Medicine Ed smiled inside of himself with deep contentment when he recalled that hot afternoon. First he had had to hear it on the far side of Barn Z, Biggy screaming and kicking the animal in the belly, and the fool dentist Fletcher up at his head jimmying the speculum into the horse's jaws and snatching the shank on him, trying to work in his file-the horse just up from the farm that morning-and soon that crazy black light come on in the horse's eye and his whole back end fly at Biggy's face in the corner. And left a deep print of his bar shoe on Biggy Bigg's forehead, where they say you could still read it.
Well, wouldn't nobody know it to look at you now, son. The horse shuffled dreamily on, back into his babyhood of not knowing nothing, slow as any sane animal in August if nobody push him.
That was his name, it come back to him now-Baby something-no, Little, Little Spinoza. He was little, one of those little prince-looking horses, dark bay with bourbon whiskey color lights and a big round panic eye, a bird eye. People like to say how every Speculation grandson was a killer in his heart, but this one just childish-one of those terrible babies that never learn nothing and know they're never gone to learn nothing, for once they scare, they don't wait, they take wing.
And he was a horse. For some reason they never taken his nuts. Joe Dale Bigg used to notice him down there on the farm one or two times a meeting, enter him for five thousand or sixty-two hundred, and have one of his boys carry him to the track in the afternoon. Then the animal would worry and sweat out all his speed bouncing over potholes on the road, jump out the gate like a rabbit-if he come out at all (a few times he didn't)-and land up running fourth or fifth against horses that didn't have half his class. Maybe he win oncet at that price. If so, it was a long time ago.
Medicine Ed round the shedrow of Barn Z back to Deucey's stalls, and there she was, talking to Deucey, the young fool's woman, hanging on the corner post like grim death.
Oooo, look at that, she say. Gee whiz, what a beauty, I've never seen a horse like that on a half-mile track before.
That's right you ain't, Deucey told her, grinning, puffing up like a chicken in a stiff wind. This is what you call class, girlie. This is a Speculation grandson, out of Little Dutch Girl. He's called Little Spinoza.
Little Spinoza. He looks like a baby.
He ain't no baby. He's six.
He's made so very perfect-he has those golden highlights near the black at his points-like-like tortoise shell, you know?
O yeah, I see what you mean, like tortoise shell specs or sumpm, Deucey said, kind of egging her on. She took the horse from Ed for a moment, like to show him off. They stood sideways in the dirt road.
He is small, though, isn't he?
That there is a optical illusion of horses with perfect conformation. He ain't large but he ain't small. He's just got everything put away in the right place.
You are a very beautiful boy. The girl got her hand right in his face and for some reason he ain't bite her. She slipped her grubby gray fingers under his halter and scratched. He leaned his head over them, snorted and tried to go sideways but Deucey snatched on him and led him off around the corner. Oooo, let me walk him for you, say the girl, following after.
Deucey looked her up and down. Well, usually Medicine Ed walks him for me, she say, weakening, though she know better. He can be a handful sometimes.
Around the corner she whispered to the girl, but he could still hear it: Medicine Ed can use the couple bucks. You gotta learn to think about things like that, girlie. You ain't in this world by yourself.
O Ed can have the money. I'll walk him for nothing. Lil Spinny, she crooned, you want me to walk you, don't you?
You just follow along with Medicine Ed. He can teach you plenty.
But he's so slo-ow.
Downright insulting, and she don't know the power of money. And them is the people he's working for now. The which, to be honest, was not all bad. He'd say this for the young fool, he paid good. He asked Medicine Ed what Gus Zeno paid and, good to his word, he paid ten dollars better, 110 dollars a week plus the lot for the Winnebago. But Zeno had been paying more than a groom, something like a assistant trainer, though he wouldn't call him that in the papers. That was the job Medicine Ed always done for him. But Zeno wanted his own name up there on every race.
Zeno had had a string of owners you could see with your own eyes. They used to come round the barn in their silk neckties and shiny fur coats, trailing airs of perfume and whiskey and getting in the way until Zeno steered them off to the clubhouse. Where was the money coming from in this operation? Here it was no sense of the value of money, spending like the Hares and the Ogdens, best grain, best hay, best veternary, how long could they keep this up? So that's what he had to put up with now-suchlike foolishness from the young fool's woman, good pay on a sinking ship, and him farther from his future home than ever.
Round and round the shedrow they went for thirty minutes, Medicine Ed and Little Spinoza, and the girl weaving in and out of them like a puppy dog.
Did you ever rub a Speculation baby?
Um-hmm. Sho is.
They shuffled on. Now she was in front looking back. Now she was in back of him catching up. The girl waited for Medicine Ed to yacky-yack to her about famous horses he have known, but he wouldn't give her the satisfaction.
Who was it? she finally ask. The Speculation baby.
Platonic.
Gee whiz, Platonic. Whirligig Farm?
Um-hmm.
Didn't he win something big?
This was too much for Medicine Ed. Cobweb Futurity. Rising Sun Cup. Trellis Handicap. Greenbriar Realization. Seashell Stakes.
My god. What's it like working for billionaires?
She done run up ahead of him again and was walking backwards, which was bad luck. He looked at her round green blindman glasses and her foolish pickney braids.
Do they at least pay well? she want to know.
He looked at her. He sucked in his hollow cheeks. Halfway good, he finally say.
Then they was all back in front of the stall again, Deucey making sweet eyes at the girl and the girl making sweet eyes at Little Spinoza.
Oooo, let me brush him for you, say the young fool's woman. I'll bring up his dapples.
I don't know if he'll stand for it, honey. He ain't used to that good treatment. I guess you can try. But you be careful, he could bust your head.
Oooo goodie, the girl say. Don't worry, he's going to like it. Deucey laughed and Medicine Ed just shook his head.
But you better hurry if you want to tame him, Deucey say. I ain't keeping this horse.
What! said the young fool's woman. What do you mean? Is he for sale?
No he ain't for sale, Deucey snapped. She had better judgment than to try and explain.
Medicine Ed shrugged. He ain't have no dog in this fight. Nobody ain't ask for his spare change. Nobody ain't begged him to take a Speculation grandson off they hands. But then he say: It's a sorry shame. Ain't every day a six-thousand-dollar horse come along waving a three-thousand-dollar price tag, no claim necessary. A horse like that. That horse been abused. You could fix that horse.
You're gonna tell me to buy this horse? Deucey say. I'm a gyp. You know I don't got luck enough for two horses, Ed. Every time I ever had two horses I end up with none.