The Black Stallion Legend Read online

  Alec paused again. He’d never heard of Hanoverians or Trakehners but knew of the Lipizzaners at the Spanish Riding School in Vienna, Austria. Pam’s love for horses included all breeds and all kinds of riding, Western as well as English. There was no one horse for her, as the Black was for him. She was a natural horsewoman, gifted with an instinctive understanding of the equine mind.

  Pam loved all people as she did all breeds of horses, Alec reminded himself. She wanted to try everything, know everybody, not waste a minute of her time, her life. She wanted to enjoy each moment, each day, each horse and each face. How could she settle for one person, one kind of life with him? Alec wondered. He knew she loved him as he did her, but would it ever work out? It would, he decided, if he thought of marriage as not being mutual ownership. If he always respected Pam as the complete individual that she was and understood her love and need to expand. He had no doubt that he could do it. Pam’s response to life, her exuberance, her trust in her fellow man, was what made him love her all the more.

  … Three friends and I have rented a small Volkswagen and are leaving tomorrow for the Spanish Riding School in Vienna to see the Lipizzaners perform! We’ll be gone only a week, and I’ll be back by the time you get here. We’re going by way of the highest Alps through Austria, and the beauty of the snow-covered mountains and passes should be something to see! It’s snowing here in Paris so it should be really great up there! I wish you were going with me, but we’ll have our time together, Alec, and it will be forever. Ours is not a story with a beginning and an ending. Didn’t I always love you? Won’t I always?

  Pam

  Alec put the letters away. The difficult part of being in love, he thought, was letting go when and if necessary. One can never have or own anyone. But he needed Pam very much, now more than ever. How he wanted to forget the necessity for winning, the frustration of losing. How he hated the fact that, from a business point of view, so much money was invested in him to win. He knew that if he didn’t get away he’d break under the mental strain and be no good to Hopeful Farm or anyone else. Only Pam could help him break free of the pressures that had him imprisoned. He needed to feel her joy again, the joy of life itself and all it offered.

  Alec left the office and went to his horses. Walking past the stalls, he smelled again all the familiar odors he loved—of hay, ammonia and feed—and heard the familiar sounds. Satan nickered and came to the iron bars of his stall, eager for attention. Even after so short a time away from the farm, Alec was impressed by Satan’s size. He had put on more weight and was huge compared to the Black, so massive, so powerful in chest and shoulders. His head was large, too, larger than his sire’s, but fine in nose and muzzle.

  Alec spoke softly to him, reaching through the bars to rub the white, diamond-shaped star in the center of his forehead. He remained with the big horse only a few more minutes before moving down the corridor.

  Alec loved Satan but not the way he loved his sire, the Black. Satan was Henry’s horse. As far as the trainer was concerned, Satan was the best horse they’d ever owned. Henry had molded him into a superb racing machine, one that was very competitive yet willing to obey the slightest touch of rein or leg. And for that reason, too, Satan had become a superb stud horse. He was too well trained to act the fighter when he passed another stallion or some innocent mare in a stall. He knew what was his and what wasn’t. And most important of all, he was content with his life at the farm, making him easy to handle.

  It was far different with the Black. He was always on his toes, conscious of every step, every whisper in the barn, and ready to challenge anyone who came near him. Neither Alec nor anyone else had ever made anything of the Black. He was more tamed than trained. And tamed only because Alec asked and the stallion gave. One did not fight the Black.

  Alec stopped before the stallion’s stall. The Black stood before the open window with the rays of the sun streaming upon his body. Alec spoke to him, his voice low and gentle. A muscle quivered in the horse’s marvelously smooth skin, then another and still another. But he did not turn away from the window.

  Alec knew his horse was aware of him and he spoke to him again. The Black’s chest swelled, his nostrils trembled; then he turned toward Alec, his eyes lighting up as he moved across the stall.

  Going inside, Alec pulled down the Black’s head to his own and stroked him, his fingers finding spots he knew gave his horse much pleasure and contentment because he could not reach them himself. The Black lowered his head still more so Alec might rub beneath his small ears. Alec held him close. It was good to be with his horse, where he belonged.

  The Black bent his long, graceful neck, his nostrils quivering and sniffing. He remained still, enjoying Alec’s touches while his long tail switched contentedly. Never was there a more magnificent horse, Alec knew. The Black was a perfect specimen, perfectly balanced, perfectly muscled. And he was as intelligent as he was well made. Too smart to bow to the will of Henry or anyone else. Too much a lover of freedom to be confined to a stall. The Black thrived best on blowing wind and green grass.

  “I’m sorry,” Alec said quietly. “I didn’t mean it to turn out this way, but there’s no turning back for us. We’re in it too deep. I don’t know what it would take for us to be free again—like it was, once upon a time.”

  Alec studied the Black. The horse might not be enjoying his confinement but he’d kept in shape by exercising himself in the large paddocks. There was no fat on him. Nor did he look drawn, creased or worn out from all the racing he’d done. There was a sharpness and spring to his every movement that matched the alertness in his eyes. Alec knew the Black was in good racing condition despite his being away from the track.

  The stallion cocked his ears as Alec continued talking to him, the words making little sense most of the time with only the sounds and rhythm being important. In this way they communicated with each other. The Black whinnied in reply, his long nostrils distended, his eyes bold.

  “I wish you were going to France with me, but I’ll be away only a few days. I can’t take you this time. When I get back, we’ll do something together that’s fun, really fun, I promise you.”

  But, Alec wondered, should I promise? Can I have fun with him when I get back? What about Henry? What about all that’s ahead? He had responsibilities. And with the breeding season coming up in February, the Black had responsibilities as well. Yet, Alec thought, there would be a slowing down of work between Christmas and February. If he could just get out of racing so much, perhaps he and the Black could get away together if only for a short time.

  Suddenly the Black raised his head from Alec’s arms, his small ears cocked and listening. Then he whinnied to the mares he’d heard outside. He went to the window and looked out, a coal-black silhouette against the golden light of the sun. Becoming more excited, he uttered a shrill whistle that was clearly meant for the mares he could not see but knew were there. He gathered himself, rocked back on his hindquarters and plunged about the stall, almost knocking Alec over.

  Alec left the stall, knowing he could do nothing to distract the Black from the mares outside. “You be good,” he said. “I’ll be back soon and then we’ll go away. Somehow we’ll go away somewhere, if only for a few days.”

  Outside the barn he plodded through the deep snow of the driveway. He wanted to pick up the mail to find out if there was a last letter from Pam before he drove to Kennedy Airport in New York City. Back in the office was his plane ticket, and his bag was packed and ready. Now that he’d been with the Black he’d said his good-byes to everybody. No one would miss him for a while.

  Alec looked at the broodmares on the other side of the driveway fence. They were listening to the Black’s calls from the Stallion Barn. So it is with life, Alec thought, and with one’s need for another. One needed one for balance.

  “Oh, Pam, soon we’ll be together,” he said aloud.

  Reaching into the mail container, he removed several letters and The New York Times. There was no l
etter from Pam, only bills addressed to the farm.

  Alec walked up the driveway while opening up the newspaper to read the day’s weather forecast. Snow was predicted in the afternoon, but if he left soon, he should have no trouble getting to the airport on time.

  His eyes fell to a short story in the lower right-hand corner of the front page. He was attracted to it because of the Paris, France, dateline. Then he read:

  FOUR STUDENTS KILLED

  IN ALPS CAR CRASH

  ONE FROM U.S.

  PARIS, France, December 15—Four students of the famous Phillipe de Pluminel School of Horsemanship were killed in a car crash twenty miles outside the mountain town of Kufstein, Austria. The students, Pam Athena, Denise Hermes, Simone Hachette, and Claudette Bradley, were riding in a Volkswagen when it skidded on the highest road in the Alps and plunged into an abyss. All students were from France except Pam Athena, an American, from Venice, Florida. The students were on their way to watch the Lipizzaner horses perform at the Spanish Riding School in Vienna.

  The newspaper dropped from Alec’s hands. For a moment he stood quietly in the snow, feeling nothing, seeing nothing. Then from somewhere deep within him came a piercing scream, wailing and shattering the stillness of the winter day. It was never-ending as he plunged forward, head downward, seeking the board fence for support. And when he came hard against it, his wailing stopped momentarily as he screamed the words, “You can’t die! I won’t let you! Pam!”

  Only the broodmares heard him. Startled, they turned their fine heads in Alec’s direction. Then their short, incessant neighs echoed the sorrowful wailing that went on and on and on.

  THE MOURNING

  5

  Alec remained hard against the fence, frozen like a statue. He continued screaming Pam’s name but the cries from his throat were nothing but a funnel of white in the cold, cold air. He stood there in the silence, his body shaking, his ears pounding, his head throbbing. He screamed Pam’s name again and this time the sound of his voice emerged from his throat, croaked and horrible.

  “She … never … should have … gone away. I … I loved her … so much … so very much.”

  There were tears and dreadful pain in his eyes. No one could do anything to help him … to bring her back. His tongue and lips were beyond control and a spasm twitched the muscles of his face. He let go his deathlike grip on the fence and turned toward the barn. He could see nothing. He swayed, unable to keep his feet, and collapsed in the snow, his face bloodlessly white, his eyes as lifeless as death.

  He lay in the snow in a frightening state of disintegration. His distress over the loss of Pam was fearful, but he knew something was wrong with his mind, something that had been triggered by his tragic loss. He could feel it. Rather, he could feel nothing, nothing at all, only the cold. Perspiration flowed from his body, dampening his skin, making him colder still. His teeth chattered as he raised his head from the snow and looked out blankly, seeing nothing.

  Struggling to his feet, he held on to the top of the fence. A frigid blast of wind struck his face and he could barely open his eyes. He looked over the fence and could make out only the vague figures of the broodmares. Slowly, he maneuvered his way along the fence, holding on to it with clutched hands lest he fall again.

  He went toward the Stallion Barn step by step in a dreamlike nightmare, his eyes closed. If only it were a dream, he thought. If only it would end when he opened his eyes. Pam would be in France waiting for him. He would go to her. They would be together again. They would be warm and safe and loving. If only!

  He stumbled frantically through the snow. He could see almost nothing, nothing except the dim outline of the Stallion Barn, where he believed he would be safe from whatever was happening to him. Then everything went blank as he tried to move faster, weeping in his despair. He fell in the snow several more times, but always got up, struggling to his feet. He reached the barn door and threw it open.

  He didn’t hear the Black’s neigh of welcome as he stood in the doorway, his body limp, his arms hanging straight down as if they were no longer a part of his body. He stood dazed, his eyes stark with shock.

  “God,” he pleaded, “please help.” But no sound came from his lips.

  He shook his head, trying to clear his mind, to think, to see. Even within the warm barn, he was unbearably cold, his teeth chattering. Straining his eyes, he stared at one stall after another, trying to find his horse. The intensity of his grief was something he found himself unable to cope with alone.

  His voice was choked and hoarse when he found the Black’s stall and called to him. But the sound of his voice was unfamiliar to the stallion who waited at the door.

  Alec stood in a daze after he entered the stall. The great black horse moved toward him, and Alec threw his arms around the slender neck and held on as if never to let him go. But his cries were for Pam, and the horse’s hoofs moved uneasily in the straw bedding.

  The Black shoved his head hard against Alec, pushing him through the open doorway. Alec’s hand slid to the halter, grasping it tightly in his great need to stay close to his horse. And he made no protests as the Black pulled him along faster once they were in the corridor, going he knew not where. Nor did he care.

  Several hours later Alec’s mind cleared somewhat and he found himself at the wheel of the pickup truck he used at the farm. He didn’t know how he’d gotten there or where he was going. His hands trembled on the wheel as he studied the winter road before him. There was an uncertainty about his movements and the truck skidded in the snow. It was as if he couldn’t remember how to do things, even drive.

  What was he doing there? What had happened to him?

  Half his mind was still with Pam and his thoughts paralyzed him. Alec shook his head, trying to see the road as distinctly as he saw Pam in his mind. She was standing before him, her head held high, smiling and so happy.

  His eyes were full of tears as he continued looking at her. She remained as he saw her, a girl who talked with her blue eyes, her tilted head. He looked at her without touching, his eyes dwelling on her face. His body shook. She was so warm and near, so very real to him that he could feel the taste of her upon his lips. He sought to hold her, and his foot pressed down on the accelerator.

  The truck slid off the road, its wheels spinning in the deep snow at the side where the snowplows had piled it. Alec banged his knee against the dashboard. The pain was excruciating. He rammed his foot hard on the accelerator and brought the truck back to the road, the wheels spinning wildly as they hit the slick pavement. He slowed down, knowing that while he would forever see Pam in his mind, he could not touch her, ever touch her again.

  The throbbing pain in his knee helped him see the road more clearly. It was empty of traffic. If he went slowly enough, he would not slide off it again, and he could keep going. But to where? Where was he going? What had happened to him? Shattered by shock, he knew only immense desolation.

  For the first time he looked into the rearview mirror and saw his face as white as snow, his eyes stark and bloodshot. He saw also the two-horse trailer he pulled behind. His foot clamped down on the brake and he brought the truck to a stop.

  What had he done in those hours between the time he had stood beside the Black in the barn and now? Had he taken his horse with him?

  Leaving the truck, he went to the trailer and opened the escape door. Inside he found bags of feed and hay, and standing tied was the Black, who neighed warmly to him. Alec threw his arms around his horse and wept.

  How he had loaded the Black was of no importance to him. It was enough that he had taken the Black with him. Instinctively, whatever his state of mind, he had made the Black secure in the trailer. The middle partition had been removed, allowing the stallion to spread his legs and keep his balance. Six inches of wood shavings were beneath the straw bedding to protect his feet. His legs were free of wraps, so they would not swell and heat up to cause aggravation and stomping. He had hay in his sling but no water; that would c
ome a few hours later. And he was tied with a rubber strap so he could move about and not feel so confined.

  All these things Alec had done without being aware of his movements. The truck he had taken, one of many at the farm, was powerful enough for him to have pulled the horse and trailer for several hours without being aware of it.

  Alec clasped his head in his hands. His fingers kneaded the sides, hoping to clear his mind and get rid of his numbness.

  Time to him now was static, like a jumped track with everything wiped clean but his love for Pam. He shut his eyes. What did it mean to have the past but not the present? He forced his eyes open. He had to go on, wherever the road led.

  Leaving the trailer, he stumbled through the snow to check the hitch on the truck, making sure it was secure. Wherever he was going, nothing must happen to his horse.

  He climbed behind the wheel, started the engine and drove slower and more carefully, trying to keep his anguished mind on the road.

  During the hours that followed and into the night, Alec drove constantly, stopping only to get gas and to water his horse every five or six hours. His route took him south on the New York State Thruway, which was clear of snow but hazardous, and then onto the New Jersey Turnpike, where night fell upon him.

  When dawn broke, he was in North Carolina on Interstate 95. He didn’t know why he was headed south except, perhaps, to be free of the snow as he wanted to be free of everything else. For a moment his mind wandered to Florida and he wondered if it was to Pam’s home state he wanted to go, to see her family and, perhaps, be at her funeral. He shook his head. He did not want to see one so alive, so dead. Better to see her always as she was, ever before him, smiling, beckoning him to follow her. Where, Pam, where?

  He did not question her guidance when, hours later, he turned westward on a highway that would take him through the Deep South and ever westward.