Nicholas Evans: The Horse Whisperer

If he couldn't walk, then maybe he could run, so now he tried and his eyes filled with panic at the feel of it. Tom and Smoky braced themselves and leaned back on their lines, forcing him around them in a circle maybe fifteen feet in radius. And round and round he went, like a crazed rocking horse with a broken leg.

Tom glanced at the faces that watched from the rail. He could see Grace had grown pale and that Annie was now holding her and he cussed himself for giving them the choice and not insisting they go inside and save themselves the pain of this sorry sight.

Annie had her hands on Grace's shoulders and the knuckles had gone white. Every muscle in their two bodies was clenched and jerked at each agonized hop that Pilgrim made.

'Why's he doing this?' Grace cried.

'I don't know.'

'It'll be okay, Grace,' Frank said. 'I saw him do this one time before.' Annie looked at him and tried to smile. His face belied the comfort of his words. Joe and the twins looked almost as worried as Grace.

Diane said quietly, 'Maybe you'd better take her inside.'

'No,' Grace said. 'I want to watch.'

By now Pilgrim was covered in sweat. But still he kept going. As he ran his hobbled foot jabbed the air like a wild, deformed flipper. His jolting gait sent up a burst of red sand at every step and it hung over the three of them like a fine red mist.

It seemed to Annie so wrong, so out of character, for Tom to be doing this. She had seen him be firm with horses before but never causing pain or suffering. Everything he'd done with Pilgrim had been designed to build up trust and confidence. And now he was hurting him. She just couldn't understand.

At last the horse stopped. And as soon as he did Tom nodded to Smoky and they let the two lines go slack. Then off he went again and they tightened the lines and kept the pressure on until he stopped. They gave him slack again. The horse stood there, his wet sides heaving. He was panting like some desperate asthmatic smoker and the sound was so rasping and terrible that Annie wanted to block her ears.

Now Tom was saying something to Smoky. Smoky nodded and handed him his line then went to get the coiled lasso he'd left lying on the sand. He swung a wide loop in the air and at the second attempt got it to fall over the horn of Pilgrim's saddle. He pulled it tight then took the other end to the far side of the arena and tied it in a quick-release to the bottom rail. He came back and took the other two lines from Tom.

Now Tom went to the rail and started putting pressure on the lasso line. Pilgrim felt it and braced himself. The pressure was downward and the horn of the saddle tilted.

'What's he doing?' Grace's voice was small and fearful.

Frank said, 'He's trying to get him to go down on his knees.'

Pilgrim fought long and hard and when at last he did kneel, it was only for a moment. He then seemed to summon some last surge of effort and stood again. Three times more he went down and got up again, like some reluctant convert. But the pressure Tom was putting on the saddle was too strong and relentless and finally the horse crashed down on his knees and stayed down.

Annie could feel the relief in Grace's shoulders. But it wasn't over. Tom kept the pressure on. He yelled to Smoky now to drop the other lines and come and help him. And together they hauled on the lasso line.

'Why don't they let him be!' Grace said. 'Haven't they hurt him enough?'

'He's got to lie down,' Frank said.

Pilgrim snorted like a wounded bull. There was foam spewing at his mouth. His flanks were filthy where the sand had stuck to his sweat. Again he fought for a long time. But again it was too much. And at last, slowly, he keeled over on his side and lay his head on the sand and was still.

It seemed to Annie a total, humiliating surrender.

She could feel Grace's body start to shake with sobs. She felt tears well in her own eyes and was powerless to stop them. Grace turned and buried her face in Annie's chest.

'Grace!' It was Tom.

Annie looked up and saw he was standing with Smoky by Pilgrim's prone body. They looked like two hunters at the carcass of a kill.

'Grace?' he called again. 'Will you come here please?'

'No! I won't!'

He left Smoky and headed toward them. His face was grim, almost unrecognizable, as though he were possessed by some dark or vengeful force. She kept her arms around Grace to shelter her. Tom stopped in front of them.

'Grace? I'd like you to come with me.'

'No, I don't want to.'

'You've got to.'

'No, you'll only hurt him some more.'

'He's not hurt. He's okay.'

'Oh sure!'

Annie wanted to intervene, to protect her. But so daunting was Tom's intensity that instead she let him take her daughter from her hands. He gripped the child by her shoulders and made her look at him.

'You've got to do this Grace. Trust me.'

'Do what?'

'Come with me and I'll show you.'

Reluctantly, she let him lead her across the arena. Driven by the same protective urge, Annie climbed unbidden over the rail and followed. She stopped a few yards short, but near enough in case she was needed. Smoky tried a smile but saw right away it was inappropriate. Tom looked at her.

'It'll be okay Annie.' She barely nodded.

'Okay Grace,' Tom said. 'I want you to stroke him. I want you to start with his hindquarters and rub him and move his legs and feel him all over.'

'What's the point? He's good as dead.'

'Just do as I say.'

Grace walked hesitantly to the horse's rear. Pilgrim didn't lift his head from the sand but Annie could see his one eye try to follow her.

'Okay. Now stroke him. Go on. Start with his leg there. Go on. Waggle it around. That's it.'

Grace cried out, 'His body feels all dead and limp! What have you done to him?'

Annie had a sudden vision of Grace in her coma in the hospital.

'He'll be okay. Now put your hand on his hip and rub him. Do it Grace. Good.'

Pilgrim didn't move. Gradually Grace worked her way along him, smearing the dust on his heaving, sweaty sides, working his limbs to Tom's instruction. At last she rubbed his neck and the wet, silky side of his head.

'Okay. Now I want you to stand on him.'

'What!' Grace looked at him as if he were mad.

'I want you to stand on him.'

'No way.'

'Grace…'

Annie took a step forward. Tom…'

'Be quiet Annie.' He didn't even look at her. And now he almost shouted, 'Do as I say, Grace. Stand on him. Now!'

It was impossible to disobey. Grace started to cry. He took her hand and led her into the curve of Pilgrim's belly.

'Now step up. Go on, step up on him.'

And she did. And with the tears streaming on her face, she stood frail, like a maimed soul, on the beaten flank of the creature she loved most in all the world and sobbed at her own brutality.

Tom turned and saw Annie was crying too but he paid no attention and turned back to Grace and told her she could now get down.

'Why are you doing this?' Annie begged. 'It's so cruel and humiliating.'

'No, you're wrong.' He was helping Grace to get down and didn't look at Annie. 'What?' Annie said scornfully. 'You're wrong. It's not cruel. He had the choice.' 'What are you talking about?' He turned and looked at her at last. Grace was still crying beside him, but he paid her no heed. Even in her tears, the poor girl seemed as unable as Annie to believe Tom could be like this, so hard and pitiless. 'He had the choice to go on fighting life or to accept it.'

'He had no choice.'

'He did. It was hard as hell, but he could have gone on. Gone on making himself more and more unhappy. But what he chose to do instead was to go to the brink and look beyond. And he saw what was there and he chose to accept it.'

He turned to Grace and put his hands on her shoulders. 'What just happened to him, laying down like that, was the worst thing he could imagine. And you know what? He found out it was okay. Even you standing on him was okay. He saw you meant him no harm. The darkest hour comes before the dawn. That was Pilgrim's darkest hour and he survived it. Do you understand?'