The girl sitting across the aisle has a plush doll of a horse on her lap. The toy doesn't capture the animal's gargantuan size, or its horrible teeth, but its eyes— its eyes are perfect. Somehow, with nothing but two brown marbles and some white paint, the toy maker accomplished the impossible. That fear, that innocence, that expression of utter helplessness that I have seen each and every night — it gazes back at me from across the aisle.
The moment the girl notices me staring at her plush horse she recoils. She says something to her mother. The woman scowls at me, grabs her child and moves on to another carriage.
The facemask covers my disfigured nose, but does nothing for my black eyes. I look like a corpse. I take another swig from the flask so I don't feel like one.
Outside the world is condensed into teardrops. Sharp strikes of lightning momentarily light up the silhouette of an ancient gothic city, but most of the train's surroundings are fog strained through rain with the occasional flash of headlights.
Adela gave me an umbrella for tomorrow's shift, so I take some comfort in my forethought to bring it along. That comfort drains the moment I realize how close my re-entry to the tour-guiding world is. My stomach does a full flip when I realize what I have to do before I put on my name badge.
I took my old backpack— the same ratty bag that I carried around for five years of summer rushes. It doesn't hold hundreds of fliers and maps anymore. Inside there are only apples. My umbrella peeks out like a flag from one of the side pouches. A rusty crowbar sticks out of the other side of the bag.
I'm on a train heading out of Prague. I'm on a train heading out of Prague to bring the horse back to its legal owner.
If he wouldn't have ambushed me outside of Adela's apartment things would have been different. If I could have somehow avoided a collision with Jaroslav I would have just fallen asleep on the benches below my apartment. The horse would end up with the police and Jaroslav would have to retrieve it from them. The animal would no longer be my problem and Jaroslav's cruelty towards the horse would no longer be on my conscience.
Yet when I stumbled out of Adela's apartment in the early afternoon, the angry carriage driver was there. Jaroslav had a plan of his own that he wanted me to follow. I wasn't given a choice in the matter.
I'm only riding the train for a handful of stops out of the city, but the moment we leave the last station with Praha in its name all traces of urbanization disappear. Fields that stretch out into eternity spread out beyond the wet Plexiglas. The occasional flashes of lit windows through the fog look like dying fireflies, but I try to remind myself that there's people inside of those homes. People tend to be kind, I remind myself. I try to convince myself that most of those kind people would contact animal welfare if they thought their neighbor was abusing his horse.
Under physical duress, I revealed to Jaroslav what I had learned of my equestrian curse. The horse would appear wherever I had last slept. The problem of returning the animal was simply a question of choosing the right sleeping spot.
He found no joy in being closer to reuniting with his "stolen" property. He only found more anger. Banging his steering wheel Jaroslav insisted that I bring the horse to his house outside of Prague. The animal was always kept in Jaroslav's backyard, like a village dog. There was no stable for me to sleep in. The idea of taking a nap in Jaroslav's home was out of the question as well. It was my responsibility to bring the horse to him and he wanted nothing to do with the logistics of the operation.
When I insisted that I couldn't just sleep on the road, when I told him that the only way that I could bring him back the horse was with a suitable resting place, he got out of the car. For a moment I feared that he would assault me again, but instead he reached deep into the trunk of his beat-up Škoda and produced a crowbar.
"Here, you fucking moron. There's some abandoned stables near town. Hopefully that will make for a nice sleeping spot for your highness. If it doesn't..." Jaroslav slammed the rusted metal stick against his palm, "If it doesn't, I don't give a fuck. If I don't have my horse back by morning I'll figure out a way to vent my displeasure."
The metal was thick enough to break bone. I didn't argue. I took his crowbar, jotted down his number and told myself the horse would be safer in his backyard than in my cramped bedroom.
The only modern thing about the town where Jaroslav lives is the smart ticket machine at the train station. Everything else that lies behind the curtain of rain looks like it hasn't been touched for a hundred years. The six or so people that exit the train with me crowd what little shelter the station provides. Almost in unison, they all light up cigarettes. For a moment I consider waiting in the cloud of tar, but I've seen the forecast. The rain isn't going to stop. The grey sky is slowly growing black and I don't have time to spare.
At first the streets are wet but walkable yet soon enough I am led off the pedestrian path. The walk towards the old stable I spotted on Google Maps takes me out of the town and down a road that thoroughly soaks my feet. With no buildings to shield me from the wind my umbrella flails around like a wild beast longing for escape. I tame it. I tame my umbrella and I grit my teeth and I keep on walking.
For what feels like a lifetime there's nothing but fields and fog, yet just as I start losing hope in my direction— I see it; cement in the middle of a field, a high fence of steel. My one and only landmark— The Mesiarik Psychiatric Institute.
The morning after I had first discovered the horse in my apartment I read up on the place. A psychiatric evaluation seemed like a reasonable course of action after finding a horse in my bedroom, figured that a bit of research would at least distract me from the hoof marks in my floor. The recent name change from The Mesiarik Insane Asylum made me somewhat uneasy, but their official website seemed welcoming enough. I browsed through the services they offered and I almost called their help line.
Almost.
As of 2011 The Mesiarik Psychiatric Institute is proud to offer hippotherapy to both children and adults! The horses and handlers are fully trained to handle your therapeutic needs. Consultation is necessary.
The picture beneath the announcement made me nauseous. The horse on the photograph looked terrifyingly familiar.
I pass by the hospital and start making my way up a drenched mud path. I do my best not to think about the animal, yet every drop of rain that hits my umbrella makes me feel guilty. I can imagine the horse standing in some unkempt backyard; drenched and miserable and missing the shelter of a communist era housing block. A rush of shame travels down my body. I search for a distraction to my guilt and I soon find it.
Hail.
For a mere second I imagine the horse standing in a backyard and being pelted by the shards of ice, but my attention soon turns to the umbrella. The logo of the company that will hopefully provide for my rent money hovers above me. Fearing tearing a hole in my livelihood, I run. The world in front of me is difficult to make out through my umbrella shield, but the clattering of hail on a tin roof guides my sprint.
I find refuge behind a waterfall of a rain gutter. The crowbar feels heavy in my hands and I feel ill breaking the law, but I remind myself I have no choice. The tool makes quick work of the barn's door.
There are holes in the ceiling and the floor is soaked, but I am safe from the hail. Even though the barn provides shelter from the elements I am certain I am its first visitor in a long time. Rusted tools still sit on the shelves, and there's worn riding gear hanging from one of the posts; if this was a common sleeping spot there would be nothing of value left.
The sun hidden behind the storm clouds starts to grow dim. I check my phone. It's only 19:30 and I have most of my battery charge left, but I don't want to risk anything. I lay down on a pile of ancient hay in one of the horse pens. I close my eyes. I try to sleep.
Yet sleep refuses to come. The soft side of my backpack provides for a comfortable enough pillow but tiny bits of straw keep on scratching against my face. For a moment I consider sleeping in the mud but then I remember the tour group I'll have to lead once I bring the horse back to Jaroslav. I also realize it's not the straw that is keeping me awake.
There's a whole new life waiting for me a sunrise away. I know that as soon as I lead the horse back to Jaroslav I'll be free— yet thoughts of the horse's future cloud those of my own. I fear the life the animal will have to live with Jaroslav.
The flask in my back pocket proves handy. Two sips of Sean's mysterious liquor and the possibility of sleep feels much more palatable. The drink sends a rush of warmth through my rain soaked body. That warmth soon turns to numbness. I feel my body drifting off.
Yet the thoughts about the horse don't stop. My internal monologue still keeps tearing away at me for abandoning the animal, but now my conscience is drunk. The words that chastise me in my soul become more pointed and slurred. I start to worry I won't fall asleep. The idea of the horse appearing in Adela's apartment again quickens my pulse enough to open my eyes.
I check my phone. The battery is still charged past the halfway mark. All I need in the morning is enough juice to call Jaroslav. With a couple scrolls through Spotify I find a bland looking podcast about the Holy Roman Empire.
I put my earphones in.
The torrent of complex boring explanations of power structures immediately sooths my consciousness. The words of the podcast soon lose meaning and turn into psychic noise. My mind drifts, unable to focus on anything but the tenor of the amateur historian's voice.
I dream I am Rudolph II of the House of Hapsburg.
My body is malformed with syphilis and ulcers. My mind sick with voices gathered through generations of intermarriage— yet I hold power. I am Archduke of Austria, King of Bohemia, Holy Roman Emperor.
My court is filled with astronomers and artists and alchemists. They came from all across the empire to help me achieve my destiny. They came to turn lead into gold, to brew the water of eternal youth, to help me defeat God so that I may serve as my own master. Yet they have all failed.
The halls of my castle are filled with eternal art, with priceless minerals, with skins of animals that no longer roam the earth— yet I spend most of my time at the royal stables.
Beyond the gates a revolt festers, even within the walls of the castle plots are whispered; I know my life is at an end. I know that I will not have much time to enjoy the brilliant minds I have surrounded myself with, to feast and drink and indulge in the riches have gathered— yet I spend most of my time at the royal stables.
I sit with the horses.
I sit with the horses and in their eyes I find solace. They understand me.
I sit with the horses because they are the only ones that understand me.
NEEEEEEIGH!
The animal is in the pen with me. Through blind instinct I roll beneath the horse, narrowly dodging one of his stomping hooves. The rush of adrenalin guides my drowsy body out of the pen and onto the muddy floor of the stable.
NEEEEIGH!
"Shhhh, horse, it's okay. It's okay, I'm here." I pat the horse's muscular jaw. It snorts. "Shhh, it's alright. Look. There's space. Come, let me show you."
I gently tug on the horse's mane and lead it out of the pen. A flash of lightning brightens up the stable for a split second. The horse's eyes bulge and shiver in shock. A wave of dark thunder spreads throughout the stable causing the animal to slip from my grasp. The whole stable shakes. Beneath the echo of the thunderclap I can hear the horse galloping.
At first I fear that the horse has gone mad, that it will trample me if I get in its way — yet as more strikes of thunder illuminate the creature I see that it is not frenzied, it is not panicked — As the flashes from the sky seep into the stable I see the horse is celebrating.
As if painted through the glow of invisible paparazzi I see the horse leap across the stable. It kicks and neighs and stomps. It jumps and runs and stretches across the muddy ground. The portraits the flashes of lightning illuminate are not those of a horse enslaved or cursed, they are still life paintings of the utter ecstasy of freedom.
The storm rages and the horse celebrates— yet as the rain starts to die down, as the dark clouds part from around the moon— the animal calms. The horse walks towards me. It presses its giant head against my forehead from across the pen.
Neigh.
"I know. I know. I'm happy too."
Neeeigh.
I reach into my backpack and produce an apple. The horse's touch doesn't leave my forehead, the animal simply angles its skull to eat. I can feel its massive jaw crush the fruit. It saddens me that the horse's magnificent power will be used to pull naïve tourists through city traffic.
Nurfff, the horse happily sighs when it finishes off the apple.
The thought of the animal having to make sense of a traffic light makes me stick to my stomach, but I swallow my nausea. "Okay horse," I say, "The storm is dying down. It's time I took you back to Jaroslav."
The animal's temperament changes in an instant.
NEEEIGH! The horse screams, retreating to one of the empty pens. From across the stable he stares at me in fear.
"Please, horse," I say, reaching out for its mane once again, "I can't live like this anymore. I'm sorry but I can't take care of you. I know Jaroslav isn't a good owner, but I can't do this anymore. I need to be free. I need to make a living. I need to work."
The horse doesn't bare its teeth at me, but it refuses to step out of the pen. The animal simply watches me with its sad glassy eyes.
I quickly check my phone screen. Down to fourteen percent battery. I take the risk and open up Google.
I grab the bridle from the stable's post and watch the colorful diagrams on my screen. The horse doesn't resist as I pull the equipment across its ears, but it doesn't help either. The animal just stares at me, as if baffled by my betrayal.
"Come on horse, please, don't be angry."
The horse isn't angry, just disappointed. It doesn't resist, but each step that it takes requires an immense amount of force from my side. With my body filled with nothing but fast-food, apples and liquor I am unable to properly lead the horse. By the time I get the stable doors open I am utterly exhausted.
"Please, horse," I say, "You need to understand. I can't help you anymore. I can't take care of you anymore." I offer the animal an apple but it refuses. Beyond the stable doors there is a world of moonlit meadows and forests, but the horse refuses to look anywhere other than my face.
The flask that Sean gave me is empty. There is nothing in it to dull my guilt. I manage one last pull on the reigns before I give up.
If I had a horse I would treat him much nicer, the dark woods whisper, reminding me of my lies.
"I'm sorry horse," I say, sitting down in the mud, "I'm sorry I even tried."
The horse doesn't look away from me. It stares deep into my soul in a desperate attempt to communicate. Looking at those fist-sized eyes I cannot help but to realize I am not the creature that is truly cursed.
I am not the one who had spent years sleeping outside, unsheltered from the elements. I am not the one who was forced into straps of leather in a world I could never possibly comprehend. I am not the one that is Jaroslav's workhorse.
We sit there for a long time, trying to understand each other, trying to comprehend the predicament we have been placed into. Outside, the darkness starts to grow dim— a sunrise is imminent. Another night haunted by the horse I cannot explain is almost certain.
I cannot bring myself to pull the horse out of the stable. I make peace with the idea of another physical assault by the angry carriage driver— yet the hopelessness in my mind parts for a gesture of goodwill.
"Horse?" I say, looking up at the giant animal, "Would you like to go outside? You're not going back to Jaroslav, I just want to take you outside. I just want to take you outside so you can run like the wild horses from the video."
The animal's ears twitch. For the first time since midnight it looks away from my eyes and studies the dim nature beyond.
Neigh! It says, taking a step past the puddles the rain gutters created overnight. I let go of its reigns.
Neeeeigh! It says, trotting out into the overgrown field. For a moment the horse simply bites away at strands of grass, but soon enough it turns back to me.
Nurfff! It snorts, bending down to my height. Bits of green still hang from its lips. It watches me expectantly.
"You... you want me to get on?" The horse bends even lower. "But I don't know how to ride a horse!"
Nurffff! Neeeigh!
I don't argue with the animal. I put on my backpack, securing both the umbrella and the crowbar, and climb onto the horse. The horse is still as I try to make myself comfortable on its back, yet before I can ask if I'm sitting the right way— we're off.
The animal runs like mad through the meadow. My legs shiver with effort to stay attached to the animal, my muscles burn with pain and fear— yet whenever it feels like I'm about to fall off the animal slows.
The horse leads me up a hill to the edges of the forest. I fear that the animal will lead me through a land of tree branches and uneven stones but just as the ride is about to get dangerous the horse stops.
Neeeigh! It says, looking away from the forest. I follow the animal's big majestic eyes and am left speechless. Out in the distance, past the dark woods and endless fields— I see light. Reaching out into the dying darkness the Mother of all Cities shines like a bright torch.
More than a thousand years ago men stronger than me, hungrier than me, more resolved than me, had fevered dreams of a Golden City. Past the arable land and the waterways they saw something more, they saw a bastion of civilization that would turn into the beating heart of an empire. Through sweat and blood and centuries they built a wonder that pilgrims from across the ocean would come to witness.
Sitting on the back of that mysterious horse I know that regardless of what happens, soon I will be standing in the center that Gothic jewel, trying to explain the magic and the centuries of absurdity it took to build. A three-hour tour could never do it justice, but to those that didn't have the time, to those that couldn't walk through the cobbled streets for years — it would have to do.
In a couple of hours I know I will be doing a job I am proficient at.
"Thank you, horse," I whisper, "I'm sorry I ever tried bringing you back to Jaroslav."
NEEEEIGH! The animal shouts victoriously, rearing in excitement. The moment its hooves hit the ground we set off once more.
The horse runs through the edges of the meadow, scarcely giving me opportunity to keep my bag in check. The rays of the rising sun make my sleep deprived eyes squint, but beyond the impending ball of fire I can see chunks of concrete rise out of the fog:
The Mesiarik Psychiatric Institute.
The animal circles the high iron railing of the hospital, as if searching for something. All the blinders on the institution are pulled, but I keep on looking around, waiting for someone of authority to witness the horse and chastise me for my riding. Yet no such obstruction presents itself, instead, the horse brings me to a spot where the iron rails of the psychiatric hospital fall away and are replaced with low wooden fencing.
Outside of The Mesiarik Psychiatric Institute stables there are seven horses, eating grass in the morning dew.
Nurfff! The horse snorts, lowering the front of his body once more.
"Do you think this will work?" I ask.
The horse's eyes are dumb, but full of hope. After making sure the crowbar and the umbrella are still in my bag I climb off the horse's back. The animal's eyes jump between me and the group of its kin. It looks at me expectantly, slowly shaking its head.
"Do you want me to take off the reigns?"
The horse holds still. I remove the riding equipment from its head.
Neigh! The animal says, catching the attention of the horses across the fence. They watch us, curious about what we are doing— but the horse is blind to them. For a moment the animal is blind to everything but me.
He presses his long forehead against mine.
Nurfff! He says.
I feel like I should say goodbye, but I don't have the chance to. Just as I open my mouth the horse turns, runs towards the institute and leaps across the fence. The other horses come over to smell the intruder, but soon enough they go back to eating grass. The horse looks back at me, its big eyes filled with gratitude. Then it joins the other horses in their grassy breakfast.
I know I should leave. I know Jaroslav will call me soon and demand to know the location of the horse. The path towards the railway station isn't long, but the road is empty enough for me to get run over by his beat-up Škoda. I know I should leave, but I don't. Instead, I make my way towards the treeline and watch the stables from a distance.
I want to make sure the horse doesn't disappear.
Once the sun crawls into the sky a woman dressed in baby blue psychiatric garb and riding boots walks out onto the field. She gives the horses a quick glance as she makes her way towards the stable but then she stops. She stares at the horses, confused. She counts them with her fingers. She counts them twice.
"Well hello there," she says, approaching the horse far too familiar to me, "What brings you here?"
She examines the horse. He lets her. For a couple seconds she inspects the horse with confusion but then she shrugs. "Welcome aboard, I guess," she says.
The sun is high in the air. If the horse was to disappear again it would have disappeared already. "Goodbye, horse," I whisper.
My phone rings. Knowing how little battery I have left I pick up immediately.
"I am not bringing the horse back to you. You're a cruel man and you don't deserve this gentle animal. If you want him you'll have to find him. I don't care if—"
"Mark?" The voice is considerably softer than I expected. It takes my brain a couple of seconds to realize I'm not speaking to Jaroslav. "Are you okay Mark?" Adela asks. "How did it go with the horse?"
I tell her as much about the situation as I can understand, which is not much. She listens.
"But you think it's over?" Adela asks when I finish with my confusing tale.
"I think so," I say.
"So that's good. With the horse being gone you'll be able to..." I hear a train in the back of the phone call. I realize why Adela is calling me.
"Yeah. I'm ready for the shift. Might even make it home for a quick shower." I say, getting up off the forest floor. "Worst case scenario I have the umbrella with me."
"Nervous?" she asks.
I search my stomach. I find nothing but mild hunger. "I think I'll be fine," I reply. A draining battery alert rushes the phone call to an end.
My backpack feels lighter. I feel healthier. I am less like a charred skeleton marching towards an exhausted death and more like a regular person experiencing the gentlest of hangovers. With only five percent battery left I decide to rip off the final Band-Aid of conflict.
I look for Jaroslav's number.
Yet I don't find it.
I scroll through my recently added contacts, my Uber rides, my e-mail receipts yet all evidence of Jaroslav has disappeared. Even the crowbar which the angry carriage driver lent to me is gone. Beyond the wooden fence the horse runs around with its new brothers and sisters and watching him I can't help to wonder which one of us was truly cursed.
"Goodbye horse," I whisper again, and start making my way towards the train-station.
The train heading to Prague is far too crowded for me to get a seat, so I'm forced to rest my tired feet by the bike-racks. Every couple of minutes I have to shift around to let people through to the bathroom but after the suffering the past week has brought into my life I don't really mind.
I'm just happy that I'll probably manage a shower before I get to work.
I'm just happy that the horse is somewhere safe.
I'm just happy that it's all over.
The music comes in strained through the aging speakers, but after the announcement of the first Prague railway station— I hear it. A gentle chirp of a melody destined to grow into something powerful, something eternal.
As Smetana's Vltava crackles through the train speakers I can't help but to think of the first tribes that settled the riverbank. They set their roots down with the intent to survive, not knowing that they would do so much more.
I think of the castles, the bridges, the theaters,
I think of the dukes and kings and emperors,
Of floods and fires and war,
I think of the plagues.
The train pulls into Prague's main railway station and I get out.
Beyond me there is a city that has stood the test of time for over a thousand years— a city that stands as a living testament to man's ability to survive and rebuild and prosper— a city that reaches towards the sky with a hundred dark stoned spires.
Excitement at the privilege to share the story of Prague festers in my stomach.