Cities of the Plain (7 page)

What about if you add up all his bad ones?

I dont know. I'd say you'd probably done made up your mind at that point.

You think there's horses so spoiled you cant do nothin with em?

Yes I do. But probably not as many as you might think.

Maybe not. You think a horse can understand what a man says?

You mean like the words?

I dont know. Like can he understand what he says.

John Grady looked out the window. Water was beaded on the glass. Two bats were hunting in
the barnlight. No, he said. I think he can understand what you mean.

He watched the bats. He looked at Oren.

I guess my feelin about a horse is that he mostly worries about what he dont know. He
likes to be able to see you. Barring that, he likes to be able to hear you. Maybe he
thinks that if you're talkin you wont be doin somethin else he dont know about.

You think horses think?

Sure. Dont you?

Yes I do. Some people claim they dont.

Well. Some people could be wrong.

You think you can tell what a horse is thinkin?

I think I can tell what he's fixin to do.

Generally.

John Grady smiled. Yeah, he said. Generally.

Mac always claimed a horse knows the difference between right and wrong.

Mac's right.

Oren smoked. Well, he said. That's always been a bit much for me to swallow.

I think if they didnt you couldnt even train one.

You dont think it's just gettin em to do what you want?

I think you can train a rooster to do what you want. But you wont have him. There's a way
to train a horse where when you get done you've got the horse. On his own ground. A good
horse will figure things out on his own. You can see what's in his heart. He wont do one
thing while you're watchin him and another when you aint. He's all of a piece. When you've
got a horse to that place you cant hardly get him to do somethin he knows is wrong. He'll
fight you over it. And if you mistreat him it just about kills him. A good horse has
justice in his heart. I've seen it.

You got a lot higher opinion of horses than I got, Oren said. I really dont have all that
much in the way of opinions where horses are concerned. When I was a kid I thought I knew
all there was to know about a horse. Where horses are concerned I've just got dumber and
dumber.

Oren smiled.

If a man really understood horses, John Grady said. If a man really understood horses he
could just about train one by lookin at it. There wouldnt be nothin to it. My way is a
long way from workin one over with a tracechain. But it's a long way from what's possible
too.

He stretched his legs out. He crossed the sprained foot over his boot.

You're right about one thing, he said. They're mostly ruint before they ever bring em out
here. They're ruined at the first saddle. Before that, even. The best horses are the ones
been around kids. Or maybe even just a wild horse in off the range that's never even seen
a man. He's got nothin to unlearn.

You might have a hard time gettin anyone to agree with you on that last one.

I know it.

You ever break a wild horse?

Yeah. You hardly ever train one though.

Why not?

People dont want em trained. They just want em broke. You got to train the owner.

Oren leaned and stubbed out his cigarette. I hear you, he said.

John Grady sat studying the smoke rising into the lampshade over the table. That probably
aint true what I said about the one that aint never seen a man. They need to see people.
They need to just see em around. Maybe what they need is to just think people are trees
until the trainer comes along.

IT WAS STILL LIGHT OUT, a gray light with the rain falling in the streets again and the
vendors huddled in the doorways looking out at the rain without expression. He stomped the
water from his boots and entered and crossed to the bar and took off his hat and laid it
on the barstool. There were no other customers. TWO whores lounging on a sofa watched him
without much interest. The barman poured his whiskey.

He described the girl to the barman but the barman only shrugged and shook his head.

Eres muy joven.

He shrugged again. He wiped the bar and leaned back and took a cigarette from his
shirtpocket and lit it. John Grady motioned for another whiskey and doled his coins onto
the counter. He took his hat and his glass over to the sofa and queried the whores but
they only tugged at his clothing and asked him to buy them a drink. He looked into their
faces. Who they might be behind the caked sizing and the rouge, the black greasepaint
lining their dark Indian eyes. They seemed alien and sad. Like madwomen dressed for an
outing. He looked at the neon deer hanging on the wall behind them and the garish
tapestries of plush, of foil and braid. He could hear the rain on the roof to the rear and
the steady small drip of water falling from the ceiling into puddles in the bloodred
carpeting. He drained his whiskey and set the glass on the low table and put on his hat.
He nodded to them and touched the brim of his hat to go.

Joven, said the oldest.

S’.

She looked furtively about but there was no one there to hear.

Ya no est‡, she said.

He asked where she had gone but they did not know. He asked if she would return but they
did not think so.

He touched his hat again. Gracias, he said.

çndale, said the whores.

At the corner a sturdy cabdriver in a blue suit of polished serge hailed him. He held an
antique umbrella, rare to see in that country. One of the panels between the ribs had been
replaced by a sheet of blue cellophane and under it the driver's face was blue. He asked
John Grady if he wanted to go see the girls and he said that he did.

They drove through the flooded and potholed streets. The driver was slightly drunk and
commented freely on pedestrians that crossed before them or that stood in the doorways. He
commented on aspects of their character deducible from their appearance. He commented on
crossing dogs. He talked about what the dogs thought and where they might be going and why.

They sat at a whorehouse bar on the outskirts of the city and the driver pointed out the
virtues of the various whores that were in the room. He said that men out for an evening
were often likely to accept the first proposal but that the prudent man would be more
selective. That he would not be misled by appearances. He said that it was best to move
freely where whores were concerned. He said that in a healthy society choice should always
be the prerogative of the buyer. He turned to regard the boy with dreamy eyes.

De acuerdo? he said.

Claro que s’, said John Grady.

They drank up and moved on. Outside it was dark and in the streets the colored lights lay
slurred and faintly peened in the fine rain. They sat at the bar of an establishment
called the Red Cock. The driver saluted with his glass aloft and drank. They studied the
whores.

I can take you some other places, the driver said. Maybe she is go home.

Maybe.

Maybe she is get married. Sometimes these girls is get married.

I seen her down here two weeks ago.

The driver reflected. He sat smoking. John Grady finished his drink and rose. Vamos a
regresar a La Venada, he said.

In the Calle de Santos Degollado he sat at the bar and waited. After a while the driver
returned and leaned and whispered to him and then looked about with studied caution.

You must talk to Manolo. Manolo only can give us this information.

Where is he?

I take you to him. I take you. It is arrange. You have to pay.

John Grady reached for his wallet. The driver stayed his arm.

He looked toward the barman. Afuera, he said. No podemos hacerlo aqu’.

Outside he again reached for his billfold but the driver said for him to wait. He looked
about theatrically. Es peligroso, he hissed.

They got into the cab.

Where is he? said John Grady.

We go to him now. I take you.

He started the engine and they pulled away down the street and turned right. They drove
half way up the block and turned again and pulled into an alley and parked. The driver cut
the engine and switched off the lights. They sat in the darkness. They could hear a radio
in the distance. They could hear rainwater from the canales dripping in the puddles in the
alley. After a while a man appeared and opened the rear door of the cab and got in.

The domelight was out in the cab and John Grady could not see the man's face. He was
smoking a cigarette and he cupped his hand over it when he smoked in the manner of country
people. John Grady could smell the cologne he wore.

Bueno, the man said.

You pay him now, said the cabdriver. He will tell you where the girl is.

How much do I pay him?

You pay me fifty dollars, the man said.

Fifty dollars?

No one answered.

I dont have fifty dollars.

The man sat for a moment. Then he opened the door again and got out.

Wait a minute, said John Grady.

The man stood in the alley, one hand on the door. John Grady could see him. He was wearing
a black suit and a black tie. His face was small and wedgeshaped.

Do you know this girl? said John Grady.

Of course I know this girl. You waste my time.

What does she look like?

She is sixteen years old. She is the epilŽptica. There is only one. She is gone two weeks
now. You waste my time. You have no money and you waste my time.

I'll get the money. I'll bring it tomorrow night.

The man looked at the driver.

I'll come to the Venada. I'll bring it to the Venada.

The man turned his head slightly and spat and turned back. You cant come to the Venada. On
this business. What is the matter with you? How much do you have?

John Grady took out his billfold. Thirty somethin, he said. He thumbed through the bills.
Thirtysix dollars.

The man held out his hand. Give it to me.

John Grady handed him the money. He wadded it into his shirtpocket without even looking at
it. The White Lake, he said. Then he shut the door and was gone. They couldnt even hear
his footsteps going back up the alley. The driver turned in his seat.

You want to go to the White Lake?

I dont have any more money.

The driver drummed his fingers on the back of the seat. You dont have no monies?

No.

The driver shook his head. No monies, he said. Okay. You want to go back to the Avenida?

I cant pay you.

Is okay.

He started the engine and backed down the alley toward the street. You pay me next time.
Okay?

Okay.

Okay.

WHEN H E PASSED Billy's room the light was on and he stopped and pushed open the canvas
and looked in. Billy was lying in bed. He lowered the book he was reading and looked over
the top of it and then laid it down.

What are you readin?

Destry. Where you been?

You ever been to a place called the White Lake?

Yes I have. One time.

Is it real expensive?

It's real expensive. Why?

I was just wonderin about it. See you in the mornin.

He let the canvas fall and turned and went on down the bay to his room.

You better stay out of the White Lake, son, Billy called.

John Grady pushed open the curtain and felt for the lightchain.

It aint no place for a cowboy.

He found the chain and pulled the light on.

You hear me?

HE LIMPED DOWN the hallway after breakfast with his hat in his hand. Mr Mac? he called.

McGovern came to the door of his office. He had some papers in his hand and some more
wedged under his elbow. Come on in, son, he said.

John Grady stood in the door. Mac was at his desk. Come on in, he said. What do you need
that I aint got?

He looked up from his papers. John Grady was still standing in the doorway.

I wonder if I could draw some on next month's pay.

Mac reached for his billfold. How much did you need.

Well. I'd like to get a hundred if I could.

Mac looked at him. You can have it if you want, he said. What did you aim to do next month?

I'll make out.

He opened the billfold and counted out five twenties. Well, he said. I guess you're big
enough to handle your own affairs. It aint none of my business, is it?

I just needed it for somethin.

All right.

He shuffled the bills together and leaned and laid them on the desk. John Grady came in
and picked them up and folded them and stuck them in his shirtpocket.

Thank you, he said.

That's all right. How's your foot?

It's doin good.

You're still favorin it I see.

It's all right.

You still intend to trade for that horse?

Yessir. I do.

How did you know Wolfenbarger's filly had a bad hoof?

I could see it.

She didnt walk lame.

No sir. It was her ear.

Her ear?

Yessir. Ever time that foot hit the ground one ear would move a little. I just kept
watchin her.

Sort of like a poker tell.

Yessir. Sort of.

You didnt want to go off horsetradin with the old man though.

No sir. Is he a friend of yours?

I know him. Why?

Nothin.

What were you goin to say?

That's all right.

You can say it. Go ahead.

Well. I guess I was goin to say that I didnt think I could keep him out of trouble on no
part time basis.

Like it would be a full time job?

I didnt say that.

Mac shook his head. Get your butt out of here, he said.

Yessir.

You didnt tell him that did you?

No sir. I aint talked to him.

Well. That's a shame.

Yessir.

He put on his hat and turned but stopped again at the door.

Thank you sir.