A Dream of Horses & Other Stories Read Free

fish with bare hands, without looking. And little by little awareness of life’s movement grew in him. Then one day the woodcutter bade him near and told him he was free to leave, there was nothing more he could offer as a teacher. The archer was astonished to hear this. He had learnt nothing of the only skill that mattered to him. The woodcutter read his thoughts and said, you learn most when you do not learn at all. An arrow is but an arrow, now if you so wish, time itself will turn back on its course. The archer understood, and in that sameinstant he was aware of the movement of every leaf of every tree, of every bird in the sky, of the fish in water, of earth itself. He knelt before the woodcutter and answered, O Master, your wisdom flows to me, and through your blessing I have become the greatest archer of all.
    Can it be? inquired the woodcutter, when the old man of the mountains is still alive. Compared to him my wisdom is but a lark in the sky. These words altered the archer’s course. Instead of returning to the capital, he slipped deeper into the forest and having walked for a week reached the mountains. Another day’s climb brought him to a tarn where he refreshed himself and rested for the night. Continuing his ascent into the mountains next morning, he presently saw a frail old man, something of a hunchback, slowly descending towards him with an urn balanced on one shoulder. The archer asked him for directions and was shown the way to the cave near the summit. The archer thanked him and resumed his journey.
    By noon he had found the cave, which was empty. He decided to wait. It was nearly evening when he saw the old man coming towards him. The archer realized his mistake and made as if to bow. The old man responded with barely a nod, and removed the urn full of water to the ground. Then he looked at the archer’s bow and arrows and inquired after their use. The archer was half expecting this. He raised his bow and, taking aim at a bird in flight, shot the arrow. In the next instant it lay quivering at the old man’s feet. Oh, this! The old man gave a low grunt. I now recall I too had played like this in my youth. You call this play? asked the archer with some irritation. Wearing a pout on his lip, the old man motioned him to follow. The slate-rock walls of the cave converged behind it and extended beyond the cliff over the ravine which fell thousands of feet below into a white nothingness. The archer followed the old man a few steps, but a cold fierce wind attacked him and he fell to his knees trembling. Just when he was attempting to rise, the elevation produced inhim a most terrible vertigo which swiftly brought him back to the ground. The old man, on the other hand, had advanced to the very edge of the rock, and presently he turned to look at the archer. He was poised on his toes, his heels suspended over the ravine. Unmoving like the rock itself, his white silken beard flowing in the wind, he called out to the archer to stand by his side. Frozen with fear, the archer did not reply. Looking up from his low position, he now saw a rare blue rose in the old man’s hand. The flower baffled him, and his throat finally felt the warmth of his voice again. O Master, what has a rose to do with archery? The old man was oblivious to the archer’s words. Overhead, a flock of swallows was hurrying away in the evening sky. At a glance from the old man, the birds lay twitching on the rock.
    Unaware of the tears clouding his vision, the archer saw stretching before him a narrow path at whose end was the rose.

The Passage
(A Scenario)
    You gods! My baffled steps are lost in you!

Paul Valéry
    The sounds have long fallen into a rhythm. They emerge – from his nostrils, from his hurried step crunching the dry leaves, faintly, from the metal of the rifle slung over his shoulder as it rubs across his khaki shorts, and there is even a jingle from the few bullets in his pocket – cut each other, and lose themselves like