“Now, what you mean by that?”
My mama started to speak, then turned away to busy herself with something. “Go on and look for him if you want. That’s what’s on your mind.”
That was what was on my mind, so I left my mama straightaway and went to find Robert. I ended up running into Mitchell instead. “Heard you was comin’ home,” he said.
“Just got back. How you doing?”
“Same as always. How long you here for?”
“Through the New Year.”
“Well, that’s probably longer than me.”
“What you mean?”
“I’m finished with this place. I’m movin’ on.”
“Yeah?” I said, somewhat surprised. No matter what Mitchell’s and my differences, no matter how my thinking had begun to change over the years, I still figured this land was home to both of us. “So, where you going?”
Mitchell shrugged. “Don’t know yet. Just figure t’ go.” At that point Mitchell turned, looking a ways off, and I noticed there was a swelling on the side of his face.
“You been fighting again?” I said, not fearing to speak my mind to Mitchell any longer.
Mitchell looked back at me. “Could say that.”
I grinned. “Other fella look worse, I expect.”
“Naw,” said Mitchell. “I ain’t even hit him.”
I didn’t say anything to that. Mitchell looked at me in an understanding. It was no secret Willie Thomas, too often to my figuring, took a whip to Mitchell. He was known to put a whip to his other seven children as well, and even to his wife. Though I had no love for Mitchell, I had asked my daddy once if he could put a stop to Willie’s beatings, but my daddy said no. “That’s their business,” he said. “Before the war, maybe I would’ve gotten into it, but now I figure I’ve got no place in a man’s private affairs. Willie’s a good worker and I’ve got no quarrel with him. He runs his family and I run mine.”
“Well, I’ve got t’ get goin’,” said Mitchell, turning his back to me.
“I don’t see you tomorrow, have a good Christmas.”
“Yeah . . .” said Mitchell, glancing over his shoulder at me. “You too.”
When I first started looking for Robert, it was about midday, so I figured Robert and the Waverlys would be back to my daddy’s house for dinner, but they weren’t. My daddy was there now, and Mr. Waverly and Jack were with him. I greeted my daddy, then waited on the veranda for Robert. When dinner was served without him and the other two Waverly boys, I went looking for him again. I finally caught up with him, Christian, and Percy walking on a road off our place headed toward home. They had the Appaloosa with them. The Appaloosa’s head was bent, there was foam on his coat, and he was breathing hard. Christian held the reins. I didn’t even speak to Robert as I hurried over to Appaloosa. “What happened?” I said. I tried to pat the Appaloosa’s head, but he reared back, and Christian dropped the reins. I grabbed them, then, talking softly to the animal, I tried to calm him down. “It’s me, Appaloosa. It’s me, Paul,” I said. I didn’t have any apple wedges in my pocket, so I just backed him away from the others, talked gently to him, stroked him, then took the chance of laying my head and my chest against him so he could feel me breathing as he breathed.
Christian and Percy laughed. “What the hell are you doing?” Christian asked.
I ignored them. I closed my eyes, holding the horse’s head against mine. Appaloosa’s breathing was short and hurried at first, but finally it steadied and calmed.
The Waverlys were still laughing when I opened my eyes and asked again what happened. When Robert didn’t say anything, Christian spoke up in his stead. “So, Robert, this is the way y’all teach your niggers to greet folks?”
“I . . . I told you,” said Robert to Christian, “we don’t use that word.”
“Why not? A nigger by any other name . . . but what the hell! We’re guests here and we’ll try to respect that, won’t we, Percy?”
“Most certainly,” agreed his brother.
“Robert,” I said, ignoring the Waverlys, “what’s happened to Appaloosa here?” Now, Robert and I over the years had discussed giving our horse a name, but I loved the sound of the word “Appaloosa” and how it rolled off the lips. I also loved the image of the West and the Appaloosas, and their name had come out of the West. Since the horse was more mine than Robert’s—for Robert had never once mounted the Appaloosa since the day we’d won him on the bet—he had gone along with calling him whatever I chose. So we simply called him Appaloosa. “Robert?” I said, when he said nothing, but then Appaloosa neighed as if to answer my question himself. I turned back to him, patted his sweaty coat, and for the first time saw the blood. I looked again at Robert and the Waverlys. “What’s this?”