“Never. Now, come on home and get some sleep. No telling what tomorrow will bring.”
They put out the lights and went out of the building together. As they disappeared around the corner, arm in arm, Mrs. Robideau’s voice came floating back, saying, “When we get home, I’ll make you a nice lunch for tomorrow. You might want something to throw out later in the day...”
The Horse with White Stockings
by Anne Weston
The day got off to a bad start when Efraín spilled the tin cup of salt into the cookfire.
He could have salvaged most of the salt from among the coals if he hadn’t snatched at the falling cup, trying to save it, and knocked the pot of water into the fire, too.
That put the salt beyond rescue and also extinguished the fire.
“You shouldn’t have left the salt there,” he snapped at Sulema.
She didn’t reply, just picked up some kindling and built a small fire to one side of the wet area. She refilled the water pot from the big bucket and set it on the new fire.
Efraín ate his saltless beans and rice in silence, then stood up. “I guess now I have to go to the store for salt,” he muttered.
Sulema glanced up. “The water’s boiling,” she said. “There’ll be coffee in a moment.”
“I can’t wait. I don’t want to waste any more of the day.” He started down the trail.
“Yes, you’d better hurry in case there’s a big run on salt this morning,” Sulema called after him.
The aroma of fresh coffee followed Efraín along the rain forest path. He could picture Sulema sitting on the log he’d cut into a chair, sipping her coffee in peace and playing with the baby. The farther he walked, the more he wished he’d stayed a few minutes longer and not been so short-tempered.
The reason he was angry had nothing to do with spilled salt, of course. Their cow was dying, and he couldn’t bear to tell Sulema.
Efraín had taken the older cow over to their new neighbors a few days before. The neighbor, Soto, planned to raise cattle on the farm he was cutting out of the rain forest. He was expecting a fine bull to be delivered from the big Ramos ranch on the other side of town. Efraín had arranged with Soto to leave the cow at Soto’s place to be bred when the bull arrived.
He and Sulema had talked a lot about all the things they could buy when the cow had her calf and the calf got big enough to sell. Efraín had said that besides being able to buy plenty of seed and pay off their bill at the local store, they could buy cloth at the big store in town for Sulema to make herself a new dress, and what color did she want? She’d talked all through dinner about the merits of yellow (cheerful in the rainy season) or blue (wouldn’t show stains) or maybe a print with flowers. Efraín didn’t see much difference between them, he thought they’d all look nice, but he liked watching her eyes flash with excitement. They both knew they’d probably end up keeping the calf, to make their herd bigger, but it was fun to dream.
Then late yesterday Soto had ridden over on his horse and said that Efraín’s cow was dying.
Efraín had hurried on foot to Soto’s farm. He hadn’t told Sulema what was wrong. The cow lay wheezing on her side. Her eyes seemed ready to burst out of her head. Saliva pooled around her mouth.
“She’s been like this since yesterday,” Soto said.
Efraín checked her all over but couldn’t find a bite or injury. He looked in her mouth, thinking that if she’d eaten a poisonous plant her tongue might be swollen, but it wasn’t.
“I never saw a sickness like this,” Soto had said.
Neither had Efraín. He rushed to the house of his other neighbor Catalino, but Catalino wasn’t there to advise him. Efraín waited till nearly dark and then went home.
So this morning Efraín planned to describe the ailment to the storekeeper and see if he knew what it was. The accident with the salt made an excuse for going to the store without having to tell Sulema about the cow.
Halfway to the store Efraín remembered that he had been the one to set the salt on the rock of the fire ring while he filled his plate with rice and beans.
When he sighted the store, Efraín realized that his day was not going to get any smoother. Four horses were tied under the cashew tree beside the small wooden building. A knot of men stood nearby. Efraín recognized most of them as neighbors. The storekeeper’s daughters, wide-eyed and solemn, leaned out the store window, listening to the men.
If it had been a Sunday, he would have assumed the girls were trying to overhear a bit of especially scandalous gossip. But on a weekday there shouldn’t be such a crowd. Something bad had happened.
“Did you hear the news?” asked old Adolfo, a distant neighbor.
“Nooo...” Efraín tried to think of the last time he’d heard anything that could be called news.
“About that rich cattleman.”
“The one who brought my new bull yesterday,” said a man that Efraín couldn’t place for a moment. Then he realized it was his new neighbor Soto. What was different about him? One of Soto’s teenage sons was there, too.
“What about him?” Efraín asked.
“Dead!” Adolfo burst out.
“Dead? How?”
“Beaten to death! Last night, on the road near the cantina, on the way to town. And all the money Soto gave him for the bull is gone.”
“That bull is mine now,” Soto said. “Fernando Ramos sold it to me, and I paid him for it. I’ve got witnesses — all my sons. He was a fool to go and get drunk in the cantina with so much money in his pocket.”
Soto’s bluntness brought a pause to the conversation.
“Well, it’s true that if he was going to drink, he shouldn’t have told everyone in the cantina how much money he’d made selling the bull,” admitted Adolfo.
“Or he should have given his money for safekeeping to someone responsible,” said another man.
“He should have had enough sense not to ride out alone at night,” Soto stated.
“How did the news get here so fast?” Efraín asked.
“I was there,” Adolfo said. “I happened to be in the cantina last night. It got late, so I slept on the bench. At dawn some boy ran in yelling about a dead man in the road. I hurried back here.” In a land without streetlights, those who stayed late at the cantina often slept on the long bench that ran along one side.
Efraín remembered his errand. “Where’s the storekeeper? I came to ask him about my sick cow.” He was afraid to ask Soto outright if the cow had survived the night.
“He just left, to see the body,” Adolfo said. “You know Mr. Ramos was a distant cousin of his.”
“Your cow’s still alive, but no better,” Soto remarked. “It must be some sickness she got before you brought her to my place. None of my cows have it.”
“I didn’t see the bull when I was there yesterday.”
“Ramos brought it right after you left.”
Efraín asked the other men if they’d ever run across the symptoms his cow had. They each had a different idea about what it might be, but no one seemed sure. There was no help for it. He’d have to hike to the cantina to find the storekeeper.
“I’m going that way,” said Soto. “You can ride that bay horse tied to the tree. I think my son’s staying here for a while.”
The son had gone over to the store and was chatting through the window with the girls. They were giggling, the cattleman’s tragedy forgotten.
Efraín suspected that Soto was mainly worried that if the cow died he wouldn’t get the four sacks of com that they’d agreed on as a breeding fee. But that was no reason not to take advantage of Soto’s generosity, whatever its motive. Efraín untied the bay, mounted, and set off down the trail behind Soto.
Riding a horse certainly made distances seem short, Efraín thought. That was another thing he and Sulema had joked about, that if both their cows had calves this year, maybe they’d be able to buy a horse.