The Black Stallion and the Girl (8 page)

His parents had continued to talk about Pam almost as if she weren’t a real person, just one of today’s youth, whom they judged from television and the newspapers to be very irresponsible. They were kind, wonderful parents, but Alec realized their remarks were lethal enough to poison the climate of feeling between generations. And he was further disturbed to think that they did not seem to consider him one of today’s youth.

It was all very difficult to understand. He knew his parents to be fair and tolerant. They had allowed him to choose his own course in life, and had given him all the freedom any son could have asked. How else could he have shaped his life with the Black?

What had happened to them?

What had happened to Henry?

Alec entered the barn, wondering if possibly his parents and Henry were more
fearful
than angered by what Pam represented—a passion for life that went beyond obtaining material possessions, all the things they had worked so hard to get.

Right or wrong, Pam was asking questions which all of them, including himself, least wanted to hear, for such questions challenged their goals, their ideals and their conscience!

Alec went to her apartment, only to find the lights out. Quickly he descended the stairs and left the barn, knowing she was somewhere around, for her car was still there.

Night had fallen and he waited for his eyes to become adjusted to the darkness before climbing the
fence and walking across the field. There was no moon and the night was lit only by the stars.

He was almost to the edge of the woods when he heard the notes of a flute echoing in the stillness. He paused in his tracks, knowing Pam was there, somewhere ahead of him.

He had decided to tell her everything, how everyone felt about her. Then she could decide whether or not she wanted to stay. If she did, he wouldn’t let her go, for his feelings had changed after spending the day with her.

He moved forward again, his steps unconsciously keeping time to the sounds of the flute. There was a smooth, steady rhythm to the beat that was beautiful in its simplicity.

He came to an abrupt stop when he saw her, for she was dancing to her music. While he watched, she leaped high on bare feet and hard, muscular legs, spun in the air and came down to fall back a pace. Then she sprang forward again, bent a knee, bounded on one leg while spinning in great whirlwinds that sent her long hair flying like great golden wings. Every inch of spine, every joint moved and flowed as she danced her own dance to her own music. Hers was a body abandoned to utter freedom. It was more than dancing, Alec decided; it was a furious and magnificent soaring flight, performed more by the mythical god Pan than by Pam.

Finally, she collapsed to the ground, exhausted and breathing heavily. Yet even then she had an air of grace, a marvelous flair, such as comes from nature alone.

He moved forward but her eyes were closed and she did not see him. He felt that he was invading her privacy, and regretted that he had not called to her instead of stealing quietly upon her.

She was wearing a white cotton dress, sprinkled with colored blossoms. Tiny diamond earrings shone softly in the lobes of her ears. She had her arms over her head and her slender, supple body and long straight legs were stretched out in the complete relaxation of an exhausted animal.

“Hello,” he said. “I would think you’d be too tired for all that.”

She opened her eyes, startled to find him there.

“I didn’t know I had an audience,” she said with some embarrassment. “I was dancing because I’m so happy. What a fabulous, fantastic day, Alec.”

“It was fun,” Alec said. “I don’t think I’ve ever been happier after a day’s work.”

“Me too,” she said, reaching for his hand. He took it and sat down on the grass beside her.

Night hawks flew overhead and their gazes followed the outline of winged bodies against the sky.

“I wish I were one of them,” she said. “Wings would be good for me.”

“Why?” he asked. “You soar well enough without them.”

“It’s just that I want to see and hear everything.”

“How come you’re so restless?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “I guess I just like to go from place to place. What’s the good of coming to a halt when I’ve so much to do?”

“But isn’t it kind of a rushing thing?” Alec asked.

“I suppose so,” she admitted. “But if I stay anywhere very long, it gets to be a planning thing and somehow it’s wrong for me. I’m sure of that but I don’t know the reasons why. It just is. I say to myself, ‘I’ve been here long enough. I’ve done what I’ve wanted to do. I’ve made some money. What am I going to do with it? Save it? What for? To have what others have who’ve made it?’ So I move on to see something else.”

“Maybe you’re running?” Alec put it as a question and did not say it harshly. He really wanted to know.

“Running,” she repeated. “From what?”

He was going to say
life
, but realized how wrong he’d be. If she were running, as he’d suggested, she was not running away from anything but
to
something, to find something else, to discover new things, new dreams.

Alec shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know,” he said. “Maybe commitments, responsibilities.” He knew the words were not really his but had come from Henry and others; yet once he’d said them he couldn’t take them back.

A look of proud anger spoiled the regularity of her features. “Are you so happy with
yours
?” she asked.

“Enough,” he said, giving her a surface answer. “As much as one could expect.”

She raised herself on an elbow and said, “You talk around it. You leave the essentials unsaid.”

“Okay,” he answered, his anger mounting. “I’m one of those you despise for having made it.”

She looked at him with a puzzled expression. “You’re crazy,” she said. “I don’t think about you that way at all.”

“Then why are you looking at me that way?”

“I’m not looking at you in any particular way,” she said. “It’s you who’s looking at yourself.”

“You’re the one who’s crazy,” he answered.

She shook her head. “You’re mad because you’re suddenly realizing you’ve become more involved with the racing industry than with horses as animals.”

“You’re not being fair,” he said, rising to his feet. “They go together. Even so, what’s wrong with it?”

“Nothing. If that’s the way you want it, it’s great. You’re doing your own thing, and that’s to be envied.”

“Then why are you mad?”

“I’m not mad at all. You started the whole thing by saying I was running away when I’m not. Honestly, Alec, I’ve got my own life to live, and I don’t want to copy yours or anyone else’s. Neither do I want you to copy mine. I’m not trying to solve any problems. I’ve had too many dreams broken, but I’ve found that I’m not alone.”

“You’ll be hurt, Pam,” Alec said quietly. “You and those like you.”

“Hurt?” she repeated, her eyes puzzled. “How?”

“Let me tell you the way it is, the way I see it wherever I go. You’re part of a whole new minority group, a movement—”

“But I don’t like movements,” she interrupted angrily. “What I’ve been talking about can only be handled by people like you and me understanding each other, not by
movements
.”

“Others see it as a group thing nevertheless,” Alec continued. “Maybe it’s what you say it is but they see it as a revolution, one whose purpose they don’t
understand, but a revolution anyway. They’ll put it down forcefully if necessary. Let me tell you how Henry feels about your working here, and even my parents. It’ll give you an idea what I mean.”

When he had finished telling her how they felt, he concluded by saying, “It’s up to you. Do you want to stay?”

“What about you?” she asked. “How do
you
feel? Do you want me to stay?” She swallowed noisily and her voice trembled. Alec realized she was very near to tears.

“You know I want you here,” he said.

“The funny thing is that I thought your mother and father liked me,” she said finally. “They’ve been so nice.”

“They
are
nice people,” Alec said. “They just don’t understand the way it is with you. It’ll take time, but they’ll come around.”

“And Henry? What about him?”

“He’s something else again,” Alec admitted, “but he’ll be at the track, not here.”

“On television he looks like one of those wonderful old men,” she said. “Mature, understanding, very gentle and kind, one who has a way with kids as well as young horses.”

“Well, he always has been that way,” Alec said. “But now he’s frightened of something he doesn’t understand, like a lot of others.”

“Even so, why build walls instead of bridges?” she asked.

Alec shrugged his shoulders. “Maybe for the same
reason I got mad at you a few minutes ago,” he said. “Because what you said of me was true, and I didn’t like to hear it.”

“But you’re not mad any longer?”

“No,” he said, taking her hand. “Say what you like and if I disagree with you I’ll tell you so, but I won’t get mad any more. I promise.”

She laughed, suddenly her old self again. He met her eyes squarely, to convince himself as well as her that there was no anger, no bitterness within him. He had only to look at her to know that it would be impossible for her to betray a friend, to lie about her emotions or to break a promise. She would always play it straight, regardless of the consequences to herself; there was no phoniness within her. He must be that way, too, if they were to be more than friends.

“I have to go back tomorrow,” he said. “Will you stay here, Pam?”

“Yes,” she said, meeting his eyes. “I want to stay very much.”

“Then it’s all settled,” he said. “Now we can talk about us.”

When Alec arrived at Aqueduct the following afternoon, the stable area was quiet. It was just after twelve o’clock and there was little for caretakers to do. A few late-working horses were being cooled out and walked monotonously in circles.

The quiet was suddenly broken by the crackling of the loudspeaker system as a message came over it for one of the trainers. Alec jumped at the noise and decided he wasn’t as calm about facing Henry as he had thought.

Reaching the tack room, he looked inside, expecting to find Henry. Instead, Deb, their night caretaker, was stretched out on the cot, reading the
Daily Racing Form
.

“Hey,” Alec greeted him. “Where’s Henry?”

The man put down his newspaper. “He’s gone up front, Alec. Said he wanted to watch the races today.”

“Everything okay here?”

“Yeah, sure.”

Deb was as old as Henry and perhaps more dependable when it came to caring for horses. He was a true racetracker, having gone from track to track all his life, caring only for his beloved charges and the day’s eating money. Most important to Alec, he got along with the Black, who allowed few people to approach him. A good caretaker was equal in value to a good horse. It was impossible to have one without the other, just as it was impossible for Henry and Alec to be with the Black every moment.

Alec went to the Black’s stall and found the stallion resting in a far corner. He realized how much his horse would have enjoyed being at the farm, if only for a short time. The Black was a lover of freedom. He thrived on blowing wind and green grass. Although Alec walked him every day at Aqueduct, allowing him to pick grass, it was not enough.

Alec remained with the Black a long while. Horsemen who loved their horses were all alike, he thought. Each was filled with the same certainty that the horse he loved was the fastest, bravest, strongest, kindest and smartest.

It was 12:30 when Alec entered the towering glass-fronted stands and joined a steady stream of people. He felt the electric air of the racetrack flowing from one person to another but he felt very much alone, unattached and anonymous. He did not belong with fans but on the track itself.

“Form. Racing Form,”
shouted the gravelly voices of men, hawking their papers and programs. “Girl jock rides today. Here y’are, read all about her. Get the winners.
Form. Racing Form
.”

Alec bought a paper, interested in learning which of the girl jockeys was riding that day. There had been several during the past month, but they hadn’t done much except to get a lot of publicity.

Glancing at the paper, Alec learned that Becky Moore was riding in the first race. He quickened his pace. Weather clear, track fast and a girl riding against men! No wonder there was such a large crowd, with everyone scurrying to reach his seat before post time.

Walking across the lower lobby, Alec found himself comparing Becky Moore with Pam. Both loved horses but they were at the opposite ends of the pole in every other way. He’d known Becky for the two years she’d been working around the track. She was shy and modest almost to the point of embarrassment. None of the men ever got mad at Becky; in fact, no one had really thought of her as a girl until she’d applied for her jockey’s license and was racing.

That was the way Becky had wanted it, Alec decided. Quietly, unobtrusively she had worked her way through the ranks until one afternoon she appeared on a race horse as a girl jockey. It had been as simple as that, but very well planned and executed. No friction between male and female, no problems, no outspokenness. She’d been there and yet not there, all the while very ambitious, knowing where she was going and having her sights set on big-time racing.

Everything Pam stood for was not for Becky. While Pam concealed nothing about herself or her motives, Becky by her shyness and gentleness concealed a hardness that would be fierce in open competition and
catch most male jockeys unprepared. Becky would do all right today and any other day, Alec decided.

Arriving at a closed door on the far side of the lobby, Alec showed his horseman’s pass to a track policeman and went inside.

Within the confines of the vast grandstand it was quiet, almost peaceful, compared to the commotion that was going on in the four tiers of stands overhead. Alec walked down a long corridor, passing rooms and offices and not stopping until he reached the Jockeys’ Room. Since he wasn’t racing, he wasn’t allowed inside, but he stood in the open doorway.