Free Collected Stories by Peter Carey Page B

and I have never seen it anywhere since.
    Yesterday I wrote to The Company asking to be relieved of my post and I used the following description: “I am employed as a Shepherd 3rd Class in the South Side Pavilion.” I hope it makes sense to them. I had considered a more detailed description, something that would locate the place more exactly.
    For instance: “The pavilion is bathed in a pale yellow light which enters from the long dusty windows in its sawtooth roof. In the centre, its corners pinned by four of the twenty-four pillars which support the roof, is a large sunken tank which resembles a swimming pool. The horses require the greater part of this area. I, the Shepherd in charge, have a small corner to myself. In this corner I have, thanks to the generosity of The Company, a bed, a gas cooker, a refrigerator, and a television set. The animals give me no trouble. However they are, as you must be aware, in danger from the pool …”
    I didn’t send that part of the letter, for fear of appearing foolish to them. The people at The Company must know my pavilion only too well. Probably they have photographs of it, even the original architect’s plans. The pool in the centre must be known to them, also the dangers associated with the pool. I have already made many written requests for a supply of barbed wire to fence off the pool but the experts have obviously considered it unnecessary. Or perhaps they have worked out the economics of it and, taking the laws of chance into account, must have decided that it is cheaper to lose the oddhorse than to buy barbed wire which, for all I know, might be expensive these days.
    I have placed empty beer cartons around the perimeter of the pool, in the foolish hope that they will prove to be some kind of deterrent. Unfortunately they seem to have had quite the opposite effect. The horses stand in groups perilously close to the edge of the pool and stare stupidly at the cardboard boxes.
2.
    The television is showing nothing but snow. The pavilion is bathed in its blue electric blanket. Another horse has fallen into the pool. Its pale bloated body floats in the melancholy likeness of a whale.
3.
    Marie arrived early and discovered me weeping amongst the horses.
    “Why are you weeping?”
    “Because of the horses.”
    “Even horses must die, sooner or later.”
    “I am weeping because of the swimming pool.”
    “The swimming pool is there to help them die.”
    When Marie tells me that the swimming pool is there to help the horses die, I believe her. She has an answer for everything. But when she leaves her answers leave with her and the only comfort in the pavilion is distilled into a couple of small sad marks on the sheets of my bed.
4.
    I AM HERE TO STOP THE HORSES FALLING INTO THE SWIMMING POOL.
5.
    Marie, who helped me get into the pavilion, now wants to help me out. Personally I would like to leave. I have sent my resignation to The Company and am, at present, awaiting the replacement. Marie said, “Fuck The Company.” She arrived today with colour brochures and an ultimatum: either I leave the horses or she will leave me.
    “Do you love the horses?”
    “No, I love you.”
    “Then come with me.”
    “I can’t leave them alone.”
    “They fall into the pool anyway. You can’t stop them.”
    “I know.”
    “Then you might as well come.”
    “I can’t come until they’ve all fallen into the pool.”
    “But you are trying to stop them falling into the pool.”
    “Yes.”
    “You can’t love the horses if you’re just waiting for them to fall in and drown.”
    “No, I love you.”
    “Ah, but I know you love the horses.”
    And so it continues.
6.
    Marie sleeps beside me, enveloped in the sweet heavy smell of sleep and sperm.
    There is some movement in the pavilion. I lick my fingers and wipe my eyes with spittle. For the moment the tiny shock of the wetness is enough to keep me awake. I stare into the dark, among the grey garden of gloomy horses, trying to