Maestoso Petra by Jane Kendall

Author:Jane Kendall [Kendall, Jane]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-0-375-89314-8
Publisher: Random House Children's Books
Published: 2010-08-17T04:00:00+00:00

Flight

To this day I’m not sure how the Colonel kept the Spanish Riding School going through the war. Maybe he just pretended that nothing had changed. On the surface that was how it looked, for Morning Parade and training sessions and performances continued as before.

But Vienna was a gloomy place. You almost never saw men in the streets anymore, unless they were too young or too old to be soldiers. Instead of the jolly policeman, a woman in a long coat and shabby boots directed traffic in the Josefsplatz. No more the rich aroma of coffee wafting out of sidewalk cafés or Apfel strudel smells from the bakery. The Viennese lined up every morning with their ration cards, waiting for dark heavy bread made from rough flour, and by midday even that was gone.

Somehow the Colonel kept our Bereiter and grooms from being sent away to fight. He even persuaded the Wehrmacht to send us straw and hay and grain every month. As the war went on it was longer and longer between shipments, and sometimes the hay was moldy. The oats were awful.

And no more treats from Liesl. No more squares from her mama’s sugar bowl, for sugar was rationed and in short supply. No more celery and no more apples, and the carrots she brought me were tough and wrinkled.

“I’m sorry, Petra,” she said mournfully. “It’s the best I can do. Mama wanted these for the soup, but I won’t eat much tonight.” She gave me a potato once. I didn’t want to hurt her feelings, so I ate it, but there’s nothing very nice about a raw potato.

On the brighter side, I had completed my training! Now I performed in the Sunday-morning exhibitions, which followed a strict order. We entered in single file and went through our various gaits, including the piaffe, and then came the grand quadrille, where we crisscrossed the hall in complex and wonderful patterns. We ended with the “airs above the ground,” which were always greeted with gasps of awe. It had taken years of strain and sweat and practice, but I had learned my two (the airs are so difficult that most Lipizzaners can only master two). After Martin and I had tried all of them, he had decided which moves I did the most easily and gracefully. And so I performed the levade and the courbette I had dreamed about as a young horse. To rear into the perfect pose and then jump forward on my hind legs—two, three, four, five times—was all I had ever wanted. Maybe I was showing off a little, but it was my favorite part of every performance. I always smiled to myself when the new horses from Piber were led around the hall on the longe. I knew they watched me every morning, as I had once watched Conversano Stornella and Favory Montenegro. Do you keep the music in your heads? I asked them. Does it make you want to dance? I hoped they were inspired, as I had been.

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