Free Dreams of a Dancing Horse by Dandi Daley Mackall Page A

later, he returns wearing a large Mexican dancing hat on his head. I recall seeing—well, knocking over—a hat stand with hats just like this one yesterday. Without a glance my way, he goes to his paint case and pulls out a tool of some sort. Then he pokes holes in the top of his new hat.
    I watch as Jonathan marches straight for me and sticks the hat on top of my head so my ears poke through. “There you go, Fella,” he says. “No one will recognize you now. Come on out.”
    I am quite sure this hat looks ridiculous. But I do as I’m asked and tiptoe out into the sunlight. I am pleasantly surprised when the sun doesn’t strike my eyes. I may look silly, but the hat does provide shelter, as well as a disguise.
    A woman with a basket on her head stops at Jonathan’s booth and stares up at me. I don’t recognize her from yesterday. “Jonathan, who’s this, then? You go out and get yourself a horse? Why, whatever for?”
    â€œUh … he’s … my new partner,” Jonathan explains.
    â€œIs he now?” she replies before moving along.
    â€œLucky for you, Fella,” he says, “almost no one ever stops by my artist’s stall to look at my paintings. Not so lucky for me, though.”
    â€œThat’s why I’m here,” I say, knowing he can’t understand me.
    What I’m planning will take a good deal of courage. I wait around until the market is busier with people buying and selling. Then while Jonathan sets up his booth, I wander out into the main aisle.
    There’s no music here, so I must imagine my own. I think of my mother’s song, and soon I can hear it in my head: Dance, dance, dance, Federico!
    And I do. I sway and twist. I rear to my haunches and do a two-step shuffle.
    â€œWill you look at that?” somebody shouts.
    â€œWilma, you’re not going to believe this!”
    â€œWell, I’ll be a monkey’s uncle!”
    â€œHey! Come over here, everybody!”
    â€œIsn’t that the funniest thing you’ve ever seen?”
    â€œI don’t think it’s funny. He’s pretty good. He’s really dancing!”
    I try to shut out the human voices and listen to the song in my heart.
    The voice of a donkey breaks through. “Big deal. So you can dance. How’d you like to pull what I’m pulling, you big lug?”
    I shut out animal voices as well. Doing one final twirl, I land on my hooves and open my eyes.
    Applause breaks out all over the marketplace. Molly is standing front row center, leading the cheering. “Yay, Fella! Great job!”
    The little boy from yesterday comes right up to me. Before I can pull my head away, he peeks under my hat. “Hey, I know this horse! Aren’t you the one who—”
    But I cut off his words as I kneel on all fours and nod for him to climb aboard.
    The boy turns to a man who appears to be his father. “I want to ride! I want to ride the dancing horse!” he cries.
    â€œI don’t know, son,” the man says. He turns to Jonathan, who is now standing beside Molly. “Is this horse safe to ride?”
    â€œSafe and comfortable,” he answers.
    â€œHow much for a little ride?” the man asks.
    Jonathan starts to answer. “Oh, I don’t think—”
    â€œFifty cents,” Molly shouts.
    â€œThat’s pretty steep,” the man says.
    â€œI want to ride the horsey! I want to ride the horsey!” The boy begins to wail.
    â€œAll right, all right, Matthew,” says his father. He hands Molly fifty cents.
    I walk the boy all over the marketplace. He’s a terrible rider, kicking his legs and trying to bounce. But even he can’t fall off my broad back. I keep it slow and steady until we’re back at Jonathan’s art stand.
    The boy’s father is waiting there, but I move closer to Jonathan’s canvases. I get as close as I can to the paints and act as if I’m posing