The Island Stallion Races (14 page)

Steve watched Jay run across the clearing. He sought to train his eyes to see the cruiser, if only by the slight gleam of a bubble to fix its location. But he saw nothing, and meanwhile Jay disappeared from sight long before reaching the trees.

Flame snorted again, and Steve turned back to him. The stallion’s nostrils were flared widely, sniffing unfamiliar scents. Steve stroked him softly, comforting him, and Flame turned his head at the boy’s touch, nuzzling his hand before once more shattering the night air with a shrill whistle.

Jay returned, carrying a large bag. “It wouldn’t be wise to be found here,” he told Steve anxiously. “Can’t
you keep him quiet? I’ve done all I can, and he continues making enough noise to wake up the countryside! We’ll have the dogs on us, if he keeps it up.”

Jay hurried through the trees, and Steve led Flame after him without answering. The stallion continued his neighing but otherwise gave Steve no trouble.

They walked a long while, emerging from the trees to follow a deep ditch, then climbing out and entering the woods again. Steve had no doubt that Jay knew exactly where he was going. When they finally reached a dirt road, they were perspiring and breathing heavily. But Flame seemed tireless; he pressed on, impatient at their slowing footsteps, snorting loudly and neighing.

Jay said, “Let him make all the noise he wants to now.” He took a few quick breaths before adding, “I just didn’t want anyone to find us near the cruiser.”

“They wouldn’t be able to see it anyway,” Steve said.

“No, but they might walk into it and become alarmed. Perhaps they’d even damage it in some way. Then where would we be?”

Steve had no answer.

In the distance they heard dogs barking, and Flame shrilled his challenge again.

Jay said, “He isn’t pulling, is he?”

“No,” Steve said. And strangely enough, the lines were loose in his hands, even though the barking of the dogs and the open dirt road beneath Flame’s restless hoofs should have caused the stallion to pull hard on the lines.

“Could they find us here?” Steve asked.

“Of course. Although it isn’t the villagers’ custom to leave their homes at night. They’re fishermen … early risers, you know. However, what if they did come upon us walking along here? We’d only be what we look like, you know, two men and a horse.”

Steve said not a word. Two men and a horse. It was as simple as that. No Blue Valley. No mother ship from a distant planet. No cruiser that had brought them here in a matter of minutes. Nothing before them but a village where people lived and faced the reality of catching fish for their livelihood, day after day. Two men and a horse, walking through the night. As simple as that.

Jay’s pace slowed still more, and Steve said, “You’re tired. Shall I carry your bag for a while?”

“No, thanks, Steve. You’ve got enough to do with Flame acting as he is. I can’t understand it. He should be very quiet.” Jay paused, taking a long breath before adding, “But we haven’t far to go now.”

Finally they were able to see the distant lights of the village, and the sea was close for they could hear the crash of waves. Once they heard shrill laughter carried on the night breeze from the village, and later music from a juke box or radio.

Flame neighed at each strange sound, but he did not rear or bolt and Steve kept him at his side.

Suddenly Jay stopped. “Well, we’re here, Steve,” he said.

“Where do we go?” Steve asked, seeing nothing but trees and the bare road.

“Why, right here, of course,” Jay answered, turning in from the road.

Only when Steve too had stepped off the road was he aware of the graveled driveway. It circled through the trees, going in the direction of the sea. Occasionally he could see the lights of the village, and once more he heard faint music.

Flame’s whistle pierced the night, and it was echoed by louder barking from the dogs.

Jay said, “I suppose that hearing all these unfamiliar noises is good for Flame. He’ll get used to them and settle down, making it easier for us later.”

“I guess so,” Steve said. “But the people will hear him tonight for sure.”

“I suppose so,” Jay agreed. “But it doesn’t matter. A horse is nothing unusual to them. No more than my renting this seaside home for the week-end.”

Just ahead Steve saw the dim outline of a sprawling house, and closer still a small shed. “When did you rent it?” he asked.

“Yesterday. Didn’t you miss me, Steve?”

“Yes, but weren’t they surprised to see you?”

“Surprised?” Jay asked, turning to Steve in the darkness and smiling kindly, patiently. “The renting agents, you mean? Surprised to see a wealthy gentleman from Havana seeking a few days’ rest from business problems? I’m more surprised at your asking such a question, Steve! They were pleased, very pleased, I can assure you. Their price for this house was exorbitant but I didn’t quibble one bit.”

Undaunted, Steve said, “But they could tell you were not one of them.”

“A matter of speaking Spanish, you mean?” Jay
laughed gaily. “Again, I’m surprised at you. It’s a very simple language. It just flows.”

Jay turned and went to the shed. Removing a key from his pocket, he opened the doors. He turned on the light and inside Steve saw a large box stall, also a bale of hay … both waiting for Flame.

“Horseback riding is a sport enjoyed by many Havana businessmen,” Jay said. “They love to ride along the coast. So a seaside house is not a home without a stable.” He chuckled at his remark, then said, “Bring in our charge, Steve. His room and dinner await.”

Flame’s hoofs rang on the wood floor as he followed Steve into the shed. He reared when Jay put on the light, almost striking his head on the ceiling. When he came down he pawed the floor hard, his large eyes bright with fright.

“Put him in the stall,” Jay said, alarmed and full of anxiety now. “He’ll settle down there.”

Steve led Flame into the roomy stall and remained beside him, trying to soothe him by words and gentle stroking. Finally he told Jay, “He’ll never get used to a stall, no matter how large it is.”

Jay cut the cord binding the bale of hay, and offered some to Flame. “Maybe if he eats something, Steve,” he suggested.

The red stallion sniffed the hay without touching it.

Steve said, “I’ll have to graze him. He won’t eat this.… Not now, anyway.”

“He will if he has nothing else,” Jay said, his irritation returning. “You can take him out for grass tomorrow morning. We can do nothing more at this time, and
there’s no possibility of his hurting himself in such a fine big stall.” He turned away. “Come on, Steve. You must be as hungry as I am.”

“You go in the house,” Steve said. “I’ll stay here with him.”

“But …” Jay began, bewilderment in his eyes as he looked first at Steve, then at Flame. “All right then,” he said, “I’ll bring something to you.” Suddenly he brightened.

“Just wait until you taste what I’m cooking tonight! It’s called
paella
. I picked up the recipe yesterday at lunch. It has yellow rice and bits of sausage, hot sausage, Steve … and chicken and clams and mussels.”

Steve watched Jay hurry to the door; there the little man stopped, turning around again. “Of course you won’t be sleeping here, will you? Not when you can have a comfortable bed for a change.”

“I’m not leaving him,” Steve answered firmly.

Jay shrugged his narrow shoulders. “Sometimes I just don’t understand you at all,” he said. “But have it your own way. I just thought you’d like a good night’s sleep with all the work you have ahead of you.” He left the shed, his voice trailing behind him.

Steve thought,
“It’s a party for Jay, a big party. Eat well. Sleep well. Have fun. Soon we’ll be off to the races!”
He turned to Flame, trying to quiet the stallion’s mounting uneasiness.
“For us, it’s different, a lot different. But I guess Jay doesn’t understand. It’s a detail he’s forgotten.”

Later Steve heard music again, only now it was much louder, being ever so much closer. Jay had turned on the radio.

The
paella
had been everything Jay promised … savory with just the right amount of hot peppers and sausage, fresh chicken and seafood, all garnishing the steaming, yellow rice. They had eaten in the shed, straddling a bale of hay that was covered by a gaily checkered tablecloth which Jay had supplied.

“It’s not exactly the way I’d planned it,” Jay said. “But I dislike eating alone more than anything else. Good, isn’t it?”

Steve’s mouth had been too full to answer. Jay laughed, very pleased that his cooking was being so well appreciated.

Hours later, Steve lay in the straw just outside Flame’s stall. His eyes were closed but he was not asleep. Sleep would come only when Flame had settled down for the night. The horse’s movements within the stall never ceased, and there was no end to his neighing.

In the darkness of the shed, Steve continued talking to Flame. It made no difference what he said so long
as he kept talking. Only the sound of his voice mattered, that and the rhythm.

“It’s a nice, big stall, isn’t it? Almost as big as my room at home, Flame. I wonder what my folks are doing tonight? Reading, I suppose, if they’re not in bed by now. Unless there’s a fight on, of course. Then Dad will be watching television, and Mom will be out in the kitchen to get away from it. I guess she reads more than anyone else in the world. It would be nice if she had a book of mine to read some day. I’d be proud, Flame. I sure would be.”

The stallion pawed the straw and neighed loudly. There were also sounds of hay being quickly pulled from the manger and then Flame’s cautious chewing.

“It’s grass, all right,” Steve told him, “cured grass. Not the kind you’re used to, but a lot of horses eat it. Up north where it gets cold, horses eat it all winter long … and some who don’t have any pastures to graze even eat it during the summer.”

The chewing stopped and Flame began moving about the stall again.

“I’ll bet Mom and Dad would be surprised if they knew I was a couple of thousand miles closer to home,” Steve continued. “And they’d never believe the way I got here. Nobody I know would believe that. Yet we’re here. I wish they could meet Jay. Flick, too. I wonder if the others from the ship are as nice. I’m sure they must be. They’re all somewhere in our world, seeing things, and nobody even knows it. Nobody but me.”

The stallion snorted. He must have had his head over the stall door, for Steve felt his warm breath.

“All right,” Steve said quietly, “you know about them, too. Just you and me, then. I’ll have to watch Jay while we’re here. Not that he’d intentionally do anything wrong. But he takes an awful lot for granted sometimes. He doesn’t know you as I do, Flame, in spite of everything he
does
know.”

The high windows in the shed held the first gray light of dawn when Steve opened his eyes. Startled, he jumped to his feet, worried about Flame. He had slept and couldn’t remember if Flame had ever settled down or not.

The shed was terribly still, and he could see nothing of Flame in the grayness of early morning. Frantically he searched for the hanging light cord. When he finally found it he pulled hard on it, his eyes on the stall. Still no movement there. No sign of Flame. Rushing to the door, he yanked it open. In the straw lay the red stallion, breathing easily. His eyes had opened as the light had struck them and now they blinked in its glare. He raised his head from the straw, neighing softly, and Steve was beside him, laughing with relief and running his hands down the long, slim neck while Flame drew his forelegs beneath him and rose.

Steve pulled the matted straw from Flame’s mane, telling him how glad he was that he had rested. The stallion pulled a mouthful of hay from the rack and Steve knew then that everything was all right. He smoothed the mane and then cleaned Flame’s long tail. He found himself wishing he had a brush, and he thought of the shining metal water pail Jay had left in the shed the night before. Jay must have a brush, too, somewhere
around. Steve wondered how long Jay usually slept in the morning.

Picking up the pail, he refilled it, glad to see that Flame had emptied it during the night. He glanced at the hackamore hanging from a peg outside the stall. All this was far removed from the life they’d known in Blue Valley. He felt very domesticated. But at least it could be done. He had proved that much, even though he preferred what had been left behind. And he didn’t have to wonder if Flame felt any differently.

A little later he slipped the hackamore over Flame’s head. He noticed the rapid swaying of the long tassels even though there was no movement from Flame and no draft in the shed. For a moment he thought of the billowing, angry tapestries again and of how Jay had said,
“… everything is alive in one form or another. Nothing is ever really dead.”

Steve took up the lines, and their warmth felt good in the early morning dampness. “If nothing is ever really dead,” he thought, opening the shed doors, “then no one is ever really alone. Come on, Flame. Easy now.”

The stallion stepped lightly into the heavy grayness. He sniffed the moist sea wind. Steve made no attempt to keep him quiet, for Flame’s calls held neither alarm nor fright as they had during the previous evening. The stallion was sure of himself once more, and his shrill whistles carried all of his Blue Valley arrogance. His head disclosed it too, for he held it high, undaunted by the strangeness of this land.

Flame moved quickly in the dim light, and his coat, so red and glistening beneath the electric bulbs, now
looked somber in color; yet his body appeared larger and more powerful. Steve let him go, holding the lines loose in his hands and allowing the stallion to choose his own grass to graze. There were few patches to Flame’s liking, and he moved constantly from one place to another, his head close to the ground and nostrils sniffing.

When he stopped it was to snatch only a few blades, if any at all, then he would go on, taking Steve farther and farther away from the shed. Often, too, he would turn his head curiously about him, his eyes bright and his ears pricked up. He was wary, interested and unafraid.