Equus Page #2

to a mental hospital,

and you'll find things

much more restricted.

So it's up to you.

You'll be seeing me every day.

Your session will last exactly 45 minutes.

And I expect you to be absolutely on time.

All right?

By the way...

Which of your parents is it who won't allow

you to watch television?

Mother?

Father?

Or is it both?

Come in, David.

Uh, take Strang, here, on a tour of the...

Hospital, before lunch.

You'll find it quite pleasant.

There's a piano room,

a darkroom for photographers,

even a television room.

3 nights later, I had

this very specific dream.

In it, I am a chief

priest in Homeric Greece.

I'm wearing a wide gold mask,

all noble and bearded,

like the so-called mask of Agamemnon,

found at Mycenae.

I'm standing by a thick, round stone,

holding a sharp knife.

In fact, I'm officiating in some

immensely important ritual sacrifice

on which depends the fate of the crops,

or of a military expedition.

The sacrifice is a herd of children,

about 500 boys and girls

stretching in a long queue,

across the plain of Argos.

I know it's Argos, because of the red soil.

On either side of me

stand two assistant priests,

wearing masks as well...

Lumpy, pop-eyed masks,

such as were also found at Mycenae.

They're enormously strong, these priests,

and absolutely tireless.

As each child steps forward,

they grab it from behind

and throw it over the stone.

Then, with a surgical skill

that amazes even me, I fit in the knife,

and slice elegantly down to the navel,

just like a seamstress following a pattern.

I part the flaps, sever the inner tubes,

yank them out and throw them,

hot and steaming, on the floor.

The other two then study

the patterns they make,

as if they're reading hieroglyphics.

It's obvious to me that I'm tops,

as chief priest.

It's this unique talent for carving

that's got me where I am.

The only thing is,

unknown to the others,

I'm beginning to feel distinctly nauseous.

And with each victim, it's getting worse.

My face is going green behind the mask.

Of course, I redouble my efforts

to look professional,

cutting and snipping for all I'm worth,

mainly because I know

that if those two others

so much as suspect my distress,

and the implied doubt that this repetitive

and smelly work

is doing any social good at all,

then I'd be next over the stone.

And then, of course,

the damn mask begins to slip.

The priests both turn and look at it.

Their gold pop-eyes

suddenly fill with blood.

They tear the knife from my hand, and I...

I wake up.

Mrs. Strang,

have you any idea

how this could have occurred?

No, Doctor. It's all so unbelievable.

Alan was always such a gentle boy. Always.

And he loves animals, especially horses.

Thank you.

- Especially?

- Yes.

He even has a picture of one,

up in his bedroom.

His father gave it to him a few years ago,

off a calendar he'd had printed,

and the boy's never taken it down.

And, uh, when he was, uh, seven or eight,

I used to have to read the same

book to him, over and over again,

all about a horse.

Really?

It was called prince,

and no one could ride him.

You say he kept the picture of the horse

in his bedroom?

Yes.

Could I see it?

Yes. Oh, yes. Yes, of course.

- Uh...

- Thank you.

It's, uh... Uh, please, it's this way.

Uh, I do remember telling him

one very odd thing.

Did you know, Doctor,

that when the Christian cavalry

first appeared in the new world,

the pagans thought that horse

and rider was one person?

- One person?

- Yes.

Of course.

Actually, they thought it must be a God.

In here, please.

This is Alan's room.

Remarkable.

Yes.

Mrs. Strang, is there...

Anything else you can remember

you told him about horses?

Anything at all?

Oh, well, they're in the Bible of course.

"He saith among the trumpets, ha-ha!"

"Ha-ha"?

The Book of Job.

Such a noble passage.

Do you know it?

"Hast thou given the horse strength?

"Hast thou clothed his neck with thunder?

"The glory of his nostrils is terrible.

"He saith among the trumpets,

"Ha-Ha!"

That's marvellous.

Yes.

Yes... Oh, there's Mr. Strang now.

Uh, Frank,

I've got the doctor here.

We'll come down.

Uh...

He's very upset.

You understand, of course?

Uh, this is Dr. Dysart, dear.

Mr. Strang. How do you do?

I was just telling Dr. Dysart, dear,

how... how Alan always adored horses.

Oh, yes?

Yeah, in fact, we've always been

a very horsey family.

Uh, well, uh, my side of it has.

Uh, my uncle used to ride every morning

on the downs behind Brighton,

all dressed up in a bowler hat and jodhpurs.

He used to look splendid.

Uh, "indulging in

equitation," he called it.

Uh, I remember telling Alan

how that word came from "equus."

'I?

The Latin word for "horse."

Oh, yeah.

Alan was absolutely

fascinated by that word, I know.

I suppose because he'd never come across

one with two "a" s together before.

My dear, have you offered

the doctor a cup of tea?

Oh, no, no, dear, I haven't. Oh.

You must be dying for one. Excuse me.

Oh, yes.

My, uh,

my wife has, uh,

romantic ideas, if you receive my meaning.

About her family?

Yes. She thinks she married beneath her.

I dare say, she did.

I don't understand these things myself.

Would you say that she's closer

to the boy than you are?

Oh, they've always been

as thick as thieves.

I can't say I entirely approve...

Especially when I hear her reading

that Bible to him,

night after night, up there in his room.

You mean, she's, uh, religious?

Some might say excessively so.

Mind you, that is her business, but, uh...

When it comes to dosing it down

the boy's throat,

well, frankly, he's my son as well as hers.

Bloody religion.

Well, it's our only real problem

in this house,

but I... it's insuperable.

I don't mind admitting it.

You must excuse my husband, Doctor.

This one subject is something

of an obsession with him.

Isn't it, dear? You must admit.

Call it what you like.

All that stuff, to me, is just bad sex.

What has that got to do with Alan?

Everything. Everything, Dora.

I don't understand. What are you saying?

Mr. Strang, exactly how informed

would you judge your son to be, about sex?

I don't know.

You didn't actually instruct him yourself?

Well, not in so many words, no.

Uh, did you, Mrs. Strang?

Well, I spoke a little. Yes, I had to.

Oh, let me help you.

Uh, what sort of things did you tell him?

I'm sorry if this is embarrassing.

Uh, I told him the biological facts.

But I also told him what I believed,

that sex is not just a biological matter,

but a spiritual one as well,

that if God willed,

he would fall in love one day.

Uh, Sugar?

Yes, thank you.

Uh, that his task was to prepare himself

for the most important

happening of his life.

And after that, if he was lucky,

he would come to know a higher love, still.

There, now. There, now, Dora.

Dora, it's all right. Come on.

Oh, God. Laugh. Laugh, as usual.

No one is laughing, Dora.

Dora.

Equus.

Eh...

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