Copyright © 1978. University of Ottawa Press. All rights reserved.
The Race
"I say so and your father says so—that's who says so. For the
last time, you're not riding her in any race. Not if there was a
chance of winning a thousand dollars."
"But what's the difference? Every time I ride her it's a race
anyway. At the fair there'll just be other horses."
"That's silly talk. It's not a race unless there are other
horses."
"Oh yes — Isabel always races. And I'm not going to fall off
just because people are watching."
"That's it — they don't just watch. They yell and whistle and
throw hats — and to start the race they fire a gun. She'll go crazy
— you'll never hold her. And there'll be other horses bumping
into you and other men maybe even trying to hit you —"
"How? We'll be away ahead — how are they going to bump
into us? Or hit us?"
"That's enough. A lot of good your hundred dollars will do
you if you break your neck."
"The hundred dollars is the prize. How could I win it if I
broke my neck?"
"And none of your smart aleck back talk either. You're
getting to be as big a show-off as she is."
"I suppose if she threw me right at the finish I could do both
— win and break it."
"Anyway, it's something you won't have to worry about.
She'll be in her stall and you'll be in the potato patch. Hoeing. Run
along now — that's final."
Of course it was no such thing. After a good show of
resistance, stretched out nearly a week, they finally said I could
Ross, Sinclair. The Race and Other Stories by Sinclair Ross, edited by Lorraine McMullen,
University of Ottawa Press, 1978. ProQuest Ebook Central, http://ebookcentral.proquest.com/lib/umainz/detail.action?docI
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112
THE RACE AND OTHER STORIES
go to the fair; and since it was a bad year and they themselves
were staying at home, they even said I could go on Isabel. "But
mind what your father's telling you. You tie her up when you get
to town and you keep her tied up."
"Anyway, it's seven miles," my father said, "so she'll be in no
shape to race when she gets there.... I don't know why you're so
set on going. I've told you already — a dollar's all you're going to
get to spend."
Copyright © 1978. University of Ottawa Press. All rights reserved.
Consent? I wasn't sure. They had done it before, threatened
hair-raising punishment if I ever dared ride Isabel and then,
when finally I disobeyed, looked relieved, as if all along they had
been secretly ashamed of me.
Not that it mattered. Consent or not, I was riding her. I
needed the hundred dollars. With the crop shrivelling up it was
the only way. My father might confiscate it — to show his
authority, bring me down to whippersnapper size — but only
temporarily. My mother would have the final say.
Luck was with me: it clouded up the morning of the race
and there was a brief, drenching shower. (At the breakfast table,
as the first drops spattered on the windows, we had a clash of
prayers: they wanted rain to save the crop and I wanted sun to
save the race. Mine got through.) The rain left the air fresh and
cool and she covered the seven miles at an easy canter, without so
much as working up a sweat.
I wasn't in favour of the canter but there was no holding her.
With a fling of her head she gave it to me straight what she
thought of fussy little boys who always listened to their mammas.
The road, I persisted, was muddy and she'd be tired before we
got there; she snorted back the rain had barely been enough to
lay the dust. In any case, it was too far to walk. She wanted to get
there and see what was going on.
"I know you'll win all right. It's just I'd like it to be an easy
win. I don't want you finishing in a lather and having people say
you had to work for it."
This time she let a bit of froth fly back to catch me in the eye
— don't worry, I won't disgrace you — but mollified, none the
less, settled to a gentle, rocking-horse lope. At the same time
there was a warning: better not try to hold her in. If she had to
fight she'd be in a lather before the race.
Ross, Sinclair. The Race and Other Stories by Sinclair Ross, edited by Lorraine McMullen,
University of Ottawa Press, 1978. ProQuest Ebook Central, http://ebookcentral.proquest.com/lib/umainz/detail.action?docI
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THE RACE
113
She also hoped I wouldn't disgrace her. Carry yourself with
assurance; try to sit up straight. Whatever you do, don't gawk or
let your mouth hang open. After all, she had a reputation to
think about: an outlaw, very dangerous. She didn't want people
saying it needed only a little boy — a skinny, scrawny-looking
one at that — to handle her. Another splash! Better not try
putting on airs, either, unless your want to be sent flying. Right
in front of everybody — and this time so it hurts. . . .There was a
good chance, of course, she'd send me flying anyway —just for
the hell of it.
We arrived. The man at the gate said, "A dollar," and
straightening indignantly I said, "What for?"
"To get in — what do you think what for? Horse and rider
one dollar."
I hesitated a moment, awed by his threatening look and at
the same time outraged by the injustice — after all, weren't we
part of their fair, performers? — and then, starting to dig in my
pocket, could find only ninety cents.
The man got sarcastic; Isabel got furious. No doubt about it,
she was accustomed to escorts who paid their way with style and
flourish. She stamped and gnashed the bit a moment — a dozen
pairs of curious eyes on her while her rider fished for a dime —
and then, the simplest way out of an unfortunate situation,
swung her head round and sniffed my shoe in bland surprise.
Who was it? How had he got there? Not that it mattered — there
were so many today who didn't know their place. Best, perhaps,
just to ignore him.
But inside the fair grounds, after I had finally found the
missing dime, she made it up to me. All the easy things that
looked dangerous: flinging her head up and baring her teeth;
giving a scandalized snort and skittering sideways at the sight of
a red-headed woman in a purple dress; glaring with coal-hot
eyes through a forelock in outlaw disarray; rearing to slash at
invisible challengers and then to trumpet a victory neigh that for
seconds made the fair stand still. All for me, to make them stare
and say, "Did you ever now —just like she was a bicycle! What
kind of mother do you suppose he has? He can't be more than
thirteen!"
Even the band struck up, as if they had been watching too
and appreciated that music was our due. A march, and a good
Ross, Sinclair. The Race and Other Stories by Sinclair Ross, edited by Lorraine McMullen,
University of Ottawa Press, 1978. ProQuest Ebook Central, http://ebookcentral.proquest.com/lib/umainz/detail.action?docI
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114
THE RACE AND OTHER STORIES
one. Clang and bumph and sparkle — they had been practising.
It brought out the sun and waved the flags and put four-four
allegro in everybody's shoes.
Another snort, a twitch of the ears: we're doing fine but now
you're sitting too straight. Try and relax a little — loosen up your
shoulders. That's it — and whatever you do don't smile.
What on earth, I wondered, made her think I might!
A little farther on — she took me there; she knew her way
around fairs — a man was sitting at a wooden table in the shade
of a soft-drink stand. The office — where you entered for the
race. She reared again as I made a show of reining her to a halt
and came down stuttering her heels dangerously. Another
snort, frothy and mild this time, ears pricked forward as if the
soft-drink stand might also be selling oats, and then — a
professional performance, polished, timed to the second —
thrust her nose out towards the man sitting at the table with an
expression of amiable curiosity.
"We'd like to enter for the race," I said, politely and firmly.
"The one that pays a hundred dollars."
The man stood up and came towards us. Even keeping my
eyes fixed on him, I could feel the whole fair starting to crowd
around.
"Who's we?"
Voice and eyes hard, knowing; the face a solid frown. A
front, I told myself swiftly—just doesn't want to show that he's
impressed.
"The mare and I. We came alone."
He walked slowly around us while I did my best to look
indifferent and at ease. "Not bad," he said at last, coming back to
where he had started and reaching out familiarly to scratch her
between the ears. "How old are you?"
"Thirteen — thirteen past. But I ride her everywhere — to
school — every Saturday to town.. . . Have you never seen me?"
Fear that my age might disqualify me put a splutter in my
voice, and with a sharp tap of her foot Isabel signalled silence.
"I don't know. I was watching you ride in from the gate and
if that's the way she's going to carry on out on the track—"
"Oh no — she's raced before — lots of times. There's
nothing to worry about."
Ross, Sinclair. The Race and Other Stories by Sinclair Ross, edited by Lorraine McMullen,
University of Ottawa Press, 1978. ProQuest Ebook Central, http://ebookcentral.proquest.com/lib/umainz/detail.action?docI
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THE RACE
115
Not looking at the crowd made it bigger. It listened
attentively, in complete silence, and everything I said seemed to
be picked up as it came off my lips and then played back like
somebody else's voice, magnified a hundred times.
"Does she act mean like that often?"
"You don't understand — she wasn't acting mean. The band
and everything — it just made her feel good."
"Well, it looked to me a lot more like acting mean than just
feeling good. Does she ever throw you?"
"Only when she wants to."
The crowd pondered this a moment. Isabel declared
afterwards they even stopped eating hot dogs and cones. Then,
cautiously, the man said, "And you don't think she might want to
now?"
"When she's racing? Oh no, she'll want to win."
He reached out absently and scratched her between the
ears, then took his hand back and scratched his own chin. "I still
think you're pretty young. Does your father know?"
I hesitated a moment, then spluttered again. "Of course —
he even helped me saddle her. My mother too —"
Isabel gave an approving cock of her head and simultaneously tapped her foot again. In the circumstances the lie
itself was all right, but I was making a terrible mess of it. "He gave
me a dollar to spend and if I'd slipped away without telling him
he couldn't have done that — now could he?"
The crowd pondered this too. The man's eyes narrowed,
still suspicious, and in anticipation of a demand for proof I said,
"They took it away from me at the gate just now. The whole
dollar —just to get in."
"You mean you paid your dollar and now you're broke?"
"That's right. The man said horse and rider one dollar."
"Well, that takes care of that!" Relaxing, a sudden relieved
look on his face, he took a deep breath and wiped his neck and
forehead with his handkerchief. "Sorry to disappoint you but
you can't ride if you're broke. The entry fee is five dollars."
"I didn't know, but it doesn't matter." Easy — the solution so
obvious I scarcely felt the flash of panic. "You can take it out of
the hundred — afterwards."
Ross, Sinclair. The Race and Other Stories by Sinclair Ross, edited by Lorraine McMullen,
University of Ottawa Press, 1978. ProQuest Ebook Central, http://ebookcentral.proquest.com/lib/umainz/detail.action?docI
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116
THE RACE AND OTHER STORIES
"Come again?"
"When we win —just give us ninety-five."
Silence for a second or two; then hoots and howls of
laughter. Outraged, Isabel spun round with a threat of heels to
clear a respectful distance, then for good measure snapped at a
lank, loose-jawed youth whose hoot had been particularly
offensive. He put his hand to his face, lost the cone he was eating,
and staggered back ignominiously into the crowd. Silence
restored and status re-established, she faced the man in charge
again, muzzle cajoling, neck still arched and proud.
The man scratched again, her ears, his chin, and she edged
forward a little to nudge his elbow. He knew horses, and she
knew men. There was an uncertain moment, his tongue running
over his lips; then he said firmly, "Sorry, we can't do it that way.
There are seven other entries, and everybody thinks his horse
has a good chance too."
"But just look at her — she'd have to try to lose. It would be
harder than winning."
"I know just how you feel and I wish I could help." His eyes
ran over her admiringly and I saw their corners take on a
conspiratorial pucker. But catching himself in time, turning
back to the table and giving his pants a hitch, "Anyway, you're on
the young side. There'll be another race next year — and next
year I'm sure you'll win."
"Hold it!"
A short, red-faced man with an enormous belly pushed
forward, a five-dollar bill in his hand. "If he believes that much
in his horse he deserves to be staked. . . . There you are, young
fellow — you're in. And I'm sure you'll win this year."
Of course we did — by three lengths, not even trying— and
afterward, when I paid the stranger his five dollars and
explained we had raced because I needed the money for music
lessons, he told me he was a musician too. "There's a big dance
tonight — everybody in for the fair. If you're not in too much of
a hurry to get home, why don't you drop around and hear us?
Just tell them at the door you're a friend of Larry Turnbull —
you won't have to pay. And who knows? Some day I may have a
job for you?"
Ross, Sinclair. The Race and Other Stories by Sinclair Ross, edited by Lorraine McMullen,
University of Ottawa Press, 1978. ProQuest Ebook Central, http://ebookcentral.proquest.com/lib/umainz/detail.action?docI
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THE RACE
117
Copyright © 1978. University of Ottawa Press. All rights reserved.
"I'll have to phone," I told him, "and talk it over with my
mother. She gave me strict orders, you see, not to race. But since
it's over and we've got the money. . . ."
So far as my mother was concerned, I simply informed her I
was staying in for the dance — with ninety-five dollars in your
pocket and you don't say please and may I — but I did talk it over
with Isabel.
She agreed that the man himself was all right. Obviously a
drinker — the smell and the belly and the red face — but he rang
true. A good heart. As for the music — that was something for
me alone to decide.
Ross, Sinclair. The Race and Other Stories by Sinclair Ross, edited by Lorraine McMullen,
University of Ottawa Press, 1978. ProQuest Ebook Central, http://ebookcentral.proquest.com/lib/umainz/detail.action?docI
Created from umainz on 2021-05-21 10:43:10.
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Created from umainz on 2021-05-21 10:43:10.