The Animal Kingdom, Part Eight
Katerina went to the stables that night, partly to check the bowl of food she always left for Wilf, but mostly to see Lochinvar. Her father had understood her perfectly, had actually watched as the last struts of her will collapsed under the pressure of his quiet rage. She was just rubble, now. There was no point to fighting the marriage, as there was no point to marrying or rejecting the loutish Torvald. Nothing mattered and everything was the same. But the thought of summoning the will and the strength to perform the obligations her acquiescence demanded made her weep with fatigue. It was like having to knot the noose and build the scaffold for your own hanging.
She told all this to Lochinvar as he stood in his stall, gently pushing at her head with his own. She knew what he wanted but it was impossible.
“I don’t even remember being happy,” she said. “It’s just something I’ve heard about, like falling in love or having children. You hear them gush about it and you just feel excluded, like you’re not even completely human – no offence.”
“None taken, Princess. I don’t want to be human. None of the animals do. It seems like … too much trouble. Too much thinking and not enough running. No, I’m one hundred percent horse and I like it that way.”
“It’s true. You’re all horse, Lochinvar. You’re a good boy.” She stroked his neck. “Sometimes I wish I could just … stop all this, stop being me, stop being human. Be like Wilf, be happy. Be part of the animal kingdom.”
“That’s a strange term. Kingdom. We have no King.”
“What about the lion?”
“I’ve never seen a lion. What is it?”
Katerina shrugged. “Well … I’ve never really seen one, either. But they’re supposed to be – big cats. Very fierce hunters. All the other animals are afraid of them.”
“And that makes them King? It makes sense – that’s how things work in the human kingdom. Power is all that matters.”
“Not to me.”
He rubbed against her head again. “I know that Princess. I think you were born into the wrong world. You and Anders, both. He would be a good dog. He is a dog, in some ways. Wilf feels it. He is happy and loyal and full of energy. Wilf said to me once, ‘I would be proud to have him as a dog. He’s like … an honorary dog.’”
“What about me?”
“You? You’re are a horse, Princess. Strong and cunning and brave.”
“I don’t feel any of those things.”
“You’ve lost yourself in your grief. I can feel your sorrow, I can taste it in the air around you. It has cut you off from the rest of your people. But it allows you to talk to us.”
“Is that what’s happening?”
“I think so.”
“So, if I’m ever happy again … ?”
“We won’t be able to speak this way. But we won’t need to.”
“I’ll miss you.”
“You’ll still have me. I’ll always be your horse. That’s how things work in the Animal Kingdom. No feeling ever goes away. Nothing real is ever forgotten. Just the same way I know all the paths and rabbit holes all over the forest and the village. The way I can always find my way back to the clearing. Humans get lost so easily. They forget the important things, or perhaps they never learned them in the first place.”
“What things?”
“Well … “ He swished his tail as if scattering flies, and lifted his head a little then ducked it down. From now on, she would always know he was thinking when he did this. At last he blew out a shuddery breath. “The sum of your life is the people in it, the people you love, the people who love you. Nothing else matters. What you do doesn’t matter. What matters is … who you do it with. Humans are too busy building things and making things and tearing them down again to remember that. But I think you know what I mean.”
“Sometimes. Not often enough. I forget, too.”
“This time will help you to remember.”
“I hope so.”
Lochinvar said nothing more and they stood in silence for a long time. That was how Anders found them when he arrived in the stables. He touched her shoulder lightly and she turned, startled.
“Hello, Princess,” he said softly. He tilted his head toward Lochinvar. “Do you want to take him out for a ride?”
“No, thank you, I’m too tired, I just wanted … I wanted to be with him for a while.”
Anders smiled. “I know. He’s good company.”
The light caught the emerald earrings she had forgotten to remove in her father’s chambers. “I saw your mother once before she died,” he said. “She was giving out small Easter gifts to all the servants. She was wearing those earrings.”
The Princess reached up and touched them absently.
“She wore them on her wedding day,” she said.
“Is it true, Princess? That the marriage is on again? The servants are talking about nothing else.”
She sighed. “Sometimes I think the whole point of my existence is to give everyone around me something to talk about. Aren’t any of them getting married?”
“Several of them are talking about it. But none of them is a Princess. Besides, if you marry Prince Torvald you will go away and the thought of that makes them sad.”
Of course it was true. It was so obvious it had never even been discussed. Still, the reality of it struck her now for the first time. The phrase was exact: it was like a blow to that vulnerable spot just above her stomach, doubling her over and knocking the breath out of her lungs. All Anders saw was the expression on her face but for him it was as if she had been hit, also. He reached for her shoulders.
“Princess?”
“I’m a fool.”
“No.”
“I can’t do this.”
“Then don’t. All you need to do is say no.”
“Just one word. But I would have to say it to my father.”
“You’re strong enough for that.”
“Not anymore.”
He squeezed her shoulders and squinted at her in the shadows of the barn. “I know you can do this. I’ll help you.”
She shrugged away from his touch. “How?”
Just one word. So -- she could still deliver a single syllable like a slap, if not to her father, at least to him. Anders had no response. By loving you, he might have said. But his love had no practical application. What could he do for her? Kill Torvald? Marry her himself? But these were impossible daydreams. It would insult both of them to speak such things aloud.
“Saddle me up and ride me,” Lochinvar said. “We’ll ride far from here, we’ll run and run and run.”
She turned to him. “And where will we go?”
Lochinvar dug a hoof into the straw. He had no solution to that one. Running was enough for him.
“Princess -- ?”
Anders thought she had been talking to him. She had no strength to explain her new communion with the animals. He would probably just think she was insane anyway. It was all too much trouble.
“I have to go,” she said. “This is just making things worse.”
She walked out of the barn into the amber late afternoon sunlight and Anders watched her go. There was no point in following her. There was nothing to be done. She would be married, and she would be gone. Regardless of how either of them felt about it. He would never see her again, except when he caught sight of her at ceremonial occasions. He would just be another face in the crowd, observing the royal procession.
The barn door swung closed, and he was left standing among the restless animals, alone and silent in the dark.