Little Black Book

Mavericks enormous chest heaved in short bursts, sweat gleaned slick on his russet coat and his legs were still, making it easy for Jude to scrape away at the metal brackets and dislodge the hard packed clay and gravel from the track. Moment’s before, Maverick had crossed the finish line cementing his fifth win in a month. The jockey Thomas was bouncing around the stable shaking hands with the stable boys, posing, dwarfed beside mavericks stoic figure as the large light bulbs burst above the journalists cameras. Maverick was still, his job was done, Jude’s had begun, his work was the horses feat and massaging his legs. Thomas had always told him a race is won from the ground up, every member of his team equally as important as the horse himself.

Jude had recently become accustom to the whir and buzz that followed a successful race. Many of the faces had become familiar, there were the press, the photographers, the race managers, the jockeys spouse, sometimes even the announcers came down after a close match. All of them more or less ignored Jude, until his presence was addressed by a heartfelt appreciation by Thomas for his team. Every now and again he would dust off his hand in order to shake another but for the most part, he was a part of the stable, a link on the bit. There was another shadow like himself, a man who slipped by unnoticed his presence more felt than observed. he was large almost as big as Maverick, maybe if only for his heavy wool coat he always wore and black wool hat that rested on his head like a bucket. he was known as the rich man, you could tell he was rich because his clothes looked nothing like anything you’d ever seen. they were black and had all the makings of every day clothes but for the way they caught the light, it looked almost like Maverick after a race. a spin of wool far too new or far too old to be on the shelves for everyday purchase. today was no different. The rich man made his routine congratulations to Thomas and approached Maverick with familiarity. the funny thing is that Maverick reciprocated the gesture, as though they were old friends. the rich man dispersed into the corner of the stable like a shadow when the lights are turned off and gave Jude a quick glance with his bright blue eyes that oddly reminded him of his own. he felt those eyes on him the entire duration of his work, and only noticed him when the light caught the whites of his eyes or the turning of pages in his little black book, the only possession he was known to have in the small universe of the track.

Jude lived not far from the track with his uncle Chris, he was a strong stout man that has been said to have raised horses before he himself was properly raised. they had a small shack close to the stable for lack of wealth and proximity to their work. Jude took his cash pay for the day and returned all but 10 cents to his uncle as penance for the board and food his uncle came home with. Jude washed his hands as well as the carrots and potatoes for the stew he was making. His uncle Chris had just returned from the stable and informed him that a new colt had been born and given his breed and lineage with Maverick he may just be their meal ticket for selling. they often fantasized about black lacquered cars and houses with floor boards but in their hearts they knew they were horse men or centaurs as Chris would joke. Jude kept a log of the dates and horses who had won the races, he figured that his black leather bound notebook held the key for successful breeding and would one day allow them a better life, maybe be their ticket to bringing another Secretariat into the world. he slept that night with his stomach full and pride in his chest from the dignity that a winning horse brings to stable life.

the morning broke with routine training in the stable, there were no races today, Maverick was resting and the jockeys were bringing the younger colts up to speed. bets were casually hedged on which stud would race in rank. there was GoGo that had a silver brindle coat, he was fast, very fast, but didn’t take to the jockeys. It could be either beat out of him or he’d get sold to a farm. there was always a gloomy excitement with horses like this, so much potential abreast very real hurdles. Jude was alone in the dark stable, the lactic acid had found its resting place in Mavericks legs and it was up to Jude to massage it out. Maverick was less than pleasant the days following a race. The door to the stable opened imperceptibly and a low voice gruff with tobacco rumbled “she’s a good horse, always will be” a pale work worn hand emerged from the black sleeve of an overcoat and soothed mavericks discomfort. Jude agreed with him and shifted to create distance between him and the cloaked man. although they had occupied the same room many times he had never felt comfortable with him being there and this was the first time the rich man had had such a private interaction with Maverick. he removed his jacket and placed it on a stool, he dragged another stool close to Maverick and perched atop it. he kept his scarf high and his hat low, his blue eyes fixed on Maverick and a wrinkle formed between his brows. maybe it was the light, but his eyes looked glassy and overcome. “one last time old boy” he said to the horse. his frame was immeasurably smaller without the jacket, and his arms protruding from rolled up sleeves looked familiar in the way you recognize a friend at a distance without perceiving any of their details. as quickly as he’d come he’d gone, hurriedly retrieving his jacket and swinging it over his shoulders with a practiced poise. Jude remarked on the irregularity of the event and the confidence in the few things he’d said. He started to worry about what “Last Time” meant, words that would rattle in his head for days and weeks, and years.

Although Jude worked every day, the days after races felt like a weekend. the air was light, especially after a win and the chores were few outside of the daily stable maintenance. the first beads of sweat emerged as he was closing up the stable; raking the hay into bushels in the pens and sweeping the dirt until the concrete was visible. his broom struck something out of place on the ground, it made an unfamiliar sound as it skid across the floor. there was no metal clang of a tool or the give of horse shit. he continued to sweep and struck the thing again, this time it was visible. It was his leather bound notebook, he couldn’t remember bringing it to work, but it was there. he checked the first couple pages and it was his writing and his notes, it just felt heavier and the pages had yellowed. he cursed himself for leaving it in the dirt and potentially ruining it. After all, he’d spent his savings on it and for all he knew it was worth millions one day. he tucked it in his waist band and did a final walk around before leaving for home.

He placed the notebook he found in the stable on top of the notebook he had left on his bed side table at home. they were unarguably the same. one was certainly older and fuller but the first 20 pages were identical. where Judes writing had stopped this other book had continued. the dates were the same, the horses names were the same. As he read in the new notebook he recognized the names of some of the colts they were raising had dates attached to them. there was GoGo, 5 years later was Sheppard, that’s the name that Chris was going to give the new colt he remembered. Jude didn’t really know what he was looking at. he sat back in his chair and held the two books first page open. the first page of his book was clean, the paper bright and it smelled of pressed paper, the book next to it was a divine mirror of his own, though the pages were slightly tattered, the ink had smudged and paled and the pages dulled and took an odour familiar to old books. he looked at the last page of his own and found the corresponding page of the new one. the next date with a horses name matched the next date Maverick would race, although the name wasn’t Mavericks. he closed the new book and etched the name and date of the next horse in his own. he hid the new book under his mattress and lay awake in his bed until morning.

the light wash harsh in the stable that afternoon, the energy was erratic. horses can sense that sort of thing. Maverick was irritated and a race was quickly approaching. Jude was fastening a new shoe to his hoof which was made difficult by his constant shifting, he couldn’t quite see due to the glaring light. maybe he had grabbed the wrong sized nail, maybe he had struck the hoof a little too hard out of frustration. at any rate a fissure had run from the hoof to the foot and Maverick was in pain. he whinnied in a way that was familiar to a horse in pain, a sound that stopped all others when it was heard. Thomas close by grew grave in an instant and walked over to examine what was the result of the shoeing. Maverick needed to rest and with that, he couldn’t race, and in tern Jude was relieved of his stable duties. Is this what the rich man meant when he said one last time? Jude thought as he packed up his gear through tear soaked eyes and said his final goodbyes to the horse he loved.

there was exactly 10 dollars and 70 cents in the cigar box under Judes bed. If the logic of his newly found book was indeed what he presumed it was then he would bring that $10.70 and make an exacta bet on 16/1 odds. he was after all without work and had never actually witnessed a race from the stands. Thomas was riding Trixie, the horse Jude would bet on. there was a weight in his heart recognizing his teams colours, but he felt he was supporting in another way. a proceed of his 10.70 would return to the jockey and team. oddly the rich man sat beside him they both watched the race with pounding hearts. Judes entire savings was on the line and the rich man had taken an animation that Jude had never witnessed in him. Trixie crossed the finish line in the first heat and Jude had made in terms of his meagre earnings in the stable a proper killing. he jumped up involuntarily and waved his ticket in the air. The rich man shouted and writhed his hands in his hair. “I forgot! can you believe it! I forgot his name! Trixie! Trixie! Of Course!”

Jude copied the names and dates of the horses for the most part correctly into his own book and late one night snuck the borrowed one back into the stable. to put it simply he and Chris never had to work a day in their lives again, although he did quite love horses and his old team and he visited them every opportunity he could but most certainly on race days.