The Winter Horses(3)
“Perhaps you might do the same for me?”
“Whenever you like. You like to ride, sir?”
The captain allowed himself a small smile. “You could say that. I was on the German equestrian Olympic team, in 1936.”
“That’s wonderful, sir. You must be an excellent rider.”
“Yes, I am. But not quite good enough to win anything myself. Still, Germany took all six golds, you know. Six golds and one silver.”
“I’m not surprised, sir, knowing about Germans and horses. No one loved horses as much as the baron. It will be quite like old times, sir, having a German gentleman like yourself riding again at Askaniya-Nova. A real equestrian and lover of horses. That’s grand, sir.”
“I’m glad you think so.”
“You know, it was the baron who first brought the Przewalski’s horses here.”
“These Przewalski’s are the prehistoric horses, yes? The ones that can be seen painted on the walls of ancient caves by primitive Paleolithic men.”
Max nodded.
“I believe I saw some of these horses at the Berlin Zoo, when I was a boy,” said Captain Grenzmann. “As many as six.”
Max nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, I remember them. We sold Berlin a Przewalski’s stallion and mare. Berlin was very successful at breeding them. The last I heard, there were four Przewalski’s in Berlin.”
“You seem to know a lot about this, Max.”
The old man shrugged. “I helped with the breeding program. First I helped the baron. And then the management of the State Steppe Reserve. The horses are very rare, you know. Perhaps the rarest horses in the world.”
Captain Grenzmann laughed. “Perhaps. But if you’ll forgive me for saying so, I think they’re rare for a very good reason.”
“It’s true. They’ve been hunted to near extinction. Like the great auk. And they’re difficult to catch.”
“That’s not the reason I meant.”
“No, sir?”
“No. I rather imagine they’re almost extinct because nature just wants it that way. It’s survival of the fittest. You’ve heard of the phrase? What Charles Darwin says, about natural selection. In the struggle for life, some species and, for that matter, some races are simply stronger than others. So the strong survive, and the weak perish. It’s as simple as that.”
“Oh, the Przewalski’s are strong, sir. None stronger. And they’re clever, too. Resourceful. Cunning, even.”
“Cunning, you say?”
“Like a fox, sir. Too cunning to be domesticated, sir. I suppose that’s why I’m so fond of them.”
“That’s an interesting comparison. But you can’t deny that they’re also very ugly. And certainly inferior to those beautiful Hanoverian horses.”
Max was about to contradict the captain, but the man smiled and raised his hand. “No, Max, please, don’t say another thing. I can see we could stay here all day talking about horses, but I have a great deal of paperwork to do. Reports for my masters in Berlin on what my special action group has been doing for the last few weeks. So if you’ll excuse me. I must get on.”
“Shall I saddle the big stallion for you tomorrow morning, sir? His name is Molnija.”
“Yes. Please do. I’ll look forward to that.”
MAX WAS NOT THE only person at Askaniya-Nova who was fond of the wild Przewalski’s horses. A girl had been hiding in the woods at the edge of the steppe for some time, and although she had, like many girls, loved horses as long as she could remember, for some reason that even she could not easily have explained, the wild Przewalski’s horses made friends with her. This was just as well since she had no human friends. Her family were all dead, and the few people who inhabited the scattered villages in the region drove her away from their doors because they were afraid—afraid that if the girl was arrested by the Germans, then they might also be arrested. The girl understood this and did not blame them for shunning her; she forgave them for it and told herself she would probably have done the same, although as this story proves, this was clearly not the case.
The girl’s name was Kalinka. Her father had kept big Vladimir cart horses for his business, and she had made friends with them. But her relationship with the wild horses at Askaniya-Nova—she had no idea they were called Przewalski’s horses—was different. She supposed it had something to do with their intelligence and their curiosity. These animals were unusually clever and possessed a childlike playfulness that she had never before seen in horses. And perhaps, as outcasts themselves, the horses saw something similar in Kalinka; at least that’s what she imagined. It’s a strange thing, the human heart, right enough, but that’s just as true of horses, and wild horses in particular.