Lewis Gets a Clue?
Imported from SF2 with no description.
We take birthdays seriously around these hills. Most other celebrations, too, but festivals aren't like something so personal as celebrating our family and friends. Right now, I got my boots laced, my shirt tucked, and my scent sprayed, so I'm ready to get something real special for that special day.
The tractor takes a couple spots by itself when I park out front in the rodeo show lot, but there's no one else here to mind. Just a couple more cars are parked down in the corner and there's already some whinnies and shouts I hear past the ticket gates, so I ready my gentlemanly smile and climb down toward the ruckus.
“C'mon, you li'l shit, jump! Fuckin' jump! Christ, you just jump over the goddamn thing, what the fuck—!"
It's two men in the arena I find teaching a Ponyta some tricks for their weekly shows. Neither of them ride it, now; one man skirts a little dirt bike beside the horsey, holding its reins, and the other man barks his tips and tricks from the sidelines. Man with the folded arms off to the side is the louder one, despite the first man's squealing motor.
“God damn it, tug him, Leroy! He'll like jumpin' over that fuckin' hurdle more 'an he likes getting dragged over it."
Oh, they're shitheads and horrible people, to be sure, but what I'm hearing is music to my ears today.
I hear a deal coming.
My jaw's straight as an arrow as I walk up around them, and the louder gentleman sees me coming without much of a smile, but he calls as pleasant as he can muster, “Ex-cuse me, young man, can I help you?"
“I believe you can, sir," I tell him. I nod toward his problem. “My name's Lewis Henderson. I understand you might currently have more of these creatures on your hands than you know what to do with. Was hoping we might be able to discuss that further."
This man takes a second to ponder over my proposition, and his frown starts to turn a little nicer. He waves toward his pal and yells again, “You keep workin' him, Leroy! You get him to fuckin' jump. I'll be back."
We stroll off toward somewhere quieter, and I don't turn back to hear more than a dirt bike scrunching and a sad horsey neighing.
Like it or not, I keep my business where it can do something.
“I'm Vincent Westin," this man says beside me, offering his hand. “Proprietor and whatnot, I'm sure you know. Lookin' to get yourself a new pokie, Henderson?"
“Oh, not for me, sir," I say, taking it. “Truth be told, I'm birthday shopping. Looking to purchase something nice for my little sister."
This man shakes his head, sighing deep out from his throat. He says, “Much as I like to sell you something, let me tell you, that's a bad idea. These ain't no pets we handle. They don't like to get handled. Takes a certain—"
He shakes a fist but shrugs his shoulders.
“—meanness of the hand, honest, get 'em off their asses. Ain't pretty, sure, but ain't no one got use for 'em otherwise. They ain't kind creatures of any sort no more."
“I get your meaning, sir," I tell him. “I have no intentions of letting my sister ride one, God forbid, no, sir—but I am hoping I might be able to teach her how to take proper care of something of her own, especially something that needs such care taken, you see."
This man keeps shaking his head, foldings his arms back into place with the worn wrinkles over his knuckles.
“Can't help you none in good conscience, son," he tells me. “Sometime or another your sister's goin' get it in her head that she'll be the one to do it, she'll be fine, she won't get burned if she climbs on up to ride. Might not try it for a while. She might stay thinkin' it ain't safe for a couple years—but sooner or later she'll get burned real bad. Real bad. I seen it."
That's what he says, but I hear something in his voice right beside the saying no. I hear that part of his tongue that still wants to give me a deal. That second longer it takes for him to get out his words of caution.
We've wandered over into the stable despite this man warning me. He stops me in front of a row of gates locked high, horseys lined up in about half and flames burning hot past every one of them, every pair of eyes black and kind of watching us. These are some of the most magical pokies you could ever see, but it doesn't look like they see that in us.
So I peel away from them and smile at this man. I straighten myself and say, “Sir, my sister and I both grew up hearing the stories of when people could still ride Ponytas. I admit that. And I understand that, yes, it will always be a risk she gets some foolish idea and gets herself hurt. I understand what we'd have to do if it came to that."
Now I raise my fingers between us.
“But sir, there are two things I'd like you to believe. She's my little sister; I would never let her get hurt. I will do everything in my power to ensure she doesn't, however—I don't believe that means holding her back from any little thing that could hurt her. Secondly—"
I grin a little slicker and point one finger to him, one to me.
“—I would hope the two of us both already understand that you can't be held liable for that once we get a contract signed. Couldn't hurt you having one less filly to train."
This man looks me square in the eye and doesn't flinch.
I say once more, “I do understand the dangers, and I will impress them upon her the same, rest assured."
Still looking sharp at me, he says, “What have your folks had to say about your idea?"
“They trust my judgment, sir, and I've earned that from them."
This man shrugs toward the floor now, tapping his boot on the straw, pondering. It's through a big sigh he looks up again and tells me, “Ain't s'pose you already got the bills to cover your endeavor?"
I give him the pearly whites in full, and I say, “I have the funds with me to cover the full transaction immediately. And that would be thanks to my folks."
This man shakes his head one last time like he's already regretting it, but I see his mouth shut firm. He just turns toward the gates and points to one near the back, saying, “Our runt's in this last pen. Smallest little fucker we got—ain't quite the youngest, but she ain't no good for shows. You can get her under control most safe."
He stays put as I stroll over, but I call back to him, “What's her name?"
“Clover," he says. “It's my own little girl named her."
The very last gate is what houses, for sure, the smallest Ponyta I've ever seen in person. A pale little horsey with even a shorter mane than all the rest lined up in these cages. She watches me tramp over in front of her, looking in my eyes the same as I peer at hers under a thick metal bar.
Looks healthy, I suppose? I can wax about what might really be going on in there, but I won't ever know. I don't reckon anything else.
“I got the paperwork down in my office," the man calls to me. “You need us to transport her for you, I got to charge extra."
“Absolutely," I say, still meeting eyes with this girl. “Could you get started on that without me, sir? Fee won't be a problem. I'd just like a moment now that I can see this filly face to face."
The man shrugs, but he doesn't object. He turns off down the stable and calls, “You just hang a left and take the second door. It'll be open."
This girl looks past her gate just a second as she hears him go, and her eyes dart back to mine just as quick. The fire on her back flickers a little shorter, I think, when he's gone.
So I tell her, “You know what?"
I fold my arms at her. I say, “I think you and your buddies here can understand what I'm saying."
She don't move. Not that she's been moving.
“Or something like that," I say. “It's an inkling I've got in my head. Sometimes I wonder, it's like—maybe those pokie-rights folks are on to something after all."
I lean in closer to her. “I think y'all might be smart enough to be mad at the way you've been treated. That's what makes sense to me. So you know what? I'm not here to cut a deal with Westin. I'm here to cut a deal with you."
This girl moves an inch closer, but so far, her nostrils just flare in a little sniff.
“I'm looking to… get you, as it goes, under the care of my little sister," I nearly whisper. “Veronica. She's turning twelve this week. She's a wonderful little girl, kind and sweet. And I certainly don't want her near anything or anyone who might ever hurt her."
I stick one hand on the bars to her gate, lifting a finger past that. I tell this girl, “This is what I propose: I get you the hell out of this place, and teach my sister how to treat you right, how to be a friend—and you play nice with her. You don't give us cause for alarm as to her safety. You don't hurt her. You don't burn her. That happens, then we got a problem that can't be reconciled."
Now this girl looks me up and down. It's just her eyes turning either which way, but I do think that's her studying my demeanor like I'm trying hers.
So I take a hard breath before I go on.
“Or I could just be a fool, talking to myself here, or you just don't care about any of this. Listen: I need to know if you and me are on the same page. So, uh—"
This girl's real close to me. I'm sweating before I reach my hand even another inch through the bars, but I stick it on through and mutter, “I'm not going to pet you, not going to touch you, just going to—hover. This'll be your answer for me."
This girl stares into my damn soul as my fingers near the heat down her neck. She don't move at all. It's hot as hell just near her, and I really shouldn't, but I push my hand closer to that flame than any sane man should try.
And God Almighty—it doesn't burn me. My hand's in the fire, but it's only hot. It's some goddamn magic just like my folks always told me people used to manage with these pokies.
Girl chooses not to burn me. It fucking works.
I pull out anyway, breathing harder than I thought I was, and this girl in front of me just shakes her head real gentle and rustles the flames. She keeps staring me down, but all I can manage is chuckling back at her.
“All right," I breathe again. “All right… I guess that's our handshake."
And oh, my God, she whinnies at that.
I think I just made a real new friend.
Oh, the tractor's chugging along fine today. Sometimes I give a shit how slow it goes, but no, today it's just fine. Birds, sun, little wind, all the good stuff making this day cheery as I've ever felt.
It's not quite a cheery look on Harley Bennington's face as I roll closer down the road at her aunt's farm, her looking between me coming on in and the horse trailer already getting unloaded at her barn.
She's the prettiest girl in the county, of course. Not, uh, not just her figure, I think, but her hair, and her freckles, and not quite being taller than me. Yes, even her frown lifts my spirits higher. Apple of my eye, if only, but today's not the time for that.
“Swear to God, Lewis," is the mutter greeting me as I climb on down. Harley's got one arm tucked under the other and she's got a face that I've got to talk something out of pronto.
“Howdy," I say. “You take a good look at her yet? What do you think?"
“I think you need to take her with you when you leave," Harley says. Her little sidekick, Apollo, is all huddled beside her, still glancing over at Clover as she's unloaded from the trailer.
So I say, “No, listen, it's all right. I already called your aunt about it. She talked with my folks, and they decided we could keep this here girl in your barn 'til Ronnie's birthday. It's a surprise! Seriously, you get a look at her yet? Isn't she gorgeous? Her name's Clover."
But Harley just says, “It's a surprise for me, too, Lewis. That's the problem."
The screen door rattles open before either of us looks over, and Missus O'Pine herself is strolling out the house now over toward Harley and me. Harley rolls her eyes, but Miss Doreen beams at the creature clopping down the ramp past us.
“Oh, Lewis, look at that. She is a beauty, isn't she?"
I beam with her, damn. The rodeo folks are leading Clover gentler than I've seen them go at it, and she's following at a pretty trot into the barn, strolling the whole merry way.
“She certainly is, ma'am," I say. “She's a gentle soul, too."
Miss Doreen comes up beside us, smiling a second more at the new addition, but lowers her voice when she looks to me and says, “I do hope you understand what you're getting into, Lewis. This is a big responsibility, you looking after Veronica and that thing together. I haven't seen anybody ride one of those since I was a young child. I don't fancy hearing your sister have to go to the emergency room."
“Oh, yes ma'am," I tell her, Harley shaking her head over something behind her aunt. “I feel the weight, to be sure. Ronnie won't get to touch that filly 'til she learns how to behave around it, and I'm sure that's a lesson worth teaching her."
“It's a worthy lesson if you teach it right," Miss Doreen says. She takes a quick look between me and Harley both, then pokes a finger at the barn and elaborates, “You two are not to play with that thing while it is on my farm. Anything further than feeding it, I will take care of. I will take it out for exercise. I don't care care if you think you know how to handle it or if you really can, but on my farm, you will not. We clear?"
“We clear," Harley sighs.
“I'm just grateful for your hospitality, Missus O'Pine," I say. “Ronnie'll sure appreciate it, too."
Miss Doreen smiles at us both, grins back toward the barn, and folds her arms on the way back to her house.
I think that's the closest I've seen her to giddy.
Harley leans in close to me as soon as her aunt's cracking the screen door closed again and hisses, “You're just lookin' to ride that girl yourself, ain't you?"
“I am not!" I tell her. “But just imagine if we got that filly friendly enough for Ronnie to do it. You heard all the old stories—folks galloping down the country, racing near fast as cars, flames licking right over their shoulders. Why can't we do that now? You tell me: what changed?"
“I don't care why, Lewis. Maybe they wised up to bein' treated like stock."
I snap my fingers right in her face and lean maybe a little too close, saying, “Exactly!"
Harley looks at me a little more suspicious than funny. She pulls way back and says, “What you mean by that?"
“I'm not talking politics," I tell her. “I'm just saying, that filly is smarter than you think."
“That ain't telling me what you mean, Lewis."
“Let me tell you a secret, then: I already touched her mane, and I didn't get burned."
“Goddammit, you already tried to ride her."
“No, I did not! What I'm saying is that I just talked her to a little, told her I was going to take her to a better home than the rodeo—just talked to her like I would anybody. Had a real, little chat, not that she could talk back. And she let me touch her mane without burning me."
Harley tilts her neck over, still sighing, “So you're talking 'bout treating her like a person, but giving her as a present?"
I just wave my hands at her. “That's not what I'm saying. You're just talking semantics. The point I'm trying to get to is that I think this is where you come in."
That suspicious look in her eyes turns a little—meaner, I think? But Harley just mutters, “Oh, I come in now, do I?"
My hands come clapping together and I point them from Apollo, kind of frowning up at me the same way his master is, back to Harley. I say, “I've never seen anybody get along so well with their pokie as you and your little guy. I need that. I need you to teach me how to teach Ronnie to take the best care she can of Clover."
Harley cups her arms tighter over each other.
I raise my hands square over my nose, praying, telling her, “If those two could share even nearly the same kind of relationship as the both of you do, I could die happy right now."
And just like that, Harley's frown disappears. Some weird little smile she's trying to stifle makes its way over her lips. I found the right thing to say.
She shakes her head another second, looking at the dirt, kind of toward Apollo, then says back up to me, “It ain't hard, Lewis, but you ain't goin' do it."
I pat my hands back down to my sides.
“What is it you think I won't do?"
“Just treat her like family. Like blood."
At that, Harley isn't smiling the same way anymore. Her little Quilava thumps his head against her leg, too, tired-like, but he's staring up at me while he does it.
I shrug and tell her, “Well, I can do that."
“Ain't talkin' 'semantics,' Lewis. I mean literal," Harley says. “I treat Apollo like what I want ain't more important than what he like. You make fun of me as much as you want for that—but that's how we do fine together."
“I can treat Clover as well as anybody can treat her," I say. “I will make her feel like family. That's my promise. I'm full in."
“Will Ronnie?"
“Sure she will." I press my hands in my pockets. “You know I'm a good big brother. I'll make sure she does, too."
Harley glances back over toward the barn, shaking her head just another second, muttering, “You fuckin' better."
“It's only a week," I say. “Don't you worry, I'm not just sticking her with you. I'll be over every day to help handle her and learn what I can from your aunt."
“That makes me worried, Lewis; I got my own plans this week," Harley sighs, still looking away. “Seeing your ass interrupt 'em, too, ain't goin' make that better."
But she turns back sharp to me before I can ask what, raising her hand flat toward my face. She says just as quick, “Now let's go say hi to Clover 'fore you leave. I'm sure Ronnie's been wondering where you were all day, and you don't want to get her any more suspicious about your usual bright ideas, do you?"
Harley's frown is almost as pretty as her smile, yes, but I sure do get tired of it sometimes.
I should mention this old tractor's not actually doing so great. Only reason I get to ride it off the farm as I like is that we got fresh models to tend the crops now. If you ever have to describe your tractor as 'chugging,' that should be more alarming than charming.
Just to mention.
So, farmhands are already herding up our Miltanks for the night as I roll back in on my folks' land. Now, Miltanks, you understand, are not the smartest creatures in this world—can't trust them to find their way back to our milking parlor by themselves every morning, so they get to sleep together in their own barn. Might go chewing on the real crops we keep otherwise, anyway.
Not much of a special thing, herding Miltanks, but tonight I see a little girl doing it ahead of all the grown men. She's perched over the shoulders of a big bessie near the front, taking her own piggyback ride, all the other bessies following her to the tune of a giggle I don't hear out of that girl any other time.
“Welcome home, Lewis!" she cries, bare feet swinging free. “What were you doin' out so late, you dick?"
Mooing greets me further as I shut the ignition off and climb on down toward the barn, fixing my shirt before I yell back, “What are you going on about now, Ronnie? I wasn't doing anything. Looks to me like I was gone just a couple of minutes."
Ronnie's getting a little tall for still riding the bessies, but none of her posse or the men escorting them raise any objections. It used to be strange to me, watching her act out the way she does—anyone else try to climb on a Miltank like that, they'd get right castrated. You can bet I never tried it even when I was the right size. But nowadays, I think it's a natural sort of state just for Ronnie. Pokies just like some people better than others. And Ronnie, though she doesn't get along with any one of them in particular, gets along better with pokies than people anyway.
“You aren't doing nothing stupid for my birthday again, are you, Lewis?" she calls next.
I raise my brow tall as it gets and say, “What's that? Well, shit, I forgot you even had a birthday this year. Guess now I'll have to get you something."
And poor little Ronnie's riding through the barn doors already as she cranes her neck backward, getting in her last words before I whistle away with my hands in my pockets, hollering over to me, “How about you get yourself a girlfriend, you fuckin' virgin!"
She sure doesn't get along with people, at least.
It's toward the other chugging sound I still hear going on that I stroll, heading on down to the back of the milking parlor where the biggest truck around is suctioning all our milk collected today. Only a couple of local business magnates, if you ask anyone else around here, are the ones watching it go, talking with the driver and a couple more senior farmhands.
“Guess who's back!" I yell over to them, lifting a hand over my grin.
They don't hear me.
And the truck is not that loud.
“Guess who's back," I say again, closer now.
Still nothing. I can clearly hear my magnate parents' words from this distance as they relay instructions to the folks around them.
So I come up and tap my mother on the shoulder. She registers it after just another second and turns around, and only then do I say, “I'm home."
She smiles real big at me and hugs an arm around my back, bringing me in just as quick as she lets go, saying, “Oh, welcome back, Lewis! How'd your trip go?"
My father's still chatting, but I raise my arms up over my shoulders and do declare, “We got Ronnie a Ponyta."
“That's exciting," my mother says in the same tone. She taps my father on his arm and says, “Reggie, Lewis is back. He got the present."
Now my father turns the same, saying, “Oh, welcome back, Lewis. Did you get it settled in with the O'Pines for now?"
“Yes, sir," I tell him. “Missus O'Pine is going to look after it herself, and I think she has some pointers for me to help teach Ronnie how to handle the girl."
“Don't you worry about that, Lewis, we called while you were gone and hired one of them pokie trainers to come up here and break it in."
My mother says that. She says it just as quick as the rest.
My father's already turning again and confirming numbers or some shit with the farmhands.
I say, “I already know how to be, uh, careful with her, Mama. I actually think she—"
“Lewis, no, we told you. We need the help of a professional if we're goin' this far out on a limb. We appreciate you bein' so willing to dote on Veronica like that, but good intentions aren't enough for this job."
You laugh at me being the foolhardy young man who never listens, but I was listening quite well when they told me how thrilled they were at the idea of Ronnie being the first girl in the county to ride for more than fifty years.
Neither of them told me any more than that dream after I said I would help her.
“We found someone with previous experience, believe it or not," my father pipes in again, half his back still turned. “They'll be here before the week is up and start training immediately. Ronnie doesn't get to touch that thing until our professional gets it under control, understand?"
“Yes, sir," I just say.
“Veronica!" my mother yells right past me, slapping her fists to her sides. “Were you playing with the Miltanks again?"
I look back with nary a wince at my eardrums as Ronnie's creeping far past us toward the house, sneakers in hand.
“No," she calls back, looking from me to our mother.
“Clean your feet and get your shoes back on, heavensake," our mother says. “And you better listen to me when I tell you to leave those Miltanks alone!"
“Yes, ma'am," Ronnie hardly mutters as she keeps on slinking to the house.
My mother huffs back at me, then collects her breath calmer. She says, “Now, Lewis, when that trainer gets here, you're welcome to watch the Ponyta's training from a good distance, but we don't want you getting in the way. If even that trainer can't get it under control, we're getting rid of it. Understand?"
“Yes, ma'am," I mutter hardly any nicer.
“Good," she says. “Now you head on inside and get yourself cleaned up. We'll be getting supper ready soon."
“Yes, ma'am," I tell her.
I march toward my instructions, but not before my mother says again, “Lewis."
I only look back over my shoulder. She smiles that same way I grew up on, and she says, “Thank you for going so far today for Ronnie. We're proud of you."
My father turns his head for that, smiling the same at me, like he's a part of it.
I smile my gentlemanly expression back for them, and they get back to their last business of the day, satisfied they said all the right things.
It's almost under my own earshot that I keep marching and say to that, “Love you, too, you cocksuckers."