The boy smiled and said, “There you go, Billy!”
They went away.
A day or so passed, and Billy became more bored. He chewed through part of his rope, then abandoned the project, knowing he would only be tied up again if he were walking around free. Billy was well fed, but he would have preferred Playland Amusement Park with its noise and people, pulling his cart with four passengers plus Mickie, to being tied to a stick doing nothing. Once the man put the little girl astride Billy’s back, but the man held the rope so short, it was no fun for Billy. Billy shied at something, the little girl slid off—and that seemed to be the end of his giving her rides.
One afternoon a rather large black dog came loping on to the lawn, saw Billy and started barking and nipping at him. This infuriated Billy, because the dog seemed to be laughing at him. Billy lowered his head and bounded forward, determined to pull up the iron stake, but the rope broke, which was even better. Now the dog was on the run, and Billy bore down at full speed. The dog went round the corner of the greenhouse. Billy cut the corner close, and there was a shattering of glass as one of his horns hit a pane. Blind with rage, Billy attacked the greenhouse for no reason—except that it made a satisfying sound.
Crash!—Bang!—Clatter-tinkle! and again Crash!
The dog nipped at Billy’s heels, yapping, and Billy kicked and missed. The goat charged the dog, his hooves thundering on the lawn. The dog, a streak of black, disappeared off the property and headed down a street. Billy went after him, but stopped after a few yards, feeling that he had routed his enemy. Billy upturned the nearest hedge for the hell of it, gave a snort and shook himself so his bells jingled like a full orchestra. Then he trotted up the street with his head high, in the general direction of his own lawn. But some flowers by a gate attracted him. There was a scream from one of the houses. Billy moved off at once.
More shouts and yells.
Then a policeman’s whistle. Billy was rudely taken in hand by the policeman who jerked him by horn and harness, and then whacked him on the haunch with his nightstick. In retaliation, Billy rammed the policeman in the belly and had the pleasure of seeing the man roll on the ground in agony. Then four or five boys jumped on Billy and threw him onto his side. Much noise, yelling and dragging—and Billy was back on the lawn where the iron stick was, and the broken greenhouse. Billy stood foursquare, breathing hard, glaring at everyone.
That evening, the man of the house loaded Billy on to the pick-up, and tied him so securely he could not lie down. Billy recognized from afar the cheerful cymbal clashes and the booms of the merry-go-round’s music. They were back at Playland!
Mickie ran up smiling. “Hey, Billy! Back again!”
Hank wasn’t smiling. He stood talking solemnly with the man, pulling his underlip and shaking his head. The man looked sad too, as he went away back to his car. That very evening Billy was harnessed to his cart and made nearly a dozen rounds before closing time. There was much laughter from Mickie and Hank as they put Billy into his stable that night and fed him. Billy was already quite full of hot dogs and popcorn.
“Billy! . . . There’s Billy back!” The yells from the crowd echoed in Billy’s ears as he fell asleep in his old straw bed. Some people in the world liked him.
Billy slipped into his old routine, which wasn’t at all bad, he thought. At least it wasn’t boring. In the daytime, five days a week, he could wander over the deserted grounds where there wasn’t much grass but a good many remnants of hot dog buns and discarded peanut bags with a few peanuts generally in them. All was as usual. So Billy was surprised one busy evening to be unhitched from his cart by Mickie and dragged by Hank towards an automobile with a box at the back of it big enough for a horse.
Billy knew what was happening. Hank was pushing him off somewhere else. Billy braced his legs and had to be lifted on to the ramp by Hank and another man in a Western hat similar to Hank’s, while a third man pulled his horns from inside the box. Billy gave a twist of his body, landed on his feet, and at once bounded into freedom.
Freedom! But where was he to go? The place was fenced in except for the car entrance, and this Billy made for. Two men tried to block him, but jumped aside like scared rabbits as Billy hurtled towards them. Billy rammed the side of a car, not having seen it in the semi-darkness, and knocked himself nearly out. A cry went up from the car occupants. Two huge men fell on Billy and held him down. Then three men carried him back towards the car with the horse box. This time his feet were tied together, and Hank himself jerked Billy’s legs from under him, and Billy fell on his side. Billy kicked to no avail. He hated Hank at that moment. He had never liked Hank, and now Billy’s hostility was like an explosion in him. Once more Billy witnessed from his horizontal position Hank receiving lots of paper money from the man who owned the horse box. Hank shoved the money deep in a pocket of his baggy trousers. Then they closed the box door.
This time it was a longer ride, far out into the country, Billy could tell from the smell of fresh-cut hay and damp earth. There was also the smell of horses. The men untied Billy’s feet and put him in a stable where there was straw and a bucket of water. Billy gave a mighty kick—tat-tat!—against the side of his stable, just to show everyone, and himself, that there was plenty of fight in him yet. Then Billy blew his breath out and shook himself, jingling all his bells, and leapt in place from hind feet to front feet again and again.
The men laughed and departed.
The next day, Billy was tied to a wooden stake in the center of a broad field of grass. Now he had a chain, not a rope. Billy was indifferent to the horses, though he attempted to charge one which had whinnied and looked scared. The horse broke away from the man’s hold on his rein, but stopped in a docile fashion, and the man caught him again. Billy thought the morning quite boring, but the grass was thick, and he ate. A saddle fit for a child was put on Billy, but there wasn’t a child in sight. There were three men on the place, it seemed. One man mounted a horse and led Billy, trotting, around a circular area that was fenced in. When the horse trotted, Billy galloped. The man seemed pleased.
This went on for a few days, along with more complicated routines for the horses. They walked and strutted, knelt, and galloped sideways to music from a record player which one of the men operated outside the fence. They tried to get Billy to do something with a ribbon to which a piece of metal was attached. Billy didn’t understand what they wanted, and started eating the ribbon, whereupon they snatched it out of his mouth. The man kicked him in the haunch to make him pay attention, and tried again. Billy wasn’t trying very hard.
A couple of days later they all went off with the horses to a place with the biggest crowd Billy had ever seen. These people were mostly sitting down in a great circle with a clear space in the middle. Billy wore his saddle. One of the men got on a horse and led Billy—amid a lot of other men and women on horses—twice round the arena in a big parade. Music and cheers. Then Billy was led to the sidelines, and the man stood beside him on foot. They were near a gap in the wall, which was a good thing, because they had to use it when a wild horse, bucking and kicking, came very near them and threw his rider off. Now Billy and the man were in a kind of pen with no top, people leaned over the edge above them, and someone dropped what looked like a sizzling hot dog on Billy’s back. The man brushed it off Billy and was trying to stamp on it when it exploded with a terrible Bang!
Billy bolted forward and was in the middle of the arena suddenly. A roar of delight went up from the crowd. A man in a clown’s costume spread his arms to stop Billy, or deflect him. Billy aimed himself straight at the clown who jumped nimbly into an ashcan, and Billy’s horns hit the ashcan with a Clang! and sent it rolling yards away with the clown in it. The people yelled with glee, and Billy’s blood tingled. Then a big man who looked purposeful came running for Billy, grabbed his horns as Billy attacked, and Billy and the man both fell to the ground. But Billy’s hind
feet were free, and he kicked with all his might. The man gave a scream and released him, and Billy trotted away triumphant.
Bang!
Someone had fired a gun. Billy hardly noticed. It was all part of the fun. Billy looked around for more targets, started for a man on horseback, but was distracted by two men on foot who were running towards him from different directions. Billy didn’t know which to aim at, decided on the closer, and picked up speed. He whammed the man at hip height, but an instant later a rope hissed around Billy’s neck.
Billy charged the rope-thrower, but still a third man threw himself at Billy and caught him round the body. Billy twisted, fighting with his crooked left horn, and got the man in the arm, but the man held on. Someone else banged Billy in the head, stunning him. Billy was dimly aware of being carried off, amid the continuing cheers of the spectators.
Ka-plop!
Billy was dumped into one of the horse boxes. The man who mainly took care of him was tying up his legs now. His arm was bleeding, and he was muttering in an unpleasant way.
When they all got home to the ranch that night, the man took a whip to Billy. Billy was tied in one of the stables. The man kept shouting at him. It was a long strong whip and it hurt—a little. Another man watched. Billy butted the side of the stable in wrath, and on the rebound aimed himself at the man with the whip. The man jumped back, and was closing the stable door when Billy’s horns banged into it. Then the man went away. It was a long time before Billy calmed down, before he began to feel the stings of the whip on his haunches and his back. He hated everybody that night.
In the morning, all three men escorted Billy to one of the horse boxes, though when Billy saw the horse box, he went along readily. Billy was willing to go anywhere that was somewhere else.
Once more, it was a longish ride. Then Billy heard the peculiar rattle under the wheels that cars made going over the metal roller bridge in front of Playland Amusement Park. They stopped, and Billy heard Hank’s voice. Billy was let out. Billy was rather pleased. But Hank didn’t seem pleased. Hank was frowning and looking at the ground, and at Billy. Then the men went away in their car, and when they were gone, Hank said something to Billy and laughed. He grabbed Billy’s harness with one hand and steered him on to the grassier part of the park where cars and people never went. But Billy was too disturbed to eat. His back hurt worse, and his head throbbed, maybe from the blow he’d got in the arena.
Where was Mickie? Billy looked around. Maybe it was one of the days when Mickie didn’t come.
As dusk fell, Billy was sure it was one of the evenings when no one came to Playland Amusement Park, not even Mickie. Then Hank put the usual lights on, or most of them, and hitched Billy to his cart. This was strange, Billy thought. Hank never took a ride all by himself.
“Come along, Billy, ni-ice Billy,” Hank was saying in a soothing tone.
But Billy sensed fear in him. Hank’s weight made the cart creak as if he were several people.
“Gee up, Billy. Easy does it,” Hank said, and slapped the reins as Mickie always did.
Billy started off. It felt good to put some of his anger into pulling the cart. Billy’s trot became a gallop.
“Ho theah, Billy!”
Hank’s command made Billy run all the faster. He hit a tree, and knocked a wheel off the cart. Hank yelled for him to stop. Then Hank bounced out of the cart, and Billy made a curve and stopped, looking back. Hank was sitting on the ground, and Billy charged. Hank had just about got to his feet when Billy struck, and knocked him down.
“Ho theah, Billy,” Hank was saying, more softly now, as if he were still guiding Billy by the reins. Hank wobbled towards Billy, pressing a hand to one of his knees, the other hand to his head.
Then Billy saw Hank evidently change his mind, and veer towards the popcorn stand for protection, and Billy charged again. Hank trotted away as best he could, but Billy whammed into Hank’s broad, highly buttable backside. Whoof! Hank fairly doubled backward, and fell in a heap on the ground.
Billy trotted in a circle, oblivious of the half-a-cart behind him. Hank lifted a blood-stained face. Billy lowered his head and attacked the mass which was now about his own height. One curved horn, one crooked horn hit God knew where, and Hank rolled over backward. Billy gave an uppercut, pulled his horns out, backed a little, and came at Hank again.
Thuck! Hank’s body seemed to be growing softer.
Billy struck again, backed a little, then footed it daintily over Hank’s body, cart wreck and all. Dark blood ran into the grassless, much-trodden earth. The next thing Billy knew, he was yards away, trotting with his head up. The cart behind him seemed to weigh nothing at all. Was it even there? But Billy heard a bush—which he had leapt—crackle behind him, and felt the cart bump against the corner of a booth.
Then Hank’s wife appeared. “Billy! . . .” She was yelling excitedly.
Billy trembled with leftover fury, and was on the brink of butting her, but he only snorted and shook himself.
“Hank! Where are you?” She hurried away.
The sound of “Hank!” made Billy jump, and he started off at a run, made a swipe at the gatepost by the car entrance, and knocked off the other wheel of the cart.
Hank’s wife was still screaming somewhere.
Billy dashed down the road, took the first dirt road that he came to, and kept on into the darkness, into the country. A car slowed, and a man said something to Billy, but Billy ran on.
Finally Billy trotted, then walked. Here were fields and a patch of woods. In the woods, Billy lay down and slept. When he woke up, it was dawn, and he was thirsty, more thirsty than hungry. He came to a farmhouse, where there was a water trough behind a fence. Billy couldn’t easily get to it, so he trotted on, sensing that there was water somewhere near. He found a brook in a sloping place. Then he ate some of the rich grass there. One shaft of his cart remained attached to his harness, which was annoying, but more important was that he was free. He could go in any direction he chose, and from what he could see there was grass and water everywhere.
Adventure beckoned.
So Billy took another dirt road and pushed on. Only two cars went by all morning, and each time Billy trotted faster, and nobody got out to bother him.
Then Billy caught a scent and slowed down, lifted his nose and sniffed again. Then he went in the direction of the scent. Very soon he saw another goat in a field, a black and white goat. For the moment, Billy felt more curious than friendly. He walked towards the goat, came to an opening in the rail fence, and entered the field, dragging the one gold and white shaft behind him. Billy saw that the other goat was tethered. She lifted her head—the goat was a female, Billy now realized—looked at him with mild surprise and went on chewing what she had in her mouth. Behind her was a long low white house, and near it clothes fluttered on a line. There was a barn, and Billy heard the “Moo” of a cow from somewhere.
A woman came out of the house and threw a pan of something on the ground, saw Billy, and dropped the pan in astonishment. Then she approached Billy cautiously. Billy stood his ground, chewing some excellent clover which he had just wrenched up. The woman made a shooing motion with her apron, but as if she didn’t really mean it. She drew nearer, looking very hard at Billy. Then she laughed—a nice laugh. Billy was an expert on laughs, and he liked this woman’s laugh at once, because it was easy and happy.
“Tommy!” the woman called to the house. “Georgette! Come out and see what’s here!”
In a minute, two small children came out of the house and screamed with surprise, a little like the children at Playland.
They offered Billy water. The woman finally got up courage and unbuckled the shaft from the goat harness. Billy was still chewing clover. He knew the thing to do was not to look aggressive, and in fact he felt not in the least like butting any of them. When the woman and the children ca
lled him towards the barn, he followed. But nobody tried to tie him up. The woman seemed to be inviting Billy to do what he wanted to do, which was a nice relief. She would have let him walk away, Billy thought, back down the road again. Billy liked it here. Later, a man arrived, and looked at Billy. The man took off his hat and scratched his head, then he laughed too. When the sun went down, the woman untied the other goat, and led her towards the barn outside which Billy was walking about, looking things over. There were pigs, a water trough, and chickens and ducks behind a fence.
“Billy!” said the man, and laughed again when Billy recognized his name and looked at him. He gave Billy’s harness a shake, as if he admired it. But he took it off and put it away somewhere.
The barn was clean and had straw in it. The man put a leather collar on Billy, patted him and talked to him. The other goat, which they called Lucy, was tied up near Billy, and the woman milked her into a small pail.
Billy opened his mouth and said “A-a-a-a!”
It made everybody laugh. Billy jumped back and forth from front feet to hind feet. The memory of Hank, of the smell of his blood, was fast fading, like a bad spell of temper that had happened longer ago than yesterday, although he knew he had given Hank more butts than he had ever given anyone or anything.
In the morning when the woman came into the barn, she looked surprised and really happy to see that Billy was still there. She said something friendly to him. Evidently he wasn’t going to be tied up ever, Billy thought as he trotted into the meadow with Lucy. Now that was fair play!
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Born in Fort Worth, Texas, in 1921, Patricia Highsmith spent much of her adult life in Switzerland and France. She was educated at Barnard College, where she studied English, Latin, and Greek. Her first novel, Strangers on a Train, published initially in 1950, proved to be a major commercial success and was filmed by Alfred Hitchcock. Despite this early recognition, Highsmith was unappreciated in the United States for the entire length of her career.