They came to a closed stall. The veterinarian pulled back the bolt and opened the upper section of the door. The horse inside shied away and then quieted, standing sideways, watching them distrustfully with a dark eye. It was significantly larger than the others they’d visited.
“Don Santiago bought Slender last summer while I was on vacation. He didn’t tell me how much the horse cost, but I’m sure it was far more than the animal was worth, at least as a racehorse. We registered him in two races but had to withdraw. Don álvaro got very annoyed and told us not to buy any others unless I vetted them first. Don Santiago doesn’t want to admit he made a mistake, so he keeps me examining the horse, trying different anti-inflammatory treatments, massages, even ice packs, as if the defect were an injury that could be cured. Slender’s a good horse; maybe a bit high strung, but that’s typical of such animals. He tolerates a jockey, but he’s a disaster as a racehorse. A precious but expensive disaster.”
The vet shut the stall door and they went back to the stable entrance.
“I understand there was some talk of buying a mare.”
“Yes, that’s right. I proposed buying a Spanish mare. I put don Santiago in contact with a breeder I know, and we were close to closing the deal. But the mare is pregnant now, and we won’t be able to carry out the transaction until after she’s foaled. We might buy both the mare and her colt. We’ll have to see.”
“How much was the breeder asking for the mare?”
“Well, there’s always a difference between the asking price and the deal that’s struck, but I think we could get her for maybe forty thousand euros. The colt is another matter. The price for the package could go up if the colt looks good, or it could go down; the negotiation will have to take into account the fact that it’ll be months before the mare will be available.”
“Did Santiago recently mention the opportunity of buying another racehorse? A week ago, more or less?”
The vet seemed surprised. “Another racehorse? No, and I doubt he’ll want to, considering what happened with Slender. Why do you ask?”
“Santiago told me that a few days ago he was offered a top-of-the-line horse, but the deal had to be concluded quickly.”
“That may be, but I doubt it. Or at least, no one mentioned it to me. No, I don’t believe don Santiago has gone alone to see a horse. Especially not if the deal had to be concluded quickly. He knew perfectly well there wasn’t a chance in the world don álvaro would agree unless I’d already certified the animal.” He pondered for a moment. “Maybe if the seller was in such a rush, another buyer snapped it up before he could call me in.”
A lateral corridor intersected with the main walkway, and Manuel stopped when he heard barking coming from one side.
“Those are the hunting dogs. They get excited when they hear unfamiliar voices. Would you like to see them?”
Manuel strolled past the kennels where dogs were leaping against the bars, yelping and whining. He put a hand out for them to sniff. Manuel and the vet reached the end of the passageway and the last enclosure, where a small mongrel peered out at them from the depths of its hay-strewn cage. The mutt was a pitiful sight. It trembled visibly, shaking with fear.
“And this little fellow is Café. The poor mutt pretty much stands out among the rest of the pack.”
“Café?”
“álvaro brought him here a year ago. Said he found the little fellow along the highway. The dog was lucky, because he wouldn’t have lasted long at the animal shelter.”
The veterinarian opened the cage. “Come on, Café! Don’t be shy, little guy.”
Very slowly and with much nervous licking of lips, the little animal crept up to them.
“I suspect someone beat him a lot, judging from his behavior. álvaro was the only one who’d gained his confidence.”
Manuel held his hand out and kept it still. The tiny creature sidled closer and finally placed his head beneath Manuel’s palm. “What’s wrong with his back legs?”
The vet shrugged. “Lots. Malnutrition for one; he’s been stunted since birth, although he’s doing better now. I’d say he’s two years old, maybe three, and was probably a mess well before he got here. He’s much better now; you should have seen him when álvaro brought him in.”
The animal lifted his head, and those dark watery eyes regarded and evaluated him. Manuel saw why álvaro had brought the creature home. Maybe there was hope yet. “You little miracle,” he whispered.
“Sorry, what did you say?” The man had gone back almost to the far end of the passage. Perhaps he was impatient to leave.
Manuel made no move to quit the place. “Just one more question . . . did you see álvaro the day he died?”
The man nodded. “About noon, as I was leaving.”
“Did you happen to discuss anything? Maybe the horses or Santiago?”
“No, he just asked me about Café.”
Manuel nodded without looking up from the dog. “Thanks very much. I’m sorry to have detained you.”
“It’s been a pleasure. My phone number’s on the board at the entrance. Don’t hesitate to call. About anything at all.” The vet started toward the main passage but paused. “Just one thing. Please make sure Café’s pen is very firmly latched. Don Santiago was very annoyed the one time he saw the dog running loose.”
Silence settled over the stables. Nothing was to be heard other than the weary sounds of a late summer afternoon, the snuffling breath of the horses, and the creaks and pops as their muscular bodies stirred.
“Café,” Manuel murmured. The dog’s tail wagged cautiously, as if reluctant to become too excited. “You don’t know it, but you’re a total surprise.” He kept his voice low for his first conversation with a canine. “Want to take a walk?”
Manuel walked toward the exit, looking back each step of the way to be sure the little animal was following. As he stood at the stable trying to decide which way to go, a red Nissan SUV turned into the main driveway, the same vehicle that had passed him the previous afternoon. Again today the man behind the wheel seemed startled to see him. The Nissan slowed, passed him, and then pulled over.
Manuel waited expectantly, checking behind to make sure the dog was still there. The man got out and walked up to Manuel with his hand held out.
“Don Manuel, maybe you don’t remember me, but we saw one another at the funeral. I’m Daniel Mosquera, the manager of the winery, and I’ve been looking for a chance to say hello. Yesterday I thought I saw you . . . and, well . . .” The man finally let go of his hand. “I was surprised, that’s all, because don Santiago said you were leaving. And the sight of you yesterday . . . well, what can I say? It was a surprise!”
He took Manuel’s hand again and shook it vigorously, grasping Manuel’s forearm with his other hand.
Manuel was taken aback by the wine expert’s enthusiasm. The man spoke again. “I’m really happy you’re still in these parts,” he said in farewell. He took a couple of steps toward his car and then looked back. “Excuse my asking, but do you plan to stay?”
Manuel appreciated frank talk. “For the time being.” He smiled.
The winery manager wrinkled his brow, obviously trying to decide something. He shook his head as if dismissing a thought but immediately changed his mind. “Are you doing anything right now?”
“Nothing at all.” Manuel smiled again.
“Then come with me. Oh, wait . . . what’s your shoe size?” Once he had that information, the manager disappeared into the stables and came back with a pair of rubber boots and a bulky gray jacket equipped with a fur hood that would have suited an Eskimo. Manuel picked up the little dog and settled into the passenger seat.