Dreams of a Dancing Horse (8 page)

 

18

All Danced Out and Dreamed Out

I travel night and day to put distance between myself and the marketplace. I believe Molly and Jonathan will try to find me, and I can't allow that. They must move on. I picture them in New York City, painting and singing. I shall never forget them. And I hope they will remember their “Fella.”

But as day after endless day passes me by, a sadness settles into my soul. The farther I walk, and the more tired I become, the more I wonder. Why can't
I
find a friend I don't have to leave? Why can't I have a home of my own?

I would have been happy dancing at the plow with Lena. Later, I might have become part of Bessie's herd if those cowboys hadn't run me off. And Mary? All I wanted to do was help that little girl's dream come true, just like I wanted to help Molly and Jonathan.

That's all I ever want. And where does it get me? In the middle of nowhere. Without a home. Without a friend.

Well, what about
my
dream? What about Federico the Dancing Horse?

Dancing.
What's dancing ever done for me, except get me into trouble?

I slow to a trot and try to hear my mother's song in my heart.

Only I can't. There is no music in my heart.

There is no Federico the Dancing Horse.

For days I wander. No dreams. No music. What I need is a job. Fred the Plow Horse needs work. Isn't that all we plow horses were born to do?

I pay little attention to where I'm going. I walk with my head down and stay out of humans' paths. I keep as far away from homes and farms as I can. On and on I travel.

When it begins to rain, I barely notice. Only it rains and rains and rains. All day and all night it comes down. I've never seen anything like it.

Still, I
plow
on.

Instead of music, I hear the plodding
schlush schlush
of my giant hooves striking mud. Instead of my mother's song, a new refrain plays in my head:
I need a job. I need a job. I need a job.

Even at Quagmire Farms I had a shelter over my head and food to eat.

And Lena.

The rain falls in slanted sheets. I turn my face from the wind and trudge on, blinded by watery eyes. And then …

Thump!

I crash right into the back of something that feels bigger, rougher, than I. It has a ratlike, hairless tail and wrinkled, rough hind legs that truly are the shape and size of tree stumps.

“Hey! Whaddya think you're doing back there?” The creature turns its head, and I see gigantic, floppy ears. A nose the size of my tail pokes me in the face. It's an elephant!

I back up and look around to size up the situation. Three elephants. A long truck turned on its side. Perhaps a dozen men watch as the elephants try to right the truck. With little success, I might add. Even from here, I can see that it won't work. The elephants are off center, with three pushing, instead of the four they'd need to turn this truck. Consequently, the truck stays overturned.

“Who is it, Harold?” The elephant in front asks the question. She has a sweet, high-pitched voice.

“It's not an elephant,” the one named Harold grumbles. “I can tell you that much.”

“Well, bless my soul,” says the second elephant. “It's a horse!”

“One of the horses from the show get loose, Fanny?” asks a third elephant. She's on the far side from her friend, out of sight.

“My, no,” Fanny the Elephant replies. “He's a rather large fellow. And brown.” She turns back toward Harold and me. “Harold, introduce yourself.”

“
You
introduce yourself,” Harold shoots back.

“I'd be delighted to do just that. I'm Fanny, the oldest elephant with the Greatest Show on Earth.” She waves to her partner in front. “This is Tina. We're very pleased to meet you. And you are …”

“Fed—” I start to say “Federico.” Then I think better of it. “I'm Fred. Fred the Plow Horse.”

“Well, mercy me,” Fanny says. “What
are
you doing out here in the rain, child? With all that hair, you're likely soaked to the bone.”

“Pull!” Tina shouts.

They do, but the truck doesn't budge.

Humans stand around, shouting orders at one another. A few try to unload the truck. But they jump back when the truck groans and seems ready to flip all the way over.

“This is not what I signed up for,” complains the elephant I rammed into.

“Harold is an old grumbling fuddy-duddy,” Fanny explains. “Don't mind him.”

“That's right!” Tina shouts. “When the good Lord was handing out brains, Harold there thought God said ‘trains,' and he let them pass by because Harold doesn't like to travel.”

I laugh and get a dirty look from Harold. As big as I am, that fellow must be twice as big.

But we plow horses are strong. I step into the empty position to complete the four-cornered team. “Here. Let me help.” I know they'll never get out of this mud unless I do.

“Well, bless your sweet heart!” Fanny says. “We can use a helping hand.”

“He can't help,” Harold says. “He's not an elephant.”

“Can't put one past you, can we, Harold?” Tina says.

“Hmmmph!” The sound is blown from Harold's long snout. “I wish Ricardo was still here.”

“Ricardo was the fourth elephant. He left our little crew a couple of stops back and joined a zoo,” Fanny explains. “It was his lifelong dream, though I can't imagine why.”

Dreams again.

“I should have gone with him,” Harold complains.

“They didn't want
you
,” Tina says. “Who's going to pay good money to go to a zoo and stare at
you
?”

“Now, Tina,” Fanny says.

“Hmmmph,” Harold breathes again. “I still say we wait for the humans to get us another elephant to help us. Not this scrawny excuse for a horse.”

Me? Scrawny?

“Now, Harold,” Fanny says in her soft, high voice. “You know elephants are scarce as hens' teeth in these parts. Here we were, the three of us, without a prayer of getting this truck righted, and Fred appears. Don't go looking a gift horse in the mouth.”

I like Fanny, and I don't think she and Tina deserve to stand out in the rain all night. I'll get this job done and be on my way. “Are you ready?” I ask, getting my shoulder into position. I'm used to pulling and pushing big loads. I don't expect this to take long.

“Where in Sam Hill did that horse come from?” A man in a cape marches up to us and stands in the truck's path. “What's he doing with my truck?” he shouts in the loudest human voice I've ever heard. He wears no hat, and he's hairless, except for a strip of black that circles the rear of his head. His drenched mustache droops over a round face. His cape waves like a flag in the wind.

“That's Leo, the circus manager,” Tina informs me. “Leo is all right … for a human.”

“Anybody ever seen this horse before?” Leo bellows.

“Does he always shout this loudly?” I ask. I have seen humans cover their ears to protect themselves from loud noises. Horses don't have this option.

Tina laughs, a mixture of breath, honking, and gurgling, all shot through her long trunk. “Leo started out as a circus barker.”

“A what?”

“A barker at the circus,” she explains. “They're the ones standing outside tents, shouting to the crowds to get people to buy tickets. They have to be loud to be heard over the circus noise. Leo's the manager now, but he's never gotten the barker out of his voice.”

“I can tell.” I try to block out his voice. “Ready? On the count of three, Tina and I will push. Harold and Fanny, pull.

“One. Two. Three!” I call. We push and pull. The truck almost goes over. Then it settles back on its side.

It's slippery and hard to keep our ground. But we try again. “One. Two. Three!” I shout.

This time, the truck looks righted. The humans back up and start to cheer. But I know the truck's not conquered yet. “Careful!” I shout. “Coming down!”

The truck slams down again. Groans rise from the crowd of onlookers. The rain seems to pick up even more. Needles of water blind me.

“One more time, elephants!” I yell. “Give it all you've got. One. Two. Three!”

The truck groans and squeals, then slowly swings up. It bounces on its tires and settles upright.

Cheers break out all around us.

Fanny comes down the ditch to meet me. “Bless your little ol' heart, Fred! It's a miracle. You showing up out of nowhere!”

I climb out of the ditch. Tina does the same.

“I'm glad I could help,” I tell Fanny. “Good luck to you.”

“Where are you off to, Fred?” Fanny asks.

“I'm off to find a job. A plow and a job,” I add.

“Do you really have to go?” Fanny asks.

The mustache man, Leo the circus manager, runs up to us. His tall black boots slip and slide in the mud. “That was fabulous and fantastic!” he roars in his barker's thunder. “The most amazing event, an astounding display of power and daredevil bravery! And all happening during the biggest gully-washer rain this circus has ever known!”

It's easy to imagine this man shouting in front of a circus tent. I turn and start walking away.

“You there! You! Horse!” he shouts.

I stop and face the man.

“How'd you like a job?”

 

19

Circus Plow Horse

By morning the next day, the rain has stopped. And I have a job with the circus.

By midday, Fanny has filled me in on her entire life story. She's a sweet elephant. I don't ask her age because I am still a gentleman, although now a gentleman plow horse or work horse. But she must be at least half a century old. Still, she works as hard as, or harder than, the other elephants.

Fanny grew up in the circus and has never had another home. She remembers being a young elephant calf, watching her mother unload poles for the circus tents. “Land o' living,” she declares. “I've never wanted to be anywhere else.”

Tina and Fanny are excited about the circus opening tonight. But I pay little attention to that. I do my job. It's not plowing, but it's similar. We drag and move long, heavy poles. We pull loads and logs and do all the heavy work behind the scenes of the Greatest Show on Earth.

“Have you always been a plow horse, Fred?” Fanny asks. We're uprooting several small trees to make room for a circus tent. The elephants have the advantage with this task. Fanny wraps her long trunk around the tree trunk, gives a yank, and up comes the tree.

Fanny has asked me three times if I've always been a plow horse. Up to now, I've managed to distract her and change the subject without answering. This time I see no graceful way out.

“No. I haven't
always
been a plow horse. But for most of my life, I've plowed fields. I tried a couple of other things.” I remember trotting along with the cattle drive, surrounded by those generous cows. I remember Mary and wonder if, at last, she has her pony. And I think of Molly and Jonathan the first time I got that little boy to take a ride and have his picture sketched. “But the other things didn't work out, Fanny.”

“That's a shame,” Fanny says.

Fanny and I have been given this area to clear. I don't like her doing most of the work. So I back up into the next tree and push, even though the tree bark digs into my rump. Finally, the trunk cracks, and the tree falls to the ground.

“Haven't you ever wanted to be something besides a plow horse, Fred?” Fanny asks, not letting go of this unpleasant topic. “Not that being a plow horse isn't an honorable job. Of course, it is! Bless my soul, where would we all be without the harvest? No grain. No hay. No straw. And humans would starve too. Plowing is a time-honored occupation.”

Fanny pauses and stares into my face. Her eyes are round and small, compared to the rest of her. “It's just … well, I guess I thought I saw a flash of something else in you, Fred.”

“So did I,” I admit. “Once.” We're quiet for a moment. Then I say, “Shall we get back to work?”

After we clear our area, we join Tina and Harold at the other end of the circus grounds. Fanny and I pass people who are setting up food stands with signs that read: “Cotton candy,” “Cold drinks,” “Hamburgers,” “Hot dogs,” “Fries,” and on and on. Fanny takes us past a tent with big signs that promise things like: “Fat lady inside!” “Two-headed dogs!” “Three-headed snakes and a snake charmer!” “Vaudeville acts!”

I'm pretty sure that “vaudeville” includes comedy. I wonder if Bessie will ever find her way to a circus. Perhaps she might become a circus cow comedian and …

No. No more dreams.

We find Tina struggling to set up a pole that's three times as tall as she is. Harold is off to the side, nosing through peanut shells.

Fanny and I get on either side of Tina and push, push, push, until the pole is straight.

“Gee, thanks!” Tina says. She sits down right where she is. “I am hot as a bear and too pooped to pop. If I—oh no,” she mutters.

“What?” Fanny rushes to her friend's side.

Tina is staring up the circus midway, the central path between tents. “Will you look who's strolling among us peasants? Aren't we the lucky ones.”

I follow her gaze and see three white horses strutting our way. These are no ordinary horses. Sweat drips into my eyes, and I blink it away. These horses are true Lipizzans, white as stars, graceful as deer at dawn.

“They're not my kind of mammal, mind you,” Harold says. He has temporarily stopped his peanut hunt. “But those are some mighty fine four-legged creatures.”

The horse in the center is the most beautiful. She prances toward us, and the other two follow, a nose behind. Her white coat glitters in the sunlight. Even though she's just out for a stroll, her head and tail are held high, and she lifts her hooves as if stepping over low jumps.

“That's Queenie,” Fanny says.

“Queen of the Circus,” Tina adds, nearly spitting out the words. “She thinks she owns the circus, and we're all her peasants.”

“Now, now,” Fanny says. “Let's not speak ill of our fellow circus animals, or anyone else.”

I cannot take my eyes off this white horse, even though I know it's bad manners to stare.

When the horses are directly in front of us, Queenie stops. The others scramble to keep from bumping into her.

“Hmmm …” Tina sticks out her trunk and sniffs a bit. “What's that smell?” She bends her trunk so the holes are plugged against her wrinkly chest. “All of a sudden, it stinks to high heaven around here.”

I laugh and get a scowl from the lead Lipizzan.

The mare eyes me up and down. Her upper lip curls, showing clean white teeth. “Tell me this isn't the new horse.”

“I think so, Queenie,” says one of her followers.

“This?”
Queenie says, her chin jutting in my direction, making her lift her head even higher.

“That's what I heard,” says the other follower.

And then Queenie lets out a giant, and unbecoming, horse laugh. “That's a horse?” she asks, when her laughter allows her to speak.

“It's definitely a horse,” says the first Lipizzan. “See the hooves and the—”

Queenie won't let her finish. “There is no way this … this creature … and I are the same species! Are you sure he's not an elephant?”

“Funny, Queenie,” Tina snaps. “I'd like to see you carry a load like Fred here does.”

“Well, you won't,” Queenie snaps back. “Because I am not a work horse.
I
am a performing horse! Come on, girls. Let's allow these …
elephants
to get back to work!”