Dietmann The Medicine Horse

Volume 1: Initiation
1.1
ISBN: 978-3-944587-87-5
Verlag: spiritbooks
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: 6 - ePub Watermark

E-Book, Englisch, 164 Seiten

Reihe: Das Medizinpferd

“I’m an outright rationalist, an atheist, left the church at eighteen, I have never been interested in mysticism, the occult, telepathy or anything of that sort. Whenever it’s a question of having to believe in something instead of being given proof, I opt out …”

After her daughter has died in a riding accident, Valerie’s world becomes completely unhinged. Suddenly a horse called Gitanes turns up and declares he is a medicine horse and has come to heal her soul. The horse owner, Tom, a half-breed Indian, invites Valerie to join him on a journey to Arizona in the USA. There amongst the descendants of native Americans Valerie undergoes spiritual initiation into unknown worlds. Gradually she becomes aware of the special gifts horses have …

Autoren/Hrsg.

Dietmann, Ulrike

Leseproben

3 Reason told her she ought to talk to somebody, to a person who understood her situation, but she could not muster the energy to phone anybody. Her reason also told her that this somebody should on no account wear turquoise crocodile cowboy boots. The wind toyed with the mobile hanging in the apple tree, producing an angelic tinkling sound. Valerie bit into an orange, licked her fingers clean and had the feeling that the orange was turquoise. Now that Miriam was no longer there, it occurred to her that for years she had been neglecting her friendships and that there was hardly any person she was on intimate terms with left in her life. Nobody phoned to ask how she was; she had had a mere five cards of condolence: one from Miriam’s school class, three from distant friends and one from the new parish priest whom she had never met. Miou jumped onto her lap, sorted her limbs according to some invisible geometry then relaxed completely. “You are the only one I still have,” Valerie said and stroked the cat’s grey fur. That afternoon she once more gave in to the telephone ringing. “We haven’t heard from you for weeks.” It was her sister, Tamara of the grating voice. “I’ve heard nothing from you either,” replied Valerie weakly. “Are you OK?” Tamara asked. “Absolutely,” replied Valerie. “Can you bring a cake? Better still: two. One with buttercream and alcohol and something dry for the children, something they can hold in their hands.” The calendar caught Valerie’s eye. What day was it today? “You are coming, aren’t you?” If I haven’t flown off on a witch’s broom by then, thought Valerie. The idea of celebrating her mother’s birthday within the family seemed to her to be as alien as a space ship landing on a cake plate. “How are you? You know I want the truth. I know what’s up anyway.” For a moment Valerie considered telling Tammy about the multiple occurrence of the name Gitanes and the hoof scraper which presented a connection with the realm of the dead. “I’m getting on fine as always,” she said. “Liar.” “Leave me in peace, Tammy, I’m OK.” “It’ll do you good to be amongst people.” Sure, Valerie thought. “Lunch is at half past twelve… Will you be wearing black?” “No.” “Are you working?” “Everything’s fine, Tammy.” She slammed down the receiver. She thought about how she had always had to blackmail Miriam with riding lessons to get her to come to family celebrations. Ten riding lessons for Auntie Leonie’s birthday last year. Valerie felt ashamed at the thought. Nobody there notices me and nobody listens to me, Miriam had complained. They treat me as if I were invisible. Valerie spent the rest of the day acquiring the makings of a lemon cake and a Black Forest cherry cake. As she was sprinkling flour, baking powder and sugar onto the mixing board, she heard Miriam’s voice as if she were sitting there, right next to her on a stool, weighing sugar and flour and beating eggs. ‘The flour is the dragon which lays the eggs. It feeds the eggs with baking powder, so they will grow big and strong.’ Valerie carefully tipped the yokes into the hollow. ‘Then it blows sugar onto the eggs, so they’ll have something to munch.’ Valerie deeply regretted that she had agreed to go. She knew that her family was unable to cope with Miriam’s death and would do anything to find a guilty party—and an explanation. They would say something ugly. With a knife Valerie cut up the butter just like a dragon battling a fire-spitting monster. As she was attacking the baking board, she again thought about the crazy woman with the crocodile-leather boots. Valerie strode into the bedroom. The visiting card lay on the little African table next to her bed, still reverse-side up. Valerie turned the card over. It read: Evi Schaefer, Shamanic Life Guidance, together with a telephone number. Next to it: a picture of a rainbow-coloured horse. Shamanic life guidance, Valerie thought, but had no idea what it meant.   After she had taken the cake base out of the oven, she doused it with alcohol and covered it with cherries. She put the layers of Black Forest cake together and thought about the quotation in the book from Mrs Barzi about eyes and what they do not wish to see. She coated the whole cake with cream till it was completely covered, then she sprinkled it with chocolate chips.   “Hello Tom.” Valerie said, giving her father a fleeting hug. She and Tamara had been using their parents’ Christian names for a long time. It had been Tamara’s idea; she was determined to be grown up, and Valerie had played along because “Mummy” and “Daddy” sounded to her like army ranks. “How are you?” her father asked and took her coat. Without waiting for an answer Tom shunted her along the hall and into the living room. Valerie’s mother had as always overdone her make-up and was wearing a check blouse and drainpipe trousers with a broad buckle-belt. She had got it into her head to play the American-style country girl even though she had grown up in Berlin and had spent most of her life in cities. She had brought the idea back from a holiday in the American West. A few years before she had persuaded Tom to buy a house in a village and a dog as well. In the meantime they had three: Great Danes. They were badly trained and came charging at Valerie. Her mother bossed them about—which had not the slightest effect on them. With people her method was more successful—which also raised an interesting question possibly worth following up. Tamara stretched out one arm to hug Valerie, while in her other hand she balanced a spoonful of vanilla mousse which she then popped into her mouth. “You don’t know how happy I am to see you. I should have been concerned about you much earlier. You look awful.” Fortunately Tamara had not bothered about her sooner. To be taken care of by Tamara was like being hung on a meat hook and spun round. “I will make up for it,” her sister added. “Don’t look so horrified. You know I can scan you perfectly.” Tamara had made a great career in the personnel department of a technology company and boasted that she only needed to see a person once to be able to tell whether they would make a profit for the company or cost it money. She liked to claim that her x-ray eyes were incorruptible. Right now she was busy scanning Valerie. “You have to drink mugwort tea,” she said after an alarmingly long pause. She wandered into the kitchen and searched through her mother’s cupboards. “I’ve found something even better.” She tapped Valerie on the shoulder and handed her an open box of dried dates. Valerie looked at the sell-by-date. It had overrun by two years. “Since when have you been functioning as a dietary consultant?” Valerie asked. Tamara ran the spoon with the vanilla cream slowly and with relish over her lower lip. “I’ve done a course,” she said triumphantly. Valerie slipped the dates unnoticed into the waste bin. Tamara had already lost interest in the subject. She knew nothing about people. Certainly not about me anyway, Valerie thought. It is a good job I didn’t give in to the temptation to tell her about the horse postcard. Even if my most urgent need is to find somebody who can provide some explanation or other that I can live with. Throughout the meal Valerie felt as if any moment a hoof scraper might drop from above and plop into the soup bowl. At the extended dining table sat her parents, Tamara and her husband Mark (who tended towards violence), her brother Leif and his wife, Selma, as well as their three children. Valerie didn’t know what to fear more: the conversation at the table or the hoof scraper. “I hope they shot the horse the same day,” said Mark in the silence which had set in after the soup. Mark was not only potentially violent but also an insufferable know-all who wore too much gold jewellery. “What did you say the nag’s name was?” “Korbas,” said Mathilde, Selma’s ten-year-old daughter, who also loved horses. “They did shoot it,” Mark insisted. “No,” said Valerie “That killing machine’s still alive? Tell me where he is and I’ll blow his brains out. You shoot horses between the ears, don’t you?” The idea seemed to amuse Mark. Valerie could no longer stand it and got up from her seat. She was involuntarily struck by guilty feelings about Miriam’s death, but on the other hand, how could she feel at...