MAN
BERNARD LETS HIS UGLY FACE POISON HIS SOUL
(F, S, H, 999 words)
Bob Brown

Call me Man. I’ll hate you for it, but no horse has a say in picking his nickname. Mamma named me Bernard, but fat lot of good that does.

I never thought of myself as ugly until Vernon yanked my tail and ran away. In full view of all the colts and mares; I was embarrassed, angry, and humiliated. I chased him, but he was too quick and my embarrassment grew unbearable. They were laughing, everyone was laughing. Becky was laughing. Tony was laughing. Vernon’s mocking voice still rings in my ears. “Come get me, Man Face.” When I got close, Vernon yelled, “Ya, ya, ya, Bernard has a Man Face. Willy joined in, “Ha, ha, Bernard has a Man Face.” Everyone thought they were smart and I was stupid.

Mamma ran them off and said, “Don’t pay any attention to them Bernard.”

She didn’t say I didn’t have a Man Face, only that I shouldn’t pay any attention to them. I said, “Why are they calling me Man Face, Mamma?”

“Well Bernard, son, you are ugly as sin. We don’t have any mirrors around the barn or I’d show you, but you have the face of a man.” Her serious expression scared me; she was serious as a church.

“Oh Mamma, is that bad?”

“Son, I’ve had to make the best of it and you should too. You’re face is round, your lips are thin, your eyes are in the wrong place, your ears are on the side of your head, and your nostrils are barely exposed. In short, Bernard, you have the face of a man.”

“Oooh, I am ugly. Is that the reason Papa tries to kick and bite me?”

“Afraid so, son. But don’t blame him, he just doesn’t want anybody to know you are his son. Don’t worry; I love you in spite of your ugly face.”

I bit my lip to keep from crying. Did the lord mean for me to be a man. Did he get confused and give me four legs? Why couldn’t you make up your mind, Lord? I felt sick and belched like Dawson, our stable hand.

Momma said, “Are you all right, son.”

“Yes Momma,” I said. I fell back on my haunches and a cold shudder rippled up my back. I am Man Face. I’ll always be Man Face.

Soon, no one called me Bernard anymore and they shortened Man Face to Manface. Two years latter a trainer in stud school yelled, “Run Man, run.” After that my nickname became simply Man. It stung like a spur in my ribs every time someone called me Man.

One day Dawson, our stable hand, turned a new bunch of horses loose in our pasture. One of them was the sweetest little mare you ever saw. Her name was Hannah. It was love at first sight. My heart went plop-e-d-plop. She was all I ever wanted.

Hannah took one look at me and ran off to the far end of the pasture. I chased and chased her, but she always got away. One morning I got as close as possible and sang, “♪Let me call you sweetheart for I’m in love with yooou♫.” I thought that would bring her around because I was the only horse there that could sing. It’s my man-shaped mouth, I suppose.

Hannah said, “Go away, Man. You’re too ugly for me. And you can’t even whinny like a horse.”

It’s true. I can sing, but I can’t whinny. I was angry and depressed. It’s like when I stood upright and walked on my hind legs. It felt so natural, and I was so proud of myself.

Momma said, “Don’t do that, son. It’s weird.”

Papa said, “Jezzus Christ! What now! I’m out of here.” And he ran off.

Sure enough, everyone gave me the horse laugh and hurt my feelings. I hate them for that. After that, I would only walk upright when I was sure no one would see me.

By and by, Hannah became friendly with Charles, a horse who thought he was a stud for all seasons. I despised Charles and was furious. The way Hannah would neigh and say Charleees, made me want to urp. I vowed to break up Hannah and Charleees some way.

One day I hid beside the barn door and when Charles came out I kicked him and broke his leg. I watched with great pleasure when Dawson shot Charles and drug him off with the tractor for burying. It hurt to see Hannah sobbing over Charleees, but I was also happy my plan to get rid of him worked.

All the other studs left Hannah alone after that because they were afraid I would break their leg and Dawson would shoot them. But now Hannah didn’t have any admirers and she desperately needed love. Even so, she still didn’t want my attention. She would say, “I hate you, Man. Go away.”

But I wouldn’t go away, and finally, Hannah softened and got friendly. I should have known she was faking, but I was too full of lust in my heart. She let me approach her from the rear. I couldn’t believe I was so lucky in love. She even looked back at me and winked. When I got close, Hannah kicked my eyes and blinded me. Then she kicked my leg and broke it. I couldn’t believe Hannah could be so cruel—so heartless. She did this right at the moment when my love for her was big as a baseball bat. I hate her for that.

I lay in agony for a while, and then I heard Dawson’s voice. He said, “My god, there’s a mean horse in this bunch somewhere. This is the second horse this week with a broken leg. At least I’m glad it’s Bernard,” he said, “his face always did give me the willies.”

Whoa! I’ve heard that sound before! It’s Dawson’s gun clicking; just like when he shot Charl…

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