only young girls loved horses that way. Sometimes in the middle of the night, I’d sneak out barefoot. I knew by instinct where in the large pasture Dixie Sue would be feeding. I’d climb on her and lean back, so my head rested on her rump. I’d just lie there and look up at the stars, a lot like tonight. They spread over Iowa like a great dark American flag.” He sighed. We both were leaning back, our eyes glued to the sky. “Dixie Sue’d just continue to eat the sweet grass, hardly moving. She knew it was me on her back.
“Sometimes we’d take off in the moonlight. I’d hold tight to her bronze mane. The bluffs along the Blackhawk River and the narrow paths between shrubs and trees were lit with a shimmering silver, and there was a guiding light.
“Once we came to the top of a ridge farther than we’d ever been before. Nell, I never told anyone this.” He hesitated. “Nell, we saw angels. Three of them. They were having a cookout below the ridge.” When he said “cookout,” I started to laugh. “No, I’m serious. They were sitting around a fire and their bodies shimmered like rippled water that you can put your hand through. Two of the angels were yellow, but the middle one, she was the color of salmon meat. She was beautiful. Dixie Sue and I just kept gazing at her. Then the angels got to realizing we were there. We could tell, because they began twinkling faster. We didn’t want to bother them, so I yanked Dixie Sue’s mane. She turned her long neck and head and we started home. The whole way back I hummed ‘Angels Watching Over Me, My Lord.’ ”
Now I was sitting erect, looking at Gauguin. “Wow,” I said. “Was that true?”
He nodded. I took his hand and tried to imagine seeing angels.
“Gauguin, I don’t think there were angels in Brooklyn. At least not when I was growing up.”
“Sure, there were,” he said. “You just weren’t looking in the right places.”
We got up and went to bed. Just as I was falling asleep, Gauguin began to talk as though finishing the conversation we were having out on the bench. “Nell, sometimes I think I am a horse. I used to watch the horse in front of me when I rode with someone, how long and graceful its back legs were. Their legs move right into their hips in a magnificent motion—”
I fell asleep just then and in my dream I was an iguana on a beach. I turned over and woke up. It was a short dream. Gauguin was still awake; his arms were up on the pillow behind his head. “Hey, Gauguin,” I said. “You might be a horse, but I’m an iguana.”
“Oh, Nell, you are bananas,” he said.
“No, really. I dreamed I was an iguana, just now. I’m an iguana!” Gauguin laughed and I hit him.
Gauguin began to make whinnying noises like a horse. I felt his hot breath on my neck. This horse began to make love to his iguana. His iguana lifted her short green iridescent front legs over the horse’s shoulder. We turned over each other as I closed my eyes. Horse and iguana. Horse of ribs and hanging flesh, old horse rolling in bed with the sharp fast body of iguana. Above us was a waterfall. Egrets hung from trees like white gardenias. Bougainvillaea were draped over the branches of a magnolia tree. What country were we in? Horse and iguana didn’t care about country. We felt the sun on our backs, and we slithered over rocks as we joined our juices together near a shallow wide river, flowing over sand embankments.
11
“I ’M THINKING OF going backpacking alone in the Pecos,” I told Blue to her back. She was bent over, picking spinach from our garden.
She stood up. “Look at this, will ya?” She held up green leaves. “Right here on our own little ol’ dry land. Come, I’ll make you something fancy—eggs Florentine. Got them fresh from Henry.” She took my hand.
I sat in the window seat of her small adobe while she cooked the eggs over her fireplace. “So you’re going to the woods all by your lonesome.”
I nodded, but she
“Sometimes we’d take off in the moonlight. I’d hold tight to her bronze mane. The bluffs along the Blackhawk River and the narrow paths between shrubs and trees were lit with a shimmering silver, and there was a guiding light.
“Once we came to the top of a ridge farther than we’d ever been before. Nell, I never told anyone this.” He hesitated. “Nell, we saw angels. Three of them. They were having a cookout below the ridge.” When he said “cookout,” I started to laugh. “No, I’m serious. They were sitting around a fire and their bodies shimmered like rippled water that you can put your hand through. Two of the angels were yellow, but the middle one, she was the color of salmon meat. She was beautiful. Dixie Sue and I just kept gazing at her. Then the angels got to realizing we were there. We could tell, because they began twinkling faster. We didn’t want to bother them, so I yanked Dixie Sue’s mane. She turned her long neck and head and we started home. The whole way back I hummed ‘Angels Watching Over Me, My Lord.’ ”
Now I was sitting erect, looking at Gauguin. “Wow,” I said. “Was that true?”
He nodded. I took his hand and tried to imagine seeing angels.
“Gauguin, I don’t think there were angels in Brooklyn. At least not when I was growing up.”
“Sure, there were,” he said. “You just weren’t looking in the right places.”
We got up and went to bed. Just as I was falling asleep, Gauguin began to talk as though finishing the conversation we were having out on the bench. “Nell, sometimes I think I am a horse. I used to watch the horse in front of me when I rode with someone, how long and graceful its back legs were. Their legs move right into their hips in a magnificent motion—”
I fell asleep just then and in my dream I was an iguana on a beach. I turned over and woke up. It was a short dream. Gauguin was still awake; his arms were up on the pillow behind his head. “Hey, Gauguin,” I said. “You might be a horse, but I’m an iguana.”
“Oh, Nell, you are bananas,” he said.
“No, really. I dreamed I was an iguana, just now. I’m an iguana!” Gauguin laughed and I hit him.
Gauguin began to make whinnying noises like a horse. I felt his hot breath on my neck. This horse began to make love to his iguana. His iguana lifted her short green iridescent front legs over the horse’s shoulder. We turned over each other as I closed my eyes. Horse and iguana. Horse of ribs and hanging flesh, old horse rolling in bed with the sharp fast body of iguana. Above us was a waterfall. Egrets hung from trees like white gardenias. Bougainvillaea were draped over the branches of a magnolia tree. What country were we in? Horse and iguana didn’t care about country. We felt the sun on our backs, and we slithered over rocks as we joined our juices together near a shallow wide river, flowing over sand embankments.
11
“I ’M THINKING OF going backpacking alone in the Pecos,” I told Blue to her back. She was bent over, picking spinach from our garden.
She stood up. “Look at this, will ya?” She held up green leaves. “Right here on our own little ol’ dry land. Come, I’ll make you something fancy—eggs Florentine. Got them fresh from Henry.” She took my hand.
I sat in the window seat of her small adobe while she cooked the eggs over her fireplace. “So you’re going to the woods all by your lonesome.”
I nodded, but she
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