The Horse Whisperer

'What do you think A

'Sorry Luce, what was that?'

'Lime-green. With pink cover lines.'

'Sounds great.' The art director muttered something that A

There was a car waiting for her and she gave the driver the address and sat in the back, hunched inside her coat, as they wove across to the East Side and headed uptown. The streets and those who walked them looked gray and dreary. It was that season of gloom, when the new year had been in long enough for all to see it was just as bad as the old one. Waiting at some lights, A

They passed Lester's, the coffee shop on Eighty-fourth where Robert used to take Grace for breakfast sometimes before school. They hadn't talked about school yet but soon she would have to go back and face the stares of the other girls. It wasn't going to be easy but the longer they left it, the tougher it would be. If the new leg fit alright, the one they were going to try today at the clinic, Grace would soon be walking. When she'd got the hang of it, she should go back to school.

A

The door was open and none of them saw her come in. Grace was sitting in her panties on a bed. She was looking down at her legs but A

'How's that?' said the prosthetist. 'Is that better?' Grace nodded. 'Alrighty. Now see how it feels standing.'

She stood clear and A

'Hi,' she said and did her best to smile. Robert and the prosthetist turned.

'Hi,' A

'The kid's a natural,' said Wendy Auerbach. 'Sorry, we had to start without you, Mom.'

A

Someone brought in a walking-frame and Robert and A

'Alrighty,' she said eventually, clapping her hands. 'I think we're done.'

She escorted them to the door. Grace kept the leg on but walked with crutches. Robert carried the walking-frame and a bag of things Wendy Auerbach had given them to look after the leg. He thanked her and they all waited as she opened the door and offered Grace one last piece of advice.

'Remember. There's hardly a thing you did before that you can't do now. So, young lady, you just get up on that darn horse of yours as soon as you can.'

Grace lowered her eyes. Robert put his hand on her shoulder. A

'She doesn't want to,' she said through her teeth as she went past. 'And neither does the darn horse. Alrighty?'

Pilgrim was wasting away. The broken bones and the scars on his body and legs had healed, but the damage done to the nerves in his shoulder had rendered him lame. Only a combination of confinement and physical therapy could help him. But such was the violence with which he exploded at anyone's approach that the latter was impossible without risk of serious injury. Confinement alone was thus his lot. In the dark stench of his stall, behind the barn where he had known days far happier, Pilgrim grew thin.

Harry Logan had neither the courage nor the skill of Dorothy Chen in administering shots. And so Mrs Dyer's boys devised a sly technique to help him. They cut a small, sliding hatch in the bottom section of the door through which they pushed in Pilgrim's food and water. When a shot was due they would starve him. With Logan standing ready with his syringe, they would put down pails of feed and water outside then open the hatch. The boys would often get a fit of giggles as they hid to one side and waited for Pilgrim's hunger and thirst to get the better of his fear. When he reached tentatively out to sniff the pails, the boys would ram down the hatch and trap his head long enough for Logan to get the shot into his neck. Logan hated it. He especially hated the way the boys laughed.

In early February he called Liz Hammond and they arranged to meet at the stables. They took a look at Pilgrim through the stall door and then went to sit in Liz's car. They sat in silence for a while watching Tim and Eric hosing down the yard, fooling around.

'I've had enough Liz,' Logan said. 'It's all yours now.'

'Have you spoken with A

'I called her ten times. I told her a month ago the horse ought to be put down. She won't listen. But I tell you, I can't handle this anymore. Those two fucking kids drive me nuts. I'm a vet, Lizzie. I'm supposed to stop animals suffering, not make them suffer. I've had it.'

Neither of them spoke for a moment, just sat there, gravely assessing the boys. Eric was trying to light a cigarette but Tim kept aiming the hose at him.

'She was asking me if there were horse psychiatrists,' said Liz. Logan laughed.

'That horse doesn't need a shrink, he needs a lobotomy.' He thought for a while. 'There's this horse chiropractor guy over in Pittsfield but he doesn't do cases like this. Can't think of anybody who does. Can you?'

Liz shook her head.

There was no one. Logan sighed. The whole thing, he concluded, had been one goddamn miserable fuckup from the start. And there was no sign he could see of it getting any better.