A Three Day Event (51 page)

I always used to say I never jerked you around, and that was true where the horses were concerned, and I think in this respect you have to admit I’m not like most of the people I ever met in horse sport. But I did jerk you around big time where your life was concerned, and for this I hereby apologize. I know I gave you lots of material things, and I’m glad you ended up with nice teeth and good glasses and saw the doctors you needed to see and all that, and I can’t be sorry about the horses. You have a God given talent, like no one else I ever saw in that sport, and believe me, I knew what I was looking at. That part was good.

But the other part, taking you away from your family, as the years went by, it started to weigh very heavy on my conscience. But I didn’t know what to do. Then Ruthie came home from that horse show in St Lazare and she asked if you were her brother. That was a terrible shock, I have to tell you. I thought my secret was out and it scared the hell out of me. I hit my own daughter. I never hit a woman in my life, before or since, so you can imagine how I felt. Then she as good as told me she was in love with you. That was another shock. Don’t get the wrong idea about that. Don’t think it was I didn’t consider you being good enough for Ruthie. You were more than good enough. But it would have been like her being with a brother. I never thought of you two as being anything except like a brother and a sister. So I went a little crazy. I hope you understand.

And that’s why I lost my heart for horses. That and what those fuckers tried to do, keeping you off the team. And that’s why we sort of lost touch in the later years. I couldn’t pretend anymore. After Ruthie told me that, I realized Markus was really dead, and you were you, not him. I mean, I’m not stupid, I always knew you were you, but it was still mixed up somehow and gave me a lot of comfort til Ruthie told me that.

Anyway, I stand by what I always told you. A man should marry someone from his own background. Marriage is hard enough. So that’s what I’m getting at. Maybe you don’t know what is your real background anymore. Maybe what I did confused you, and it screwed up your life a little. I apologize for that. I hope the good stuff balanced out the other part.

Nathalie’s a good girl. You should be happy, and you should have children. It doesn’t matter what else you’ll ever do in your life, nothing beats children, even when they make you tear your hair out, which thank God mine never did.

So now you’re wondering about the card. This guy on the card from BNA Trust–or whoever he gave my file to if he isn’t there anymore–he’s got some news for you. Remember I gave you half the money from Hamish? You did the right thing with it, with the land and the investments. But just in case something happened to you, or you couldn’t work, or whatever, I wanted that your kids should be secure, and they shouldn’t feel that all the goodies only come from one side of the family. That’s an unhealthy thing for kids in my opinion.

I know Nathalie’s going to inherit a big chunk, but what if she left you or she died? I know, I know, I’m morbid. So sue me. I was right to be, though. Look, I’m dead! (Joke!) I don’t have to tell you after all the years you spent with us, security for Jews is the big thing, right? So this guy at BNA, he has the portfolio from the other half of the money from Hamish. The account number is on the other side of the card. They have a (sealed) copy of this letter, and if Clarice didn’t give it to you, they would have eventually.

The money isn’t for you, except for emergencies, like brain surgery in the States, (God forbid). It’s for your kids, especially for their education or to set up a business or something. If they want to go to Harvard, they should. Harvard costs an arm and a leg. But you got enough arms and legs for an octopus in that portfolio by now so don’t sweat it.

So that’s the deal. If you don’t have kids (I forgot to mention, adopted counts), the money eventually goes to charities. But I’m hoping they’re not going to get it, if you take my meaning (don’t worry, they got plenty from me already). Also, I’d feel very bad if you weren’t going to have kids, but read this and had them for the money! But to be 100% honest, I wouldn’t care even if you had the kids for the money, because once you had them, you’d be glad.

There’s probably quite a lot of money there by now. That makes me happy. Like I told you after the Royal, when I told you I was selling Hamish, I want you should have a good life, Polo, and never be beholden to some of those schmucks in that business. Don’t get proud about accepting this, either. Like I said, it’s for your kids, and for kids you take all the lucky breaks you can get.

Well, that’s about it, ‘yingele’ (that’s Yiddish for young one–I know, I know, but that’s how I like to remember you). I hate schmaltz, but you know what I think of you. I was proud to be associated with you. You were always a good boy, with a strong character, and in my humble opinion, you would be a great dad. Like they say in
Fiddler on the Roof
, a blessing on your head. Best regards to Nathalie. I forgot to mention that I think she will be a great mother.

Morrie

Nathalie handed the letter back, and Polo folded it and tucked it back in its envelope. “Wow,” she said awkwardly, and wiped discreetly under her eyes.

“Nath, I don’t think I can talk about this yet. Do you mind?”

“Of course not. It’s too huge.”

Polo didn’t speak. He kept staring at the card.

Nathalie searched for a neutral topic. A book with a bright green cover on the table beside her caught her eye. She picked it up.

“
Faux Amis
? What kind of dictionary is that?”

“It’s words that seem the same in English and French but sometimes have a different meaning. You know, like deception in English and
deception
in French.”

Nathalie opened the cover. “Oh,” she said with prim disappointment.

“What?”

“There’s an inscription from Ruthie.”

“Yeah, it was a birthday gift or something. What did she say? It’s so long ago.”

“It says, ‘Here is a book about false friends, from one true friend to another. Polo, you are special/
tu es spécial
(see p. 668–joke! but not my friendship for you for ever and ever), love, Ruthie’.”

Polo looked at Nathalie, and saw how it still was for her where Ruthie was concerned. Enough already. This had to end.

“Nath, put the book down and come and sit beside me.”

She sat beside him, and he pulled her in close to him. “Okay. Let’s do Ruthie. I’ll tell you whatever you want to know. You have to really understand two things, though. Ruthie will always be my friend, no matter what, is one, and two is, I love you, Nath, only you. Whatever was between Ruthie and me that was more than friendship, that’s finished. You read the letter. In her heart Ruthie knew I belonged to her father in a special way. The one time we forgot that, I think we both felt very ashamed without exactly understanding why. I know I did. Now I know why.

“Ruthie was good for me, Nath. She was the first girl I ever met who knew her own worth, and acted like it. She was the first girl I ever met who had respect from her father for her good mind and her opinions. It was because of Ruthie that I found out girls could be real women–sexy and fun, and still be a man’s equal in every way. Ruthie stood up to me when I deserved it, Nath, and that was good for me. She educated me in more ways than one. She set standards. I’m finally going to start meeting them. With you. She paved the way for us to be happy. And that’s the story on Ruthie.

“So don’t be jealous of her, Nath. Be her friend. It would make me very happy. Don’t forget, when we have kids, she’ll be their Auntie Ruthie. Soon it won’t be just us any more. When we have a kid. It’ll be lots of other people who have a stake in our lives. My
maman
, your parents, my brothers and sisters. Your sister. And the Jacobsons. If we want to be really happy, we have to think about fitting everyone into the picture in a good way.”

Nathalie sighed. “Polo, how did you get to be so smart about people without taking courses?”

“I have horse sense. I had to. It was the only alternative to going to school…”

* * *

Three months later, when she was absolutely sure, Nathalie told Polo her good news. He was ecstatic, but immediately fearful that having sex would damage the embryo. Nathalie was persuasive in her reassurances. Some days later, while they were contentedly cuddling after a particularly rapturous hour of lovemaking, Nathalie said drowsily,

“I loved Michel and Claude’s wedding, didn’t you? It was amazing, the way the inside of Hy’s dressage arena got turned into that huge white tent.”

“It helps when you’re in the
shmatta
business. That was a good speech Roch gave, welcoming her into the family. He even seemed to mean it.”

“Oh, I think Claude has him wrapped around her little finger. She’s a terrific girl. I love her self-confidence.”

“A plain Jane like that would have to have self-confidence walking around with Michel.”

“You know what? I think she’s used to his looks. I think she loves him for what he is inside. And what’s funny is that I don’t see her as plain anymore. She’s so full of personality and energy, and that big, friendly smile–I always think of her as pretty now.”

“They’re good together. It’s going to work.”

“It was nice of the Jacobsons to give them such a great party.”

“Yeah. Nath, I was happy to see you and Ruthie having fun together.”

“I always liked her, you know. I just didn’t
like
it that I liked her.”

Neither spoke for a moment. Then Nathalie murmured, “You’re thinking about riding a horse, aren’t you?”

“How did you know?”

“You’re doing half halts on my bum.”

“Clever wife, do you have any idea how cool it is for a guy like me to have a woman who on top of her other great qualities knows when her bum is getting half–halted?
Je t’adore
. Listen, Nath, you know that little black three year old with the off–centre white star I got in Alberta last year?”

“Mm. Nice gaits.”

“Yeah, but he’s got something special. It’s more than just gaits.”

“What?”

“It’s his personality. He’s got heart, and he’s honest, and so willing to learn, with this kind of quiet peppiness to him. And there’s such a calm, well–adjusted look in his eyes. I just like him, I guess.”

“Polo, you’re sounding a little schmaltzy about a horse. This isn’t you.”

“I’m going to keep him, Nath.”

“Oh Polo, that’s lovely. It’s time you had a horse of your own. Except that black one is so small, he’s barely fifteen hands.”

“He’s not for me. He’s for our son. I’m going to put a ton of time into him. He’ll be the best–made horse in the world, and he’ll take good care of Marc while he’s learning to ride.”

“Son? Marc? Excuse me, have I been in a coma for seven months?”

“It’s going to be a boy, Nath. We have to call him Marc.”

“For Morrie’s Markus?”

“Yes. And also for Marcus Aurelius.”

“Who’s Marcus Aurelius?”

“A Roman emperor–and a great writer.”

“Why an emper–oh right, I almost forgot…
Napoléon
!”

Polo smiled and hugged her. He ran the fingers of his right hand through the shaggy thatch of hair that Clarice’s
coiffeur
(to Polo’s delighted surprise) had cropped and styled for her. His left hand drew her fingers to his lips. He kissed them, silently noting and approving her newly grown and polished nails. Then he sighed with gratitude for the sweet perfection of his life.

“Yeah. It’s a Poisson family tradition.”

THE END