The Horse Healer (5 page)

They crossed through a number of side streets full of luxurious shops selling silks, jewels, and marble from the Orient, objects of silver, fine hand-worked cordovan leather, and many weapons, particularly swords. These were adorned with beautiful filigree in gold over blue steel.

“This neighborhood is called La Alcaicería. They sell very valuable wares here, and for that reason, it is closed every night and watched over by fearsome armed guards.”

After passing over a few more streets, they reached the Great Mosque and a madrassa where the Koran was studied.

From this point, they entered into the Muslim quarter proper.

“Where are you from?”

“From Malagón, a village to the south of Toledo.”

“If you find your horse, will you go back there?”

“I can't,” he answered brusquely.

“Why?”

“All those lands are now in the hands of the Almohads. I have no family left there. My father was killed, my older sister, too. And I lost my other two sisters. I don't know how to find them or even if they are still alive.”

The girl felt shamed, but it seemed absurd to her to ask for forgiveness for the savage conduct of others who had nothing to do with her, and she preferred to simply offer her hospitality to the boy.

“My family and I live on the outskirts, close to the river, between the gardens they call al-Hufra and the road that leads to Mérida. We have a little house there and some stables where we keep the horses before we sell them. I'm in charge of caring for them. When we buy them, they've normally been neglected, and often they're starving. We don't put them up for sale until I've gotten them in better shape. If you'd like to go some time, you'll find me there.”

“Or in the Zocodover.”

“Of course, or in the market.” She looked thoughtfully at the ground. “We're almost there.”

They passed alongside a potter's workshop, and at the end of a narrow street they came to an imposing wooden door with a hinged opening in its center.

The girl beat energetically at the wood with a heavy doorknocker shaped like a horse's head. Almost immediately they heard the turning of a lock and there appeared an old man's face in the window, pudgy and rather dark, with a nose that bent extremely to the right.

“What you want?” His voice was deep, almost raspy. He seemed to be a foreigner.

“We're looking for Master Galib,” the girl answered with a generous smile.

“He busy. No time for snot-nose kids. Me Sajjad and no like kids. Sajjad no want see you.”

The children looked at each other, stunned by the man's strange way of speaking, while he shut the wooden panel abruptly.

The girl didn't accept his no and beat at the door more energetically than before, but she didn't receive any answer. After numerous attempts, it still wouldn't open again. All they could hear, once, off in the distance, was the sour voice of that individual telling them to go to hell.

“What do we do now?” Diego asked in desperation.

“I have to go. My father will be worried. But you wait here until Galib comes out. Sooner or later he'll have to, to visit one of his patients. Nearly thirty thousand souls live in Toledo, and though they pray to different gods, almost all have in common that they own a horse or a pack mule, or a few, in the case of those who work the land. Galib isn't the only albéitar who attends to all those animals, but he's the best. Be patient.”

The girl could see the abandonment in the eyes of that young man who looked at her, begging for compassion. She came close to him and caressed the wound her father had given him.

“Diego, I have to leave you now. My name is Fatima. If you need me, you know where to find me. Wait for Galib. I have to go.”

Fatima went off down the street, but before taking the first corner, she turned and smiled at the boy. She felt good for helping him. When she had left the narrow street behind her, she sped up her step, fearful of her father's reaction.

For the next hour, the door only opened to let out two women bearing clothes to be washed. But a little later, Diego heard the locks opening again and saw a man on horseback emerge. He must have been around forty, with a dense beard, very dark brown except for two pale strips of gray hair on either side of his chin. He was wearing a dark blue turban and a simple tunic of white cotton. His flared pants were the same color as the fabric covering his head.

“Señor Galib?”

The man sat up in his saddle and grabbed his riding crop when he saw a filthy beggar hanging from his reins.

“What are you after?” he said. The horse lurched nervously and bucked, trying to escape from that stranger.

“I'm trying to find my mare. Some men sold her a few days back, but she was mine. She's an Arabian mare, cinnamon colored, with two spots, very calm and very sweet. I'm sure she misses me. … Please, Señor Galib.” He grasped the leather even tighter, running alongside the albéitar.

Apart from his raggedy appearance, Diego looked mad. His eyes gave off a strange anxiousness and he didn't provoke a feeling of trust.

The man looked at him, preoccupied, afraid the boy wanted to attack him.

“Leave me in peace!” Galib raised his voice and beat at the air with his riding crop, threatening to bring it down on the boy's skin.

“I won't let you go!” Diego shouted, pulling on the bridle with all his might.

The man dug his heels into the horse's ribs and the animal broke into a trot, pulling away from Diego and leaving him behind.

When Galib came back that night, the boy was still there. He had to show him the riding crop again and make the horse rear up before the boy would let him enter his house.

And so it went, every time he left or entered, for the following days.

With infinite patience and determination, Diego had decided not to leave that house until he had reached his objective: seeing Sabba again.

^*
The Trasierra is an old term for the lands lying between the mountain ranges of the Sistema Central and Andalusia.

^*
Albéitar
is a term coming from Arabic, roughly equivalent to the English
farrier
. However, since frequent reference is made in the book to its Arabic origins, it has been left in the original here. [Translator's Note]

VII.

A
nd there Diego was.

Every time the albéitar crossed the doorway of his dwelling, he found the insistent beggar lying prostrate. For days now, his voice raised, he had clamored over and over after that mare.

The boy had been steadily losing strength and composure. He could scarcely stand on his feet, but he kept on. From the fifth day, Galib no longer saw him stand, but the boy just went on calling out with his gaze.

Galib realized the boy would die before he left his house. It seemed he had nothing to lose, and nothing else to do either. When the first week was up, he could no longer resist, and before returning to his dwellings after a long day at work, he came over to talk to the boy.

“What's your name?”

Diego reached for his last bit of strength and jumped to his feet. At last, the man was paying him attention.

“Diego. Diego from Malagón.”

“And the mare?”

“Sabba.”

“A pretty name. It means ‘east wind' in my language.”

Galib observed the boy, who seemed to have nothing else to say. He recognized his stubbornness and after a long silence, he risked letting him enter.

They crossed a broad courtyard that opened onto a large stable to the left. They passed through a storage room and after that were a dozen stalls where the horses were kept. When they came to the last one, Galib made a motion with his finger.

“There you have her.”

Diego pulled open a large lever and pushed at a low door. At that moment, his heart beat frantically. Sabba sat up upon seeing him and snorted with joy.

“Sabba, my Sabba …”

Diego embraced her neck and began to squeeze the base of her mane. What emerged from his mouth seemed more like faint moans than words. Then he came close to her nostrils and blew on them. The animal responded with a neigh of absolute contentment. He looked at her eyes, stroked her head and ears. The mare seemed to whisper to him, her murmurs like echoes, as though the two of them shared a secret language. Diego felt the animal's fidelity, its warmth, which had accompanied him for years. Sabba was more than a horse; she was his faithful companion, the creature that had remained by his side ever since the death of his mother.

Holding his breath, Galib observed the scene with trepidation. That astonishing relationship told him everything, conveyed everything.

“She's had a fever, right?”

“Do you think she has one now?” Galib answered, to test him.

Diego shook his head. He knelt and felt around in an area where the straw seemed damp, then sniffed his hand afterward.

“Then what makes you think she did have one?”

“Her breathing,” Diego said without hesitation. “It's a little faster than normal, and her gaze isn't as clear as it is normally.”

“Anything else?”

“Her urine smells different and her ears aren't cold, though they aren't hot, either.”

Throughout his career, Galib had seen affectionate reactions on the part of animals toward their owners, sometimes even heroic ones, but never a loyalty and commitment such as that boy had for his mare, his willingness to die of hunger at the gates, staying there for more than a week. Maybe it was for that reason he began to see him with different eyes. He didn't know his story, but two things were clear: the boy was telling the truth when he said the animal was his, and he wasn't just some beggar.

Not knowing the man's thoughts, Diego eyed him cautiously.

Galib breathed twice and thought a bit more. He was a steady person and rarely let himself be carried away by impulse, but on this occasion he was going to. He felt compassion for the boy and wanted to help him.

“Boy, what do you know how to do?”

“I grew up at an inn, far from here, and I've always been around horses. I know how to shoe them and care for them.” He clicked his tongue and Sabba responded by sniffing at the palm of his hand.

“This mare cost me one hundred forty
sueldos
. A high price, but I knew she was worth it from the beginning.” Galib stroked her head. “Her blood is excellent and she might be the finest horse I have in my stables at present, but until I can make that money back …”

Diego distrusted the Muslim. He was neither very tall nor strong, but he seemed distinguished. His skin had begun to show the ravages of time and his few gray hairs gave him an air of wisdom, of gentlemanliness and of kindness. Still, Diego couldn't trust any son of Allah. He didn't like any of them, though the man's words and his appearance left him wordless.

“You know I can't pay you …”

“Then work for me. I need another stable boy, and it's a job you're well suited for. If you're in agreement, you can make two
sueldos
a week, though I will keep half of that to pay for the mare. You'll have food but no bed, because you're Christian and here in Toledo we're not permitted to sleep beneath the same roof. … Do you agree?”

Diego took a moment to respond. What was proposed seemed the best way out of his situation, but if he accepted, he feared he would be betraying the memory of his dead family members. His misfortunes had come at the hand of Muslims, and Galib was a Muslim as well. He had never imagined himself living close to them, listening to their prayers, eating off their plates. The idea didn't appeal to Diego at all, but then he remembered the oath he'd made to his father, when he'd asked the boy to flee from poverty however possible and fight for a better destiny without being defeated by adversity. He asked himself if this might not be a situation he should run from and imagined what his father would have said.

“I am grateful to you, yes.”

Galib clapped him on the back and made as if to look for someone.

“Sajjad?” He raised his voice.

To Diego's displeasure, that man with the twisted nose, acid temperament, and strange manner of speaking limped forth, the man he had first met that day with Fatima.

“He's my stable keeper; you take orders from him. He's a good man and he has been with me for I don't know how many years.”

Sajjad pulled a dopey grin.

“Master good with me.” He grabbed Diego's tunic and pulled on it. “Follow now Sajjad. Sajjad will teach you.”

The old man tried to take Diego to the kitchen to offer him some food, but the boy wasn't prepared to leave his mare even for a moment, so Sajjad had to bring him a bit of bread and cheese right into the stall. Diego sat down by Sabba's side, felt her heat, felt the cold of night, but was happy.

It was then that he saw her for the first time.

Her beauty was uncommon. Her name was Benazir and she was Galib's wife. When Diego saw her pass in front of the stables, he thought he'd never seen anything as beautiful as her.

Benazir was a daughter of the desert, born in the faraway lands of Persia. With the nomad blood that flowed through her veins, she possessed a savage and unpredictable side, though she was also warm and vulnerable, like someone who had breathed the winds of the Orient.

She had met Galib in Seville ten years before. Benazir was the daughter of the Persian ambassador, and when she fell in love with Galib, her father was in charge of the grandest breeding stable in the world, the Yeguada de Las Marismas. As property of the caliph, his five thousand or more horses of pure Arabian blood trotted freely over those marshlands near the mouth of the Guadalquivir River, a region of extraordinary beauty.

While Galib lived in Seville, the capital of the caliphate, he enjoyed an invaluable social standing. One night, during the events organized by the ambassador to welcome two of his colleagues, Galib met Benazir, and from that moment they fell hopelessly in love.

With the passage of time, he came to the conclusion that Benazir carried passion in her veins. She was warm and sensual, but also dangerous and indomitable. Galib came to understand that to love her, he had to learn the laws of the desert, to recognize their changing nature, and to never try to conquer her completely.

When Diego saw Benazir again, the next morning, as he began working, he understood immediately how much Galib must love her. Her mere presence exuded sensuality, and she was incredibly beautiful besides. She moved like the wind; at times smooth, at other times with strength and seductively, like a perfume that overcomes the senses. He was afraid of her without knowing why.

Sajjad, to the extent he was able to express himself, had ordered Diego to saddle the woman's mare and told him where to wait for her in the courtyard. He did so, and while he was adjusting the seat, he saw her appear.

She was dressed in all black, with an open tunic. Her hair was pulled into a single braid running down her back, as dark as it was silken. Her eyes, the color of honey, had an exceptional brilliance.

When their gazes crossed, she took a large veil that hung down from her head and covered her face with it.

“Good day, ma'am.” Diego positioned some wooden steps at the animal's side and held the mare until Benazir had taken the reins, and he wished her a happy journey.

Behind him, Sajjad dealt him a resounding slap on the nape of his neck.

“Diego respect mistress. Diego no talk if no master here.”

The old man ran, limping, to the wooden portal and opened it partway. Benazir made the mare turn and moved toward the exit, but before she left, she looked back at Diego.

“Welcome to this house.”