Raja, Story of a Racehorse (12 page)

“Oakley, I think that Raja should take Toile's stall at Wellington and you should ride him in the $10,000 Junior Jumper Classic. It'll be a step up for both of you and you'll be riding against a lot of nice old Grand Prix horses, but I think that you can rise to the occasion.”

March, Wellington, Florida

Wellington!

Palm trees waved, golf carts zoomed, little dogs yapped, and colorfully dressed spectators crowded into the stands surrounding the big arena where the showy jumps flashed their colors in the morning sun, waiting for the action to begin. Electricity and anticipation charged the air. It felt a little bit like Saratoga.

As Oakley sat on me, speaking with Michelle while we watched Mary and Legato's round, I smelled something bitter, burning. I looked up sharply. Tony DeVito was a few feet away, speaking loudly, jabbing his cigar in the air for emphasis. He caught my eye, stopped talking and stared hungrily at me with his small, hooded eyes, as if I was an object he wanted to possess. Looking away abruptly, I turned my hindquarters toward him, pinned my ears and kicked the ground in warning, swishing my tail.

“There are 70 horses in the class, including some very good older horses. Every fence is big and unforgiving. You'll need to be precise, especially to the water. If you have even the tip of a toe on the tape along the water, it's four faults.”

I swished a fly off my belly with my tail and tried to listen to Michelle, but I was still thinking about Tony DeVito and feeling strangely violated.

“If you open his stride up too much, you won't have time to get him back. Right after the water, shorten your stride. Otherwise, you risk jumping flat and pulling a rail. Remember what we've been working on — rhythm, rhythm, rhythm.”

She paused to adjust her crutches and leaned in closer, speaking quietly. “If you make the jump-off, the turn to the in-and-out is where it will be won or lost; whoever makes that tight turn inside the big blue oxer wins, but only if you are spot on. I don't think anyone else will try it. It's too easy to get wrong.”

“That big oxer is tough,” Mary told Oakley as she exited the arena, red-faced and out of breath. “It rides shorter than it looks. Everyone's having problems there.”

We trotted into the ring and circled, then headed off at an energetic canter to the first fence. Fence after fence I could feel my confidence building. As we headed toward the big oxer, I locked my eyes onto it and, with intense concentration, coiled my body, rocked back onto my hocks, and launched up and over.

Oakley patted me as I landed, keeping his hand on the reins, “Good boy, Raja.”

I sped up, wanting to go, but Oakley shifted his weight, asking me to steady. “Whoa, boy, whoa,” he whispered under his breath.

I slowed as we turned the corner to the water. Oakley squeezed his legs, asking me to lengthen my stride. We flew it. Then, whoa, whoa, shorten. At the vertical, he squeezed again. I jumped hard, springing off the ground. He steadied me, finishing the easy long way around the outside of the big oxer to the in-and-out.

“Zero jump faults, zero time faults. Clear round for number 20, Raja.”

Only five other horses were clean. Now for the jump-off, where the fastest time would win. I pawed the ground and tossed my head. The wait was unbearable.

Let's go! What are we waiting for?

The first two horses had rails down — both went the long way around the oxer. The third horse went clear but slow, also going the long way around the oxer.

A big, white mare entered the arena.

“That's Luna, a former Grand Prix horse. She's very well bred. Her sire, Abdullah, won the team gold and individual silver medals at the Los Angeles Olympics. Sue is a good rider, too. Her father rode on the team with me. Watch how they do that line.”

Luna and Sue put in a flawless round. After the vertical, Sue sat up and did a strong half-halt, cutting inside the big blue oxer, and headed to the last in-and-out in six graceful, powerful, perfect strides.

“A clear round for Luna with a time of 28 seconds,” boomed the loudspeaker as a huge round of applause arose from the crowd.

We were next. I pawed the ground harder, losing patience, about to explode.

Let's go. It's time to GO!

Michelle leaned in on her crutches toward Oakley. “Even if you're clean and turn inside the oxer, you may not beat Luna's time.”

“Why don't we do this the Thoroughbred way?” Oakley responded. “After all, he was a good racehorse, wasn't he? He has a huge stride. I think he can get to the last in-and-out in five strides instead of six.”

“Are you sure that you'll be able to get him back for the in-and-out? It's short.”

“Are you kidding? Dressage is a jumper's secret weapon,” Oakley grinned.

Right from the starting buzzer, Oakley “kicked on” and rode faster. I heard him counting to me, trying to keep the rhythm. I concentrated, feeling like a cat, effortlessly stretching and shortening my strides, turning, balancing, and lightly jumping the fences. After the vertical, Oakley did a strong half-halt, turning inside the oxer.

“Let's go, Raja!” I felt his heels on my sides and sprang forward, opening my stride as if I was jumping out of the starting gate; one, two, three, four. He sat up again. I shortened my stride, one more stride for five, and up and over the first fence in the in-and-out. One tight stride, then back on my hocks, and up and over and out.

“Ya!!, Raja!”

I galloped fast through the finish flags with my neck stretched out as a huge cheer arose from the crowd.

“A clear round and 27 seconds for Raja, our winner.”

Oakley hugged me as we galloped triumphantly around the arena.

“Raja, you have so much power, it's like riding a rocket.”

Winning is the best feeling ever.

“I knew you could do it!” Michelle greeted us at the gate, “very nicely ridden, Oakley. Raja, GOOD BOY!” She patted my neck.

“You're a very special horse. You have the talent and brain to be an international horse. I'm sure of it.”

“Six hundred thousand,” a loud voice interrupted, “that's my offer. It's a nice price for a junior horse. Cash. We can do the deal today.”

Michelle recoiled at Tony DeVito's cigar in her face, but smiled politely. “Oh, thank you so much, but this horse isn't for sale.” She patted me and smiled, once again connecting in her special, intimate way. “This horse will never be for sale. He's doing the Grand Prix next week.”

The Grand Prix! I can't wait. I know I can win it. Finally, my chance!

April, Ocala, Florida

I was resting in my stall watching Oakley organize buckets, trunks, shavings and feed to take to the show.

The Grand Prix is this weekend! I can't wait!

“Oakley,” Speedy rushed into the barn, limping slightly, with a worried expression plastered across his face. He didn't pay attention to the pack of terriers that followed.

Speedy never got worried — something is wrong.

“I just got a call from Bob. He's at the hospital with Michelle. She was in a car crash last night. A drunk driver hit her while she was stopped at a red light. The car was totaled. He says it's bad, really bad. Her neck is broken and she can't move her legs. It don' look like she'll ride again. Heck, she might not walk again. She's gon' stay there for a few weeks and then probably move to a rehab hospital.” He shook his head dejectedly, “The Lord do test us, don' he?”

Michelle, poor Michelle! When will I see her again?

I missed her so much. The way she listened to me and spoke with movements instead of words, and the way she made me feel like I was the best horse in the world.

June, Ocala, Florida

 

“Tally ho…a hunting we will go!” Prism said in a funny accent, then burst into a fit of giggles. “Has anyone seen a fox? I must chase it. Cheerio!”

She was trying to cheer us up and she was pretty funny, I have to admit. Now that the barn was closing, Prism and Holzmann were going to Pennsylvania to foxhunt with the kids of one of Michelle's owners. Prism was amused by the idea and spent a week speaking with an accent.

Despite her efforts to lighten it, a heavy air hung over the farm. We worried about Michelle and missed her terribly. We had heard Speedy tell Oakley that she was in a special hospital and needed to sell her horses and the farm to pay the bills.

I was now for sale. Tony DeVito came to the farm with his trainer, Karl Arnaquer, to try me for his daughter. Outraged, Prism stamped her hoof angrily.

“Did you know that he offered Michelle a million dollars for you? She can't afford to say no because of the bills. That Karl Arnaquer wants to show you. Mark my words, he'll figure out how to ride you while he pretends that you're there for the girl.”

I was SOLD. I couldn't believe it.

She pawed at the ground, distressed. “Karl's a fraud. All he's really good at is chatting up rich owners and buying expensive horses. Watch out for him, Raja, I mean it. I heard that he uses drugs so his horses can keep showing when they're lame. Be careful!”

As they walked into the horse van, Holzmann and Prism and I whinnied and whinnied for each other. I thought of my mother's words about getting attached.

Why did things have to change?

June, Fairfield County, Connecticut

“Higher, set it higher,” Karl barked to Claire, his groom, as he drilled me every day over the big fences set up in his arena. And the pole — I hated the pole that Claire rapped my hind feet with in mid-air as I jumped.

They don't need that, I'm going to win. That's what I do.

If I had to think of a word to describe my time with Karl and Gabriella, it would be “lonely.” Other horses and people were around, I wasn't alone, but I just didn't connect with anyone. Horses are social, you know, herd animals. We need to bond. I thought about the ways I had bonded with the people in my life: Pedro and I shared a love of speed; Willie and I loved to win; Michelle and I wanted to be the best in perfect style.