Wild Horses (2 page)

“Thanx. Sorry.”

He pushed the “send” button. Soon, the device chimed again.

“You are welcome. Please return the phone to me, or to the concierge at the Omni Hotel. My name is Attila Keleman.”

Kai paused. His heart skipped at the warm tone of the message, but the device in his hand was worth weeks of food. His time on the street had hardened him some, and he knew winter was but a few months away. The stranger with the strange name was obviously rich enough to buy a new phone. It was kind of weird, though, the way the guy didn’t seem to be mad. He typed a new message, his fingers clumsy at his first-time effort at using a touch screen. He had to backtrack over every other misspelled letter.

“Why?”

A
TTILA
K
ELEMAN
’
S
heart sank as he stared at the one-word text. That phone had everything on it. There were photos and messages, e-mails and contact information—and the schedule so critical to the running of his business. He used to have it all backed up on his computer, but two days ago his old desktop machine yielded to the summer heat and to the ubiquitous sawdust that forever surrounded the stables, and died. His students, his charges, his friends, their addresses and telephone numbers and their lesson schedules—they were all on his phone. Training records, vet records, a small expense app that let him keep track of who paid for their lessons and boarding fees—all gone. The backup drive he had used with his computer was now too outdated to be compatible with the new iMac he purchased earlier today, and he still didn’t know whether the self-styled “geniuses” at the Apple store would be able to convert the files from his old PC into Mac-readable data he could at least print out and retype. His life, which he had thought so smooth and organized, had turned into a nightmare.

“My whole life is on that phone and I have no backup. The photos and records are irreplaceable and essential to my business.”

Attila handed the borrowed phone back to his colleague. “Thank you. Should anything come up, would you kindly inform me?”

The other horse trainer nodded. “Sure. That’s a terrible thing. You are at the Westin, room 611?”

“Yes. Thank you.” Attila’s voice was a soft whisper as he stood. Now that he had done all he could in the face of the emergency, he became aware of the multitude of people within the ballroom. He felt his panic rise at the thought of having to interact with them. The air felt stale and too warm, and the floor threatened to shift under his feet.

Attila took a deep breath and let it sink to the pit of his belly. He imagined himself astride his white horse, in his riding clothes, ready to enter the arena.

Just another horse show.

He imagined the smells and the sounds that were so comforting and familiar. The crowds at their round dinner tables seemed to have receded after several minutes, and the carpeted floor stabilized under his feet.

Attila appeared calm and collected as he approached the podium and looked into the bright light that disguised the faces of his audience. All these people had paid for the privilege to be there and drink from his fountain of wisdom, and he would not disappoint them.

After the customary introductory address, however, he deviated from his plan and forced himself to meet the eyes of the crowd through the glare of the stage lights. Unruly rust-colored hair and a shoulder tattoo were still fresh in his mind.

“It is important to remember that each horse is, essentially, wild at heart. Before the horse responds to your requests for canter or counter-canter or extended trot, that wild heart needs to be tamed.

T
WO
days had come and gone, and the owner of the phone had long disappeared. Kai kept rereading the last text message:

“I need to return now. Please mail the phone to Blue Heron Acres. The address is in the phone directory. Remember, you are better than stooping to such acts of petty thievery.”

Kai’s waking hours were haunted by the mild words of admonishment, and his dreams were populated by graceful men with black, flowing hair dressed in tuxedos. He wished the phone’s owner had gotten angry and called him names, but instead he had given him the very money he had stolen. Now, more than anything, Kai felt a profound sense of shame. His victim had not even tried to blame him. He just wanted his phone back.

The device had 68 percent charge left. Kai found the address for Blue Heron Acres, but weeks of homelessness made him reluctant to spend the cash for the padded envelope and postage. Not even realizing it, he no longer cared about the phone’s potential financial value; the sleek device had become his tie to civilization and to the man who had told him he was better than all this.

Am I?

The question resonated through his subconscious, making waves on formerly stagnant waters.

He was loath to spare the money, but he was not against using his time. He did, after all, still have his bicycle. The vision of the calm, well-dressed man who would not yell beckoned to him, arousing more than just his curiosity. He was sorely tempted to look through the records and photographs on the calm man’s phone, but that might use up too much battery life, and he knew he’d need the juice to power the map function.

Next morning Kai topped off his water bottle, filled the pockets of his hoodie with two bananas and two apples, and set out in the dim early-morning haze. He missed the morning traffic as he crossed the Roberto Clemente Bridge to the North Side and continued all the way along the river bike trail toward the West End. Groomed public landscapes with a lush science center and a glitzy casino gave way to weeds by the path and broken concrete by the docks. The trail ended by the jail, which Kai found to be an ironic reflection upon his own situation as he pulled out the stolen phone and activated Google Maps. The address of Blue Heron Acres had already been entered; he followed the blue dot along Route 65 North toward Ambridge. He was aimed a good sixty miles out of town. The river path had ended, and he had to bike in the emergency lane of the highway, hoping to evade the attention of the police and the back draft of speeding cars.

Sun beat upon his bare head, and the black hoodie had become unbearable, so he removed it and tied it around his waist.

Two hours later, he hid in the shade by the highway and ate the bananas.

Another hour later, his water was gone.

Battery power was down to 35 percent, and he used the map feature sparingly. By noon, the terrain had also become hilly, and despite two water refills at a fast food joint, his fatigued and dehydrated legs threatened to go on strike. He had to climb off and push his bike up one hill, only to ride down the other side. Then he did it again, and again.

He began to question his judgment, his decision to return the phone in person, and his choice to steal it to begin with. His tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth and his eyes glazed over in the sun’s merciless glare that reflected off the concrete highway. Yet whenever doubts threatened to overcome him, the words of the text came to him again:

“Remember, you are better than stooping to such acts of petty thievery.”

Traffic began to thicken as the day wore on. He followed the blue dot onto local roads that cut between shady hills. At three o’clock in the afternoon, in what appeared to be a thinly populated residential area near the state game lands, he spotted a gleaming white sign with blue lettering.

Blue Heron Acres.

“H
E
DID
well, Saul.” Attila did not smile, but his blue-gray eyes warmed in acceptance as Willie made a happy, unintelligible sound up in the saddle. Attila reached up to unbuckle the boy’s safety belt.

“Willie, it is time to dismount.” An expression of crushing disappointment flooded the boy’s misshapen little face. “You can come again on Wednesday. That is two days from now. Will you come and ride Chicago again?” The boy nodded, then freed his right toe out of the stirrup and attempted to swing his leg over. Attila helped him down while his father fished a horse treat out of his pocket.

“Say thank you, Willie.” The boy took the treat in his hand and extended the flattened palm to the horse, who accepted it.

“Will he ever ride like we do?” Saul asked, wistful concern apparent through his horn-rimmed glasses.

“He will ride in his own way.”

“I suppose. Thank you, Attila.”

“You are welcome anytime,” Attila replied, almost smiling. “My regards to Mimi.” Saul nodded and took his son’s hand, leading him to the car.

Attila began to unsaddle Chicago right there, outside the barn. The short gelding was placid enough and did not need to be put in the cross-ties. Being outside, Attila was visible to his observer. He loosened the girth strap, aware he was being watched. He could feel the man out there, hiding in the tree line above the paddock. The dogs had barked earlier in the afternoon, and Sensational Snowfall had stopped in midcanter, pointed in the direction of the tree line, and whinnied. Attila trusted Sen’s instincts more than his dogs’ or his own.

Attila understood men very little, but he knew horses, and a wild horse was best coaxed in slowly. He doubted wild men would be much different.

First, you tame the wild heart.

Having slipped a halter onto Chicago’s head, Attila tied the horse to the post and took the tack inside. Emerging again, Attila brushed his coat, checked his hooves, and took him to the hose to water down his hot, sweaty flanks. The appaloosa just snorted and turned into the cool water spray in a display of pleasure. Then Attila opened the gate to the paddock and let Chicago run loose.

His visitor did not emerge.

No matter. Attila knew his iPhone was near, and all his vital information with it. Sitting out in the bush on a day like this must be uncomfortable. Attila pulled a cold bottle of Gatorade out of the refrigerator along with a granola bar from the snack basket and set them out on one of several picnic tables by the barn. He stood there in the sun for a short moment, gazing toward the tree line. Maybe his wild man could be coaxed in by the prospect of food and drink.

K
AI
watched the graceful man set the food and drink out, only to abandon them. It seemed like a test. Taking the items without asking first would be one of those acts of petty thievery Kai now believed were beneath him, so he distracted himself by turning his attention to the horses.

He had never seen any up close before. There was the smaller horse of many colors the phone’s owner hosed down only a short while ago. The water had looked divine from afar; Kai was parched and dizzy from the heat. The big white horse that had whinnied at him from his pasture had a big rump, and his mane was braided down his thick, curved neck. Always dignified, he paid no heed to the antics of his companion, a chestnut stallion with a long red mane and tail that reached all the way down to the ground. He looked wild and at odds with the commanding white. Kai liked him; he liked studying the delicate lines of his smaller head and the way his long legs ate up the ground as he ran. More than anything, though, he wanted to know what was going on in the large covered building behind the barn. He saw people lead horses into it, and after a time, return them to the barn again. Some were untacked and let loose into the enclosure; others stayed inside.

Once Kai made up his mind, it took him a good half hour to circumnavigate the fenced paddock through the dense woods and make his way down the hill toward the building. There were no windows, but large doors were open on each end. Kai hunkered down in the shade of a nearby foundation planting, catching a glimpse of a man his own age astride a tall black horse. The owner of the iPhone stood in the center of the arena in his tall black boots and tan riding breeches that hugged his legs all the way up, and a loose white linen shirt. His black hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and he wielded a long whip in one hand.

Kai’s eyes widened as he heard it crack through the air, tickling the horse’s rump.

“Don’t let him get away with this, Tim. Yukon is too intelligent not to understand what is required of him.” Yet the black horse known as Yukon refused to move. The man with the whip sighed. “Stay here. I’ll get your spurs.”

The lesson continued. The rider was making progress with his grudging mount, though both were drenched with sweat by the end. The man with the whip seemed satisfied with their effort.

“Good. Once you’ve cooled him down, spend some time with him. Get to know him better. He’ll want to be hosed down and let loose.”

Kai ducked behind the door as the man with the whip headed for the opening. He saw him approach the paddock gate and whistle. The white horse galloped up, followed by the chestnut, who also vied for the man’s attention.

“Not you, Vermillion. It’s Sen’s turn.” His voice was like a smooth, cool chocolate milk shake on a hot summer day. Kai shivered. He dared a peek from his hiding place. The white horse followed the man on his own, and they disappeared into the barn.

Kai heard a loud snort, almost jumping with surprise. The chestnut horse stood by the fence, curious nose pointed in his direction. There was something about him, something wild and enticing. Kai looked around. The place seemed deserted. The few riders present were tending their mounts inside the barn. He took a deep breath, then slowly walked toward the fence.

“Vermillion, heh? What a fancy name you have.” He put his fist out, the way he knew to do when meeting a strange dog, and to his surprise, Vermillion nosed him. His black nostrils were silky soft as he snorted against Kai’s hand, and his chestnut coat appeared almost red in the setting sun.

“What? You want something?” Kai startled at the sound of his own voice. The horse’s soft nose pushed against his chest, and he dared to step closer, all the way to the fence. A long, sinuous neck bent down toward the pocket of his hoodie, giving another snort. Vermillion pawed at the ground.