The Horse Healer by Gonzalo Giner Read Free Book Online

little movement as there is today,” Diego heard an old man say to another in a conversation.
    â€œIt’s because of the war,” his companion remarked. “This week nothing’s come in from Al-Andalus, and what’s here isn’t the best quality. They say a lot of the animals are from the refugees.”
    â€œExcuse me for interrupting,” Diego said, and the two men turned toward him. One kicked, thinking he was a thief. Diego dodged as well as he could and then asked their pardon again, hoping to win their confidence.
    â€œI just wanted to ask you something.”
    â€œThen be fast and don’t bother us anymore.”
    â€œDo you know if any of these traders have Arabian horses as their specialty?”
    Diego looked awful. His hair was dirty and matted. His clothing smelled and if his skin was already olive colored by nature, it was now so filthy it looked nearly black.
    â€œWhere are you from?”
    â€œMalagón.”
    â€œWe believe you, but if you had said Marrakesh, we might have believed that too.” One of the old men grabbed his arm and saw how thin the boy was. Diego was used to hearing these kinds of comments in the inn.
    â€œIf you keep going along the fence, you’ll find a guy from Jerez,” the other interrupted. “You’ll recognize him by his bald head, his long red goatee, and a gold ring he has in his nose. He’s the best vendor of that type of horse, though not the only one. Try and talk to him, but the way you look, I doubt he’ll pay you any mind.”
    Diego thanked them and followed the direction they had pointed out, not ceasing to observe all the other horses as he passed them. As much as he could, he sifted through the flood of animals and customers, and when at last he found the man, a mix of hope and despair made him hold his breath.
    The man from Jerez was brushing a precious stud, black, with a pure Arabian profile. A girl came up to him with a wheelbarrow of oats that she wheeled along unsteadily. She arrived at the horse trader at the same time as the boy.
    â€œI’m Diego,” he said from behind the fence, hoping to get the older man’s attention.
    â€œI’m Kabirma. Allah be praised for all time,” the man answered, without even turning his head.
    He was Muslim, like the men who had killed Belinda and his father. Diego stayed there silent, staring at him. The girl observed him and said something in a low voice. Diego couldn’t manage to hear her. He would need to overcome his impulse to reject this man and ask about his mare.
    â€œCould you help me?”
    â€œSure. What?” The man still kept his back to Diego.
    â€œIf you had a completely unique mare, of an excellent breed, perfect, bursting with desert blood, who would you turn to?”
    That seemed to interest the trader, who finally turned around. But when he saw the boy, his attitude changed straightaway.
    â€œGet out of here, you dirty beggar!” He threw a wooden brush at Diego so forcefully it split his brow. He realized he’d been wounded when the blood began to drip down.
    â€œFather! You hurt him. …”
    â€œIf he hadn’t come around bothering people …” He spit at the ground with pure bitterness and without an ounce of remorse.
    The girl’s eyes looked at Diego with pity.
    â€œA few days ago they stole my mare …”
    â€œSo you’re accusing me of dealing in stolen animals?” The bald head and the face of that gigantic man grew red with rage. “If you don’t get out of my sight, you’ll have more than your eyebrow split open.” Now he threatened him with an iron bar.
    â€œLet him talk, Papa,” the girl interrupted. This Kabirma turned back to the stud horse and brushed his forehead energetically. The animal responded by sniffing at his hand.
    â€œShe was a sorrel mare, a perfect example of her breed, four years old, cinnamon colored,”