time. Zora's nostrils were

            
(I believe I have mentioned)

                               
ENORMOUS

            
and wet

              
            
and

                        
            
d

                               
            
r

                                    
            
i

                                       
            
p

                                            
            
p

                                                
            
y.

I stood there for some time, talking to her and stroking her head, and then I turned and walked away, saying,
See? I didn't want anything
from you. I only came to visit.

I was halfway back to the barn when I turned to look behind me, and there was Zora,

            
following

            
me

about ten feet behind, big head swinging from

                    
side
        
to
        
side.

 

I kept on walking, as if this was nothing

extraordinary

but inside

I was

            
BURRR SSSTING !

Zora was

            
F O L

                    
L O W

                               
I N G

            
me.

I was hoping Mrs. Falala would notice, but her head was still bent low over Luke's notebook, watching him sketch. As I approached, she pointed at Luke's drawing and said,
I no see this
or this or that
. She squinted at Luke.
Where this
comes from?

Luke offered his marker to Mrs. Falala.
You try.

She clapped her hands to her chest.
No, no—

Didn't you ever draw before?

Mrs. Falala sat up straight.
No. I do not draw.

Never?

Never.

I couldn't imagine that. Never? How could a person live a whole life and never draw? Not a tree or a house or a stick figure or a cat or a dog or a flower? Nothing? Never?

Mooooo. Moooooooo.

Zora was pressed up against the fence, her BIG nostrils poking between the slats.

Well, well,
Mrs. Falala said.
Now you have new
friend?