Wild Girl (3 page)

I lay there listening to the soft clank of the radiator bringing up the heat. But how quiet this house was.

In our kitchen in Jales, Titia Luisa would be singing as she prepared our rice and beans. On the porch, Tio Paulo would be clucking over the news in the papers, the pages he’d finished drifting down the steps. And outside, Santos the dog would be barking as he chased animals he could never catch. The only quiet one was Gato the cat, up on my bed, staring down into my face, while Maria the canary …

I padded over to the closet and reached into my backpack, first touching the lemon, then pulling out my horse
pictures and the box full of thumbtacks I’d thrown in at the last minute. Who knew whether they’d have tacks in America?

Standing on the bed, I covered Snow White and the dwarfs. With my shoe, trying not to make too much noise, I hammered up some of my pictures: Native Dancer; Gallorette; Man o’ War, who was called Big Red, and Whirlaway, my favorite of them all.

I tried to tell myself this was like my home in Jales. But where was the sunlight that used to splash over the floor and make plaid patterns of light on the wall? Where was the noise of the dog, the canary, Titia Luisa singing, and Tio Paulo complaining?

I went to the window and leaned my head against the cold glass. I was facing the back, and I could see a wooden barn on one side, and beyond that a single oval track, where a rider exercised a chestnut horse.

A white fence stretched around all of it, and at the far end, an orange cat was perched on top washing one paw. She reminded me of Gato.

Someone was walking along the path, whistling, and the cat jumped off the fence and disappeared into the trees as he opened the barn doors.

Suddenly I was excited. In that barn were horses. Horses! And I was going to be part of this new world.

I spotted Pai leaning against the fence, looking up at the sky. I looked up, too. A pale swirl had appeared in the gray sky, something I’d never seen before.

Snow!

I hugged myself. Maybe it was time to bring the lemon to Pai.

I scooped up the jacket up from the floor. It had spent the night covering the face of Minnie Mouse. And then I held the lemon in my hands, feeling its smoothness, smelling its faint scent.

Yes, I’d bring it outside.

I remembered to close the bedroom door behind me. I’d never let them see what I’d done to their new baby-pink walls or to their mural.

I flew down the stairs, past the dentist-office living room with the fireplace that looked as if it had never been used.

I struggled with the lock and went out the side door in bare feet. The bushes along the fence were covered with white; they looked like old men with their heads bent.

Snow covered my hair. I pulled up the hood and twirled around, arms up, breathing in the cold smell of the air. I tried to catch the flakes with my tongue, then took a breath; my bare feet were freezing.

The Horseman turned; snow had coated his graying hair and the shoulders of his leather jacket. “Your first snow,” he said. “Isn’t it beautiful!”

Suddenly I was shy, wondering if I should give the lemon to him. But before I had a chance to reach into my pocket, he swept his arms around, first toward the barn, and then toward the track. “Lucky,” he said. “We’ve been so lucky. All of this belongs to Mrs. Januário, but I’m training her horses.”

He spread his hands wide. “I learn from them, how they like to run, how they race. Some are in a hurry to win, others
like to come to the front at the last minute.” He touched my shoulder. “We’ll use their strengths and win race after race.”

I heard the excitement in his voice. My own heart fluttered as I held the lemon out to him.

He looked surprised—no, puzzled. He took it, shaking his head. “From the kitchen?”

“It’s from the lemon grove.” I swallowed. “From Jales.”

He turned it over in his hand. “Ah, yes, I remember the grove. It belonged to the farmer down the road, didn’t it?”

I nodded. A pain began in my throat and grew until it filled my chest. I felt almost the same as the day he’d left.

When I send for you, you’ll bring me another
.

But he hadn’t even remembered.

I took back the lemon as if I’d only wanted to show it to him, and buried it deep in my pocket. Then we watched the snow coming down, covering the roofs of the house and the barn. I raised one icy foot and then the other.

Pai pointed to the front. “Mrs. Januário lives in that big house,” he said. “She’s in the South for the winter, but now that spring is coming, she’ll be back soon.”

Spring!

My feet were turning blue.

I tried to think of something to say as I reached down to scoop up a bit of the snow.

He looked down. “Bare feet! You’ll freeze, child.” He took my hand and we ran across the yard to the house.

A faint acrid smell came from the narrow kitchen, where Rafael was flipping eggs in a pan. “I’m a great cook.” He rolled his eyes at me.

When we sat down at the round table, I realized he was
joking. The eggs were rubbery, the beans were dry, the bacon almost black. Rafael’s eyes were dancing. “I’m a jockey who will ride horses in the races. I’m not a cook. Besides, Pai and I take turns with the meals.”

The Horseman laughed. “After breakfast, we’ll take you outside, Lidie, and show you the horses and the barn—”

“And now that you’re here,” Rafael broke in, “we’ll teach you how to ride. Don’t worry, we’ll find a gentle horse. You won’t have to be afraid.”

I felt a quick flash of anger. They didn’t know me, not at all. They were thinking I was the seven-year-old they’d left behind. I swallowed over the burning in my throat, reaching into my pocket, curving my fingers around the lemon.

Tio Paulo had said once that I was born knowing how to ride. I thought of Cavalo and the rides we’d taken, bending my head against the overhanging tree branches, climbing the rocks….

Oh, Cavalo
.

I took a breath. They didn’t know that. How could they?

“I can…,” I began, but Rafael was pushing his egg around his plate, and the Horseman’s head was bent over his coffee. I closed my mouth again.

Under a leaden sky, we took the path with its deepening snow around the track to the barn. The roof was low, with icicles hanging along the edge. Rafael reached up, knocking two off, and handed one to me. “It’s the taste of winter,” he said.

The icicle was cold in my fingers, cold against my lips, reminding me of ice cubes that clinked in a soda glass on a summer day.

We went through the open doors into the barn, where a few chickens wandered around in the hay. Stalls lined both sides of the aisle, and horses looked out over half doors: three chestnuts, and a bay so dark his coat gleamed almost black. They were as curious to see me as I was to see them, their eyes wide under their long curving eyelashes.

I brushed my hand against one of the chestnuts, and reached down into a pail of carrots. I stood watching as the horse took the carrot and chewed with her thick yellow teeth.

A man with leathery skin sat on a stool in the aisle.

“José. That’s me. I do everything around here.” He laughed, his Portuguese thick on his tongue. “Well, a few things, anyway.”

“Lidie,” I said. “And that’s me. I saw you carrying a pail before.”

That reminded me. “Is the cat…” I hesitated before I said
ours
. The word seemed wrong; nothing here really belonged to me.

Pai lifted one shoulder. “The orange cat? A stray. He doesn’t belong to anyone.”

I swallowed. “Poor cat.”

Pai’s hand swept around the stalls. “Only one horse here is actually mine, but two more are coming. One who might race someday …” He paused. “And another …”

“Who won’t.” Rafael rolled his eyes. He beckoned to me, and we walked to the end stall. “Doce, our horse. Sweet like his name.”

I raised my hand to touch his soft muzzle and to rub his chestnut forehead.

“I’ll ride her in a few weeks,” Rafael said. “And by that time, Lidie, you’ll know how to ride, too.”

I smiled, a secret smile. I pictured how it would be, how I’d surprise him.

Rafael would be on one horse and I on another. I might even hold back and let him get a head start. And then …

Then.

He’d see.

And so would the Horseman, who didn’t remember the lemon.

Even Tio Paulo would be smiling if he knew about my plan.

During the night, the filly heard the sound of the bay whinnying, and the low grunts of the roan. She heard the creature, too, his footsteps outside her stall
.

Next to her, the mare’s ears were pricked forward, listening. The filly raised one hoof uneasily and moved behind the mare. She felt the swish of that long thick tail and nibbled at it
.

After a while, she slept again
.

In the morning, she and the mare were led out to the field. She looked for the roan and the bay, but they never came
.

Later the creature moved along the outside of the fence. She watched as he opened the gate to the far field—the field with sweet grass and clover
.

The creature was gone
.

The filly moved slowly, taking her time. Even when she was within a few feet of the gate, she wasn’t sure if she’d go through
.

She glanced back at the mare, then took a step, and another, into the field with its wonderful smell of clover
.

And behind her …

Behind her …

The gate slammed shut
.

She ran along the fence, once, twice, back and forth, but there was no way out. And near her, on the fence, the small one raised its claws and hissed
.

The filly whinnied, her voice high with panic. She was able to take one last look at the mare, that huge chestnut body with its swishing tail, the great dark eyes. The mare was trying to get to her, too, running back and forth on the other side of the fence, making frightful sounds
.

But the creature was back, pushing her until she was inside a space like a stall—not her stall. She kicked out at him, but he jumped away
.

She felt movement under her. The sound of her own voice was as terrible as the rumble of noise as the tiny stall bumped across the field and away
.

She didn’t stop her cries
.

Not for a long time
.

She was alone
.

Then it was night again, and she slept
.

I awoke thinking I’d been here for more than a week. I angled my head to see the picture of Gallorette, the great tomboy mare, seventeen hands, bigger than many stallions. It was as if she were staring back at me with her dark eyes.

Next to her was Native Dancer, the gray ghost, with his lovely silver face. The blur in the corner of the photo was the stray black cat Native Dancer loved, and that traveled with him wherever he went.

I smiled at my pictures. Today was my first day of school.

I grabbed my clothes from the dresser. I’d packed them carefully, thinking of this day: a yellow top and jeans with small flowers to match.

I put the sandals back in the closet; what good would they be against the snow outside? It was a good thing the
Horseman had bought boots for me yesterday. He’d wanted to buy pink ones with cat faces in front, but how could I have worn them in sixth grade?

I’d pointed to striped boots and he’d frowned. I’d put out my chin, standing there silently, trying to look as if I didn’t care, until he’d told the woman to wrap up the striped ones.

Today the early morning went by in a blur: I ate a quick breakfast of bread dipped in honey and coffee laced with milk as the Horseman and Rafael tried to stuff my head full of English.

I held up my hand. “I know English, what do you think?” I would never let them know how worried I was.

Rafael tilted his head. “I’ll make you a terrific sandwich for lunch.”

I watched as he put some kind of strange meat on two slabs of bread and filled the whole thing up with lettuce leaves. He smushed it together and dumped it into a bag with an apple.

“Nice, right?” he said in English. “A wonderful lunch.”

Ah,
nice
, not
niece
.

As the Horseman and I pulled out of the driveway, I whispered some of my words:
tree, forest
, and
watch out, the mosquito bites
, and added a few new ones:
horse, barn, snow
. At supper every night, I had repeated sentences with Pai and Rafael, but they had disappeared somewhere into the back of my head. I had to hope the English words would come to me when I needed them.

We parked in front of a school built of faded red bricks. Next to the huge doors, an American flag blew in that cold
wind. The metal clips that held it to the pole clanked, and withered leaves skittered across the snowy yard.

I shivered. It was so unlike the school at home with the windows opened wide to catch the breeze. The colors here were almost dull, as if the world were washed in gray paint.

I didn’t want to go inside; it was … too much. But then I remembered what Titia Luisa had told me once:
You, Lidie, will learn everything there is to know. You’ll do something wonderful with your life
.

And Mrs. Figueiredo, my teacher for the last two years, had said:
You are as smart as any child I’ve ever taught, Lidie
.

I held on to those two memories as the Horseman took me inside and kissed me goodbye. Then a teacher with a pencil in her pouf of hair walked me to a classroom. She talked the whole time, pointing at doors, at the long window at the end of the hall.

I nodded. “Yes, nice.” Through that window I could see a tree, its branches gray against the sky. “Nice …,” I said again. “Nice tree.”

I walked with my head up now. My words were turning out to be very useful.

The pencil teacher opened the classroom door, and another teacher came toward us. She patted my shoulder, talking slowly, introducing me to the class. I couldn’t find a place to fit in any of my words except
hi
, and I was too shy to say it. I thought about
watch out, the mosquito bites;
it wouldn’t work here in a million years.