The Horse Healer Page 3

  When after a long examination the surgeon explained what Don Marcelo had and what the cause was, Diego had understood nothing. Nor, when they had returned to the inn, did his father seem to accept the explanation of an excessive concentration of black bile.

  The strong impression that the bustling city had made on him, back then when the biggest place he’d been was the village of Malagón, resounded in Diego’s memory as well. He remembered Toledo’s huge churches, the richly scented quarter where thousands of Muslims, who were called mudéjars or “accepted ones,” still lived. He was charmed by their markets, their many colors. He was astonished when he saw houses with more than two floors, magnificent palaces protected by armed guards, and especially when he saw the streets, lined with so many kinds of shops and businesses.

  A neigh of warning brought Diego back to reality. A group of young people were coming toward them. There must have been ten. Diego sensed something strange and was on guard.

  “That’s a precious nag you have. …”

  The one who spoke had an ugly scar on his forehead and was missing hair on part of his head.

  “What do you want from me?”

  Without answering, four of them surrounded him and the others charged with the idea of stealing the animal. Diego rammed Sabba against them, sure of winning. The mare responded energetically and with two strikes of her hooves, she had gotten free of them. Still, one managed to dodge her and grabbed onto her mane, while another took her by the tail.

  “Now we’ve got her,” they both shouted together.

  At that moment, the others leapt on Sabba and tried to immobilize her, but the animal wouldn’t allow it. She struck the ones who flanked her with her rump and kicked without mercy at those behind her. She got away from them one by one, kicking at their thighs or knees. And once out of danger, as soon as she could, she hurried downhill until she arrived at a leafy forest where she and Diego were out of view.

  Shortly afterward, the pair found a large clearing thick with green grass. When she saw it, Sabba began to eat.

  Seeing her so happy, Diego stroked her and realized she had eaten nothing for the past two days apart from a half-dozen bitter plums while they were traveling.

  He didn’t have money, nor anything that he could sell. He had fled so quickly, with so few resources, that he had not even a saddle or stirrups. There was nothing he could exchange for food. Just a bridle.

  When Sabba was done feeding, they made off toward a group of houses toward the east in search of provisions. There was a garden there and a number of fruit trees.

  When they hadn’t yet passed the first, two crude-looking men came out onto the path.

  “What do you want?” one of them, the fatter of the two, screamed. Diego saw him wave a wooden rod, but in spite of this violent gesture, he approached him.

  “Answer the question!” the other one shrieked, a toothless man in his sixties. “Tell us what you’re here after or you’re going to have a big problem on your hands.”

  “I had to escape from the Imesebelen, and I just arrived in Toledo.”

  “And you’re hungry … for sure,” the first one interrupted him. “And when you passed by here you asked yourself if we’d have something to give you, maybe in exchange for work. Right?”

  “Yes. You’ve got a good eye.”

  “Well, go back the way you came, and run if you don’t want all your bones broken.”

  “But what did I do to you all?” Diego pulled Sabba back, letting her know of his intentions.

  “You haven’t done anything because we haven’t let you. … Others have already come through with the same thing in mind and they’ve robbed us of all our fruit and vegetables.”

  Diego made Sabba turn around and squeezed his knees into her sides. The animal burst into a trot, taking them away from those men.

  “We’ll kill whoever steps onto our land! Tell everyone!”

  Rather dispirited, Diego came across several groups of refugees, but none of them seemed ready to share their food. The women looked at him suspiciously and the men sent him away, some casting insults and stones.

  After numerous leagues riding slowly around the outskirts of Toledo, when night had begun to fall, Diego realized that nobody was going to do anything for him. They had tried to rob him and fight him, and the reality was, he felt treated worse than a stray dog.

  He passed that first night without being able to sleep, watching over Sabba, because he was afraid someone would steal her.

  Nor did he eat anything the next day until night had nearly fallen. Every time they came across an encampment, he would look through the rubbish furtively, trying to find a little bit of cast-off food. Only in one did he find a few chicken bones, and in others, a few apple skins that he chewed slowly, savoring them, as though they were manna from heaven.

  Increasingly desperate, he decided to try his luck on another farm. He found one isolated on a hill; it looked abandoned, but a delicious scent filtered from it.

  The only thing he had to sell was Sabba’s bridle. He would exchange it for dinner if they wouldn’t accept his labor.

  “You’ll see how our luck is going to start to change. …” he told Sabba.

  The mare responded with a neigh and a shake of her head, as though she understood.

  The ramshackle dwelling had a small garden on one side and a neglected stable on the other. As he faced the door, Diego thought it would fall to pieces if he knocked too hard. He was bowed over, just like the walls in the humble adobe façade.

  At that moment, a delicious aroma of stew reached him and his stomach burned with hunger.

  The first two times he struck the wood, nobody responded; it was only with the third that a woman appeared, as filthy as she was indifferent, ugly, and haggard.“We don’t pass out alms here!”

  She was going to shut the door in his face and yet something made her change her mind. She began to scrutinize him from head to toe, as though he reminded her of someone. Her eyes traveled over his face, his neck and ears, and then his skin, his height. … Seeing him so thin, for a moment she almost seemed to pity him, but then, without knowing why, she decided to carry on and sent him away.

  “Wait, lady! If you help me, I’ll pay you.”

  That worked wonders. All of a sudden her eyes began to sparkle, and a fake welcoming air came over her face.

  “Well, come in then, boy!” She opened the door and stepped aside to let him through.

  Diego took the bridle from Sabba and felt nauseated as he entered. A mixed scent of cats and urine impregnated the interior. He counted some twenty cats of different colors and ages scattered around the modest dwelling. Some stared at him, without showing much interest.

  The woman walked toward the stove and began to stir a cauldron. Diego didn’t manage to see what it was.

  “Ma’am, I won’t beat around the bush. I’m hungry, and when I smelled your stew …”

  He took the bridle from his coat and showed it to her.

  “I’ll give you this piece of excellent leather. It’s got fine embossing and it’s barely been used. At the least it’s worth ten denarii.”

  The woman grimaced—she’d imagined she would see cash—but in an instant, she had snatched the bridle away. She assayed its quality and, between her teeth, uttered the words: “It’ll do.”

  She grabbed her skirt to wipe out an earthenware bowl and filled it with the contents of the pot, then she left it atop a table beside the fire. Diego pushed a stool over and sat down to eat eagerly.

  “You’re not eating?”

  “I will later, when my son comes home.”

  Generous chunks of meat and lots of vegetables floated in the dense broth. Despite the bad impression the place had given him at first, this had convinced him: Finally, he had made a good decision.

  “It’s very tasty,” he said, we
tting a piece of black bread and gulping it down with delight. “What does your son do?”

  The women grunted.

  “You talk too much! I’ve never liked people who carry on asking one thing after another, I don’t like that, not at all.” She waved her arms to emphasize her point.

  “Sorry. I wasn’t trying to bother you.”

  Diego thought that perhaps she was mad, and he turned his attention to the meal he was savoring.

  “My son is a menial,” she announced.

  Recalling her previous reaction, Diego doubted whether he should ask what exactly her son’s job consisted of. She guessed what he was thinking and explained.

  “He has a donkey that he loads with clay pots. He fills them with water in the river and then he sells it through the streets of the city.” She waved her filthy rag demonstratively, as though it were a fine silken cloth. She covered her face with it, in imitation of a noblewoman. “The ladies he serves are so delicate, they can’t even go down to the river to get their own water.”

  “That’s better for your son’s business.”

  In a flash, Diego had an idea that gave him hope.

  “Where can someone buy those clay pots?” The job seemed simple and Sabba was far stronger than any donkey.

  The woman leaned into his back so that he felt her breath on the nape of his neck. She was checking to see how much of his meal he had left. Her presence annoyed him, but Diego’s hunger took priority over any discomfort, and he concentrated again on his stew, sopping up the very last drops with his bread.

  “No one can sell water without permits, and it’s been years since they’ve issued any. There’s no room for any more commerce here!” With obvious rage, she spit into the fire.

  Diego understood the woman’s motives and decided to find out about purchasing pots elsewhere. He showed her his empty bowl in case she might fill it up again.

  “You pay me with some filthy old leather and to top it off, you come back for seconds.” She gave an exaggerated laugh. “Go on, get out, or you really will make me angry.”

  She cleared off the table, taking the empty bowl, and looked at him shamelessly, waiting for him to stand. Diego got up and left the house. He untied Sabba, secreting away a leather cord with which he could rig up another bridle.

  When he was about to leave, with the aftertaste of the food still in his mouth, he turned back to her.

  “One last question.” The woman looked at him displeased. “Was that a rabbit stew?”

  She smiled maliciously.

  “Good lord, no. … It was cat.” She drew her eyes together in a feline manner. “Tender, savory, homemade cat.” She laughed immoderately.

  Diego felt a jab of nausea. He pressed his knees into Sabba’s ribs and they trotted away from that hellhole. He felt so ill that before they’d even covered half a league, he was overcome by the need to stop and vomit. He did it three times in total.

  In the course of the next few hours, he wandered through the outskirts of the city, not knowing where to go. He felt a stirring in his entrails, almost a revolt, and every few minutes there came a sharp pain in his abdomen that hardly let him breathe.

  When night fell, he approached the riverbanks in the Huerta del Rey. Many of the refugees had gathered there.

  He chose a tree-lined bend, isolated from the meadow where hundreds of people had set fires and were sharing their misfortune.

  There he stretched out at the feet of an old holly oak and drank fresh water. Sabba found abundant grass nearby and set to feeding tranquilly.

  At midnight, Diego began to feel hot and to shake terribly. Worried and in pain, he crouched under the tree and his thoughts began to fly, like a fleeting mirage, to happier moments in his life.

  The following hours were passed between dreams and convulsions. Once in a while, he would wake up in distress and when he opened his eyes, he would notice they were hot and swollen. It took a long time, but at last he fell into a deep sleep.

  “How bad he smells! How disgusting!”

  The shouts of children awakened him.

  When he opened his eyes, he saw the face of a woman and two children who could not keep quiet. It was already day. The sun heated up his face. He asked himself how long he had been sleeping.

  “Who are you? What’s happened to me?” An acid odor filled his nostrils in a gust. He touched his tunic and notices it was wet and sticky.

  “You’ve been throwing up all night. You were lucky my children found you. You were very sick …” The woman brought over a sage tea to help him recover. “Drink this; it will help with the nausea. It tastes bad, but it will do your body good.”

  That concoction was as bitter as it was sickening, but it worked its powers and soon he began to feel better. He looked for Sabba, but he didn’t see her. He whistled twice to call her, but he heard nothing, neither footfalls nor a single neigh.

  “Has someone seen my horse?” A black thought clouded his gaze.

  The woman shook her head.

  One of the boys remembered something.

  “Last night we saw some men grappling with one; they dragged it away by force. It was cinnamon colored, with white spots on its head and breast. … It was a little before we found you.”

  Diego shivered with fear, because they had just described Sabba. She’d been stolen.

  Queasy, with burning lips, he sat up and turned his back to them.

  “I need to be alone, I beg you. …”

  The woman took her children and looked at him with pity just before she left. He shook uncontrollably and seemed wounded and fragile. She felt miserable for him.

  Hours later, he could be heard by many of the people camped out in the Huerta del Rey. A rending cry crossed the river and the treetops. It also pierced many of the people’s hearts.

  “Sabba!”

  V.

  They all wanted to be with the redheads.

  Blanca and Estela were huddled in one of the five tents their captors had raised to shelter themselves from the terrible storm. It was night, and it wouldn’t stop raining. They had been with those men for several days and they still didn’t know what would happen to them. Estela, the youngest, was sure that they’d only been captured to intimidate the Christians and that sooner or later they’d be set free. Blanca, seeing what they’d done to Belinda and how they treated the other women who had been with them a long time, did not wish to make any prediction about their future and just stayed quiet and observed.

  Suddenly, the sisters heard various voices on the other side of the canvas, a great uproar, as though they were arguing.

  “What are they saying, Blanca? I can’t see them, I don’t understand.” Estela started shaking and took shelter in her sister’s arms.

  “You have to be strong, Estela. … Don’t think about them; remember the inn and think of something that used to make you happy there and try to go back to it now.”

  Blanca tried to comfort her sister, to soften the situation that they were living through, but even if she tried to show calm, in her face you could see a grimace of terror.

  “What’s going to happen to us, Blanca? What’s going to happen to us?”

  Blanca caressed Estela’s hair and saw a deep worry in her eyes.

  “I’ll always stay by your side. I’ll protect you.”

  Soon one of the warriors lifted the canvas and stumbled in. Another did the same behind him, slapped the nape of his neck, and took a number of playing cards from his hand. He made a half turn and pointed at them, smiling, before he left. In horror, Blanca deduced what they were playing for, and that the first man had won. She quickly jumped in front of Estela to hide her with her body.

  The man came close to her, whispering in that language she didn’t know. Blanca could understand nothing, and that made everything worse.

  The soldier came r
ight up to her face. She held his gaze coldly; she wanted to attract his eyes so that this animal would not even for a moment notice her sister, who was hidden behind her. Blanca could feel his respiration, his nauseating breath, his incomprehensible whispers … And then, she felt how a hand pulled her shirt open and stroked one of her breasts. Blanca shook, but she didn’t say anything; she didn’t even try to move, because she didn’t want Estela to have any idea of what was happening. She raised her head, stiffened her body, and pushed out her breasts so he would choose her.

  And he did. He chose Blanca. The girl felt enormous disgust when he kissed her on the lips. He smelled worse than an animal.

  The soldier took off his sweat-soaked vest and undid Blanca’s shirt with the intention of indulging his lascivious intentions. But to her misfortune, Estela let a hiccup escape her, and that was enough to attract his attention. He pushed Blanca aside in one go and found Estela hunched over, her face hidden between her knees.

  Suddenly Blanca leapt on him like a madwoman, biting his back, clawing him all over. The man turned in self-defense and managed to get hold of her neck. He squeezed until she was choking and screamed at her. Blanca stopped kicking when she could no longer breathe and she felt herself dying. She remained still and looked at him pleadingly, making him see that she was on the verge of death and that she’d given up. An then he let her go, gasping from tension, her cheeks red with rage.

  Blanca remained still, filled her lungs with air, and let herself be taken. Inflamed with passion, the man stripped her bare quickly and took possession of her body with great violence.

  Meanwhile, Estela, frightened, moaned in a corner. In whispers, she began to pray, asking for God’s assistance. She was trembling with panic. She remembered Belinda’s horrifying murder. And she cried for her father, imagining an identical destiny for him. And she thought of Diego: What could have happened to him?