About El Khyam

I've been meaning to write about my horse  for a long time. One of the curious side effects of my novel. When I was a girl, I had a horse. I lived, first on a large cattle ranch in Eastern Washington, and later on a small 7 acre farm. That's where I lived when El Khyam came into my life. He was about six months old when he arrived, a pure bred Arabian who had a bit of white above his front knees, something that prevented him from being kept as a stud. He was a wild fellow and I loved him.

I only had him a couple of years before my family moved. I gave him up just as I started my Sophomore year in high school. I was fifteen. Horses came up as I was researching The Appassionata. The emphasis comes from Géricault. Théodore Géricault has been a powerful force in shaping what my book is about. He painted horses and was an avid and passionate rider. Falling from a horse killed him, although there were complications. Some historians believe TB settled in his spine.

While in Paris I wrote about a desire that overcame me in the Loire Valley to go riding in France. It was a totally emotional response to the countryside that hardly makes any rational sense. My novel tracks Georges Sands riding through the area as a young woman, really as a girl about the age I was when I had to give up El Khyam.

I also wrote about visiting Versailles and touring the stables, watching a horse show there. That was a marvelous adventure; in part, because it was unexpected and off the beaten path, not part of an ordinary tour of Versailles. The horses were beautiful, the stables, pure Louise XIV.

In any event, when I came home from Paris, I wrote a horse into my novel—one from Géricault's paintings. His named is Giaour, after the anti-hero in Lord Byron's Turkish tale of the same name. The more I wrote about Giaour, the more I found myself wondering what happened to the Arab colt who had been so central to my adolescence.

One day, on impulse, I googled "El Khyam, horse" and much to my surprise, there was such an animal. At first I couldn't believe it was the same horse, but then, one-by-one the pieces fell into place. I had discovered my horse! The dates were correct, the geographical location in Washington, and remarkably, the bit of white over his knee was easy to identify. In the end I recognized his eyes and the bones around them. He looked the same, just much bigger than the green broke, 2 year old, my family sold.

El Khyam became a jumper, which is always what I imagined and dreamed for him. I wanted to jump him. I remember having to chase down a country road late one afternoon after he jumped the fence. He loved to rear and dance around on his hind legs whenever he had the slightest excuse. I don't remember what caused him to jump the fence, but I do remember seeing him do it. He was a beautiful animal, especially in motion. He loved to perform.

He was a National Champion in 1978 in the Hunter/Jumper division when he suffered an injury. He broke what's called his coffin bone, a tiny bone in the foot. And then he had a stroke. I had no idea a horse could have a stroke. The first picture I found of him, up at the top, was after his misfortunes. He came back from all that to again become a champion. This second picture is from before his injury. The whole story makes me cry. I'm so glad he had a full life.

I made an effort to find the people who once owned him; it went no where. Now, I'm trying again. And I'm still hoping that somewhere down the road, I'll go riding in France. It's one of those things that has slipped onto that "I hope I get to do this before I die," list. Who knows why. Synchronicity, perhaps.