The Horse Healer Read Online Free PDF

came over her face.
    â€œWell, come in then, boy!” She opened the door and stepped aside to let him through.
    Diego took the bridle from Sabba and felt nauseated as he entered. A mixed scent of cats and urine impregnated the interior. He counted some twenty cats of different colors and ages scattered around the modest dwelling. Some stared at him, without showing much interest.
    The woman walked toward the stove and began to stir a cauldron. Diego didn’t manage to see what it was.
    â€œMa’am, I won’t beat around the bush. I’m hungry, and when I smelled your stew …”
    He took the bridle from his coat and showed it to her.
    â€œI’ll give you this piece of excellent leather. It’s got fine embossing and it’s barely been used. At the least it’s worth ten denarii.”
    The woman grimaced—she’d imagined she would see cash—but in an instant, she had snatched the bridle away. She assayed its quality and, between her teeth, uttered the words: “It’ll do.”
    She grabbed her skirt to wipe out an earthenware bowl and filled it with the contents of the pot, then she left it atop a table beside the fire. Diego pushed a stool over and sat down to eat eagerly.
    â€œYou’re not eating?”
    â€œI will later, when my son comes home.”
    Generous chunks of meat and lots of vegetables floated in the dense broth. Despite the bad impression the place had given him at first, this had convinced him: Finally, he had made a good decision.
    â€œIt’s very tasty,” he said, wetting a piece of black bread and gulping it down with delight. “What does your son do?”
    The women grunted.
    â€œYou talk too much! I’ve never liked people who carry on asking one thing after another, I don’t like that, not at all.” She waved her arms to emphasize her point.
    â€œSorry. I wasn’t trying to bother you.”
    Diego thought that perhaps she was mad, and he turned his attention to the meal he was savoring.
    â€œMy son is a menial,” she announced.
    Recalling her previous reaction, Diego doubted whether he should ask what exactly her son’s job consisted of. She guessed what he was thinking and explained.
    â€œHe has a donkey that he loads with clay pots. He fills them with water in the river and then he sells it through the streets of the city.” She waved her filthy rag demonstratively, as though it were a fine silken cloth. She covered her face with it, in imitation of a noblewoman. “The ladies he serves are so delicate, they can’t even go down to the river to get their own water.”
    â€œThat’s better for your son’s business.”
    In a flash, Diego had an idea that gave him hope.
    â€œWhere can someone buy those clay pots?” The job seemed simple and Sabba was far stronger than any donkey.
    The woman leaned into his back so that he felt her breath on the nape of his neck. She was checking to see how much of his meal he had left. Her presence annoyed him, but Diego’s hunger took priority over any discomfort, and he concentrated again on his stew, sopping up the very last drops with his bread.
    â€œNo one can sell water without permits, and it’s been years since they’ve issued any. There’s no room for any more commerce here!” With obvious rage, she spit into the fire.
    Diego understood the woman’s motives and decided to find out about purchasing pots elsewhere. He showed her his empty bowl in case she might fill it up again.
    â€œYou pay me with some filthy old leather and to top it off, you come back for seconds.” She gave an exaggerated laugh. “Go on, get out, or you really will make me angry.”
    She cleared off the table, taking the empty bowl, and looked at him shamelessly, waiting for him to stand. Diego got up and left the house. He untied Sabba, secreting away a leather cord with which he could rig up another bridle.
    When