THE HORSE

Helping a sick horse gives a washed-up musician in his 60s a chance to make peace with his past.

“Please,” whispers Al Ward, “please give me the strength to pull the trigger and let it be over.” Al isn’t contemplating suicide. An old horse has wandered into the abandoned Nevada mining camp that Al calls home, and he wants to put it out of its misery. The camp belonged to his late great-uncle Mel, who mined it for years with no success. Al would stay there and dry out whenever the excesses of life as a journeyman guitarist and songwriter became too much. But now the horse, scarred and bleeding from a coyote bite, intrudes on the camp, where Al has been holed up and hiding from his demons. The horse doesn’t do anything to provoke him. It just stands there in the snow, right outside the assayer’s office where Al sleeps, eats, thinks, and still writes songs by lantern light. When Al decides to show mercy and points his old .357 at the animal, he tearfully realizes that he can’t kill the poor beast “because he felt that he and the horse were the same.” It’s a familiar, oft-told story of someone unexpectedly finding healing in the presence of an animal, but Vlautin makes that trope his own. His writing style is spare, restrained, unsentimental, yet full of emotion and force. A songwriter and band frontman, Vlautin understands the ups and downs of a touring musician’s life, and his experiences inform Al’s long career playing casinos from Las Vegas to Reno to Tahoe and beyond. Al has a gift for songwriting, and plenty of tortured musicians—including heartbreaker Mona and the self-destructive Sanchez Brothers—clamored after him to write hits for them. Al never wished for much in life, only, as he says of the horse, to “be all right and live an all right life.” He’s managed to have plenty of all right moments, especially during his short-lived marriage to his true love, Maxine. Helping the horse might give him a chance to have another one. After Al makes a long trek to get help, a friend teases him that what he’s done “says something. Most people wouldn’t cross the street to do something decent, and you walked thirty miles in the snow, and you’re a drunk, lazy musician.” But Al’s risky walk shows he’s more than that; he’s still full of surprises.

Anyone who’s hit rock bottom can still get a shot at redemption if they’re willing to do what it takes.