calling him by his name when he spoke about where he came from. Or maybe it was so Harry wouldn’t hear. Like I said, you never can tell how much a donkey understands.
Actually, I hated the story, because of what had happened to Harry, but I loved it too. Because of Frank.
“Fire away,” he said, like always, and we both smiled because the bonfire and the talk had always gone together.
“How did you find Harry?” I began.
Frank took a big breath, like he was preparing himself deep down inside. He picked two sappy grasses, held one out to me, getting ready to go travelling in his memory and take me with him.
“Paths crossed, I reckon.”
“Where was it you were going?”
“Travelling, that’s all.”
“But, like, where were you exactly?”
“India, Mumbai, near a building site.”
“And what were you doing at the building site?”
“Just looking, watching things change.”
“What made you stop for Harry?”
He shook his head and twitched his lip as he crushed the grass stem between his teeth.
“There are some things that a man finds hard to pass by.”
I loved the way he talked. Bold and sure. Each time the answers familiar, but that day, strangely unfamiliar too. Maybe that was because of me hearing them differently, because I had grown since the last time he’d told me the story. Or maybe it was because something cold had settled in my stomach, like a sprinkling of snow.
“How big was the pile of bricks Harry was carrying?” I asked.
“Bigger than himself.”
“He was a good donkey though,” I said, knowing the story so well.
Frank nodded.
“So why did his owner treat him like he did?”
Again he waited a moment, leaving a space, like that silence was the place for me to work things out, to be ready to see the things he’d seen.
Frank threw the last of his papers on the fire. New sparks rose.
“When the donkey fell, the man couldn’t see that he’d have got up if he could.”
“What did you do, Frank?”
He poked the ashes with a stick.
“Pulled him back on his feet.”
I didn’t ask any more about this part of the story, eager to get past the struggle that I couldn’t bear to hear. Frank had never given any details, as if he was saving poor Harry from being shamed by what happened. And I kind of understood, if you can call it understanding by putting your own thoughts in a donkey’s head. Harry was strong and willing and he would have got up if he could, but Frank had to help him.
“You wanted to carry some of the bricks for Harry,” I reminded Frank.
He studied the crushed stem he’d been chewing. It took him a long time to answer and I wondered if there was another bit missing, a bit that Frank didn’t tell me.
“I made it worse. Poor grey donkey,” Frank said. I never understood this. How could anything be worse than poor Harry almost buried under his load? But Frank said no more. I wondered if he did it on purpose, stopping right at that point to give his story just about as much weight as Harry’s burden of bricks, to let the fact of the story sit inside me for a while so I could feel how heavy his heart had been when he’d seen the grey donkey buckling and having no choice but to try to get up and carry on.
“But you saved Harry! You bought him and took him away and he’s never had to work hard like that again.”
Frank rested his cheeks on his fists. He’d gone quiet. I knew the story so well I filled in the rest for him. The good bit.
“You rescued Harry. Together you travelled across countries that I’ve never even heard of, your tyres popping all the time while you drove up those stony mountain roads, following your friends from Germany who were on their motorbikes and who had maps of how to get to Europe. Then they helped you get visas and papers, to have all the checks that you and Harry had to have.”
I followed Frank’s eyes to the bonfire, to the papers now burning at our feet.
“And you avoided all the places where people would ask you too many questions about Harry, and all the time he was safe in the trailer behind your jeep with a pile of straw and a bunch of carrots.”
I could feel the freedom they must have had, travelling along like that together.
Frank looked over at me and I couldn’t help that the smoke from the fire was getting in my eyes.
“Then he had to go into quarantine. You hated that bit, being without Harry. I would too.”
“Listen,” Frank said. “Like I said, I’ve been thinking—” but I didn’t want to hear. I didn’t want any of the words to be things I didn’t want him to say. I hadn’t meant to remind him that he loved travelling but I couldn’t hold things in any longer. If Frank left, and Harry with him, I didn’t know what I’d do.
“So have I,” I said, wedged up against him. “And right now it feels like only a minute ago that you and Harry arrived. And I feel the same, exactly the same as I did when I first met you and Harry.”
He rested his head on mine. I kept going.
“Remember when you came? All the dust your jeep kicked up, making big sandy dust flowers blooming along the lane all at once. Like all of a sudden everything was ready for you. Or we were. And I know you didn’t say yes at first…” I pulled Harry closer so Frank and Harry made a sandwich around me. “I remember you stood there for the longest time at the edge of the meadow and Marianne said there was no reason a donkey couldn’t live here because nobody used it. And you talked to Harry and I wish I knew what you’d said to him. Was it you or Harry who decided to stay?”
Frank laughed softly.
“Harry.”
“Harry?! See, he knew this place was right for you. Freshest greenest meadow he’d ever seen in his life, that’s what you always say. And I said I’ll brush him for you, he looks kind of grey, and you said…”
“He’s grey underneath that dust too.”
We smiled at Harry, his head and eyes drooping with sleep, standing quietly beside me. We touched him gently and I knew it was impossible for either of us ever to be without him. Harry chose the meadow, and that put me and Frank together too.
“You tell the story of Harry better than I ever did,” Frank said.
“He’s like the reason for all of us being together, Frank.”
I
