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Monday, 25 September 2017

The summer of boys and horse (part-4)

      We road and my cousin Mourad sang. For all anybody knew we were still in the old country where, at least according to some of our neighbors, we belonged. We let the horse run as long as it felt like running.
At last my cousin Mourad said, get down. I want to ride alone.

Will you let me ride alone? I asked.

That is up to the horse, my cousin said. Get down. 

The horse will let me ride, I said.

We shall see, he said. Don't forget that I have a way with a horse.

Well, I said, any way you have with a horse, I have also. 

For the sake of your safety, he said, let us hope so. Get down. All right, I said, but remember you've got to let me try to ride alone. 




I got down and my cousin Mourad kicked his heels into the horse and shouted, Vazire, run. The horse stood on its hind legs, snorted, and burst into a fury of speed that was the loveliest thing I had ever seen. My cousin Mourad raced the horse across a field of dry grass to an irrigation ditch, crossed the ditch on the horse, and five minutes later returned, dripping wet.

The sun was coming up. 

Now it's my turn to ride, I said. 

My cousin Mourad got off the horse.

Ride, he said. 

I leaped to the back of the horse and for a moment knew the most awful fear imaginable. The horse did not move. 

Kick into his muscles, my cousin Mourad said. What are you waiting for? We've got to take him back before everybody in the world is up and about.



To be continued....... 

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