Star Dancer

by Morgan Llywelyn

  The dressage event was held on a lovely green meadow behind a large stables. It was different from the RDS. Ger enjoyed being so far out in the country. The air smelled clean and he could hear birds singing in the hedgerows. He curried and brushed Dancer until the horse shone, and put grease on his hoofs to make them shine too. Dancer was, he firmly believed, the most beautiful horse there. He was very proud to be seen walking with the horse.

  Suzanne was riding him in two dressage tests. One was just for young riders, but the second had adults in it too. To Ger’s delight she won the first test and got third place in the other one. Some photographers took her picture for the local newspaper.

  ‘My groom belongs in this picture too,’ Suzanne told them. She caught Ger by the arm and pulled him in to stand with her and Star Dancer. Ger could feel the heat rising into his face, but he was pleased. A picture in the paper.

  Him. Ger Casey!

  On the way back home, Suzanne fell fast asleep, curled up on the back seat of the car. Her father had fastened her rosettes to the sun visor, and he and Mrs O’Gorman talked in low tones so as not to disturb their sleeping daughter. But Ger could hear them.

  ‘You should’ve been watching,’ Mr O’Gorman told his wife. ‘Why come with us if you won’t watch her ride? She needs to know you’re proud of her.’

  ‘I am proud of her. I just can’t watch. I start thinking about …’

  ‘I know,’ her husband interrupted. She said nothing more. But Ger was left wondering.

  After that, they went to several more dressage shows as the summer progressed. Mostly they were just for young riders of pony club age, doing the same basic figures over and over again, not always very well. Ger had to admit it could be pretty boring.

  But sometimes there were higher level classes for more advanced horses. Usually adults rode them, and some of the things they did were so graceful and beautiful it made Ger’s throat ache, wishing it was himself in the saddle. Dressage was a dream of perfection that haunted him.

  Ger Casey in the saddle. Ger Casey in tight white breeches and a black silk hat, looking proud and elegant. Ger Casey controlling a thousand pounds worth of muscular horseflesh with just the slightest pressure of his leg against the horse’s side.

  He didn’t picture himself as a general leading an army any more, but as a competitor in the Olympic Games.

  He tried to learn everything he could about the Olympics. The equestrian events weren’t as well known as some of the other events, but everyone in Ireland seemed to know that the Irish showjumping team had always been very good.

  ‘Why isn’t there an Irish dressage team?’ Ger once asked Brendan.

  ‘We’ve never had horses and riders up to that standard,’ Brendan explained. ‘The Germans and Swiss and some of the other countries produce great dressage horses. Our riders have always been more interested in jumping, though.’

  ‘But we could have one who was good enough, couldn’t we?’ Ger asked hopefully.

  Brendan looked down at Ger’s eager, freckled face. ‘I suppose we could, lad,’ he agreed. ‘Someday.’

  Someday.

  Suzanne was working very hard on her jumping. Now that she was no longer afraid – at least hardly ever – she and Dancer practised several days a week. Ger went to watch when he could. Sometimes they jumped the painted coloured rails in the showjumping course. Other times they went around the rustic fences of timber and stone and ditch and bank that were the cross-country course. On yet other days Anne had them go through a series of cavaletti, single white rails only a few inches from the ground that made Dancer pick up his feet very high and measure his stride very carefully between each one.

  There was a lot to learn about riding.

  ‘I thought it’d be easy,’ Ger admitted to Suzanne. ‘I thought you just sat on the horse and told it what to do.’

  Suzanne laughed. ‘Don’t I wish! But it wouldn’t be as much fun if it was so easy, Ger. When something’s hard to do, you really feel great after you’ve done it.’

  When Suzanne had completed a course of jumps on Dancer, she felt very good about herself. Sometimes it was hard to recall how scared she had been.

  But she never forgot to ask Ger for the little red stone whenever she and Star Dancer did any jumping.

  As the summer wore on, there were more and more things to go to. Even when Star Dancer was not entered, Suzanne wanted to go to every event and gymkhana and point-to-point in the area, and when he could, her father was willing to drive her there. Soon it was a habit to take Ger too.

  ‘Please let him have the afternoon off to go with us, Mr Walsh,’ Suzanne would beg Brendan. ‘He’s all caught up with his work, you know he is. And if he gets behind I’ll help him when we get back. Please?’

  Brendan always protested, but he always gave in. He could never resist Suzanne. ‘Besides,’ as he told Anne Fitzpatrick, ‘anyone with half an eye could see the good it’s doing the lad, being out in the country and around horses. He’s even standing up straighter and that shifty look is gone off his face. Who are we to begrudge him a bit of fun too?’

  Anne suggested Suzanne enter Star Dancer in a gymkhana. ‘He can be a little nervous in a strange place,’ she reminded the girl. ‘The activity and buzz at a gymkhana will help him get used to unusual sights and sounds.’

  ‘You’ll love the gymkhanas,’ Suzanne told Ger. ‘They aren’t really horse shows at all, they’re more like games on horseback. I mean, they aren’t as serious, and everyone has a lot of fun.’

  ‘Will there be any dressage?’ Ger wanted to know.

  ‘No. But there’ll be some pony races and loads of fun things. You’ll see.’

  The gymkhana was great fun. Mr O’Gorman didn’t take them this time, they rode down in the horse box with Anne, who was bringing Dancer and another horse. Everyone had a great day. Dancer won three more rosettes.

  Once more, pictures were taken. This time the photographer was a man sent down by one of the Dublin newspapers to take pictures of ‘A Country Gymkhana’. After Suzanne and Dancer won their second class, he took a lot of pictures of the two of them together. Then Suzanne insisted on having Ger stand with them and the photographer took more pictures. A man who was with him asked Suzanne a lot of questions and wrote the answers in a notebook. He took down her name, Dancer’s, Ger’s, the name of the stables, and even asked where Suzanne went to school.

  When that question was asked Ger slipped away.

  The day was very hot. He noticed a booth selling ice cream, and decided to buy a cone for himself. He had already taken the first sweet, creamy bite when he remembered how generous Suzanne always was with him. She even shared the glory of being photographed. So he bought another cone to take to her.

  She won her next class, too. By then, Dancer was steaming in the sun. ‘Walk him cool, Ger,’ Suzanne said, ‘while I go to the ladies’.’

  Ger took Dancer’s saddle off and rubbed his hot back, then began walking him. He remembered how good and cold the ice cream was. Would Dancer enjoy an ice cream as a treat for winning?

  Ger led the horse over to the booth and bought him a cone. Dancer tested it with his muzzle, then ate it down in two bites. The girl in the booth laughed and so did Ger. ‘Here, give him another one,’ said the girl.

  Star Dancer ate six ice cream cones. It used up all the money Ger had in his pocket, but he didn’t mind. It was such fun to watch the way Dancer’s long, thick pink tongue slurped up the ice creams.

  When his money was gone, Ger led Dancer back to the horse box. Anne and Suzanne were already there. ‘We’re going to watch the last class, then load up and go home,’ Anne said. ‘Is Dancer cooled off, Ger?’

  Ger patted the gleaming brown neck. ‘Sure is. I’ve been looking after him really well.’ He winked at Star Dancer as if the ice cream was a secret between them.

  Suzanne was in great form. The gymkhana had been a success. They had entered four classes and won three, and the summer day was glorious. She began ch
attering happily about the junior one-day event in August, and seemed to feel certain they would do well then too.

  ‘She’s certainly gained a lot of confidence,’ Anne Fitzpatrick remarked to Ger.

  Ger grinned. He knew another secret. Suzanne believed in magic.

  It was hard to see the day come to an end, but they had to load the horses and go home. Suzanne sat between Anne and Ger as they drove, still making plans for the future. Anne listened, nodding from time to time, driving with one hand on the wheel and her other arm resting on the open truck window. Suddenly she braked and got out. She ran back to the box and looked in, then returned with a frown. ‘Dancer’s pawing a lot and seems distressed, Suzanne. I think he’s sick.’

  Suzanne gasped. ‘What’ll we do?’

  ‘We don’t have too far to go to get to the stables,’ Anne said, ‘so I think we’ll drive on and ring the vet from there. I don’t want to unload a sick horse on the road if I can help it.’

  She drove fast and skilfully. As soon as they got to the stables, Brendan helped them take the horses out of the truck. Dancer was obviously in pain. He kept pawing and trying to look around at his belly.

  ‘Colic,’ Anne said. She looked very worried.

  ‘What’s colic?’ Ger wanted to know.

  ‘Bellyache, but in horses it can be fatal. They look big and strong but their stomachs are easily upset. And they can’t vomit. So if a horse eats something that doesn’t agree with him, like spoiled feed, he can get sick and die.’

  ‘But he didn’t have any spoiled feed! He just had his own hay in his hay net we brought from here. And buckets of water, of course, and…’ Ger paused. ‘And some ice cream,’ he suddenly remembered.

  Anne gave him a keen look. ‘Ice cream? Why did he have ice cream?’

  ‘He was hot. And he liked it!’

  Anne didn’t ask who had given him the ice cream. Instead she said, ‘The shock of cold ice cream given to a hot horse could be enough to cause colic. It was a very stupid thing to do.’

  ‘It was indeed,’ agreed Brendan Walsh.

  Suzanne was staring at Ger.

  He felt awful. He stood watching as Suzanne began walking Dancer up and down. She had to keep him moving until the vet came.

  ‘If he lies down he could rupture his gut and die,’ Brendan Walsh explained.

  Some of the other people who kept horses at the stables had gathered around and were offering advice or sympathy. Everyone wanted to help. They were like one big family, each of them as concerned about the sick horse as if he belonged to them.

  Suzanne kept Dancer walking. She wouldn’t let anyone else walk him, or even touch him. Talking to him all the time in a soft, encouraging voice, she tried to keep him from concentrating on his pain.

  ‘You’re going to be fine, Dancer,’ she told him over and over again. ‘Just grand. You’ll see. The vet will be here any minute. We won’t let anything happen to you. Oh Dancer, please keep walking! The pain will stop soon, the vet will make it stop. Walk with me, Dancer, walk with me, listen to me, don’t think about the pain.’

  ‘Pain causes shock and shock can kill a horse,’ Anne Fitzpatrick had said.

  Suzanne felt as if there was something wrong with her own stomach, a huge cold stone sitting there. She had never been so scared. The nightmare was never as bad as this. She wasn’t aware of the people watching her or of time passing. There was nothing left in the world but herself and Dancer, walking. Suffering.

  Ger couldn’t stand it. He ran down to the road to watch for the vet’s van, and even climbed up on the fence so he would spot it sooner.

  Then he waited. They all waited. There was nothing else to do.

  10 – Missing!

  IT SEEMED TO TAKE FOREVER, but the vet finally arrived. He swung through the gate without slowing down and drove up to the stableyard with Ger pounding along behind him on foot.

  By the time Ger got to the yard, the vet was with Suzanne and Dancer. ‘Hold your horse still,’ he was telling Suzanne. She watched with huge, frightened eyes as the vet bent over and pressed his ear to Dancer’s side. He listened intently, then shook his head. ‘No gut action, no noises,’ he reported. ‘Must be really blocked up in there.’

  Ger stood at a distance, watching and trying to hear what was said. He didn’t dare go any closer. This was his fault. He wished he was dead.

  ‘Walk him back and forth for me,’ the vet instructed. Suzanne obeyed. Dancer made a sound like a groan of pain.

  ‘Can’t you give him something?’ Suzanne pleaded. ‘He hurts.’

  ‘I know. We’ll give him a painkiller, but first I need to know what caused this, if possible.’

  Suzanne swallowed hard. ‘I think he ate cold ice cream. When he was still warm from being ridden at the gymkhana.’

  ‘Have you lost the run of yourself entirely, Suzanne O’Gorman? I thought you knew better than that,’ said the vet.

  She didn’t reply. She just watched as he prepared a shot of painkiller for Dancer. Then he asked for a bucket of warm water. He took some rubber tubing from his van and made an oily solution to be forced into the horse to ease his stomach and make his bowels work. When that was done he had Suzanne start walking Dancer again while he talked for a while to Anne and Brendan.

  No one paid any attention to Ger, for which he was thankful. He hovered in the background, watching, wanting to run away but unable to leave.

  Leading her sick horse, Suzanne made a turn and saw him. Their eyes met. Ger looked stricken. On Suzanne’s face he saw her silent accusation.

  For the first time in years, Ger felt his eyes burning. He couldn’t believe it. He never cried. He was Ger Casey. He knuckled his eyes with an angry fist.

  At that moment, Dancer began to paw the ground frantically and then folded his forelegs and started to lie down. Suzanne gave a shriek. ‘Help us!’

  Without hesitation, Ger ran forward. The horse must not lie down. He might never get up again. Suzanne was tugging desperately at his headcollar, but her small strength was not enough.

  Ger dropped his shoulder and threw his whole weight against Dancer’s side. The sudden attack distracted the horse. Instead of trying to lie down, he staggered and fought to keep his balance.

  ‘Get him walking again now!’ Ger shouted at Suzanne.

  Dancer wobbled dangerously. For a moment it looked as if he might fall. Ger wrapped his arms as far around the horse’s middle as he could, steadying him.

  He heard one of the adults shouting, ‘He’s going to fall on that lad!’ But he didn’t let go. He supported Dancer until Suzanne got the horse walking forward again, unsteady, but still on his feet.

  By then Brendan and Anne and several others had reached Suzanne and Dancer and were helping to keep the horse walking. Ger stepped back into the shadows of the stable. There was nothing more he could do.

  Then Star Dancer lifted his tail and passed a great explosion of gas and stinking brown goo. Once Ger would have laughed and made jokes. But today it wasn’t funny. It was a good sign, he knew. The blockage in the horse’s belly was relieved and he would begin to get better.

  Unnoticed, Ger left the stables. He trudged off down the laneway, occasionally stopping to look back. But he kept on going, with his head down and his fists plunged deep in his pockets.

  After treating Dancer, the vet had gone back to his surgery. He had left instructions to ring him if the horse’s condition changed. ‘I think we should ring him now and tell him Dancer’s better,’ Brendan decided. ‘Suzanne, would you like to do that?’

  The girl shook her head. ‘I want to stay with him. You ring, Mr Walsh.’

  Brendan came back with instructions from the vet. ‘He says you can let him rest in his loose box now. He’ll be sore and tired, but he should be all right. I’ll stay here in the stables tonight and keep an eye on him, I can sleep in the tackroom.’

  ‘I want to stay too!’ Suzanne insisted.

  Anne told her, ‘That’s not necessary, I’m sure.
Brendan will look after Dancer all right.’

  ‘I know, but I want to stay.’ Suzanne set her jaw. There were sparks in her eyes.

  ‘What is it, Suzanne? Do you feel guilty about having given him all that ice cream when he was hot?’

  Suzanne stiffened. ‘But I didn’t …’ Then she caught herself. Should she tell Anne it was Ger’s fault? She was angry with Ger, but he had saved Dancer at great risk to himself. And he hadn’t meant to hurt the horse in the first place, Suzanne was sure of that.

  She hadn’t thought about Ger in a while. Now she looked around for him, but he wasn’t there. ‘I just want to be with Dancer,’ she said in a low voice to Anne.

  The instructor smiled. ‘I understand. Ring home and get your mother’s permission. Or better still, walk on home, have some dinner and get your sleeping bag and come back. I’m sure Brendan will let you have his mattress in the tackroom, and he can sleep in one of the empty boxes near Dancer’s. Okay?’

  Suzanne smiled with relief. ‘Okay,’ she agreed.

  Then she went looking for Ger. But she couldn’t find him anywhere. He wasn’t in the indoor school, where several people were riding their horses under the lights as night at last drew in. Nor was he in the hay barn or any of the other places he might usually be. When she asked Brendan, the stable manager did not know where Ger was either.

  ‘Maybe he went home,’ Brendan said. ‘But that’s not like him, to leave without telling me. And without finishing his work either,’ he added, beginning to sound annoyed. ‘There are still things to be done around here and I was counting on him.’

  Suzanne thought she knew why Ger had left. He felt bad about what had happened. She wished he were here so she could tell him she wasn’t angry and that Dancer was going to be all right.

  I’ll tell him tomorrow, she promised herself.

  She spent a restless night on the narrow bed in the tackroom. Several times she got up and, taking a torch, went to Dancer’s loose box. Each time the light woke the horse, who was sleeping standing up as many horses do. He would blink sleepily at the light and come over to the door to have his nose rubbed. After this happened several times, Brendan came out of the loose box he was sleeping in and told Suzanne gently, ‘You’re being more bother to him than help, Suzanne. Stay in your bed now and let him rest. I’ll hear if he so much as takes a breath wrong and I’ll call you.’