The Enchanted Horse. Magdalen Nabb

said Irina, “I don’t.”

      “Well, well,” said the blind man, “you’re very young and it was all before your time.”

      “I remember him,” said Irina’s father, coming closer. “He kept horses.”

      “He did,” said the blind man. “And the most beautiful one of all was named Bella because Bella means beautiful. But he was an evil man and treated his animals badly, very badly. They never got more than a handful of oats a day, barely enough to keep them alive, and Bella, who was as finely bred and elegant as a racehorse, was forced to pull him around in that dirty old cart of his. They say he whipped her until she bled. No one knew where he got her, but some said he captured her himself from a wild herd that sometimes passes by this way.”

      “And what happened to her?” Irina asked.

      “I don’t know,” the blind man said. “But I can tell you what happened to Black Jack. He died.”

      “I remember,” said Irina’s father. “I went to the auction when his farm was sold. My old father was still alive then and he kept a pony and trap himself. It was he who talked me into going, but there was little enough worth buying and the horses were only fit for the knacker’s yard.”

      “Even Bella?” asked Irina.

      “Bella wasn’t there,” the blind man said, “Bella wasn’t there. I asked about and I spoke to the auctioneer himself but there was no horse of that description on his list. Poor creature. Poor beautiful creature …”

      The blind man fell silent with his thoughts as if he’d forgotten there was anyone there.

      “Was she dead, then …?” whispered Irina after a while.

      “I bought all that stuff in the window from Black Jack’s place,” the blind man said, without giving her an answer, “and there it’s been ever since, including the horse.”

      “Now what would Black Jack have wanted a rocking horse for?” wondered Irina’s father. “He had neither wife nor child.”

      “But that’s just it,” said the blind man very softly, just as if he were talking to himself. “It’s not a rocking horse.”

      Then he spoke more loudly, turning his face up towards Irina’s father’s voice.

      “Take the horse home for your little Irina,” he said. “If it will make her happy I don’t want anything for it. Only perhaps you’ll have to come for it another day when the boy who helps me is here. You understand. I can’t move all that stuff to get at it.”

      “That’s very nice of you,” said Irina’s father. “We’ll call another time.”

      He took Irina by the shoulder, but Irina, who never asked for anything, cried, “Please! Please can we wait in case he comes?” And she touched the blind man’s arm, no longer afraid of him. “Please let us wait! You can tell us more stories about Bella.”

      “Come on now,” said her father, and he led her to the door. “You know we have to get home.”

      “And don’t imagine we’re coming back,” warned her mother as they went. “That filthy thing must be a mass of woodworm and it’s not coming into the house.”

      Outside on the snowy pavement Irina began to cry. The band was still playing under the Christmas tree and the people had finished their shopping and were starting for home loaded with parcels and calling to each other under the winking lights.

      “Merry Christmas! Merry Christmas to you!”

      Before her parents could take her away, Irina turned her tearful face for a last look at Bella’s poor head, crushed under all that junk, and then from inside the shop the blind man’s voice called out, “Stop!”

      It was as if he had given an order that had to be obeyed. Irina’s parents hesitated and looked at each other.

      “Come back a moment, if you will.”

      Irina’s father shrugged. “I suppose we’d better see what the old chap wants.”

      They went back inside the gloomy shop and Irina ran straight to the blind man’s chair. He was sitting just as they’d left him, with his hands resting quietly on his knees.

      “I never mistake a footstep,” he said. “When you can’t see you learn to recognise people in other ways.” Then he lifted his face up and called, “Hurry up now! We have customers waiting!”

      Irina turned round, and saw a tall cheerful boy come in from behind where her parents stood watching.

      “I came to wish you a Merry Christmas, Grandad!”

      The grinning boy spoke at the top of his voice as though the man were deaf rather than blind.

      “And just as well you did,” said the blind man, “there’s a job for you to do. This is Irina, and she wants to take Bella home with her, so you’ll have to get her out from under all that stuff in the window.”

      “Right you are, Grandad!” said the boy.

      “I don’t think …” began Irina’s mother, but the boy had already climbed into the window and was heaving the broken furniture about. “I’ll have her out of here in two minutes!”

      “Is he your grandson?” asked Irina shyly.

      “No,” said the blind man, “but that’s what he likes to call me.”

      “I haven’t got a grandad,” Irina said, and she stared at the blind man, wishing he were her grandad, because he could make her parents do what he told them.

      “Here you are!” said the boy, and he set Bella down on the floor by Irina. She touched the dirty tangled mane timidly.

      “Your father will carry her home for you,” the blind man said. “She’s too heavy for you.”

      And sure enough, without a word of protest, Irina’s father came and picked up Bella.

      “She’s a fair weight,” he said, “but I’ll manage.”