Shy horse

 
___________________________________________________________

And if a man would see 
That horse’s face enchanting
He would then tear out his tongue enfeebled, and gave it to that horse. If truth be told to have a tongue that horse was worth.
  Nikolay Zabolozky



It happened the same day as we arranged a bicycle tour to suburbs for us. By chance we’ve found out about that miraculous spring on the very edge of the town. Martha was eager to visit the place which everybody new, except us. 
Weird but we haven’t heard about that place before. We were sure that we knew neighborhoods well, but no. Of course I was only glad to go there and we planed our route. 
The way there was pure pleasure. (Cherry tries and peaches, apricots and plums, barberries and apple tries were blooming), sun, after its winter vacation was giving out warmth. Further we were moving away from the centre – quieter it was becoming and air purer. But people were living there mainly in a village-like way: by the river bank were noticeable fat cow’s, sheep’s and goat’s herds. Gees and little dogs were quarreling and local inhabitants making their houses and vegetable gardens ready for spring season. 
When we turned to one of those tiny streets we’d got confused a bit with the names and decided that mighty reached our destination. In the house №79 lives a known to us woman who agreed to show us that place. Thus, seeing a house with the same number we went into a pleasant country inner yard and knocked on. Through the glassed front door we’d seen an old man (must had been somebody’s granny). 
- Good day, granddad! We need Lyudmila? – An old man, still sleepy, goggled at us and started pulling out the door bolt. That was a crutch, and we smiled saying wow! Granddad smiled at us as well and replied: English lock. What, haven’t seen this? Repeat please who are you looking for?
- We need Lyudmila. She is probably your daughter?
- Here is no Lyudmila. 
- Weird but we were told “Spring’s street 79”.
- Oh! You’ve gone astray! You’ve just passed this street. There behind, first turn to right. 
- Thanks a lot granddad! Sorry for disturbance. 
- Oh, it is nothing lads. At least I wrinkled my tongue. I haven’t been talking to anybody for three days. 
- Sorry once again and thanks granddad. 
- By lads and good luck. 
- As we were riding by Spring’s street we were scrutinizing houses and huts. All without exception. I always liked to examine people’s houses, think about their lives. But my curiosity was nothing in comparison with Martha’s mania. She was absorbing each detail with such a hunger in her eyes and flames of curiosity for people’s lives. 
Once she confessed that so often she just can’t keep herself in her arms and not to spy through windows for what is happening inside those houses, especially in the evening and night time. So, just to leave a mystery behind she needed to put a superhuman effort. 
But it was a daylight time then and to stare openly at private life behind fences and windows was not convenient. This her passion might resulted deplorably. Martha was so excited that she didn’t even notice the car approaching her on a high speed. Thanks God the story ended without bad consequences – Martha got an emotional shock and became more attentive. 
In a tiny house 79 by the Spring’s street we had finally caught Lyudmila – little, slender and energetic woman about forty five years old. Lyuda is a type of housekeeper by nature. From morning till evening she is now in her kitchen garden, otherwise she is pottering with domestic animals or cultivating her lovely flower beds. Often selling flowers from her own garden on the local market. 
Lyudmila was driving ahead showing the right way and they started that endless conversation with Martha about window gardening. I was examining approaching cyclists at that time, who were loaded with different water cans filled up. I guessed that they were carrying curative water from that spring. 
The street ended and there as far as eye could see sprawled hilly fields, pastures, and only farer, so close to horizon were stretching dark stripes of forests. To the spring road was descending down the hill. It was covered with crashed stone lately, as Lyudmila told us, it was done to hide away mud when it’s raining. “Before these times people didn’t even know, and they didn’t feel the need in this curative spring. And now, everybody can scoop some,” – continued Lyudmila. 
Truly – heaps of people now came together to this watering place. All of them were laughing, talking around, and the whole atmosphere there was unique, heeling due to the spring. 
We had waited until our turn and ladled out, in comparison with others, quite little from that natural source. In all – couple of bottles per bag. 
On the hillock that was upon the spring stood in a row an army of young trees. They say there will be a new park. 
It was getting dark, we had already new the rout to this place on the very edge of the city and being admired by a beauty of that scenery in the end, inspiration from the atmosphere, we turned on back way. 
Everyday from morning till deep evening people go to the spring. They believe in a curative power however, but others are trivially greedy. Not without this vice maybe. 
We brought our gratefulness to Lyuda and pushed on wheels. Then, after some time we slowed down a bit viewing old, with slanting walls went down until window-sill in the ground houses of the past epoch. Something familiar and simple was talking from inside of them, warm and cozy, covered with dense tiny grass forest. 
One of those houses, must be the oldest one with a straw roof and freshly painted in white windows and doors, literary drove Martha almost crazy. She stopped, stood steadily being touched by its shapes and started talking about its natural, familiar to artist beauty. 
- Can you feel what a creative explosion must come to birth inside artist’s soul in these places? In this home house? Do you understand what a happiness it is to live in such a palace? 
- Yeah, of course Martha! You know well, I understand everything, - said I being pleased by delicateness of her feelings. 
We mighty entered the city and nothing totally left to reach our home when we were walking with bikes in our hands. We turned to a well known street and viewed that… 
Towards us was stepping a horse, yoked in carriage. It was driven by a man who was dressed in a kind of jersey and had a dingy hat on his head. His severe face was swarthy, weather-beaten and tired. 
The horse had noticed our presence and his piercing gaze made my heart trembling. Wards from a poem came to mind: “The horse’s face enchanting…” I felt myself like I had seen happiness but he continued walking and still looking at us, kind and wise. I turned my face to Martha in a moment and said: “look Martha – “The horse’s face enchanting!” He had already stood in line with us and when he heard those words addressed to him, he shut his eyes softly, turned away his face a bit and lowered his head. 
- He…he has gotten shy! Did you see? Oh, beautiful, wise horse! – exclaimed, delighted to the tips of her hair, Martha. 
I couldn’t utter a word, so amazed I was by his eyes. I felt as if everything disappeared in that moment – the spring and old huts, and granddad with an English lock, all. 
Words arose again and I knew for sure those were his words, horses: “…so, why you are embarrassing me? What people will say about you? They’ll think that you are not in your mind. But, anyway, thanks, you are kind people, I wish you all good”. 
I don’t know, maybe we might seam insane to somebody but I know for sure that a man who haven’t experienced a miracle – really unhappy one. And I feel sorry for him, sincerely sorry for his grey life. 
I hope, oh enchanting horse that your carriage has became a bit easier to coupe with after our meeting. But my life’s got a bit of your magic, so, from now and forever it will be delighted.