Passion Play (35 page)

For himself, he knew that his zeal of the moment, his bravery in jumping Captain Ahab, might be punished by a fall that could cripple or kill him. He was also aware of the danger to the horse: what he did with Captain Ahab might affect permanently the condition of a valuable jumper, in great demand as a sire. And he would be riding the stallion without the permission of its owner, the one to whom the animal was most precious, the one whose happiness Fabian saw as his custody—Vanessa.

Soon he would have to enter the theater of his ultimate challenge. Terror twisted him in a fresh assault, and he gagged, but he managed to keep down the bile. There was no opportunity for those rituals with which he had always harnessed his fear-no voiding of his body, no honing and healing it in a warm bath, no music to rally his fortitude while he shaped out of cloth and polo gear a figure with which to sustain himself during the contest.

Afraid to put the stallion, or himself, to the first trial, Fabian circled the warm-up ring and willed himself to one vision: that
of himself, a rider a few strides away from the fence, bearing down on it at an even pace, embarked on a strategy that allowed no chance or change.

A loudspeaker called for the first entrant, a member of the Irish Equestrian Team, wearing the uniform of an officer of the Irish Army. As the rider left the paddock area and entered the arena, applause from the auditorium broke the tense hush of the paddock. The other contestants, all mounted, lined up near the entrance to the arena, gauging the Irishman’s performance.

Fabian resisted the temptation of joining them. He had glanced at the setup of the course, the nature and size of the obstacles, when he arrived at the Garden. Watching the first rider take the obstacles would be time subtracted from the preparation he needed for his own performance. He had to focus his concentration, rely on his feeling and sense of Captain Ahab, on his ability to convey to his mount a state of tension, of collection and the impulsion to jump.

He prompted Captain Ahab with his legs, and the animal, alert, instantly responded; then he tightened the reins slightly and let himself sink in the saddle; collected, the stallion responded again. The man had sounded the first words of the silent language between rider and mount, the communion they alone knew; it was time to test this communion.

Fabian approached the first of several practice fences at an even pace and threw the stallion into a canter. Captain Ahab rose toward the obstacle and cleared it, a harmony of balance and movement, taking the hurdle so smoothly that Fabian was barely conscious of the slight jolt of landing. Spirited in manner, without a perceptible trace of fear or hesitation, the horse maintained its pace over the next fence, then over the others, breasting them with security and ease, its neck extended, forelegs tucked in high.

The Irish officer returned, his exit from the auditorium accompanied by bravos; over the loudspeaker, the steady voice of the announcer cited his score. It was an adequate one, although his horse had been penalized for faults. The second entrant was announced, an American, a young woman, a member of the U.S. Equestrian Team, riding a powerful Thoroughbred
stallion, at least a hand taller than Captain Ahab; her appearance in the auditorium was recognized with a tumult of applause, homage to her standing as one of the finest jumpers in the country.

Fabian circled the warm-up ring for the last time, and again Captain Ahab seemed to know exactly what was expected, executing the variety of jumps with a unique suavity and fluent cadence. The horse’s composure his tutor, Fabian thought of possible strategies he might employ in the arena. He knew he might keep the animal tautly in hand, his legs tight, pacing its steering before each obstacle, whetting the horse to become a springboard of propulsion that would impel it over the obstacle, the parabola of its leap sculpted by the rider usurping the animal’s own scope and impulse at the very moment when the safety of the animal itself was as much at stake as that of its rider.

Or he might pace his mount in a smooth run, the sequence from obstacle to obstacle, no matter what the height or position, uninterrupted, confirmation of his supreme trust in the horse, intimation that he had surrendered the speed of the course to the animal’s own instinct to control the condensed power of its hocks in the jump and the extension of its neck over the barrier; nature and training would guide the horse in tucking in its forelegs and raising its hind legs sufficiently to crest the obstacle at a proper height.

Fabian thought of photographs he had seen in riding manuals, grim mementos of horse and rider come to grief in open jumping competitions—a horse crashing head on with a wall, the rider tossed over it like a wooden doll; a horse vaulting, its forelegs already on the ground, its hind legs almost vertical, still gouging the air, the rider’s feet trapped in the stirrups, reins in hand, but his body toppling already over the animal’s neck a second before the heaving weight of the horse would bury him under its loins, the horse’s neck broken, the rider squashed like an insect by the impact of the mount. Fabian knew those images to be abstracts of fugitive time, irreversible, deadly intervals in the lives of other men, irrelevant to his own specter of himself spilling under Captain Ahab.

He saw himself falling, with the horse or from it, his hands, arms and shoulders reaching down to protect himself from the
ground, a natural reaction though a wrong one, leading to a sprained wrist, a broken arm or a head injury. He reminded himself that he must avert his gaze from the line of a fall, because his hands and arms would follow his gaze and turn him away from the ground, making the back of his shoulder absorb the impact.

The American rider returned, openly delighted, enjoying the volley of applause that followed her from the arena, her mount backing up excitedly as she guided it through the paddock. Fabian heard the announcement—a perfect score.

The next contestant was a member of the Belgian Equestrian Team, an Olympic medalist. Fabian watched the magisterial containment of rider and mount as they passed into the arena, the Belgian’s stallion an Anglo-Arab, splendid in confrontation, at the very peak of collection, the rider a master of its urge to spring, an awesome instance of human ingenuity and persistence imposed on animal force.

Fabian was to go next. He rode out of the warm-up ring and brought Captain Ahab to a halt near the entrance to the arena, still reluctant to face the blaze of display, the murmuring tide of expectation that waited there, ahead of him. Once again, he rehearsed mentally the layout of the obstacle course, honing freshly his awareness that he must not let his concentration stray from the network and progression of the jumps, that he must keep his eyes always fixed on the jump ahead.

He heard a storm of applause, then silence, then another volley of encouragement spilling over the audience in gusts, then another. There was silence again. Fabian moved to the entrance and looked out into the arena. He saw the Belgian’s horse curl toward the big wall, then trip and keel over it. A low moan from the audience reached the paddock before the din of the crash; Fabian saw the rider, shaken, leading his horse away.

Fabian watched as the crew restored the wall, in prelude to his entrance. Suddenly, with a volume and clarity that startled him, he heard the loudspeaker announce his name and number as the substitute rider on Captain Ahab.

The paddock master gave him the signal, and Fabian prompted Captain Ahab through the opening into the arena. As he moved forward, instinct overtook fear and thought, and he found himself
at the brink of a field of yellow sawdust, the obstacles looming shapes of darkness before him, tiers of balconies ascending the arching dome of light and depth, walls of collective scrutiny closing about him.

He entered the ring, Captain Ahab at a walk; a flurry of scattered applause was distant in his ears, his sense of proportion assailed by the magnitude of the auditorium, by some buried impulse censoring any reminder that he was a target of curiosity for Vanessa, for her family, for so many others, subverting any challenge to his conviction that now, on this stage of scattered obstacles, he and his horse were alone, the world divested of all reality but that of one man, one mount, of their fusion—and of his solitude.

He broke into a slow trot, Captain Ahab as peaceful and unruffled as it had been in the paddock only moments before, moving slowly to the right, toward the far side of the arena and the first obstacle, a post-and-rails, close to the spectators. But before he was able to reach the line that would take him there, he accelerated the trot, his body in a rhythm of rise and fall, then slowing down again, then picking up speed in a rocking canter as he circled the line of jumps. He decided to let Captain Ahab take the first jump with reins almost loose, his legs barely prompting the animal, his manner implying security and confidence. The horse went over the rails as readily as it had done in the paddock, landing without a jar, continuing just as readily toward and over the triple bars, the second obstacle. At the curving end of the arena Fabian slackened the horse and turned right, into the center of the ring, toward the double rustic gates. This time, his legs firm against the ribs, he guided Captain Ahab toward the obstacle, but still let the animal pace itself in front of the jump. As the horse took off into the air, Fabian, detecting no hesitation, kept the reins taut, inches from its neck, to signal, but not to curb; his own body was supple and thrust forward slightly above the saddle. He discerned no faltering when, to an eruption of applause that momentarily invaded his concentration, the stallion cleared the obstacle.

Fabian turned to the left side of the arena, toward the fourth obstacle, a brush-and-rails. Captain Ahab sprang forward at a canter and, as if spurred by the lure of the hunt, cleared it with
at least a foot to spare, then went straight ahead at a double oxer, a wide spread. Fabian prompted Captain Ahab to a smooth canter, and the horse cleared the fifth obstacle evenly. Applause swelled around the auditorium again, but Fabian rigidly shut out the distraction. He continued across the arena, steering Captain Ahab to the left, advancing back into the center of the ring, toward the final jump, a wall over six feet tall, its wooden blocks painted to resemble reddish brick, its top curved. As he lifted his eyes toward it, he reminded himself that he was not running the course under a time limit and that there was no need for haste; he slackened Captain Ahab to a slow trot just before making a turn toward the wall.

Alert to the tension gathering in his mount, Fabian chose not to dispel it and, binding himself even tighter to the body of the horse, he signaled with the lock of his thighs that it was time to start for a jump. Captain Ahab obeyed instantly, moving at a collected trot, almost prancing. As Fabian braced himself, inclining forward in the saddle, the horse, now in the rhythm of the accelerated stride, sprang up from its hocks to vault the wall. In the stillness of the auditorium, Fabian, still in midair, heard the ominous bark of its hind legs, insufficiently raised, as they rapped the wooden surface of the obstacle. Instinctively Fabian leaned further forward to unload its back, but by then, Captain Ahab had already cleared the wall, landing with its habitual smoothness, to the accompaniment of tumultuous applause. Slowing to a trot, then a walk, prancing gracefully, the horse carried Fabian out of the light, into the darker enclosure of the paddock.

There he was assailed by his name and number announced over the loudspeaker. Only four riders remained to compete in the second run, and Fabian was among them. He felt the urgency of composing himself, and hoped Vanessa would not visit him in the paddock, but would remain with her parents and friends, in the audience, waiting for the outcome. Even she, and his sense of her, seemed severed now from the single reality that engulfed him: the sheer pressure of the necessity that he hold his seat on Captain Ahab and conduct the horse through this second run. The course would be shorter by two obstacles, but that advantage was offset by the new challenge of the remaining four, which had been substantially elevated. He knew he had to keep Captain
Ahab as unhampered and fluent as it had been in the first run, yet sufficiently in check to hurdle obstacles, particularly the wall.

Fabian withdrew into the vigilance of readiness; a tide of applause, then a long silence remained at the margin of his awareness. He was called to full alertness only at the announcement of his name, and he entered the arena, oblivious to the applause that greeted him.

He kept his eyes fixed on the first obstacle, the post-and-rails, during the approach; the reins and his legs tight, he forced the mount to coil in anticipation. Then, just before the obstacle, he let the reins flow like a rope being played out to an anchor. Collected, Captain Ahab jumped forward, breasting the fence as cleanly as it had in the first run. The next two obstacles, the brush-and-rails and the double oxer, the stallion cleared with no effort.

Fabian moved Captain Ahab toward the wall. Its height was now considerable, because blocks several inches thick had been added to it. Once more Fabian registered the animal’s apprehension, and rather than take the jump as an extension of the driving stride, he decided to pivot the mount toward a spot that was as far away from the wall as the wall was high, a strategy that would prompt the stallion to slow down before taking off from its hocks. But when he sent a surge of pressure through his legs and alerted Captain Ahab to go, the animal refused the command, prancing instead where it stood. Fabian once again gave the cue for the horse to take off, but still Captain Ahab would not move.

Fabian did not know the habits of Captain Ahab, and he was reluctant to use the whip or to spur the horse too painfully; moreover, the animal’s refusal did not appear to him to be the obstinate defiance of a sulky horse. Pressing with his legs, bracing the muscles of his back, Fabian made a final effort to rally the stallion for the jump. But instead of moving forward, Captain Ahab defiantly stepped back. A ripple of laughter ruffled the audience. Still patient and calm, refraining from punishment, trying to decipher the instinct that dictated the horse’s behavior, Fabian pulled the reins to swerve Captain Ahab away from the wall. When the animal obeyed, Fabian assumed the horse felt
more secure in taking the wall as it had in the first run, by approaching at a faster pace.