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| An illustration from Mr. Summerhaye's Horse |
The fifth in a series of extracts from my novella....which is going to be published tomorrow!!! This passage follows the fourth extract. Please note that this is from an unproofed version and that there might be typos.
He stretches his neck to drink, unstable on legs still too long for his body. A ghostly horse comes to meet him in the water, a black horse with white legs and a white mark on his face. As he dips his nose in, the ghost disappears in a thousand ripples. A toad waddles on the water edge, bulbous and clumsy. Vaguely menacing as well. He takes a few steps towards it, but changes his mind when he hears it croak and decides to trots back towards his mother.
The morning is cool, though he is aware now it will not last. He has accepted the succession of night and day, the succession of hours, of moods. There’s the time to nurse, the time to sleep, the time to play, the time to travel. They walk many miles, from one water point to the next, visiting the same ones at regular intervals. The tall blue mountains remain constantly in their background, keeping watch over them. Often he looks at them, wondering what lies beyond. They have not seen or heard men and horses again, though from time to time the wind carries a scent that reminds him of them.
His mother paws at the water. Droplets become light as they splash above the surface. He runs towards her, nibbling a strand of her mane, hoping she will play with him, chase him. A vagrant fly lands on his rump and he bucks. As the day advances and the heat increases, the flies swarm, attacking him, targeting his eyes, his nostrils. His tail is too short for him to chase them like his mother is able to, so he stays by her. Or gallops as fast as he can: as long as he runs he has peace. But then they come back, more numerous, to feed off his sweat.
An ibis prowls by the water edge, not far from the toad. It has a long, curved beak. Its head is covered in folds of pink, bald skin. He canters towards it; the ibis hops further away, spreading its wing as if to fly. It glares at him, leave me alone, horse, go back to your mother.
His mother does not want to play. She leaves the water, rolls in the dust. He imitates her. The flies do not like the dust. He stands up, shakes himself, takes a deep breath. As he does, a smell he has never encountered before reaches him. What is it? He is not certain but he is struck with terror. He glances at his mother: her eyes are wide and wild, her head held high as she watches the other side of the water.
And they see it. The tawny fur, the heavy, though supple, body. A rippling mane, covering the head and shoulders. Amber eyes and cruel jaws. Lion, lion, the ibis squawks, spreading its wings.
We must run now, my little one, his mother says. Her nostrils are flared, her breath heavy. Her terror intensifies his own. You must run now, as fast as the wind from which you were born. Lion, lion, the ibis squawks again. And the two horses run.
He runs ahead, his mother closely following him. He runs ahead, faster than he has ever run. Feeling his mother’s fear as clearly as his own. Running to escape the smell of the lion. Is it behind them? He dares not turn his head, dares not slow down.
He goes on galloping, even when the lion’s smell does not reach him anymore. He goes on galloping, forgetting why he had even started. Intoxicated by the wind and by the rhythmical beating of his hooves on the rocks below. Delighting in the speed and power he never knew were his. He is invincible. He, the horse born of the desert and the mountain. Nothing will ever capture him, neither the lions nor the men. Not even the birds who fly high above can go as fast as him.
His mother catches up with him, his mother makes him stop. Why, all of a sudden, are his lungs burning and his legs weak under him? Why, all of a sudden, is he too exhausted to take another step?
You are silly, little one, his mother tells him, you are silly but you run well. The lion could not have caught you. You must learn that not all animals are our friends. The lions and the leopards are to be avoided at all costs. Remember the scent you smelled today. If you smell it again, you must run. Even if I am not there, even if you do not see me. You must run.
His burning lungs cannot take in enough air. The flies buzz, louder, louder. Walk now, his mother tells him, you must not stand still. You are silly, little one.
One step after the other, painfully, painfully, until she allows him to stop, until she allows him to drink her milk. He wonders what exactly is the terrible thing that would happen should the lion catch him. He wonders why he was filled with such terror. Are lions worse than men? he asks his mother.
Lions eat horses, like you have seen birds eat insects, like we eat the leaves and grasses.
It feels very strange to him, and terror clutches his heart again. He starts at every noise, at every shadow, at every rock, at every bush. But the breeze carries only the smell of juniper and pine.
The first lion I saw, his mother tells him, the first lion I saw was one my Master had killed. Out on the mountains he had gone, riding a black horse, my father, leading a grey horse, my brother. When they came back, the carcass of a lion was slung over the grey horse’s back. I smelled and saw for the first time a lion and death. I came up close, to investigate. In spite of my fear and of my instinct to run away. My Master laughed, he said it was right that his Lioness should have a look at the lion. And I looked. At the yellow fangs, at the sharp claws. At the glazed eyes. And the black horse, my father, gazed at me with pride.
How did you run away from the men who had taken you? he asks.
They put a metal bit in my mouth that cut my tongue and made me bleed. They tied ropes around my legs and my skin was bruised and burnt. I fought, I kicked, and they beat me. But the more blows fell on me, the more enraged I became. I used my hooves, I used my teeth. For the first time in my life, I smelled and tasted the blood of men. Their eyes glazed over, like that of the lion. I smelled the blood of men, and it was drunk by the mountain. The bit broke, the ropes snapped. I ran, away from pain, away from men. I ran towards the mountain. It was calling me. I ran and a falcon screeched above me. I ran until the men and their horses could not catch up with me. And the mountain became my home. It is your home too, my little one. Remember, in spite of the lions and the leopards, as long as you can run the mountain will keep you safe.
