Jeremiah Spoke to a Horse

Jeremiah Spoke to a Horse
By Adam Rodewald

         Jeremiah stopped and hid behind a dying chokeberry bush. He didn’t blink. He didn’t breathe. He bit his lower lip until a small trickle of blood dripped down around his chin. The breeze disturbed the night’s silence, rousing the brown leaves of the birch trees into a tantrum.

         “Jermiah! Oh! Jermiah Gruel!”

         The shouting came from a short woman looming in the doorway of a cabin. She stood still like a shadowed silhouette plastered to the white background. Light poured into the open sky and faded away. There were no stars. There was no moon.

         “Jermiah! Please do come back!”

         The boy muttered under his breath and fled to the old barn by the pond. His brown hair hadn’t been cut for over a year, and it knotted near his shoulders. He was thin and tall with tight jeans tucked into his boots. His eyes appeared abnormally wide like two eggs stuck horizontally beneath his eyebrows, and a bruise stained his cheekbone.

         He ran along a trench gouged into the earth by a tractor tire. It steered him westward and down a low hill where he tripped, landing hard on his hands. Blood seeped over his fingers and warmed his skin.

         The boy sat on the ground breathing heavily while crickets chirped in the shadows. He kicked at the ground to loosen the dirt, spit on it, and set the mud onto his wound. He held it tightly until the bleeding stopped.

         His eyes adjusted to the nighttime sky, and he could soon make out the barn ahead of him. The roof had caved in a few years earlier, and his grandfather had covered the hole with a brown tarp and heavy ropes.

         Jeremiah approached the barn slowly, glancing at the ground every few seconds. Wind blew underneath the tarp causing it to bubble, and when the wind subsided, the tarp sank. An owl hooted somewhere in the trees, rousing the hair on Jeremiah’s neck.

         He stepped through the large doors into the darkness of the barn. The smell of dry hay burned his nose. The old wood groaned and sighed as the wind nudged it, and the tarp in the roof bubbled and recessed rhythmically. Bats fluttered in the rafters while a horde of mice got drunk on a leaking bottle of honey.

         In the back of the barn, behind a hill of straw, a black horse lay in the shadows. A steel muzzle encased the horse’s mouth and a chain ran from her nose to the wall. She had a thick tail and soft muscles. A tall wooden fence surrounded her, leaving only enough room to stand up or lie down. Her eyes were closed when Jeremiah knelt beside her.

         “Wake up, horse!” Jeremiah demanded, and he flicked her nose. She snorted and opened her eyes. They were pale as an overcast sky, and Jeremiah tried not to look at them.

         “I’m gonna need ya to help me get away.” The boy pulled a book of matches from his pocket, bundled up some hay in a clearing outside the pen, and made a small fire on the dirt floor. The horse jumped to her feet and backed away. She was tall and thin, and her legs moved uneasily. She pulled her head to the side, hiding from the sounds of crackling embers. Jeremiah sighed.

         “You always was a dumb horse,” he said, then stood silently for a long time looking at nothing. He pulled a folding knife out of his pocket and started playing with the blade.

         Finally, he looked at the horse and said, “I shot Pa only ten minutes ago, with his rifle. Los’ most the flesh in his leg. Now I need ya to help me get away before somethin’ else happens.”

         Jeremiah was silent again. His eyes became narrow, and he swallowed frequently even though his mouth was parched. The horse kept to the back of her cage. Jeremiah sat down and stabbed his knife into the ground. He put his face in his hands, and, when he looked up, his face was mean. His cheeks sunk inward, and his nose was red.

         “Lis’n here, horse! This fire ain’t gonna hurt ya,” he said. “I ain’t gonna hurt ya. I wanted to kill Pa, but I don’t want to burn no horse. Need you to help me. Ain’t like I wanted to really kill him, not really deep inside me. Only did on the surface. ‘Cause I got so angry. If he hadn’t grabbed a hold my hair an’ spat on my face, I wouldn’t have prob’ly done it.”

         Jeremiah wiped the mud off his hands. The scrape was raw and painful. He put more hay on the fire and the flames sputtered. A spark shot at the horse, and she whined loudly.

         “Shut up! Won’t do you no harm.” He climbed over the fence and grabbed the horse’s nose to examine the muzzle. He spoke quietly to her. “I hate ‘em. You know, I walked in on him an’ Ma this afternoon. They was naked an’ touchin’ each other in bed. Left the door wide open, so I jus’ walked on in. Wanted to ask about supper. But they was naked on the bed. Pa’s face turned so red with anger an’ Ma screamed so high pitch I thought I stepped on the cat. But they left the door wide open. Didn’t mean to interrupt nothin’. They jus’ left the door wide on open.”

         The boy looked down at the ground and pursed his lips together. A muscle in the horse’s back leg twitched mildly. Her hair shone like velvet, and the dim light seemed to reflect off her body.

         Jeremiah spoke to the horse again, “Later on I told Ma I wanted to love Katerine Rose ‘cause she got such a romantic name. An’ she’s the only girl in the fifth grade gots a chest big enough for touchin’. Ma dropped her plate an’ it shattered into millions a pieces acrossed the floor. An’ she come slap me so hard my seein’ went white for a moment.” He reached out by the fire and grabbed his knife.

         “Well, Pa heard the frettin’ and comes boltin’ in to the kitchen,” Jeremiah continued, using the blade of the knife to unscrew the metal mask from the horse. He forced her head sideways and ground his teeth as he worked. “An’ he starts wailin’ on her, screamin’ an’ hittin’ with the backside of his hand. I got a bit scared. Don’t get scared by much. But Pa turns red like pictures I seen of the devil. An’ I know that look in his eyes is straight from hell. So I hid myself in the corner. He was screamin’ at Ma sayin’, ‘What you done? What you done? Those dishes cost me hard hours a working.’ And he called her a bitch an’ other words he give me a bloody nose for sayin’ a few days earlier.

         “Ma covered her face, but I could see she got blood runnin’ from her eye. An’ her cheeks was swollen. She cried most awful sayin’, ‘It was Jermiah! He said the most awful things. I’m sorry. It was him.’ And I jus’ sat curled up in the corner tryin’ to hide. ‘Cause I know what was comin’. Pa turned to me an’ says, ‘What she yeppin’ about Jermiah? You shit yourself?’ But I said nothin’ back. So he grabbed me an’ pulled me close to his face. He’s got damn awful breath. Always chewin’ tobacco. Spittin’ on the floor. Some of his teeth has got rot holes. And his gums are brown.”

         Jeremiah squinted so that his eyes were almost closed. Beads of perspiration formed along his hairline, and he stopped talking. His arms shook as he pried the last screw from the muzzle. It flew open with a loud ping, and the knife dropped to the ground.

         The horse had a long scar from her left eye to the corner of her lip. It was pale and moist. Jeremiah gasped. He put his hand over his nose and backed away. For the first time he noticed how white the animal’s eyes were. She sat down and stared blankly ahead.

         Jeremiah slowly leaned against the fence and slid to the floor. He sat with his knees bent and palms in the dirt. The fire crackled softly, shooting bright embers into the air, and the smell of burnt hay floated to the ceiling where the tarp bubbled and exhaled. The boy glanced at the muzzle sprawled open on the floor. The chain still bound it to the wall.

         “What happened to your face, horse?” Jeremiah whispered.

         The horse was still, and Jeremiah watched for a long time. He breathed slowly. His hair fell over his face, but he made no effort to brush it away. A quiet wheezing sounded rhythmically from the animal’s breath.

         Cobwebs stretched between the fence posts and glistened in the wavering light. Clusters of insect-filled cocoons hung like ornaments from the silver strands, and a hoe with a broken handle hung on the wall next to the window. Its front end had turned orange from rust.

         Jeremiah rose cautiously. He pinched his lower lip and slid close to the horse. He reached forward to touch her face. She flinched as the boy brushed his middle finger lightly down the center of her nose. He moved slowly as if any sudden movement would break the moment.

         “Had they done this?” He said. His hand trembled as he held it over the scar. “Look here. I got a big one too. On my back here near the spine. Ain’t nothin’ to be ashamed of. Happened three years ago when I broke Pa’s wheelbarrow. Near beat me to pulp with the handle. Ain’t nothin’ to be hiding.”

         Jeremiah lifted his shirt and revealed the thick white skin snaking down his spine. He covered it quickly and turned back to the horse. He stood tall with his hands straight along his sides. He chewed on his lip.

         Then the horse spoke, “What did your father do to you?”

         Jeremiah was still. The horse’s voice was soft but warm. The question hung in the air like a song, but soon all the boy could hear was the flapping tarp.

         “After he grabbed you. In your story. What happened?” The horse asked.

         Jeremiah stammered, “You… spoke.”

         The horse closed her eyes for the first time since she awoke. Jeremiah inhaled a slow breath.

         “Then… Then you understand what I been sayin’?”

         “Of course,” the horse replied.

         The fire suddenly went out, and the boy clasped onto the fence post. Mice scurried through the hay and bats fluttered in the rafters. The floor was cold beneath him, and the scent of mildew rose from a cement water trough. His palms were sweating.

         “I can hear your heart beat. What’s wrong?” The horse asked tenderly.

         “I… I’m a bit scared.”

         “Of me?”

         The boy spoke cautiously, “Ain’t never imagined you’d talk… Always thought you was… dumb.”

         “But you’ve never done more than observe me from around the corner.”

         “You seen me?”

         “No. But I’ve heard you. Why do you hide?”

         “Pa’d beat me for disturbin’ you. Says you’d kill someone if ya got loose.”

         “Did he? Then why do you come watch me?”

         “Kinda always wondered. Have you ever killed someone?” He let his voice raise a little as he talked.

         “No.”

         “Then why ya chained up? Have to done somethin’!”

         “I bit your father once. Long time ago. That’s all.”

         “Why’d ya do it? Have to figure he’d muzzle you for it.”

         “Defense, I suppose. He rode me ‘til I collapsed. His wrist twisted in the fall. So he kicked me in the soft of my stomach. It was instinct that I bit him.”

         “That’s why I shot him today. Los’ his temper. Grabbed at my hair an’ forced me on the table. Near broke my nose before he spit on me. So I come at him while he’s sleepin’ and shoot his leg.”

         “He did this because of what you said to your mother?”

         “And ‘cause he got mad for the dishes breakin’. So I stole his rifle an’ shot him.”

         “That’s not defending yourself. Seems more like revenge.”

         “It’s all the same. He deserved it for beatin’ on me. An’ why should you care? He near rode ya to death.”

         “It just doesn’t seem right.”

         “Well he got no right beatin’ me for touchin’ some girl if he’s touchin’ one in front of me. Leavin’ the door open for me to walk in on him. Deserves gettin’ beat. I get so angry…”

         The horse was silent.

         “Besides, he jus’ lost his temper an’ hurts people. I thought this out. An’ I’m doin’ it for people’s good.”

         The horse whispered, “I don’t think it’s right.”

         “That’s what Ma says when I told her. ‘That’s jus’ not right, Jermiah! Jus’ not right!’ She said.”

         “I think I would agree with her.”

         “No. She jus’ talks gibberish. Bitchin’, Pa says. Don’t know her head from her ass sometimes. I jus’ told her to shut up.”

         “You should respect her more. Doesn’t seem she’s done anything against you.”

         “She jus’ causes me to get beat! Other day she says at supper, ‘Know what Jermiah done today? He threw a rock into the window an’ told me off when I got to scold him.’ Then Pa gets all red in his eyes an’ throws a plate at me. Sliced my neck doing it. Says he wastes his money on this family ‘cause we break his things. An’ then he slaps Ma for cryin’ at the blood stainin’ the table cloth.”

         “Well, why did you throw a rock at the window in the first place?”

         “Jus’ felt like breakin’ something.”

         “Seems your mother had every reason to scold you,” the horse said, lowering her voice.

         “Shut up, horse! You ain’t suppose to be arguing with me. I jus’ need ya to get me outa here ‘cause Pa ain’t got no car.”

         There was silence again as Jeremiah sat on the ground. Leaves rustled among the trees outside. His eyes had adjusted to the dim light, and he watched the dark lines throughout the room, wondering what they might be. He looked at the horse lying on the ground, and he couldn’t tell if she looked back.

         “We ought to get goin’,” he said finally.

         He made another fire and approached the horse. She rose, and he climbed up on her back, causing her muscles to tighten. The flat sound of stomping from her shifting legs filled the air, and her body tilted slightly.

         Jeremiah slid his hand across her ribs. They felt like a radiator grill wrapped in skin. He rubbed the side of her neck gently and combed his fingers through her bristly mane. Her tail fell flat along her backside, and her ear twitched spastically. An orange glow from the flames cast her wavering shadow along the floor, and the boy narrowed his eyes.

         “I ain’t got a saddle or nothin’. So your gonna have to take her easy,” he said.

         The horse’s knees shook, but she kept her head straight. Jeremiah clenched her hair, wrapping the thick strands around his fingers like reins. He licked his lips, blinked slowly, and locked his jaw.

         He kicked inwards and said, “Get goin’, horse!”

         She didn’t move.

         “I said get goin’!” He slapped her face.

         “I can’t. I’m blind.”

         “Shut up an’ go!” He screamed, kicking her harder.

         She jumped, and he fell against the fence, hitting his bruised cheek against a corner. He put his hand on his face, grabbed a pitch fork from the hay mound, and threw it at the horse. It stuck in her neck.

         The fire sparked, and the horse collapsed on the ground. Drops of blood seeped from the punctures. Jeremiah’s teeth chattered. He backed away. The tarp over the roof crackled as it rose and sank in the breeze, and the muzzle lay in shadows, its rusted chain still bolted to the wall.

         He sat down and pulled his knees to his chest, and he hid his face from the animal’s eyes.