The tournament: An interplay of bodies

I don't want this. I can't do this. But it's probably inevitable. I can feel the commotion out there. I can smell it. I can feel it through the ground, all the way up to my head. The ground is shaking from the rapid strides of the other competitors. It's as if it's trying to tell me what's happening. Until recently, the people were on my side. They spoke to me kindly and smiled as they did so.

They like the way I look. I can sense that. They always come up to me before a competition and say nice things. But they're not really saying them to me; they're saying them to the photographers, who are usually there – and, above all, to him, of course. I don't understand any of it, but I suppose he looks good, too.

The trouble is, I actually like him. He isn't nasty or unfriendly. But when we run together, I'm afraid of his hands and relentless legs, which feel alien to me yet exert an eerie power over me. Sometimes, I want to call out to him: 'Let's set off together! Let's run until we reach endless meadows or long beaches. I'll always run with you! I just want to get away from here. Far, far away!' But he wouldn't understand, because we don't speak the same language, and he doesn't really respond to me. He's actually clever, but I can only communicate with him using three or four of my gestures. That's all he understands. He couldn't care less, either way. All that matters to him is that I know what he wants. And I do. I know it, and I hate it.

It's getting louder outside. I can hear the competitor's deep thud before he lands on the floor again, and I listen anxiously for the sound of wood scraping against wood. That means a bar has fallen, and points will be deducted as a result. I'm not quite sure what to make of that sound, but I know it often means someone has injured their leg. It's the same pain you feel when you're not focused enough during training. The bar sometimes hits your legs and it hurts. You try to jump high enough to avoid the pain, and often succeed, because fear drives you on.

It'll be time any moment now. I can hear that strange, alien sound coming from the things hanging everywhere – it booms horribly inside my skull. But people need that, because their ears are dull. They can't hear much, especially not the sound of our bones screeching when we perform these unnatural actions. Admittedly, they do take pride in looking after us. They probably do this because they bandage our legs so they can withstand the impact better, or because a stable boy massages them if they swell up too much after the show.

I understand what the humans say when we leave the arena with our heads held high and a light stride. They think we're proud of the victory, or of completing the course without making any mistakes. They know nothing at all, because we're merely relieved that nothing cracked during the course. Those who make no mistakes might be massaged and photographed. Otherwise, punishment is more likely.

They've tamed my mane and tail again, so that they won't fly in the wind. That's fine by me. In this arena, there's no room for the symbols of freedom. There's never enough space between the obstacles for our hair to blow in the wind. We're made to run with our bodies stretched out beneath the sky, free from barriers or obstacles. When we're free, we avoid obstacles at all costs.

We can jump, but only when there's no other option. The risk of injury and wear and tear is too great. We carefully assess exactly what we can risk. Here, however, we are forced to fight against our instincts. Sometimes the impulse is too powerful. Our bodies simply refuse to overcome a painfully high and unnatural obstacle. But we pay the price, which is why we try to go against our nature. Even though we know it will ruin us.

It's the diabolical interplay of bodies when the jockey sits on my back. The pressure from his thighs and the pulling on my muzzle cause these dreadful things. Every muscle must be controlled to take the exact right run-up to these hurdles, involving unnatural twists and turns, as well as sudden jolts in many different directions during a single run. It's as if I have steel reins wrapped around my whole body.

When it's quiet in the evening or at night, images come into my dreams. Our kind has stored them over long periods of time. A world in which there are hardly any humans. I see plains that we run across. There are so many that the ground itself is no longer visible. We are free, and no one forces us to endure this pain. Our bones ache when we are old, not from these pointless jumps, but from the pain they cause. I imagine it must be wonderful, yet also painful in a way that almost feels good.

I don't know what happened to bring things to this, but I know there won't be many more tournaments for me. I've been doing this for too long, and I no longer have the same strength. People can sense that, too. I don't know what will happen then. Maybe my mane will still blow in the wind as I run across the grass – just like in my dreams.

The jockey is coming – I must go.

© 'The tournament: An interplay of bodies. A horse dreams of a life without barriers': A short story by Ilona E. Schwartz (translated by Izabel Comati), 08/2026. The illustration shows a palomino mare, CC0 (Public Domain Licence).