Things as They Are by Guy Vanderhaeghe Read Free Book Online Page B

grandson and grandfather have been stuck to one another like a new wooden rung glued into an old wooden chair. Joseph knows it is the horses. How can he compete with horses? Despite Catherine anxiously forbidding her father-in-law to carry Andrew wedged between his belly and the pommel of the saddle the way he once carried Joseph as a toddler, Joseph knows that hasn’t stopped the old man when he’s out of her sight: no woman is going to tell him what to do. And disobeying her has won him a friend for life.
    Just now Andrew, all shining yellow, is standing riveted with admiration to the shining black asphalt of the parking lot, watching his grandfather show off for him on his horse.

    There is no other word for what the old fool is doing but showing off and the performance leaves Joseph faintly disgusted. The pretence is that he is putting his mount through its paces, a sort of pre-parade disciplining, but in Joseph’s books it is purely, simply, transparently, a pathetic ploy to impress a five year old.
    The old man backs up the gelding across the parking lot, toes pointing outward in his stirrups, urging it backward with the pressure of his legs and firm tucks of the reins. Then he jumps it forward suddenly, swings it to the right in a tight, tail-chasing circle, the drooping standard shaking itself out from the flag pole in shuddering billows. Abruptly he throws the horse’s head left, reversing the direction of the turn, rippling the flag with counter-spin. The slither of the gelding’s hooves, the awkward, comic scramble of its back legs as they fight for purchase on the slippery pavement kick high-pitched laughter and skittish, excited hops out of Andrew. He’s delighted with this cartoon.
    Suddenly, in the midst of a spin, the horse’s legs slip on the rain-slick pavement with a sound like a spoon scraping the bottom of a pot and shoot stiffly out, the horse going down, landing heavily on the old man’s left leg, pinning him to the wet asphalt. For a moment, everyone except Andrew freezes. The boy, unable to judge the seriousness of the situation, continues laughing in shrill appreciation of the new trick until a squeal of terror from the fallen horse shocks him into silence.
    Joseph runs through the rain. He sees the muscular arching of the horse’s neck, the legs thrashing the air and pavement for a footing, his father clinging to the horn and heeling the horse hard with his free boot, urging it to its feet with shouts of “Hup! Hup! Hup!,” the horse whinnying, straining to rise with this dead weight, this sack of guts and bone unbalancing it.
    As Joseph reaches out to seize the bridle and help lift the head, the horse heaves, heaves desperately again, scrambles to its feet snorting and jerking, the old man sticking on for dearlife, slung precariously from the saddle like a sidecar, bouncing and pitching with each convulsion of the powerful body, fighting to pull himself upright. Which he does, the horse dancing a nervous side-step across the parking lot, one rein dragging, the old man leaning forward, snatching for it and calling out, “Whoa! Whoa! Whoa, you son of a bitch!”
    At last he grabs the rein and regains some control of the horse which stands blowing, snuffling, trembling, cornered eyes wary. People begin to crowd near, now that the danger is over. “I’m going to walk him out,” says the old man to Joseph, ignoring the others, “to see he didn’t bugger his legs.” Horse and rider slowly circle the parking lot. Andrew leans against his father, bumps his head on Joseph’s hip, and cries. Now that it is over, now that he has absorbed what has happened, the boy is finally frightened. As the old man passes them on his second circuit he calls out to his grandson, “Grandpa’s okay, see? Look, Andy, Grandpa’s okay.” He grins hugely and strikes his chest dramatically with his fist to demonstrate his soundness. Grandpa making a joke on himself, Grandpa beating his chest wildly in this