Wild Girl (6 page)

Before I went to bed that night, I reached for the lemon on my dresser. It was streaked with brown, and my fingers left prints in the soft rind.

I brought it to my nose. It still had a sharp lemony smell, and I could picture Titia Luisa teaching me how to make a lemon pie, showing me how to roll out the dough,
lightly, lightly
, teaching me to add the sugar,
just a small scoop, Lidie
, then taste.
Ah, such a good baker, you’re like your mother
.

But this lemon would never make a pie. This lemon was good for nothing.

I threw on my robe and went down to the kitchen on tiptoes, still holding it. Even at this hour of the night, it was easy to see. Outside, high overhead lights threw misty beams into the windows next to the table.

I stopped to peer out. The orange cat I had seen the first day was sitting on the fence. I would have knocked on the window to let her know someone else was around, but I didn’t want to wake Pai or Rafael.

I stood there, the lemon in my hand for another moment, but then I buried it deep in the wastebasket so no one would ever see it again.

The filly was alone
.

She wanted the sun on her head, on her back, and a field where she might roll over in the sweet smelling grass
.

She pulled down the bag of oats that hung in front of her. When the creatures came near, she pawed the ground or kicked out at them until they jumped away
.

She could, see outside, but she was closed in. She was trapped, with no way to go back where she belonged
.

If only she could, run
.

She longed to run
.

Longed for something, but didn’t even know what it was
.

Saturday! I didn’t have to think of what I’d do about school, not today, or even tomorrow. The wind rattled against my windows, but outside the sky was bright. It looked as if it would be a sunny day.

I rubbed my feet together under the quilt, which was stitched with pink bunnies. Rabbits again! But as I looked carefully, I saw it was probably Titia Luisa’s needlework. I pretended she was the one who was warming my toes.

“Lidie, come downstairs. Hurry,” the Horseman called from the bottom of the stairs. It was the first time he’d spoken since we were at the barn yesterday. All day he’d been quiet, his face closed.

I told myself I didn’t care.

He came up, taking the steps two at a time, and tapped
on my bedroom door as he went past. “Get dressed,” he called. “We’re going to Pennsylvania, the three of us, to bring home two horses.”

I could hear the excitement in his voice as he went down the hall and drummed on Rafael’s door. “Rafael, wake up. Let’s go.”

I untangled myself from the quilt, threw on my jeans and a sweater, and went downstairs. In the living room, I stopped to glance in the mirror. I snapped on my hair clip, remembering the one I’d lost in the field that last day with Cavalo.

What were they were doing in Jales this minute? They’d e-mailed me last night, Tita Luisa telling me, “I miss you so,” Tio saying, “You’ve probably forgotten us.”

Oh, Tio.

I looked around, thinking how strange the living room looked. Its color was so sunny, and a lovely painting hung over the fireplace. It reminded me of the tree over the porch at home. But for the rest, it was nothing but a waiting room.

I went down the hall to the kitchen. “No time for a real breakfast, sorry,” the Horseman said.

Instead we smeared
queijo
, wonderful soft cheese, on bread, and sipped hot cocoa before we rushed for our jackets.

I followed the Horseman and Rafael out the door, the wind on my face. Yesterday’s rain had washed the last of the snow away.

But where were all the birds? There were only a few spar-rows and a squawking starling lined up on the telephone wires as the truck lumbered out of the driveway and onto the expressway.

Almost no one was on the road this early. It was as if we were the only ones in the world, just the three of us inside the truck. I closed my eyes and swayed with its rhythm.

It was early for lunch, but we were hungry. When we were nearly there, the Horseman pulled over to the side of the road. Rafael opened a bag—pork sandwiches and a thermos of hot tea with milk.

I took my first bite as Pai began to talk. “We have to begin with your math.”

“I don’t need math,” I said, my mouth full. “Thank you. I really know—”

“Can you divide?” he asked. It was as if I hadn’t spoken.

I didn’t answer. All I could think of was that terrible morning in school.

“So,” he said, “if you were to divide seventy-two by twelve—”

“Six. Mrs. Figueiredo gave me the class medal for math last year.”

He began with other numbers then, easy enough for a baby. What was the matter with everyone? I didn’t want to listen.

I opened the window of the truck to a blast of wind, shutting out the sound of his voice. Papers and the sandwich wrappers flew over the seats. Rafael scrambled for them, then reached over me to close the window again.

What had made me do that? Was I was turning into a girl who looked just like the one in my passport? I stared out the window, pretending I was back in Jales.

Pai started the truck again as Rafael leaned forward to
turn on the radio. The music was Brazilian, and Rafael hummed along with it. After a while, I could feel my muscles begin to unclench. I was almost ready to say I was sorry when we bumped to a stop.

“This is the Bullington Farm,” the Horseman said, as if the ride had been pleasant and no one had thought about dividing twelves and sixes.

The afternoon sun cast its light across a long red barn in a back field. Spread out in front of us were white fences and fields that that looked like pale green Titia Luisa quilts.

We slid out of the truck, and the wind blew my hair across my face and into my eyes. Two men came from the house to greet us, cups of coffee steaming in their hands, and a woman with streaked hair pulled open the barn doors, smiling.

She led us to a horse’s stall. “We brought her in from South Carolina a couple of weeks ago. She’s saddle broken and ready to go.”

I stood there looking over the half door, caught by the filly’s beauty. She was the color of the sky in Jales just before it stormed, a wonderful wild mix of black and white and gray. This horse had been born in the warmth of the South last year and brought here to this cold world, just as I had.

The horse turned to look at us—no, she looked at me. Her skin rippled, and then she moved uneasily as I stretched out my hand.

Her great dark eyes should have been shining, but they seemed dull to me; no, not dull. She was sad.

I drew in my breath. Wasn’t that the look I’d seen in
Rafael’s eyes, even though he was always smiling, always laughing?

I raised my hand to my face. Maybe I had that same look in my own eyes.

I reached out again and managed to touch her this time. But touching her gleaming side wasn’t nearly enough. I wanted to put both my arms around her; I wanted to lean my head on her heavy mane. I couldn’t believe we were taking her home, that I’d see her every day….

And ride her.

Of course, I’d ride her.

I had a picture of the two of us in Jales: going through the high grass of the fields, over the rocks, and splashing through the
rio
.

“Shall we go to the other barn?” the woman was saying. “Don’t you want to show your daughter …”

I followed them, looking back over my shoulder as the filly kicked at the stall wall.

“What’s her name?” I asked the woman as I caught up with them.

“Wild Girl,” she said.

I had a sudden pain in my chest, remembering Mamãe. She’d been watching me dance to a samba on television in her bedroom. I must have been five or six, making it all up as I went along.

My wild girl
, she’d said.

And this horse—Wild Girl, too.

The Horseman stopped me just before we reached the doors of the red barn. “Lidie,” he said, “school will work out. I don’t want this moment spoiled—” He broke off. “This is
for you. Rafael and I planned it. We’ve bought the perfect horse.”

The woman swung back the heavy doors. Inside were several stalls, but all were empty except the one nearest to us.

Looking over the half door was a bay, her color almost the same as the mud on the track yesterday. Her ears were pricked forward: she was happy to see us.

I went closer and saw that she was swaybacked, her mane and forelocks sparse. Not a Thoroughbred, not a race horse, and ancient. Tio Paulo would have called her a backyard horse.

“She’s yours, Lidie,” the Horseman said.

I opened my mouth and closed it again. For a moment, laughter bubbled up inside my throat. This poor old horse for me.

The Horseman was waiting to hear what I’d say. I clenched my hands as I tried to think of something. I knew this was meant to be a wonderful gift.

“You can learn to ride on her,” Rafael said. “She’s safe, so safe….”

“It’ll be like sitting on a rocking chair,” the woman said. “Perfect. She’s sixteen years old. She’s trained many riders.”

They smiled as I went toward the stall. I opened the door and went inside, reaching up, feeling that soft muzzle, the bristly hairs on her chin, the veins that meandered along her flank like lines on a map.

“I knew she’d be thrilled,” Rafael said. “This horse can live in the barn, and Lidie can take her out to the exercise track.”

I rested my face against the horse’s neck, that horse with
her dark teeth, her tired bones. Another ten pounds and I’d be too big for her.

Ai,
poor thing
, I could almost hear Titia Luisa saying.

“Her name is Love You,” the woman said.

I ran my hand over the horse’s ears and finally found something to say. “I love you, too, horse.”

Everyone laughed then as we led her outside to the van. But under my laughing, I wished Pai had said it to me.

There wasn’t much room in the van: hay to nibble on, water to drink, and a wall separating the filly from another horse. She could hardly see that horse, just her withers, a bit of her mane
.

It reminded the filly of something
.

Was it a field with sweet-smelling grass?

Hadn’t there been other horses to run with?

And warm. Hadn’t it been warm?

She looked back and caught a glimpse of the other horse’s tail. It was long, thick
.

That reminded her of something, too
.

Was it running? Was it stretching her nose to reach the end of the field?

Or was it a mare?

She remembered something like that
.

Still, it was hard to think about anything but this cold world
.

On Sunday morning, the Horseman and Rafael sat at the kitchen table leaning over a piece of paper.

Rafael looked up. “Pai’s giving me strategies for Doce’s race. I’ll be riding him.”

I put myself in his place. How lucky to be riding that horse. To be racing. I leaned against the door, listening.

“Doce’s a front runner.” Pai tapped his pencil on the paper. “He’s determined to be first, but sometimes he uses up his energy too quickly.”

Rafael’s head was tilted; he was nodding.

“You’ll have to hold him back. Stay behind the lead horse, maybe in third or fourth place until the stretch.” Pai looked at me. “That long, straight run before the finish.” His hands curled into fists. “Then let him out, let him go.”

“Tio Paulo told me about horses like that,” I said. “In a short race you can give them their heads; in a longer race …”

They turned to look at me. “Right, Lidie.” There was something in Pai’s eyes, something I liked to see. He was smiling.
“Ai
, Paulo. He was a great rider when he was young. Better than all of us.”

I thought about home. Tio Paulo might be outside, bending over the dark earth, inspecting his pole beans; Titia Luisa would be in the kitchen, her cheeks pink from the oven …

And what would I be doing?

Riding.

Racing Cavalo through the back roads, bringing up dust until I was coughing with it.

I looked at the heads bent over the papers and took a breath. “Can he win?” I asked.

They smiled at me, and Pai spread his hands wide. “Anything can happen in a race,” he said. “Anything. The day, the horse, the jockey, the post position. It all has to come together.”

And Rafael: “We’ll draw for that post position before the race. Number one, next to the gate, would be a disaster for Doce. Everyone boxing us in, trying to get the lead against the rail. And just as bad would be way on the outside. We’d have to come all the way around the other horses….”

“Seventh or eighth position,” I said, not even realizing for a moment I’d heard that from Tio. “Let the others get ahead, and come straight down …” My voice trailed off.

Pai pushed back his chair. “Oh, Lidie. Yes.”

And Rafael: “That’s my girl.”

I thought of something else but was too shy to say it. We didn’t want rain; we didn’t want mud. We wanted a nice hard, dry, fast track. I grinned at them. “Is it all right if I walk to the barn?”

“Fine,” the Horseman said, back to studying his notes.

I went upstairs for my jacket and wrapped the bunny scarf around my neck so Rafael would be sure to see it. In the hall, I stopped to look at the painting of the chestnut horse and jockey. The painter had shown the horse’s powerful legs stretched out, dust swirling up under its hooves. The jockey’s arm was raised in victory.

As I went back down the stairs, I could hear the Horseman saying, “And to find a way to perk up Wild Girl.”

I thought about the filly, her beautiful color, her long legs. There was time. She wouldn’t race until she was two years old. Right now, I thought she might be lonesome. I knew how that was.