Boy on a Black Horse (2 page)

“Holy crud,” somebody else said. “Who the walk-on-water does he think he is?”

At the time I thought it was a stupid put-down. But it turned out to be the first question I should have asked about Chav and didn't. Who did he
think
he was?

Who was he?

“So what's new at school?” Liana asked me at supper. She's my aunt, but I never call her Aunt because it makes her seem old, which she's not. She's young and pretty and a pretty decent person to live with. When I was little I used to spell her name Lee Anna on Christmas tags and thank-you notes and things, because that was the way it sounded to me, and she never corrected me. That was the kind of person she was—people's feelings mattered to her, even if the person was just a little kid. Especially if it was just a little kid. She loved kids.

Supper was her homemade bacon-and-broccoli four-cheese thick-crust pizza, which is great. I was interested in eating, not talking about school. “Nothing,” I said with my mouth full.

But Liana really wanted to talk, because she gets lonely being by herself most of the day. “Gray, give me a break. There has to be something. What was the best thing that happened to you today?”

“Chav.” It was okay to say this, because Liana wouldn't tease.

“Chav? Is that a boy's name?” But she was cool, she didn't even smile the wrong way. Liana was hardly ever a pain—she was just kind of sad a lot, like living was a duty and an obligation and taking care of me was a responsibility. Those were words she used a lot, but she hardly ever said “enjoy.” I missed my parents and brother probably as much as she missed her husband and kids, but I'd made up my mind to get over it. I had a life, and I don't think Liana really did. She just sort of watched mine, like watching TV.

“Yeah, he's a boy. He's new.”

“See, I knew something was new.” That was about as close as she ever got to teasing. And her smile almost brightened up her eyes. “What's he like?”

“Different.”

“Different?”

“He doesn't talk like us and he doesn't dress like us and he's not friendly.”

“Cute?”

“No, not really.”

“But there's something about him?”

Sometimes she understood things too damn well. I chomped a big mouthful of pizza and didn't answer.

After a while she asked, “What was the worst thing that happened today?”

“The fight.”

“You got into a fight with somebody?” This was not unknown to happen.

“No. Chav did.”

“Oh. Was it bad?”

“Nobody got hurt or anything, but it was scary.”

Liana was looking at me kind of hard. “Why?”

But I just chewed pizza and shook my head and couldn't answer. Or wouldn't.

It wasn't that I was afraid of Chav himself, exactly. But I was starting to understand about the black stallion of anger galloping in his chest. It was his heart, and it frightened me. The rage in him might trample anybody, even a girl.

C
HAPTER

2

Chav

We are supposed to keep a journal ten minutes every day in this class. I don't know what to say. If I could talk or sing instead of having to write, I would do better
.

Nobody is supposed to look at this journal. But why would the teacher make us write it if she is not going to look at it? MRS. HIGBY, YOU ARE A WART ON THE TUSH OF THE WORLD. If she looks at this and has a heart attack, it will be her own fault for being a lying gadjo
.

There is one person here I like, a girl who has a feeling about horses. But she is a gadjo too. Never trust a gadjo. That was my mother's mistake. I will not make friends with any gadjos. I do not want any friends. What is the point? In a few weeks I will be someplace else. It is a big country. I am not likely to run out of places before I run out of time
.

The gadjo girl is not very pretty anyway. She is tall and pale and has a big nose and big legs like two-by-fours
.

I do not believe I let Baval and Chavali talk me into this going to school. But they are right, the school is warm at least, and it is easy to get something to eat. In a way they are right, that if I am going to make them go, I ought to go myself. But in a way they are wrong, because they do not understand: they are going to grow up and have families and be happy, but I am not. They are going to need education, but I am not. Once they are big enough to take care of themselves, then they will not need me anymore, and that will be it for Chav. I will steal a gun and go to a country club or somewhere and take with me as many gadjos as I can before I dispose of myself
.

Time's up
.

Gray Calderone

Ride a black horse

Ride a high wind

Tame a black stallion

Tame the wind

Tame the thunderstorm

Gentle the wind

Make it your friend

Gentle the wind

After the first couple of days I started to catch on that Chav was poor. I heard he borrowed soap and shampoo in gym class. I noticed he wore the exact same clothes both days, and he didn't bring lunch money the second day, either. And he ate every bit of his lunch again even though it was cafeteria macaroni and cheese, which is like stinky puke-yellow rubber. This time there were teachers around—I guess the custodian reported the mess on the floor—so Matt Kain didn't do anything except look ugly at him and yell a few things. Chav didn't bother to look up or yell back.

The next morning I packed lunch. A lot of lunch, just in case.

I left the house real early, before Liana was awake, because she is depressing to be around in the morning. She takes pills to sleep, and then waking up hits her like a club. Sometimes she cries. I could go stay with my grandparents, who are actually my legal guardians according to my parents' will, but I keep sticking it out with Liana. We're really close. She was with me when it happened; we hung onto each other all through that first awful night, and we've been together ever since. We each know what the other has been through like nobody else does. Anyway, Grandpa is a cop, and Grandma is a teacher, a good one—there are some good ones—but the point is they're both paranoid, always asking if I'm okay, do I want to talk about anything, and looking into my eyes like they're checking for drugs. Liana isn't like that. She trusts me.

It was a terrific day. Indian summer. The way the sun hit the orange and yellow trees they were blazing like fire. I walked to school real slow, scuffing through the leaves on the ground, and I took the long way around, through the fields behind the elementary school and into the beech grove at the bottom of the nature trail. It's like a hollow down there, hidden from everything, peaceful. I walked deep into the woods.

All this is to explain that I wasn't trying to spy on Chav. It just happened that I saw him.

I saw him riding a black horse between the golden trees.

I don't know which I saw first, the horse or Chav. It was like they were both part of the same king-crowned-in-gold thing, the black stallion—I could tell it was a stallion by its thick arched neck—the black horse treading through the fiery leaves and the black-haired boy on its back. The horse was small and slim, like Chav, and it carried its head high like him. It curved its neck and struck out with its forefeet like a dancer as it walked. Its head was long and Roman-nosed, not pretty at all—it was way better than pretty, it was fierce and proud. This horse was a real black, with not a white or a brown hair on it anywhere, so black it seemed awesome, packed with itself, like it was more of a horse than other horses. And it was headed toward me.

It would have been lucky-day amazing to see a horse, any sort of horse, on my way to school when I wasn't expecting it, but a black stallion yet! I couldn't believe it. I stood there hugging a tree trunk and gawking so hard I didn't see the other two kids at first. They were on the horse too, a little girl in front of Chav and a not-so-little boy behind him, all three of them riding bareback to school as if this black stallion were a tired old mare, with just a halter and a couple of rope reins.

Then Chav glanced over toward me, his face changed, and his whole body went stiff. The black horse stopped in its tracks that minute, before he even touched the rope reins. I knew it had to be because the change in his seat had signaled for a halt, but how many horses will respond that way? It was eerie, almost like he and the black horse were sharing a mind.

From about ten feet away they were staring at me, and I realized from the spooked look in their eyes that neither of them had known I was there, or they probably wouldn't have come anywhere near me. The little girl riding in front of Chav twisted around and hid her face against his chest, shy or scared. All I could see was her long dark hair. The not-so-little boy looked at me with wide dark eyes from behind Chav's shoulder.

“Hi,” I whispered, and I unlatched myself from my tree and walked a few steps toward them, slowly, trying not to startle the horse. “Hello, wild horse,” I said softly to the stallion, taking a guess that it was some kind of mustang. I wanted to make friends with it. “What's his name?” I asked.

He looked stone-faced but answered me. “Rom.”

“Huh?” It didn't seem like enough name for such a horse.

“Rom.”

I realized I reminded me of somebody. “Spell it,” I said, straight-faced. “We beg your pardon? What is his last name? We need his last name for the records.”

That cracked Chav's stony face open. He actually laughed, a happier laugh than the one he'd given Matt Kain. The way he laughed made the little kids decide everything was all right. The little girl squirmed around and looked at me—her face was petal-smooth and pretty, like a brown flower—I wished I was half as pretty. The boy behind Chav slipped down off the horse and grinned at me as soon as his beat-up sneakers hit the ground. “I'm Baval,” he announced like it was important, “and this is Chavali.” He helped the little girl down. When she stuck her feet out I noticed her sneakers looked real old, like Baval's, yet they were too big for her, and she didn't have socks on. “Say hi,” Baval told her once she was down, but she didn't. She smiled at me, then got shy again and ducked her head against Baval. They both wore blue jeans and T-shirts, plenty old and worn out, but still Baval and Chavali seemed basically like regular kids. Their strange names and dark skins made them different than me and my friends but not as different as Chav. Their faces were soft and young, not flinty like his. Their eyes were clear and sunny, not hard like black ice. Something about him was a lot more different.

“I'm Gray,” I told Chavali and Baval. “Hi. Do you always ride Rom to school?”

They looked at each other and kind of smiled, but nobody answered. Chav did not even look up. He was down off Rom and had the halter off him and was crouching in front of him, using the rope reins to loop hobbles around his forelegs. Rom put his head down and nuzzled Chav's hair, and Chav did not push his big black nose away.

“Hi, Rom,” I said to the stallion. He swung his head up and looked at me with deep, wise eyes, and I knew he would allow me to pat him, though I meant nothing to him. I went over and stroked his neck. There were some scars on his back and shoulders, which was a rotten shame, but none of them seemed fresh. His coat was smooth and shiny. Somebody had been taking good care of him.

Chav got the rope hobbles adjusted just right and stood up so that all of a sudden he was facing me. “Do people come down here?” he asked. “Will anybody find him here?”

I couldn't answer for a minute, because the question meant so many things. It meant that for some reason—I didn't want to think what reason—Rom was not supposed to be found. It meant that I was not “people,” not just anybody, but someone who knew a secret. It meant I could not tell. Chav wanted me on his side, even though I was not sure who the sides were or what they were fighting over. He trusted me not to tell.

He was right. I wouldn't.

“Nobody much comes down here during the week,” I said finally. New rules: Science teachers were supposed to keep kids up top because kids kept getting “lost” down in the hollow. “But people hike here weekends, and they'll find the hoof-prints and horse piles and stuff.”

Chav shrugged as if the weekend were so far away only an idiot would think about it. He looked at Baval and Chavali, and without another word all three of them walked off.

“Wait,” I called, and I tossed my paper sack at them. Chav caught it.

“What's this?” he asked.

“Lunch.”

He stared at me.

“Take it,” I told him, and I headed toward my school, the middle school, which was across campus from the elementary school. Probably Baval and Chavali were going there. I didn't look back to make sure, because Chav was behind me in the hollow somewhere, and he was more like a wild horse than the black horse was. Like a spooked colt. I had to be careful not to scare him.

I saw him in language arts, but he didn't look at me, so I didn't say anything to him.

I didn't tell anyone, not even Minda, but all day I thought of the black stallion not far away, moving softly through the woods, eating the golden leaves.

At lunchtime Chav borrowed money from a teacher and bought himself a barfburger. What had he done with the lunch I gave him? Gave it to Baval and Chavali, maybe?

Who was he? Where did he come from? Where did he live?