The Winter Horses Read Free Page B

time the old man looked at it, he marveled that an artist of such great sensitivity should be capable of such diabolical cruelty. More importantly, he worried over just what the captain had meant when he had spoken of “doing something” about the Przewalski’s horses.
    The snow came early that year, cooling everything into a frigid silence. All of the lakes froze solid, eachturning a different color: one was green, one was violet, one was silver, but the largest lake was black, with ice as thick and hard as a piece of pig iron, and almost as soon as Max broke through to the dark water with a hammer and chisel, it became ice again. Covered with a perfect blanket of thick snow, the endless steppe reflected the azure blue sky so that it resembled a petrified ocean on which no boat sailed. Forests of fir and birch froze as silver as Max’s beard, and everything—Max most of all—seemed to hold its wintry breath. The old man sensed that something bad was going to happen at Askaniya-Nova and that it was going to be up to him to stop it somehow but, at the same time, he knew he was just one man against many; while he was a crack shot with a rifle, he could not resist a whole battalion of German soldiers. So he hoped and he prayed, and meanwhile he bowed and scraped before the handsome young captain and, every morning, saddled the big stallion as usual.
    Max had to admit that the German was an excellent rider. The captain was a different man on a horse: he was patient and understanding and sufficiently relaxed in the saddle to always get the best out of the animal. It was plain to see why he had been picked for an Olympic equestrian team. To watch him ride a horse was to observe a perfect partnership between man and animal. Sometimes the captain put his face against Molnija’s nose and talked to him as if he were a lover, and he always brought the horse a little treat—an apple, a carrot, or a couple of sugar lumps.
    One day in December, Captain Grenzmann said to Max as he sprang up into the saddle, “
Molnija
. Does it mean anything, Max? Or is it just a name like Boris or Ivan?”
    “It means ‘lightning,’ sir.”
    That seemed to please the captain, for he smiled and patted Molnija’s neck fondly.
    “How very appropriate,” he said, and when Max looked baffled, he took hold of the collar badge on his greatcoat and leaned toward the old man.
    “Are you blind as well as stupid?” he said. “This SS badge. It’s supposed to resemble a double lightning flash. I wish I’d known this before. Really, Max, it was most remiss of you not to mention it until now. You know, I’ve a good mind to have you shot.”
    Instinctively, Max let go of the reins, snatched off his cap and bowed gravely.
    “I’m sorry, sir,” he said. “Really I am. You’re right. I should have mentioned it.”
    But the captain was laughing. “I was only joking, Max,” he said. “Lighten up a little. Don’t be so serious.”
    “Oh. I see.” He tried to smile, but this just looked like he was showing his teeth, which were sharp and yellow, and the tall horse backed away from the old man suddenly, as if he was worried that the old man was going to bite his withers.
    “Steady, boy,” said the captain, adjusting his seat. “Easy, Molnija.” And mistaking the reason for the horse’s display of nerves, he added, “I wouldn’t really have himshot. Not old Max. Not after all the faithful service he’s given us.”
    “Thank you, sir.”
    “His mangy, substandard, rootless horses, on the other hand. They’re a very different story.”
    “What do you mean?” asked Max.
    “Didn’t I say before? The Przewalski’s are now proscribed—a forbidden breed—and as such are to be destroyed.”
    “You can’t mean that.”
    “I’m sorry, but it’s not up to me, Max. In all matters of race and species, the SS Main Office makes the decisions. And I’m afraid that, in the case of the Przewalski’s horses, Berlin has ordered me to complete