LEONARD MI CHAELS
403
Nachman went toward the exit. He'd bet intuitively on Night Flower.
The horse came in last. As he entered the vast parking lot, he stopped to
light a cigarette and collect himself. People streamed by on either side.
Then Nachman heard his name called and saw Horace coming toward him
through the crowd with Camille.
Horace said, " I don't believe I said thanks."
"Please don't mention it. I'm glad I could help."
"How'd you know he'd win?"
"A feeling."
"Don't give me that jive, Nachman. You knew something, didn't you?"
"I had a strong feeling."
"You had a strong feeling."
"Yes."
"Maybe you had a strong feeling, but I think it wasn't about a horse.
It was about me. I needed a sign and you gave it to me. Maybe the Lord
sent you and you don't even know that, but I appreciate what you did, and
I thank you."
"Everything is going to be all right," said Nachman, overwhelmed by
affection and sympathy. He wanted to hug Horace, but he hardly knew the
man. Besides the affection he felt was mainly for himself. Nachman said
again, "Everything is going to be all right."
"I know it is."
They shook hands, said goodbye. Nachman walked away purposively,
like a soldier. You could even say he marched, exhilarated, down a long
aisle of cars, feeling too much to think clearly. He'd mistrusted his system,
but it had been right, which was wonderful, if somewhat unnerving. Maybe
he was a better mathematician than he knew. When he got home he would
take pencil and paper to the numbers, try to figure out what happened. No.
Best to leave well enough alone. Nachman suddenly realized he was
marching aimlessly, not purposively. He didn't remember at all where he'd
parked. There were thousands of cars. He was confused, helpless as a lost
child, and yet no less happy. Sooner or later his car would turn up. The feel–
ing wasn't so bad, the feeling of being lost.
