Raja, Story of a Racehorse (13 page)

There's no one here — horses or people — that I want to bond with.

Even when we were at Karl's home barn, we didn't get turned-out much. I spent most of the time dozing in my dark stall. We moved around so much: Wellington in the winter, Connecticut in the summer, living more at horse shows than at the farm. The “A” Circuit, they called it: Devon, Upperville, Saugerties, Lake Placid, and, of course, the Hampton Classic. They were all the same. We lived in stabling tents, with no fields to stretch our legs or have a roll. Grooms tacked us up and groomed us and the kids came and rode and then handed us back to them. Sometimes I got the feeling that I was just another pretty accessory, like the shiny new cars the kids all had.

It was strange. Karl always wore his sunglasses, even in the barn. I never once saw his eyes. He wasn't big on patting and rewarding or trying to hear me. It was as if I were a car or tractor — just turn me on and go. He was always in a hurry, never a moment to take a deep breath and focus. Not like Michelle, who radiated calm and a relaxed awareness of everything I was feeling. All that rushing made me edgy. But he liked edgy, he thought it showed spirit.

“He's going good. Let's think about the Grand Prix at the Hampton Classic.” He meant with him riding me, not Gabriella. Prism had been right. Karl was riding me more and more in competition. But I was a winner and I won for Karl, despite the severe bit he rode me in and the way he yanked me around roughly with his heavy hands rather than using his legs and weight subtly the way Michelle had.

“Whoa, baby, whoa.” Gabriella clutched the reins, terrified, when she rode me. On course, she panicked, misjudging the fence distances and throwing me off balance, sometimes even falling off just from being loose when I jumped with a little extra spring.

I always felt on edge when her father, Tony, came around the barns. “Come on Gabby, stand up straight, smile! I spent two thousand dollars on that orthodontist — show off those teeth! I bought you a new Hermes saddle. Six thousand dollars — do you like it? It should make you win. After you lose some weight, we can measure you for a custom-tailored show coat — nothing but the best for my little girl.”

Gabriella just hunched over more, looking miserable, as if she were trying to hide or blend into the ground. “Thanks Daddy, you didn't need to. I'll try harder.”

The other girls teased her so badly that most days she hid in my stall and cried, hugging herself and biting her nails. Often she hugged me and cried into my mane.

How can people be so mean to one another?

I felt sorry for her and I remembered my mother's words about being kind, and tried to live up to them. Now I knew what Prism had meant when she said she gave kids confidence and taught them. I tried to give Gabriella confidence. And we did win, when she stayed on. But it wasn't always easy with all of that clutching and grabbing and yanking my mouth and dropping me in front of a fence and getting left behind.

With Gabriella, I never felt that shared joy from a perfect jump off or fast work — that feeling of being better together. But we won, despite the bad riding. Most of the horses doing the junior jumpers were older campaigners that had already reached the top of their career and were on their way down. I was younger, stronger, and sounder than all of them.

“See here, you behave,” Claire shouted when I jigged and danced, full of pent up energy from no turn-out. She jerked a chain lead shank over the soft part of my nose.

What did I do? Why am I being punished?

“What's going on tonight? Heard about any parties?” Claire leaned forward and offered the farrier a cigarette, pulling her frizzy blonde hair with its dark roots out of its pony tail and shaking it loose as she leaned against the side of his truck while he trimmed my hooves.

“Don't tell me you smoke around the barns.” He shook his head, disapprovingly.

“Rules are meant to be broken, don't you agree? I'll bet a big strong man like you has broken a rule or two.” She winked, sidling closer as he backed up a step.

She broke quite a few rules, but Karl didn't seem to notice. Most days she didn't feed us until quite late in the morning and when Karl was away, she didn't come in the morning at all. When she showed up she wore sunglasses and moved slowly, complaining of a headache. Often, I drank all of my water after I was ridden and spent the night thirsty. She put hoof dressing on so I looked good, but she never picked out my hooves and I got a bad case of thrush, which made me sore.

August, Bridgehampton, New York

“Welcome to the Hampton Classic. The official show time is eight o'clock.”

I heard the loudspeaker as two seagulls fought over some old french fries someone had spilled on the ground outside my stall. It was a hot day and a big fan at the end of the stabling tent was making a lot of noise but not helping much. Karl was writing a chart of ride times for his students in the tack stall next to me.

An efficient young woman with a handful of cut pieces of yarn looped through her belt stood on a grooming box braiding a veteran “A” circuit Medal Maclay horse, Wimbledon, who stood patiently in the stall on the other side of me. The woman paused to wipe the sweat off her forehead with a rub rag. Wimbledon took the opportunity to turn his half-braided neck with its row of 30 or so skinny little braids waiting to be pulled up and tied toward me for a chat.

“You're so lucky jumpers don't have to be braided like us “big eq” horses. It's so itchy — especially when it's hot like this. First time at the Hampton Classic for you, eh? The Classic is a special show. It's a big deal, especially the Grand Prix. Rich people and celebrities spend their summers near the beach close by and they come to watch. Half the people here are more interested in watching celebrities than horses!”

Gabriella and one of Karl's students, Wimbledon's rider, paused to watch the braider before walking into the tack stall. “Those braids look beautiful! Thanks! Hi, Karl — what time should I start getting ready? Wow, it's hot out there. This tent isn't much better. We're going to the beach tonight after the show. Oh my god, there are sooo many famous people here. Hey, Gabriella, did you see that Rod McCabe and his royal girlfriend are here? Isn't he your favorite movie star? Paparazzi are all over the place. Maybe you'll get your picture in People magazine if you win,” she laughed.

The Hampton Classic did feel different. The fresh, salty sea air permeated everything, overpowering the usual horse show smells. The spectators dressed up more, too — like the people at Saratoga. Big white tents overflowing with food-laden tables surrounded the main arena. High-heeled ladies in colorful dresses and hats with wide, floppy brims chatted with men in crisp, navy blue jackets.

On Saturday, the day of the Grand Prix, I was surprised to see Flash Jackson towering over a group of people in one of the tents. I wondered where Max was.

I miss Max and Shaddy — will I ever see them again?

Later that day, Gabriella and I were walking back to the stabling area after our class and I smelled it…

Gardenias and peppermint!

I stopped suddenly and raised my head sharply, looking into the tent where the smell was coming from. A tall, thin woman with dark hair down to her waist was speaking to a deeply tanned man with dark hair and sunglasses — the curve of her back was familiar. She raised her graceful arm, lined with colorful bracelets, to tuck her hair behind her ear.

It's Princess Ayesha!

I stopped suddenly and pawed the ground impatiently. A high-pitched sound, halfway between a nicker and a whinny escaped from me as I tried to get her attention.

Look over here! Princess Ayesha, I'm here, 20 yards away!

“Come on Raja,” Gabriella kicked me forward. “Omigod, there's Rod McCabe. He's even hotter in person than the movies.” We stopped once more.

I squeal-nickered again, this time louder, pawing the ground excitedly.

I'm here! Look this way!

But Princess Ayesha still didn't look in my direction. Gabriella gave me a tap with her crop and I walked on, dejected. That night I thought about Princess Ayesha and Bob and Pedro and Chris and Willie and Michelle and Oakley and Speedy.

I'm so lonely. What are Max, Shaddy, Holzmann and Prism doing right now?

My mother's words came back, “Don't get attached to a person, or another horse, or your heart will break.”

The next morning, I had a surprise.

“I rode this horse when he was with Michelle. Do you mind if I give him a carrot?”

Oakley!

It was sooo good to see him. He fed me a carrot as I nibbled his fingers and rubbed my head against him, drinking in his minty, liniment smell. Oh, how it reminded me of Michelle and all of my friends! He stopped by every day after that.

“The official show time is two o'clock. There is a hold on course,” the loudspeaker boomed as Gabriella and I trotted around the warm up ring. I spooked as a loose flap on one of the sponsor tents billowed then snapped in the wind. Next to us, a woman wrestled to hold an exuberant fat pug at the end of a bright green leash while she carried a cardboard tray overflowing with french fries to a group of junior riders. I noticed dark clouds assembling in the distance. A hat flew off one of the ladies in the tent next to us, whirling and dancing across the arena with the lady in pursuit, struggling in the sand with her high heels.