Chapter 4: Horses Ain’t Real
It was so narrow in the alleyway that when Naomi looked up, she saw only bricks stretching away. It was so hot it felt like being inside an oven. She walked as fast as she could, trying to get to the end as quickly as possible, but the alley didn’t seem to end.
Then she realized there were not any doors on either of the buildings beside her.
Scared now, she ran as fast as she could, certain that there must be a way out on the other side. She ran and ran and ran. Then she ran some more. Her legs felt like they were on fire. When her foot hit a crooked brick, she tripped, bumping her knee on the ground. She touched her aching knee and got upset.
She had come here alone and now she was lost in an alley. She was hungry and thirsty, and the worst part was she had come this far all because of a stupid dream.
Naomi touched the horse-flavored T-shirt. It was okay, she told herself. She would just have to go back the way she came. Being lost in an alley that went on forever didn’t have to be a big deal. She would just turn around, get back to the FM road, and be on her way to discover what happened to the horses in Endless Ranches.
“What you got there?”
Naomi jumped when she heard the sound of a strange voice. She turned.
“It’s a horse-flavored T-shirt,” she answered.
“No it ain’t.” The voice belonged to a boy about her age, maybe a bit older. He was dressed in faded overalls so worn that Naomi could almost see through them and a ripped flannel shirt that seemed too big for him. The sleeves were rolled up around his arms, showing off his muscles. Naomi thought that the boy must be a hard worker to have muscles like that
“What do you mean, ‘No it ain’t’?” Naomi said.
“I mean, it ain’t no horse-flavored T-shirt because there ain’t no horses,” said the boy.
Naomi thought she knew what he meant. She said, “But there were horses once. I’m going to find out where they went.”
The boy cocked his head to take a better look at her. After studying her a moment the boy smiled as if being let in on a joke.
“You’re yanking my chain,” he said.
“What?” Naomi asked.
“You’re yanking my chain,” he said again.
“What are you saying?” Naomi asked.
“I’m saying, everybody knows there ain’t no such thing as horses. My brother said they’re like Big Foot, the Yetti, the Chupicabra, and the Paster Bunny. There just ain’t no horses.”
“What’s a chupicabra?” Naomi asked.
“You don’t know the chupicabra? It drinks blood. But it ain’t real,” he said.
“Oh,” Naomi said. “But horses aren’t like the Paster Bunny at all. They are real. My father was a horse speaker.”
“No such things,” the boy said.
“Seriously,” she said, noticing the crack of panic in her voice. “This is his horse-flavored T-shirt. Here.”
Naomi raised the shirt to the boy. He stepped forward and put his nose in it. The boy closed his eyes as if thinking of some life-changing experience he could not quite remember, like the first time his mother held him or the moment at night between waking and sleeping when his mind slips into dream.
“Amazing.” He opened his eyes. “You’ll have to see pa,” said the boy. He grabbed Naomi by the arm and pulled her back down the alley.
“What’s your pa got to do with anything?” she asked.
The boy stopped pulling and pushed on the wall. It swung open and Naomi realized that the wall was not entirely a wall, but there were doors hidden in it.
“’Cause my people need horses. We’re farmers,” he said, and then he pulled Naomi through the door. “Pa needs to know.”
Then they were in a much different place. A courtyard filled with pathways lay in front of her. Hundreds of wooden booths dotted the grassy patches. At the courtyard center a flagpole flew a giant banner.
“What is this place?” she asked.
“Farmer’s Market,” he said, a look of pride flashing across his pointed face. “Where we farmers hock our wears. At least that’s what pa says. We ain’t had no wears to hock since I remember.”
“Oh,” she said, not knowing what to tell the boy. Instead, she looked at the gigantic flag flapping in the sky. On it an animal reared its legs over a thing that looked like a garden hoe. “Is that a horse on the flag?” she asked, happy to change the subject.
“Yeah,” said the boy, “and a plow.”
“The horse is so beautiful,” Naomi said. Somewhere deep inside of her she felt something swell, almost like pride or love, or maybe the mixture of both. “It looks so free.”
“I reckon,” replied the boy, and he tugged Naomi down the cobblestone path.
At first Naomi was impressed with the booths in Farmer’s Market, but as the boy led her farther in, it became obvious that they were falling apart. Rotted boards jutted from some. Others had ripped awnings. They passed one that had simply fallen to the ground.
The people here were dressed in clothing as raggedy, torn, and rotted as the booths they occupied. Naomi paused to watch a group of children throw handfuls of dirt at one another. She felt sorry for these kids who had nothing to do but toss dirt. One of the children, a girl, noticed Naomi staring and stood up and acted as though she were going to throw dirt at her. Naomi turned and hurried after the boy, afraid to look back. The girl’s eyes followed Naomi as she went along.
The boy stopped at a booth right underneath the flagpole. Inside the booth, a man sat on an ancient wooden chair. The chair’s arms were smooth and round from years of use, showing ridges like ripples under the man’s elbows. He had a handsome face like the boy’s, though his was leathery like an autumn leaf. He held a knife in one hand and a stick in the other. Wood shavings littered his overalls and the ground around his boots. On the counter in front of him stood carved horse figures. The man stopped his carving and looked up.
“What’s this fancy thing you brought here?” the man asked, pointing the knife at Naomi.
The boy said, “I found her in the alley.”
The man folded the knife and stuck it in his overalls. He sat forward in the chair. “She got a name?” he asked.
Naomi tried to hide the fear in her voice, but she croaked like a frog as she stuttered, “Na…Na…Naomi.”
“Well, Na….Na…Naomi, ain’t that a pretty name? Naomi, we ain’t seen folk like you in a long time.” A smile tightened his face as he asked, “What brings you?”
It was the boy’s turn to answer. “She’s looking for horses.”
The man let out a small laugh.
“Ha. Sammy,” he said, “don’t be a fool. There ain’t no horses left in this town.”
Much more nervous now, Naomi spoke up again. “Sir, he’s telling the truth. I am looking for horses.”
“Humph,” said the man, shaking his head. “That’s a fool’s errand and you’re a dang fool for looking. Ouch!”
The man hunched over, hands gripping his head. A woman stood over him. Her raised hand was twisted around a yellow spoon.
“Don’t listen to him, honey,” said the woman. She was the same age as the man, but with a fresher, rounder face. Naomi guessed this must be Sammy’s mother.
“Woman,” the man shouted, “what you do that for?”
“You shut your mouth now, you buffoon, before I smack you again.” She raised the spoon as though to strike him once more. “You’re attracting attention. Can’t you see what she’s got?”
The man looked, eyes narrowing when he saw the shirt on Naomi’s belt.
“Is that what I think it is?” he said.
Naomi, totally afraid of these strange people, of their torn clothes, of their rickety homes, took the shirt in her hands to protect it. She only shrugged in reply.
Sammy answered for her. “It’s a horse-flavored T-shirt.”
The man came around the counter so fast that Naomi flinched. He peered down the path
way. Naomi followed his gaze. People were staring at her and more were beginning to gather in the path. Another wave of fear hit her as Sammy’s mother demanded, “Get her in here!”
The man sensed Naomi’s fear as clearly as if she were wearing it like a sweater.
“Don’t be scared,” he said in a quiet voice. “It’s best you come in here with us.”
“Come on, hon,” said Sammy’s mother. “We ain’t going to hurt you.”