The Young Black Stallion Read Free Page A

You must not leave me without my knowing!”
    The old man remained silent for a long time as if relishing the power of one who possesses a great secret and is undecided whether or not to reveal it. Finally, he straightened in his seat, his
kufiyya
and
aba
fluttering wildly in the cruel wind.
    When he spoke, his words were more of a chant than a deliberate reply. “Hear what I have to say, my son. My days upon this earth cannot be long, so I shall tell you what I believe. I shall tell you why I call the black colt the Son of the Midnight Sky. You have the right and duty to make up your own mind about the truth of what I am about to say.” He paused to rest his head upon the staff he held between his crossed legs. “Would it please you to hear me tell of it? If so, you must thoroughly understand the meaning of the mating of Jinah Al-Tayr.”
    The young man nodded eagerly, his expression one of great anticipation. “Yes, Great Father, I will listen and I will judge for myself that which you tell me.”
    “I turned out Jinah Al-Tayr in this very pasture,” the old man said, waving his thin arms in a wide gesture. “It was as Abu Ishak would have it, leaving her there to breed in her own time.” He paused to gather breath before going on. “Our chieftain said to me, ‘Thiscould be remembered as a great day by our tribe, Old Friend. Jinah Al-Tayr will have a colt, and if he is black, he will be one of fire and have the speed of the desert storms.’ ”
    The old man’s voice became exceedingly frail as he continued, “I remember these words well, for our chieftain had ordered Ziyadah turned out in the same pasture with Jinah Al-Tayr and I knew, as I have told you, that Ziyadah’s chestnut color was dominant in every mare he bred. I was certain there would be no black colt. Our chieftain was hoping against hope.”
    He paused again, this time lowering his head until it was almost hidden beneath his flowing cloak.
    “Yes, Great Father,” the young man urged, “please go on. In the name of the Prophet, go on. I beg you.…”
    The old man raised his head, shrugging off the wind, which might well be wearing away his wasted body.
    “You must think of a sky, a night sky, such as you have never known,” he said feebly. “A sky greater and clearer with more stars than you have ever seen in your life. It was on such a night that Jinah Al-Tayr became in foal.…”
    “To Ziyadah?” the young man asked anxiously.
    The old man didn’t answer.
    “If not Ziyadah, what other stallion would there be?” the young man pleaded.
    Still there was no reply, and to the young man’s irritation the ancient one again withdrew his head into the folds of his hooded cloak. From time to time therewas only an imperceptible movement of his frail body, and with it mumbled words, a sigh and then silence.
    “
Stars … as though dropping from the sky … so bright … so close … a brilliant light … swinging in mighty arcs … what dost it mean?
”
    The young man detected a dreary, senile expression on the old man’s face. Now he truly believed that there was no tale to tell, that the ancient one was simply living out childish fantasies that were spinning crazily in his mind.
    “The Prophet be with you,” he said kindly, more to himself than the old man. “May Allah inspire you and be with you always.”
    Rising to his feet, he touched the old man’s shoulders, shaking him gently. “Wake up, Great Father. Our watch is not yet over.”
    There was no response to his urging, and he decided to let the old man be. The young man could keep watch by himself. He stood patiently and looked all around, at the yearlings grazing nearby; the valley below, now blue in shadow; the jagged peaks that towered above them on every side, the tops catching the very last rays of the setting sun.
    His eyes still closed, the old one began groaning softly and shivering in the cold. The young herder had been afraid of something like this. The