1st Place -At the Races by Jacquelyn Paterson, Honeoye, NY
At The Races
“You’re out,” said Doc Pritchard to Jimmy John. “She ain’t right.”
Jimmy John saw Doc Pritchard cross something off his clipboard and figured he was crossing Bamboo Curtain off the list of horses for the race.
“She’s scratched now, Jimmy John,” Doc Pritchard said. “You better take her back to the barn.” Jimmy John put his head down. Mr. Parker was goin’ to be upset.
It was 1936, a glorious Sarasota summer day with a good-sized crowd standing around the edges of the paddock watching the race horses parade by them
in the hazy sun. The years of financial hardship were starting to let up, and the crowd was eager for some horseracing excitement.
Mr. Parker had sent Jimmy John to take Bamboo Curtain to the paddock while he smoothed the ruffled feathers of the impatient owners.
Jimmy John walked over to the tree where he left his kit, threw a light sheet
Over Bamboo Curtain, picked up his kit and towel, and led the mare away from the paddock.
Ralph Sims, Bamboo Curtain’s rider, was standing under a tree chewing a toothpick and watching this exchange, wondering what was wrong. They hadn’t called for riders up yet, but Jimmy John was leading Bamboo Curtain away from the circle of parading horses, and it looked like he was heading back to the barn.
Damn, thought Ralph, there goes my ride. Again.
Jimmy John looked at Ralph as he walked by and shook his head.
“She don’ look right. Doc done kicked her out,” Jimmy John said softly. “Don’ knows why she ain’t right.”
Ralph Sims shook his head in disgust.
Jimmy John led Bamboo Curtain along the gravel path back to the barn, trying to watch her walk over his shoulder.
She don’ seem like he’ self, he thought. She should’ a’ perk up when she got to the paddock and saw the othe’ horses. This mare love to run. Run flat out eve’y chance she get. Ears pinned back, nose stuck out and runnin’ with all her heart like her soul was on fire. But every time she come to the paddock, she get sent back to the barn.
Mr. Parker goin’be mad.
Jimmy John led Bamboo Curtain into her stall, peeled off the sheet, and ran his hands over her legs. Nothin’.
“What the hell is going on with this mare?” boomed Mr. Parker over the stall half door. The owners, Mr. and Mrs. Ronnie, appeared behind him, glowering.
“We’ve had it,” Mr. Ronnie said, in Mr. Parker’s direction.” This mare is useless. We never should have bought her, and I blame you for picking out a bad horse.”
Mrs. Ronnie, lips pursed, was behind Mr. Ronnie nodding her head in agreement, the flowers on her hat flapping in concert.
“Wait a minute,” said Mr. Parker. “She’s really a fast horse. There’s something wrong. I need to figure it out.”
“You’re darn right there’s something wrong,” said Mr. Ronnie.“ You picked a bad horse. This is the last time I go to the paddock to get embarrassed in front of my friends who came to watch my horse race. This is the third time that mare has been thrown out. I want her gone.”
“Wait,” pleaded Mr. Parker. “Give her a chance. Let me figure out what’s wrong.”
“I know what’s wrong! This horse was a bad investment. I want my money back.”
Mr. Ronnie said. “You better get me what I paid for her. In the meantime, she’s on your tab.”
“Wait,” pleaded Mr. Parker. Jimmy John could hear the starter’s gun in the distance and the roar of the crowd as the race started. Mr. Ronnie pointed a finger at Bamboo Curtain, looked at Mr. Parker and said, “Gone.” He took Mrs. Ronnie by the arm and they strode away.
Mr. Parker turned back to Jimmy John and repeated, “What the hell is wrong with this horse?”
“Don’ know, boss,” said Jimmy John calmly. “You know she fast. She don’ look right, but I ain’t find nothin’.”
Mr. Parker shook his head. “I’m not paying for a truck to take her home. You’ll have to lead her,” said Mr. Parker.
“Yes Boss,” said Jimmy John. He knew there was no sense arguing when Mr. Parker was stirred up like this.
It was five miles back to the farm, a long walk for a mare that didn’t feel right.
Jimmy John looked at Bamby, his pet name for her, and noticed she was sweaty around the middle. She had peed twice since she got in the stall and drank all her water; the bucket was empty.
That was odd.
Now that Jimmy John took a closer look at her without the sheet, he noticed that her middle was big, sticking out like she was going to have a baby, but she wasn’t pregnant and hadn’t looked that way yesterday.
Why was she drinking all that water?
Jimmy John sat down to watch her for a few minutes and fell asleep against the front of the stall.
It was dark. He heard voices. For a minute he wasn’t sure where he was. His legs had fallen asleep. Bamby was sleeping standing up in the back of the stall. He could just make out the shape of her head in the dark.
“It worked,” Jimmy John heard a male voice say as he walked by the front of the stall. “I got to the hay again and snuck in the water.”
A second voice said, “We would have been screwed with that mare in the race.”
“Don’t worry,” the first
voice said. “They don’t know what’s going on.”
“Good,” said the second voice as it faded into the distance. A few minutes later Jimmy John heard an old truck fire up and pull away.
Jimmy John recognized both voices.
He sat still for another ten minutes until he was sure they were gone and no one else was around. Got to the hay. What did That mean?
He spoke to Bamby so as not to startle her when he got up. It took a few minutes for his legs to wake up, but once they did, he rose to his feet and looked outside.
No one was in sight. There was almost a full moon, enough to see that the race grounds were empty.
Jimmy John hooked a lead rope to Bamby’s halter and started the long walk home.
She stopped to pee twice on the way home.
Jimmy John was starting to form a theory.
The next day, Bamby seemed more like herself, streaking a round the pasture and challenging the other horses to play.
A few days later, Ralph Sims was due to work a three-year-old on the farm. When Jimmy John saw Ralph, he headed over to talk to him.
“What’s wrong with that Bamboo Curtain mare?” asked Ralph.
“She been wate’logged,” said Jimmy John.
“I know you know better than to give her water before a race. How did she get waterlogged?” asked Ralph.
“Oh,” said Jimmy John, “I think she had a little bitty he’p.”
Ralph whistled softly.
“Does Parker know?” asked Ralph.
“Nope,” said Jimmy John.
“You gonna tell him?” asked Ralph.
“I got an idea,” said Jimmy John. He spent the next ten minutes explaining his plan to Ralph.
It took a lot of talking, but two weeks later Ralph had convinced Mr. Parker to give Bamboo Curtain one more try at the next race meet in the interest of getting her sold.
Jimmy arrived at the race meet grounds the day before the race to allow Bamby to settle in. He prepared her stall and generally made his presence known until late afternoon, when he made a point of leaving.
After dark, he crept back and slept in the front of her stall.
About 3 am, someone lobbed an arm load of hay into Bamby’s stall.
Jimmy John waited for the footsteps to retreat and then touched the hay; it was wet and felt gritty. He smelled the grit and touched it to his tongue, salt. He removed the hay and replaced it with one flake of clean hay.
Jimmy John moved into the empty stall next door to Bamby.
At 3:30, someone entered Bamby’s stall and filled her bucket with water.
When the footsteps retreated, Jimmy John went into the stall and emptied the bucket, then returned to the stall next door.
At 4, someone filled Bamby’s water bucket again.
When the coast was clear, Jimmy John emptied the bucket again.
At 7, Jimmy John stood up in the stall next door like he had been in there cleaning, wheeled the cart out and checked on Bamby. No swollen stomach.
The race was set to go off at 10 am.
Jimmy John spent the morning grooming Bamby and staying within sight of the stall.
When a couple of competitors wandered by and asked how Bamby was doing, Jimmy John nodded and calmly answered, “She mighty fine.”
About 9:30, Jimmy John tacked up Bamboo Curtain and led her over to parade around the paddock before the race.
Doc Pritchard watched her closely when she entered the paddock, prancing with her head held high, kicking out every now and then in a display of good spirits.
“Looks good,” said Doc Pritchard with a nod.
Jimmy John smiled and nodded to Ralph Sims, who nodded back.
Jimmy John led Bamboo Curtain around the paddock until Doc Pritchard yelled, “Riders up.”
Mr. Parker stepped up and gave Ralph Sims a leg up onto the mare’s back.
“All set?” Mr. Parker asked Jimmy John with a wink.
“All set, Boss,” Jimmy John said, “and I hopes you bet a packet on her.”
“Heck, I got your wages on her and the price to buy her,” Mr. Parker said with a smile.
Jimmy John could hardly control Bamboo Curtain while leading her up to the starting line. When Ralph nodded, he let go.
There were six horses in the race. Their toughest competition was a big bay stallion named Charger, who had been favored to win lately. He was often featured before the race in the middle of the paddock as the favorite.
Charger’s groom, Chester, had the horse’s mane and tail braided, all spit-
and- polished for the race.
Charger’s owner was a lawyer who owned several race horses and used the race community to troll for clients for his legal practice. The lawyer expected to win. But he was looking pretty worried, pointing at Bamboo Curtain and elbowing his trainer.
Ralph could barely hold Bamboo Curtain at the starting line.
It took a few minutes to get all the horses pointed in the same direction in something that resembled a line.
The starter’s gun fired and the horses became a blur of pounding horseflesh and
thundering hooves.
Once the horses were off, the crowd cheered and rushed to the fence along the side of the race course.
The race was a full two miles over a huge turf field on the side of a gently sloping hill. It took two laps of the course to complete the race. The finish line was in front of the crowd.
Ralph had a fight on his hands to keep Bamboo Curtain under control.
Charger had gone straight to the front of the field, as was his preference.
The first quarter of the race was riders jockeying their horses to find the ideal position while they ate up the ground.
Bamboo Curtain held to fourth place as they swept by the cheering crowd halfway through the race.
Once they were past the crowd, Ralph started moving Bamboo Curtain up in position. No one expected any challenge from Bamboo Curtain, so it was with surprise that the other jockeys noticed Bamboo Curtain passing them.
Three-quarters of the way through the race, Bamboo Curtain was right on Charger’s heels. His jockey peeked under his arm and was shocked to see that the horse gaining on him was the mare who wasn’t supposed to be there.
Charger’s rider went for the whip, but it was too late. Bamboo Curtain was finally free to run to her heart’s content and she wasn’t going to be stopped.
Bamboo Curtain dug in hard and 100 feet before the finish line she pulled ahead of Charger. She held the lead and won the race, to the roar of the crowd.
Jimmy John was jumping up and down when Ralph finally got Bamboo Curtain slowed down enough to turn around and head back to the center of the paddock for the award ceremony.
Once Bamboo Curtain was in the paddock, Mr. Parker could barely contain himself and kept slapping Ralph on the leg and saying, “Good job, good job.”
The crowd pressed closer to congratulate Mr. Parker.
Mr. Parker sent Jimmy John to collect his winnings.
As Jimmy John returned with the money and gave it to Mr. Parker, they were approached by Mr. and Mrs. Ronnie, all smiles and proud.
“That’s our girl,” said Mr. Ronnie, trying to get near the excited and sweaty horse to pat her neck.
“No. Actually, she isn’t,” said Mr. Parker. “Remember when you insisted I get rid of her? She was a bad horse. I did a bad job picking her out. I gave you a deposit on her then, and here is the rest of the money.”
Mr. Parker pushed a wad of bills into Mr. Ronnie’s hand and turned to walk away.
“Wait,” said Mr. Ronnie, “We don’t want to sell her after all.”
“Too late,” Mr. Parker said over his shoulder.
“Wait,” said Mr. Ronnie. “Can we buy her back? At a higher price, of course, and she stays in your barn?”
“She’s not for sale,” Mr. Parker said.
“Wait. We made a mistake,” Mr. Ronnie said.
“You were right. She is a good horse.”
Mrs. Ronnie stood behind her husband nodding, flowers bobbing.
Mr. Parker hesitated. Mr. Ronnie finally convinced Mr. Parker to have a drink and discuss the possibility of selling the mare back to Mr. Ronnie.
Jimmy John led Bamby back to the barn, bathed and bandaged her, and put her in her stall. He stood at the stall door and fed her carrots, telling her what a good girl she was, and accepting congratulations from the racegoers walking by. There was no question that Bamboo Curtain was a star, and now everyone knew it.
Charger’s trainer and groom were strangely absent from the next couple of race meets, recovering from an accidental fall from a hay mow and being kicked by a horse . . .or so they said.