Henry was the first to turn away from the window. “Big deal,” he told a reporter. “She gets a horse that’s pounds the best and manages not to fall off.”
Few newsmen agreed with him; the consensus was that Becky had ridden the kind of race any man would have wanted for himself. She had beaten Mario Santos, New York’s leading apprentice, at his own kind of game, riding with head, hands and legs in a brilliant, driving finish. Becky had raced from the status of something on the order of a sideshow attraction to a mainring performer in one grueling duel.
“She’ll be getting more mounts from now on,” a reporter said. “She’s tough.”
“I’ll agree with you on that,” Henry said. “Sweet, little Becky surprised everybody, but it won’t happen again. There’ll be no more squiring her around, like Mike did today. The boys will know what to expect from now on.”
Alec followed Henry across the room. He was eager to call Pam and tell her that she could remain at Hopeful Farm.
As Alec went to a telephone, Henry said, “If you’re calling your girl friend, tell her you won’t be around for a while. I’ve got a new schedule worked out for us. We’re leaving for the West Coast tomorrow and racing at Hollywood Park on Saturday. It’ll be a month before we’re back.”
Alec didn’t answer. It was no time to reveal his great disappointment at not being able to see Pam next week as planned. But he knew she would be there when he got back. Despite her great love for freedom, she’d never leave the horses without seeing him. However, a month away was a long while—and he didn’t know how much time he had left to be with Pam.
A CHAMPION’S WAY
13
The following day the Black was flown to California, and those who went with him—Alec, Henry and Deb—felt as only people who are in the entourage of a great champion can. When they arrived at the Los Angeles airport, a large crowd, including the press, was there to meet them. They had gathered to look at the horse many of them knew only from newspapers and magazines and television. They peered into the plane and watched as he was transferred to a waiting van which took him to Hollywood Park, four miles away.
The week that followed was unlike any other period Alec had ever spent. He found Californians different from the fans back east, where horsemen and the public alike accepted the Black as champion without question. This was a “show-me” crowd, one seemingly determined to topple him from his pedestal to prove the superiority of their horses over those from the East. Never before had Alec thought of the Black as belonging to any one particular section of the country.
The Black was ready, Alec knew, to prove his greatness to them. There was not a pound of surplus flesh on him anywhere, and his form on the track matched the heroic proportions of his great body. Soon after his arrival he worked six furlongs in the blazing time of 1:08. Then the morning before his first race he was blown-out three furlongs in :32, both under the strongest kind of pull by Alec.
Back at the stable, Henry said, “I hope those times aren’t going to scare the others off. He might be racing all by himself tomorrow.”
The next day a large field of twelve horses went postward against the Black in the Sunset Handicap, a mile-and-a-half race over the turf course. But the great champion might have been racing alone, as Henry had anticipated. Coming into the homestretch of the long race, he was racing only his shadow while the others plodded along some fifty lengths in the rear. At the end he was running with the breathtaking speed of a sprinter, with Alec sitting still in the saddle.
The Black came back to the winner’s circle with his tail in the air. His time on the electric board read 2:23, faster than any horse in the world had ever gone before, perhaps a record never to be equaled!
The spectators rose to their feet in a standing ovation, and Alec knew that his horse had proved to one and all that he was truly a great champion.
Henry picked up first money of some $66,000 and told Alec that, though they were well on their way, this was only the beginning. He meant that they would be winning more and more purse money, Alec knew, for there were several very rich races ahead of them. Once more, Alec thought of Pam and her interest in horses simply for the love and enjoyment of them. Despite the fact that he knew it was his job as well as Henry’s to earn enough money to operate Hopeful Farm, he was sensitive to the trainer’s continued emphasis on purses rather than the electrifying beauty of the Black’s performance.
Californians’ attitudes toward the Black, backside as well as in the stands, changed overnight. His world-shattering record, made on their track, won their hearts. Now he belonged to them as well as to Easterners. They watched every move he made, and Alec could no longer call even the nights his own. He became resigned to people following him and his horse everywhere, around the barns and on the track, hanging over rails, watching the Black work and never quite believing their stopwatches. The Black took such giant strides when he ran alone in his workouts that one was never truly aware of his great speed without a watch on him.
Another large field of ten horses went against him in his second start a week later. He carried a heavy impost of 140 pounds and again made a shambles of a good field by winning the Los Angeles Handicap in track-record time.
Henry pocketed winner’s money of $54,000 and told Alec, “I knew the weight wouldn’t bother him none over seven-eighths of a mile. He might have had some trouble with them at a mile and over, but not at seven furlongs.”
“Then why’d you make so much fuss when he was assigned that weight?” Alec asked.
Henry grinned. “You wouldn’t want them to think I was happy about it, would you?”
“No, I guess not,” Alec answered. It was Henry’s strategy never to let anyone think he was satisfied with the imposts put on the Black. He was as sensitive as an apothecary’s scale to weights. In the past he had withdrawn the Black when he believed the weight assignment was excessive. He wouldn’t do that in California, Alec decided. Henry was out to bank all the purse money he could get his hands on, and in as short a time as possible.
During the weeks that followed, the Black went postward three more times and had the track almost to himself. The trainers at Hollywood Park had acknowledged his invincibility—not in words, but in an even stronger way. They kept their horses in the barns. Only a few were willing even to race for second money; they did not want to embarrass their owners or themselves by suffering humiliating defeats.
The Black carried 140 pounds in each race, giving up to thirty-five pounds to the few horses who ventured forth to race him. These contests were more exhibitions than races, and the fans watched them as such, their applause swelling as the Black came back, their eyes leaving him only to check the times posted on the electric board. They realized that, even under the strongest kind of restraint, he had been very close to lowering more records.
The hero worship given the Black was completely out of control, Alec knew, but neither he nor Henry could do anything about it.
“Don’t let all this go to your head,” he told the Black in the privacy of his stall, the only place he could ever find to be alone with him, and then only with both halves of the door closed. He doubted that all the clamor had any effect on his horse; the danger of over-confidence rested with those who took care of him.
The Black belonged to everybody in the stable, and this was their hour of triumph as well as the champion’s. The Black was a super horse, and they stood proudly beside him, sharing his fame.
Yet it was not easy for them to have such a horse in their stable. It took more endurance, more stamina than most people realized. Every casual remark made by any of them was repeated and published for the world to read. Each person was the subject of intense criticism as well as envy. Few people seemed to know that even a great horse could be beaten by a misstep on the track, a stable accident, bad racing luck, even a slight cold or an off day. A loving but severe public would tolerate no excuse, even the thousand or more trivial ones that could defeat the Black.
Henry was too old to hope that he would ever have another champion like the Black and Alec doubted that the trainer would want one. Henry was more irritable than ever. He had taken just about all he could from the public, from newsmen, even from his fellow horsemen at the track.
Alec glanced at the two huge wads of cotton Henry had placed in the Black’s ears so the loud music in the adjoining stable would be muted and not disturb him. The stable kept a radio tuned to a station specializing in loud, popular music. It blared away all day long. Fighting mad, Henry had asked the trainer to tone it down or put an end to it. The man had shaken his head and replied that everyone in the area liked the music, including his horses; it helped them get used to the commotion and the band music on race days. It was good for them.
The trainer was one of the many promising young horsemen racing in California, and when Henry angrily told him it would drive his animals crazy, citing his own age-old experience with horses, the young trainer had answered, “Times have changed, Pops. You’re just not with it any more, even if you do have the big horse in your stable.”
Alec pulled the Black’s head down to him. He didn’t think the loud music bothered the stallion, but he’d left the cotton in anyway. The Black might be sensitive to noise, but he was intelligent as well, and it should not upset him. Maybe he even liked it, as Alec did. Some of the records were those Alec had heard Pam play, and they brought her very close to him.
Soon they would return to Aqueduct, where life—even with a champion—was easier than in Hollywood Park. He would go to the farm immediately to see Pam. He was beginning to realize how much she meant to him. Somehow, he must convince her to stay on.
The following week—with another triumphant race behind him and an additional $43,000 added to his winnings—the Black and his entourage returned to Aqueduct.
“I GIVE YOU ARCTURUS”
14
It was late evening, the day of his return to Aqueduct, when Alec drove down the country road leading to Hopeful Farm. Reaching the main gate, he stopped the car and climbed the board fence. He paused on the top rail.
The fields and lower woods lay in ghostly silence before him, draped in a lightly veiled mist. Sounds carried easily across the silence. He heard the sharp neighs of mares, followed almost instantly by the nickerings of foals and the clatter of hoofs.
He had called Pam from New York, and had told her he’d be up right away. She had said that, if it was after dark, he would find her with Black Sand at a spring-fed pool they both knew well.
Alec jumped to the ground and walked across the pasture, his arms swinging loosely against his thin but hard frame. Like a smooth-gaited animal he moved quickly through the night mist, his nostrils sniffing the scents of pasture grasses and the warm bodies of horses. He could see the dark figures of broodmares and their suckling foals. The joy and excitement of being home and seeing Pam again grew with every stride.
His gaze followed the cleanliness of the white fences and well-cared-for fields. Unfortunately, Henry was right, he decided; they needed to win big purses to keep the farm going. It was not something on which they could lose money and charge off the loss on their tax returns, as did wealthy sportsmen who bred and raced horses for the fun of it. While such people were important, they were not the backbone of racing, as many thought. No, it was horsemen like Henry who carried most of the burden, and they waged war against each other to make a profitable living for themselves and the thousands they employed at farms and tracks.
Alec wondered if Pam would ever accept such materialistic goals and remain with him. She was still trying to make this the best of all possible worlds, while he was willing to accept it as the only world he had and make the best of it. Maybe they could reach a compromise.
The mist lifted and he could see the starry sky. It was a beautiful night. Peaceful. Healthy. Friendly. He climbed another fence and broke into a run, breathing deeply the air that was so cool and light.
“I’m back, Pam!” he called aloud, and then laughed because he knew she was still too far away to hear him.
Finally, tall trees loomed before him, like arrows aimed at the night sky. He slowed to a walk as he entered the woods that were part of the lower field. The light from the stars filtered through the beeches and elms and pines, making it easy for him to follow the path. He came to a large pool, fed by a spring, where he found her.
She was sitting on the ground, her back against the trunk of a tree and her head turned toward Black Sand drinking at the pool. Alec remained where he was, a short distance away. Her face was as he had visualized it so often during the past month. He saw her profile in the whitish light from the stars, her features chiseled with perfect precision.
Yet she appeared so much smaller, lighter, weaker than he remembered. Why then had he thought of her as having so much strength? Was it that she always met his eyes when he talked to her? That she never lied about her emotions or broke a promise? That she always played it straight?
Alec took a step forward, and she heard him before the colt did. In a single movement, as quick and supple as the stretching of an animal, she was on her feet and had her arms around him.
Holding her, Alec said, “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“You didn’t.” She laughed. “After all, I was expecting you.” She pushed him away to get a better look.
“Well …?” Alec asked finally, his gaze fixed on hers. He knew she was appraising him, as he had her, after a month’s absence.
“You look great,” she said, “very rugged and fit.”
“I worked hard, if that’s what you mean. We did a lot of racing in a short time.”
She squinted back at him. “I’ve been working hard, too.”
“And you look great, too,” Alec said.
Her tawny hair, parted in the middle, fell long to either side of her face. A light cotton dress outlined her trim, supple body.
“How are the colts?” he asked.
“They’re working well,” she answered, “especially Black Sand.” She glanced at the colt grazing nearby. “He’s faster than ever. Things have worked out pretty well between us.”
“I’m happy for you and for him,” Alec said, taking her in his arms again.
“And for yourself too?”
“Yes, I’m happy for me too.”
“But it was not all to the good in California, was it?” she asked after a moment. “You look a little … well, tense, I guess.”
Alec did not answer right away. He didn’t want to tell her that the only purpose of the trip had been to make as much money for Hopeful Farm as possible. This, added to the normal strain of racing the Black, had put him under a lot of pressure, which he still felt.
Finally, as if in some kind of self-justification, he said, “The Black did everything he was asked to do, but it wasn’t easy. He sprinted and went a distance. He raced on all kinds of tracks—slow, muddy and fast. He carried as much weight as they put on his back, and we won every time.”
She was silent a moment, then said, “I’m happy you won every time. That’s important to you, isn’t it?”
“It is because it’s our business, Pam,” he said quietly. “We race horses for money—a dubious honor I’ll admit, but the money is real, and we need it to run this place.”
“Sure, I understand,” she said. “But now you’re home and you don’t have to think about it any more, not for a while anyway.”
They walked over to the spring-fed pool, kneeled down and drank cold water from the hollow of their hands. Then they stretched out on the grass, side by side, and looked up at the stars.
The warm earth felt good beneath Alec’s back and slowly he felt tense muscles relax. The feeling stayed with him and he took Pam’s hand.
“I give you Arcturus, Pam,” he said, pointing to a big, bright-orange star directly above them. “See it up there? It’s yours.”
She laughed, very pleased, and said, “Thank you, sir.”
While they were
watching, a falling star streaked through the southern sky, its golden tail fanning out like a searchlight before disappearing altogether.
She turned her head toward him and said in genuine alarm, “I don’t want to fall like that, Alec, not until I’m all I can be.”
Surprised by her seriousness, he said, “You’ll never fall, Pam, not you. But even if you did, I’d be there to catch you.” Then, seeing that she was truly afraid, he took her in his arms and kissed her.
“I believe you would catch me,” she said, her face pressed against his, “because it takes life to love life. And I am you as you are you as you are me.”
“That’s a very nice thought,” he said.
Her thoughts and comments had a way of scattering in all directions, Alec decided. Sometimes they were clear, sometimes cloudy, but always interesting.
He kept his arms around her and finally they talked of her world, the one she was trying to make the best of all worlds.
“It’s insane the way it is now,” she said. “Everybody looking for something and desperate. Who are we? What are we? Can we make it? Rush, rush, rush. Do something. Accomplish something. Don’t be left out. No stopping, no quiet. Make up your mind. This is bad. This is good. Fussing, feuding, fuming. Preaching and pointing fingers. Dividing people into us and them. It’s all so destructive, Alec! All such a phony substitute for being satisfied with one’s own self, one’s own being and one’s own life.”
Alec thought she had finished, only to hear her add in a voice barely audible, “There’s a time to be still, I think, to enjoy the pleasure of being alone, like now, like it is with us.”
“Then why don’t you stay here?” he asked seriously. “Why your great need to move on, if you believe all you said?”
“I don’t know why.” She paused a moment, thoughtful, and then said, “Something tells me to go on and see as much as I can. Do you believe in ESP or second sight, Alec?”
He did not answer right away, not until she raised her head from the ground and prodded him. “Well, do you?”
The Black Stallion and the Girl Page 8