HORSE LATITUDES: RETURN TO THE COUNTRY OF THE HOUYHNHNMS, by Robert Reginald

It was late on a Friday afternoon. I still had ten minutes to go on the clock when I heard a knock on my office door in the Pfau Building.

“Rats,” I thought to myself: I’d been looking forward to a solitary dinner at the local Thai hangout. “Come in,” I called to my visitor.

“Professor Galver?”

A woman walked through the entrance and gracefully arranged herself on the chair in front of my desk. She was about thirty years of age, tastefully attired in a maroon suit and discreet earrings, with a necklace tucked down in her décolletage. The large stone at the end of the silver chain changed colors even as I watched, and I was drawn to it immediately; I’d never seen anything quite like it. (I found the surrounding territory quite attractive as well.)

“I’m John Galver,” I said, looking more closely at her face. She had plain features, but I was struck by the directness of her vision, the intelligence that I could see mirrored there. She smiled slightly at my interest. “I’m, uh, sorry, I don’t recall your name.…”

“I’m not one of your students,” she said. “My name is Clytemnestra Gulliver. My father was Sir Junius Gulliver, the twelfth Baronet of that ilk. He died a year ago, and was succeeded by my younger brother, the thirteenth Baronet. Sir Achilles was killed in an automobile accident six months ago, without any known male heirs, and the baronetcy thereupon became dormant.

“I inherited my father’s financial estate, which was considerable, and all his family records; and I’ve spent a considerable sum this past month trying to find the fourteenth Baronet, if he exists. I believe you’re that missing heir.”

“Me?” I was stunned. “But…I never even knew my father. He was killed in Vietnam, and I was born posthumously. My mother wanted nothing to do with his family. I don’t know anything about my paternal genealogy.”

“You’re descended in the direct male line from the seventh son of the seventh son of Sir Lemuel, the first Baronet. Your family emigrated to the coast of Virginia by 1750. By the early 1800s your people were using the surname ‘Galver.’ You appear to be the most senior direct-male-line descendant of the first Baronet still living.”

“But…but…I’m an American citizen. I couldn’t claim the title even if I wanted to—and I don’t want to!”

“That’s not why I’m here,” she said. “As I told you, I inherited my father’s physical and monetary holdings—although I have no right to the baronetcy myself. But the terms of the original patent granted by King George II provided, most unusually, that each successive Baronet would also inherit all of the journals and records of Sir Lemuel’s voyages of exploration, which could not then be passed on or sold to any other individual or institution, or even shared. Even I can’t examine the documents, which are sequestered in a fireproof safe in our solictor’s office, without your written permission.”

Although my undergraduate degree had been in History and Classical Greek (now there was a practical combination!), I now taught writing at CSU Santo Verdugo, for a whole lot of reasons that I won’t go into here. Suffice it to say, as the Jebbies used to warble at ole GU, that “Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof.”

“Ms., uh, Gulliver,” I said, sighing, “I’d be happy to sign a release, if that’s what you want. However, I really don’t have any int.…”

She raised her hand to interrupt. “I appreciate your willingness to cooperate, Professor Galver, but if it were just a signature on a page that I needed, I would have hired an intermediary to obtain it. No, there’s something else that you really need to see.”

She reached into her bag and pulled out a…well, it appeared to be an old piece of parchment. I took it from her outstretched hand—the briefest touch of her skin sent a jolt up my arm—and examined it more closely. The single folded sheet reminded me of a medieval incunabulum. The text was printed in red ink on a surface that consisted of a dried, highly-polished, exceedingly smooth skin of a type utterly unknown to me.

“What is this?” I asked.

“You tell me, Professor,” she said. “It was given to me by my solicitors, who said they’d received it in an odd-looking package that had been shipped from the Republic of South Africa. They’d already had the thing opened by a security agency, fearing that it might be a threat of some kind, so they felt they were not violating the terms of the trust by letting me have it. They thought the message had to be an elaborate hoax, but they did encourage me to locate the present title-holder, if one existed—and to pass it on to him.”

Although the document was…legible in its own way, it was imprinted in a style of old gothic type that I found difficult to read.

“Would you like me to…?” she asked.

“Please.” I handed the sheet back to her.

“GREETINGS,

“Yahoo Goullheevarhee. We request your presence at a meeting of the Assembly of the Houyhnhnms, to be held within twelve of your months hence, wherein we shall debate the future of Yahoo-kind on our planet. You will represent the interest of the Yahoos-with-Voices, and speak to the question of their future preservation. If you fail to appear, we will assume that the Yahoos leave the choice of their continuation as a life-form on this world to the wisdom of the Houyhnhnms, whose decision shall be final. We look forward to welcoming the descendant of such a distinguished individual as the old Yahoo Goullheevarhee.

—The Speaker of the Assembly.”

“Wait a minute,” I said, “this is a joke, right? Gulliver’s Travels was work of fiction—I had to read it in college to pass the comprehensive exam required to graduate. It was written by Jonathan Swift. Everyone knows that.”

“The conventional wisdom was wrong,” Lady Clytemnestra said. “Yes, Canon Swift did produce a manuscript of our ancestor’s voyages based around the stories he was told by his friend, Sir Lemuel. But Sir Lemuel never let him see the actual diaries and documents he compiled, some of them penned contemporaneously. My father told me that Sir Lemuel’s papers included, among other things, directions on locating the lands he had visited in his travels, and a detailed dictionary of the Houyhnhnm language.”

“But none of those lands actually exist,” I said. I leaned back in my chair, raising my hands in protest. “They’re a fantasy—an entertaining fantasy, to be sure, but a fantasy nonetheless. I mean, really, where are they? No one’s ever seen them—or even bothered to look for them. In the modern era, we have satellites that scan the globe constantly. Nothing the size of those islands could possibly have remained hidden from such prying eyes. Nothing!”

“I can’t answer your question: I don’t know where they are, Professor,” she said. “I’ve gone round and round in my own mind over the absurdity of it all. But I keep coming back to two things. Among my late father’s possessions was a tattered shirt stitched together from…well, I don’t have any idea. It’s very much like the piece of parchment that I just handed to you: nothing exists to compare it with. I’ve had a discreet examination made of both the garment and this document, and no expert can tell me the material from which they were fashioned, except that they have a similar origin.”

“You mentioned a second thing.…”

“My inclination would still be to ignore this so-called missive as some kind of elaborate prank. But I keep waking up in the middle of the night, wondering, well.…”

“Yes?”

“My training at University qualified me for a degree in the botanical sciences. I’m not sufficiently informed about the all issues involved here to venture a guess about what might eventually happen to the Earth if its ecology continues to be stressed at the present rate. I know enough, though, seriously to consider the question: What if the threat’s real? And what if they have the means to destroy all human life? I just don’t believe that we can take that chance, as slim as it might be.

“So I beg you, sir, come back with me to London, examine your ancestor’s papers, and then accompany me to the Country of the Houyhnhnms, if it exists.”

“If it exists.…” I closed my eyes. The semester was almost over. In a couple of weeks I’d be on summer break, free for three months to do anything that I wished. My “ex-” was long gone, and the kiddies—including the dogs—had all gone with her. I had no social or other ties remaining. So, who was I kidding? I had nothing left in my empty life except penning a string of dull papers for an equally dull audience, ad infinitum. That fate was worse for me than the prospect of facing Dante’s Hell. I needed a challenge, something new.

“Very well,” I said. “I’ll go.”

* * * *

Thus it was that I found myself several months later at Cape Town, South Africa. I’d spent most of the intervening period winding up my affairs in Santo Verdugo. I took an unpaid year’s leave of absence from the University, sold my condo, and put anything I thought worth preserving of my much-diminished possessions into long-term storage. Soon, I’d just be the shadow of a shade at Ole Cal State.

Sir Lemuel’s diary and papers were confusing at best. I ordered the family solicitors to give Lady Clytemnestra access to his records, from which she’d excerpted the pertinent data—such as it was—and dropped them to me as email attachments. I found myself growing very fond of those frequent messages from “Nesta,” as she insisted I call her (“I can’t imagine why Daddy saddled me with such a monstrously silly moniker,” she said), even though I knew that our backgrounds were, quite literally, worlds apart—and ages apart as well. I was a dozen years older than she, and I knew that gulf was greater even than the canyon that separated a British aristocrat from a undistinguished college teacher at some backwater California school.

I checked into the Royal Crest Hotel. The next move was up to Nesta, who was supposed to meet me there. I tried emailing her, but got no response—which was odd. She usually got back to me immediately, at least with some token acknowledgment. I tried again later—nothing. I phoned her that evening, but her cell just went to “message.” Was she in trouble? Out of range? The damnable thing was not knowing.

Very early the next morning—it was still dark outside—a pounding woke me from a troubled sleep; I’d spent the night being chased over hill and dale by giant, saber-toothed stallions. I staggered out of bed, swished on a robe that I hoped covered everything pertinent, and opened the door. Nesta was standing there, dressed immaculately as usual. Did the woman ever actually sweat?

“Get dressed,” she said, “and get your things together. We have to leave right away.”

“Why—?” I asked, as I headed toward the bathroom.

“We’re being followed,” was all I heard before I turned on the shower. Five minutes later, while I was throwing on some clothes. I saw Nesta packing what little I’d brought with me.

“Is this all?” she asked. When I nodded, she said: “Then let’s go.”

There was a car with dark-tinted windows waiting for us at the rear entrance to the hotel. The driver spoke not a word, but immediately hit the gas as soon as we closed the back doors of the van.

We drove more than an hour through the countryside outside of the city, before finally arriving at a small, rural airfield just as the sun was peeking one red-rimmed eyebrow over the horizon—man, I knew just how it felt!

“Hurry!” Nesta said, shooing me out of the vehicle while our driver grabbed our several bags of luggage. We trotted toward a prop plane parked to one side. Its left-hand propeller had begun to revolve even before we boarded.

Again, my companion said nothing to the pilot. We belted ourselves in and the craft took off soon after. Then we were over the ocean, heading (judging from the position of the sun) southeast.

“Where are we going?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” she said. “You might call it a way station.”

We flew more than four hours before I felt the plane starting its descent. So far as I could tell, we were landing right on the waves, but at the last moment, a flash of brown appeared in the near-distance, and we set down on a long dirt strip cut into the top of a small island.

“This isn’t—” I started to say, but she stopped me, grabbed my arm, and put her right index finger to her lips.

As soon as the craft rolled to a stop, we got our bags and exited through the right door. “Come,” she said, pulling me away from the plane. As soon as we were clear, it turned around, revved up its engines, and took off.

I looked around. If ever the appellation “desert island” was appropriate, this was it. The teardrop of dry land was covered with dried scrub. The runway, if it even deserved that label, had been carved from the top of the mound that represented the high point of the place. There was nothing else, other than the occasional lizard and a few gulls—no buildings, no vehicles, no people, nada.

“Reminds me of the Mojave Desert,” I said. There was no place for us to sit. “How long must we wait?”

She shrugged. “I was given another parchment with instructions to make myself—and you—available at a specific time and place. That’s all I know.”

As the day progressed, and the sun rose higher in the sky, the temperature began to rise. We found a modicum of shade beneath a stunted tree a few hundred yards from the strip, and sat down on the ground. We were somewhere in the southern section of the Horse Latitudes, I thought, which would explain the dry, windy climate. Nesta fished around in her bag, and dredged out a tepid liter of water. I just sipped from it and gave it back again, not knowing how long we’d be stranded there.

As we huddled together for comfort, Nesta told me about her upbringing and her strange family history. The Gulliver family tree was littered with eccentric fruit. She was last survivor of the main branch. “I wonder sometimes,” she whispered, as the sun began to dip below the horizon, “why it was left to me to fulfill our destiny. And I wonder what that destiny might be. Will I be the one responsible for the death of mankind? I’m afraid, John.”

It was the first time she’d called me by my given name. I put my arm around her, and brought her close. Truth be told, I had similar fears, and told her so. How could anyone prepare for this kind of situation? Who were these creatures, and why were they threatening our existence?

As the wind rose and the temperature fell, she dozed off against my chest—and then I slept as well, still being pursued through the night by those charging, toothy stallions. Some hours later, I woke up suddenly. Something.…

“Nesta, listen!” I said, nudging her. “Listen!”

In the distance I could hear a faint whistling sound.

“What is it?” she said.

“I think we’re about to have visitors.” I got up and brushed myself off, and then assisted her to do the same. We grabbed our bags and headed through the brush back towards the strip. A half-moon lighted our way, but it was still rough going. I near fell when my right foot caught on a weed.

The warbling had grown louder during our brief trek, and by the time we reached the dirt runway, it was almost upon us. We could see nothing, however. Whatever the thing was, it had no running lights.

We heard it touch down at the other end of the strip, and then lose speed as it approached our position. The dark, round bulk halted just a few feet from us. A door popped open on the side nearest us. Just before we mounted the stairs to step inside, I glanced down the flank of the vehicle, and muttered “Shit!” under my breath.

“What is it?” Nesta asked.

“It has no windows.”

She followed the nod of my head and gasped when she saw what I meant. The surface of the craft was completely smooth. She looked at me, as if to say, “What do we do now?”—but I just gave her a light touch on the back. We had no choice but to go forward, no choice at all.

The interior was lighted by a dull amber glow that emanated from the walls. I saw two seats—obviously ours—and when we sat down, the arms of the chairs slowly enfolded us. The door closed, and then I could feel the craft swivel back the other direction and suddenly accelerate down the runway.

I don’t know how far we traveled. My watch stopped working as soon as we boarded—and it never ran again until much later. Nesta and I talked a bit, but the dark, quiet setting lulled us off to sleep again. I didn’t even feel us land. The door suddenly opened to bright sunlight, and the seats released us from our bondage. We stepped outside. A horse—a Houyhnhnm—was waiting for us.

The great equine creature—it wasn’t really a horse, I decided—handed us a pair of what looked like earphones, and motioned us to put them on our heads. As soon as we did, it whinnied:

“Welcome to the Land of the Houyhnhnms”—and we understood everything it said!

* * * *

We spent several months acclimatizing ourselves to Their Noble Equinities and their land. They made clear to us from the very beginning that they still regarded the Speaking-Yahoos—humankind—as inferior creatures. The original Yahoo race—those indigenous to Horse-People’s island—had mostly been exterminated in the 300 years since Sir Lemuel’s visit, although a few breeding populations were maintained for biological experimentation.

I asked my guide, Ssihahnahmy, how his people had avoided detection for the past three centuries, and he just s’nickered and said, “We are not always here, but sometimes there—and there you have not yet learned how to voyage.” I didn’t understand what he meant, but that was true of many things we discussed, and the lack of comprehension went both ways.

We were established in a structure built for our comfort near the place where Sir Lemuel had lived during his stay in Houyhnhnmla’as, as the Equines call their island; it provided all the amenities we needed. Evidently, the Horse-People had researched our civilization much more thoroughly during the intervening years, and were familiar with the food and drink we required.

On one occasion, our guide introduced us to a friend, a “far-searcher” in human behavior and psychology named Dr. Dha’endrianomono, who had always wanted “actually to meet one of us” (he said), instead of just evaluating our species at a distance (his people were normally forbidden to have direct contact with ours). As had happened with Sir Lemuel, he asked us both to strip, to which we very reluctantly agreed, with him directing a running commentary into a small ring of metal (evidently a recording device of some kind): “Yes, yes, I was so right! There are both similarities and dissimilarities between the two groups.” (He was talking, I think, of the differences between the Yahoos and Speaking-Yahoos, although with the Equines, one could never be sure.) “But I have always wanted to examine the distinctions between the sexes…,” and so on and so forth. I never thought nudity could be so boring, despite the obvious charms displayed by my comely companion, which I tried very, very, uh, hard to ignore.

Then Ssihahnahmy said, “Excuse me, Yahoo-Goullheevarhee, I do not believe that you heard Dr. Dha’endrianomono’s request.”

When I looked quizzical, he said: “He would like to see you and Yahoo-Goullhevarnestaha copulate.”

“What?!” I ejaculated.

“He would like to see how your species mates.”

“Request denied!” I said. I was outraged. I heard what sounded a sob next to me; I glanced over at Lady Nesta with concern. She had a hand over her mouth, and was trying very hard not to laugh out loud.

“Why?” both of the Equines asked.

“We just don’t do that sort of thing in public.”

“I do not understand,” the far-searcher said. “All of these acts are common biological processes. It would be as if you would find the act of public defecation distasteful.”

“We do!”

“How very strange. When I watch your vidh-hee-hoes, I see the mating ritual performed frequently in public—because, surely, someone filmed these acts in the presence of the individuals performing them. So, what is the difficulty in conducting the mating ritual here? We are not even of the same species.”

“I don’t think he’s…up to it,” Lady Nesta interjected.

“Oh, is there a procedure that one must go through before copulation? How very interesting.”

“Very definitely,” she said. I was beginning to see a side of my companion that I’d never thought existed. “You see, we have to undergo a series of preparations leading up to the act itself, including seven days of prayers to our God, anointing each other with the oil of olé, rhythmic dancing and chanting, but only to Hawaiian music, the consumption of certain foods like bananas, rutabagas, and kumquats (although oysters can sometimes be substituted for the latter during the New Moon), and other things which cannot be mentioned to outsiders.”

“But I never saw any of this on your vidh-hee-hoes.”

“Well, of course not! There are things, like Goullheevarhee’s spare tire, which cannot be viewed by anyone outside of the family group.”

Spare tire? Well, it was true that I had a wee paunch wrapt round my middle, but a spare tire? I really didn’t think so! I shook my head in frustration.

“You can see how adversely this affects this poor male’s composure,” she continued. “Why, everything in his life revolves around his ability to impress the females of his species, and his inability to do so here, on demand, is very damaging to his psyche. He could even throw a tantrum and injuriate himself.”

“A tantrum? Injuriate himself? What’s that?” the far-searcher asked.

“Oh,” I said, “oh, oh, ohhh! Woe is unto me! I want to copulate, but I cannot. I lack the essential kumquat-mayo. I have not spread my cheeks before the face of a full moon. I did not fart ‘The National Anthem’ before my beloved.”

“Just as well,” she muttered under her breath. Then, louder, to the Equines: “You see what you’ve done to this poor human. He is not a Yahoo, gentlebeings. He is a real man, with all of the attendant sufferings and self-imposed angst-for-the-memories common to such creatures. They can be magnificent under the proper circumstances, but—and I say this with a piece of sorrel dangling between my teeth—they usually lack a certain, uh, ‘something’.”

“Something? What?” Dr. Dha’endrianomono asked. “What have I done?”

“That I cannot say,” she whispered, her head downcast. “It is another secret that we hold dear.”

“I do not understand. I do not understand.” He turned away and staggered out the door, his tail swishing away the imaginary flies buggering him. “I do not understand. They are more complicated creatures than we ever imagined. I do not understand.” We could hear his trotting feet as he slowly made his way down the walkway.

“I apologize for my guest’s unacceptable rudeness,” Ssihahnahmy said. “He is not the Houyhnhnm that I thought he was.”

“Who is?” Lady Nesta said.

Then we started laughing—couldn’t help ourselves—leaving our guide more puzzled than ever. “What are you doing?” he finally said.

“Purging ourselves,” Nesta managed to choke out between giggles. “It is our way of expiating our, uh, sins of omission and commission.”

“I must consider this,” the Equine said. “I must report my observations at once.”

“You s-surely have our p-permission to do s-so,” I stuttered, before being overwhelmed by another wave of uncontrollable mirth.

* * * *

We’d been informed that, since our presence was already secured in the land, the date for the Assembly of Examination had been moved forward by four months. Accordingly, we were transported to the meeting place in their chief city a month after our meeting with the far-searcher.

The structure to which were finally taken when the great day arrived was a magnificent open-air amphitheater that reminded me of a smaller structure that I’d seen at Ephesus when I was a boy living in Turkey. Like that relic, this one was carved out of the side of a hill behind the city, stretching in a huge semicircle, with an entrance in the front and awnings behind. We were led to seats of honor in the center, where we were, in essence, on trial for the transgressions of humankind.

The Chief Judge was a gray-maned Houyhnhnm of advanced years. He was flanked by two justices on either side, representing, we were told, the four Sub-Herds of the Equine-People. Behind him ranked the Chief Stallions and Mares of all the major social groups of the Equinities.

The Chief Judge of the Herd spoke first:

“Since the initial encounter between our species and yours, some three hundred years ago, it has been our policy to reduce the population of our own group of Yahoos by castrating the males and spaying the females as necessary, gradually reducing the overall numbers of these creatures in our land to a tenth of what they were back then. We did this for a variety of reasons, but primarily because we did not require their labor any further, having the means to replace their work through other solutions; but also because of the threat they posed to our civilization, had they been allowed to attain the intelligence and organization and, to be frank, the aggressiveness of the Speaker-Yahoos.”

I interrupted his soliloquy with this obversation: “We are not Yahoos, sir, and find that term an insult to our species. If you consider us wise enough and well-spoken enough to receive our testimony before this Assembly, then you will honor our request to be called humans.”

“Very well, I grant your request. No one here shall be allowed to call you Yahoos ever again.

“To return to my narrative: culling the Yahoo population was an adequate solution to the problem of our land during olden times, but it does not solve the problem of today. And that problem is this: your species now threatens the very existence of this planet. By your actions and inactions, you humans are destroying the ecology of the Earth, and if you continue, we will once again see a ‘Great Dying,’ in which all of the large animals on this world will vanish within a relatively short period of time. Through your greed, your shortsightedness, through your general stupidity, you threaten your own existence and that of all the other lesser creatures in your care. You must be eliminated to preserve whatever can be saved.”

I was stunned: I didn’t know what to say. Nesta recovered her voice first.

“You have the means of doing this?” she asked.

“I assure you, we do! In the intervening centuries, we have become masters of biological manipulation. We can render your entire population permanently sterile—or we can take more direct means, and let loose upon your people a plague that will kill almost everyone it infects within a matter of days. Some may survive, but not enough to rebuild your race—or your so-called civilization—for a very long time, perhaps many tens of thousands of your years.”

“What about the Houyhnhnms?” she said.

“We have the means of moving our entire species elsewhere—I will not provide you with the details—so we would not be affected by the coming collapse of the ecological structure of this globe. But…this is our home, just as it is yours, although we have been here longer as a so-called intelligent species. We have watched your development from afar with increasing alarm, particularly in the last century. The reservations that we expressed to the first Goullheevarhee have been realized in ways that we could never have anticipated back then.

“The situation now is far worse than it was when you were still exploring and colonizing then-distant lands. Yet, all of this was predictable, and we should have paid more attention to what your ancestor was telling us. We have an obligation to ourselves and to those who cannot stand up for themselves to save whatever can yet be preserved. We have no illusions on this score: even if your activities ceased to harm the Earth from sunrise on the morrow, so much damage has already been incurred that we may be able to preserve just a part of the precious ecological heritage that has been given to us.

“However, you two will have the right to speak on behalf of the humans of this world. So far as we can tell, you are typical of the better class of individuals of your race: better educated, better informed, more sensible generally. If anyone can make the case for your people, you can.”

“And if we can’t?” she said.

“Then you will be exterminated, although you two will be given the option of remaining here in safety for the rest of your days.

“Now, to give you more time to consider your response in private, we hereby adjourn this Assembly, and give you three days of contemplation before you have to appear before us again with your answer.”

Then he motioned to his colleagues, and all five of them rose as one.

* * * *

That evening, in our temporary quarters, Nesta began pacing back and forth, back and forth, until her incessant activity was near to driving me crazy.

“Stop!” I finally said. “Please just stop!”

“What are we going to do, John?” she said. “What can we possibly say that will make any difference to these unfeeling, holier-than-thou oat-eaters? They’ve already given us their verdict. They just want us to confirm their judgment by providing them with more evidence of our universal perfidity. They’ve set us up. Someone among them said, ‘Well, it wouldn’t be right to condemn an entire species of semi-literate Yahoos to death without getting their testimony first’; and the judges bought into that, because it alleviates them of any responsibility for a decision they’ve already made. They figure that they can control us and what we might say, because we are, after all, ‘more sensible generally.’ More sensible than whom? Those sanctimonious philosopher-kings! They feel nothing!”

“Perhaps that’s their weakness,” I said.

“But they’ve totally suppressed such emotions. Horses have emotions: we know they do. They become angry, unmanageable, cantakerous. They dote on their young. They bond to some men, but not to others. The Houyhnhnms have to be genetically related to horses. They have to have similar DNA in their makeup that generates feelings, at least for their own people. They’ve just learned to quash such things, to put them aside.”

“But if they’re present…,” I said.

“Yes.”

“Then how do we demonstrate to them that their decision has been based on emotion,” I said, “on a need to destroy the other intelligent species on this world? They’ve given us a justification, but it’s not truly based on reason. It’s just expedient.”

“I don’t know, John, I really don’t know. They have the conviction of their convictions, that’s obvious—and these are based on centuries or even millennia of social convention, the culture of their integrated society, on everything that they do and are. We’ve never heard of Equine rebels or freethinkers.…”

“…But they have to exist,” I said. “They have to.”

“I suspect they’re treated very harshly. Acceptance of them would require a revolution, an earthquake striking at the very base of their society. It would shake their entire philosophy to the core, and possibly bring it down. But.…”

“But what?” I asked.

“There’s still that gnawing feeling deep down in my gut somewhere. What if they’re right? What if the continuation of our species will lead to the death, not only of all or most of humanity, but of almost everything else as well? The trends aren’t favorable: things appear to be quickly getting out of control. We have to admit that, and then offer some solution to the problem that doesn’t result in the wholesale slaughter of both the guilty and the innocent—and you know very well that most people fall into the latter category. How do you justify the death of an entire race?”

“Only by regarding them as your inferiors, as not worthy of consideration on equal terms. Only then can you face such a decision and still live with yourself. If we’re nothing to them but Yahoos, we’ve lost already.

“Another question I have,” I said, “is how are the Houyhnhnms related to other horses—and when did they evolve into a separate species? No trace has been found in the fossil record of anything that remotely resembles the Equines. Being confined on an island, no matter how large, would limit their genetic diversity considerably, I would think.”

“I never considered that.”

“There were other horse species in the world that didn’t survive to modern times—in North America, for example, where the indigeous horses died out some 12,000 years ago. No one has ever been able to determine why that happened. I just wonder.…”

A sumptuous dinner—a meal suitable for Humans—had been laid out in front of us, but neither of us could do more than pick at it.

“I’ll tell you this,” I said. “If we can’t convince them to relent, I’m going to return to our people to accept their fate. I couldn’t abide living out my life in isolation, knowing that we could have made a difference—and failed.”

“I agree,” she said. “We’ll go back together.”

I looked across at her and smiled. “How would you like to go to bed with an older man?”

She smiled at me. “You know, John, I think I’d like that very much. I really do need some comforting tonight. We can’t wait any longer. Our days may be running out.”

I walked around to the other side of the table, and took her in my arms. She snuggled her head down on my shoulder and whimpered just slightly. I felt like my insides were on the verge of being ripped out. How could I possibly agree to end her life—and mine—when we had so many possibilities together? Could the universe be so cruel?

I hoped not. I hoped we still had a chance to save the human race.

* * * *

On the third day, we were again escorted to the great amphitheater on the rim of the capital city of Houyhnhnmla’as. If anything, the benches were packed even more than before. It was about mid-morning when the Chief Judge called the session to order. “Read the charges,” he ordered to a gray-dappled roan standing to one side.

“The Houyhnhnm Race does hereby charge the Race of Yahoo-Speakers…”—“Strike that!” the Judge ordered, before I could raise an objection myself, “and substitute the word ‘Human-Speakers’ for Yahoos”—“…the Race of Human-Speakers with the violation of its sacred trust to preserve the planet Earth as a home for all life forms resident therein, in that it has willfully, deliberately, and systematically stripped this world of many of its natural resources, and simultaneously fouled its ecology through the pollution of its atmosphere and water and the raping of its lands; and that these acts, if continued into the future, will eventually lead to the destruction of all large and many smaller life forms on earth, including the Human-Speakers themselves;

“And that therefore the Human-Speakers must be removed from this planet by any means possible, without delay, lest they continue to cause a further deterioration in the Earth’s ecosystem.”

The stadium became the bottom of a tomb: quiet and immovable, with every eye focused on me and my companion. I heard Nesta gasp under the apparently hateful glare of the Horse-People (despite the fact that they claimed to have lost such emotions), and I squeezed her hand to lend her my nonexistent courage.

“How do you plead, Human-Speakers?” the Judge asked.

“Guilty,” I said, and the gasps this time were all on the other side. “Guilty, but with mitigating circumstances.”

Now there arose a murmur of discontent from the back benches, as the Houyhnhnms began whispering among themselves. Our translation devices were insufficiently powerful to pick up more than a word here and there, but it was clear from their demeanor that many of the attendees were unhappy with what I’d just stated.

“How can that be the case?” the Chief Judge asked.

Nesta now stepped forward. “You claim to be the preeminent intelligences on this world.”

“That is so,” the Judge said. “We are clearly more rational and reasonable in our dealings, as the Old Goullheevarhee stated in his memoirs, than you Human-Speakers have ever been.”

“You’ve read Gulliver’s Travels?” I said.

“Yes, of course we have.”

“How is that possible, since you have previously expressed such disdain for Human speech?”

“Following the visit to our land of your ancestor three hundred years ago, we made an effort to acquire the written communications of your people, so that we could monitor what was happening in the world outside our home. We therefore trained certain individuals to summarize the happenings there, and regularly report their findings to this Assembly.”

“So,” Nesta said, “you’ve followed events in the Human world very closely over the past three centuries?”

“Of course,” the Chief Equine said.

“Then why,” she said, “did you allow Human practices of which you disapprove, actions that have, by your own testimony, severely damaged the Earth’s ecosystem, to continue? Why?”

“Our basic philosophy is not to intervene in the affairs of others.”

“But you’re now proposing to do just that,” I said.

“Yes, but the damage has now reached a tipping point, where we must intervene or risk a general catastrophe,” he said.

“I repeat,” Nesta said, “why did you allow the situation to progress to this point, when you had the knowledge and the means to arrest it?”

I picked up the thread: “If we’re guilty, as we freely admit, then so are you—all of you”—I swept my hands in a great semicircle—“and what’s more, your guilt attains a higher level than ours, since, by your own admission, you’re brighter than we are, and have more understanding of how these things work, and how they can be fixed. If you exterminate our race, then you must do the same to your own, for your culpability requires it. As the superior race, you bear the greater responsibility here.”

“No, no, that cannot be true!” the Judge shouted out, and the Horse-Folk behind him began pounding their rear hooves on the stone benches in what was obviously a display of, well, Equine anger!

“And look at yourselves now,” Nesta said, “unable to control your own reactions to the bitter truth. It’s we who should be judging you, and not vice versa. We look to you for guidance in such matters, and you Houyhnhnms have utterly failed us. You hide behind your island fortress of solitude, and seek pleasures somewhere offworld, where you can evade responsibility for your blatant inaction. What do you expect us to do—celebrate your indifference? The destruction of the world is the appropriate response to the example that you’ve shown us. Where’s your leadership? Where’s your moral center? Where’s your supposed rationality?”

By now her voice could scarcely be heard, so loud had the whinnies become in the arena. The Horse-People were arguing vociferously among themselves, and ignoring every effort by the Judges to reimpose their control.

“Never!” we heard, and “No!”

But the problem was, that there actually was a problem, and it needed to be resolved—and soon.

Nesta opened her mouth and screamed as hard as she could, and I joined suit. Very quickly, the assembly quieted until our voices could be heard once more.

“Gentlefolks,” I said, “we must work together to find some way to force those who would not change to create change—or, truth be told, we’re all doomed to a terrible end. Your prognostications still have validity: the Human-Speakers are sending the Earth over an ecological cliff. So, realistically, what can we do about it?”

A little Horse with a braided tale and mane who’d been standing off to one side stepped forward and asked permission to speak. When it was granted, she said: “I am what you Yah—Human-Speakers would call a scientist or technician. I have studied this problem for many of your decades. There is no one answer, but many different answers that will require your people to change the way they live—permanently. If they cannot be persuaded to do this, then I see no hope.”

Nesta shook her head. “Some can be persuaded, but not many of the wealthy industrialists who actually control the politicians and the power will go along. For them, it’s all about their money. Their greed, their lack of compassion for anyone they consider beneath them, are what threaten to undo any reforms that are proposed.”

“There must be a way,” I said. “There must be!”

But although many voices of Houyhnhnms were heard that long, long day (more, I suspect, than had been raised in a long, long time), no actual decisions were made, and no true agreements were forged; and when the session was adjourned until the next day, we all went back to our dwellings greatly discouraged at the lack of progress.

* * * *

“Can we do this, Nesta?” I asked her that evening. I was exhausted, and wholly bereft of any new ideas.

“There’s an old Latin saying that I learned at University,” she said, folding me in her arms. She whispered it in my right ear: “‘Dum spiro, spero’—‘while I breathe, I hope’.”

“Maybe we should change it to: ‘Dum basio, spero’—‘while I kiss, I hope’,” I countered, demonstrating my new philosophy most decisively.

“Ummm,” was all she could say—but that was enough.

* * * *

The Chief Judge was not presiding at the next session. There was no sign of him, and no explanation of his absence, or that of his colleagues. Instead, a white-and-brown mare stood at the podium.

“I am the Herder of Herds,” she said. “We will now come to order.”

Indeed, the placement of the Houyhnhnms in the front rows of the Amphitheater was very different from yesterday, having been reordered to move the Chief Stallions and Mares of the Sub-Herds into more prominent seats.

“Human-Speakers,” she continued, “we acknowledge our liability for the situation that exists in the world. We should have been more attentive to the events occurring there, instead of relying on the abbreviated reports of our abstracters; and we should have taken more forthright action in response. All of this we acknowledge.

“Nonetheless, the basic quandary remains: your people caused the situation that now threatens the stability of this planet’s ecosphere, to the detriment potentially of all major and many minor lifeforms resident on Earth; and we cannot unilaterally save you from yourselves. We lack the power, even if we had the will—and our people remain divided on this subject. What do you propose as a possible solution?”

I motioned Nesta to speak, for although we had discussed it between ourselves for most of the night, her knowledge of these issues greatly exceeded mine, even though she was by no means an expert on the subject.

“Gentle Houyhnhnms,” she said, “we have some ideas, but no quick or easy solutions. You mentioned at one point that you’ve developed skills that can manipulate the biologies of other species. Is this correct?”

“Yes,” the Herder said, “we have that capability. We can also create viruses that will target specific types of animals, or smaller groups within the general populations of such creatures.”

“We don’t wish to exterminate any species, especially Humans and Equines, because we need both resources to forestall the impending global catastrophe. During World War II, the last great world military conflict between the major Human countries, the United States developed an atomic bomb, the use of which in 1945 effectively ended that struggle. Similar weapons were later developed by a number of Human states—but none was ever used, for fear of a general retaliation that would end all Human life and civilization. It was the threat of mutual destruction that forced would-be combatants to stand down.

“We need something like that now, something that will force the major industrialists, the key politicians, and the rich and powerful to alter their collective mindset. They need to be forced into doing the right thing, whether they wish to or not. And they need also to understand that failure to do so will result in the immediate destruction of something or someone dear to them—including, if necessary, themselves. All of them need to realize that the Houyhnhnms are the new power on Earth, a power so great that no Human entity can stand against it. You must be the terrible threat that promises, at the very least, mutual destruction if ignored, and total destruction if they continue to persist in their ignorance, greed, and contumely.

“Is there anything you can produce that would have this effect?”

The Herder of Herds paused for a moment, and then raised a forefoot to bring to her dais the little scientist that we’d heard yesterday. She was introduced to us as Dr. Shianyshiharha.

“I am not, strictly speaking, a biological technician,” the Equine said, “but I know enough of these things to suggest some possibilities. We could create a virus that would target specific individuals or groups of individuals within the Human population, but that would remain inert until activated, or until a specific period of time had passed.”

“But couldn’t such a virus be removed, once it was known?” I asked.

“Not all your viral diseases have been cured,” she replied, “and not all can be cured with traditional vaccinations or treatments. Some viruses resist alterations in their genome, or mutate very quickly into forms that are unaffected by all previous attempts to control them. Further, viruses can be tailored to target specific individuals, so that the cost of finding a vaccine becomes the cost of engineering a solution for a single person. Even if those individuals could finance such medical research, their efforts would largely be doomed in advance. Your society does not now have the technology or knowledge to successfully remove such infections generally—and any individual successes could not be easily replicated elsewhere.”

“Assuming your efforts were successful, what else could you do?” Nesta asked.

“Your livestock creatures, particularly the bovines, contribute almost twenty percent of greenhouse gases to the world atmosphere. If these creatures were scaled back by half or more, you would see corresponding reductions in emissions. Again, we could do this by engineering a virus that would result in the sterilization of a specified number of these animals, so that their population would gradually be reduced over time, and adjustments made in the general food supply to prevent the starvation of your people. These animals are inefficient food sources in any case.

“Emissions from coal-fueled power plants are another major source of atmospheric pollution. These should be eliminated in favor of more efficient energy-producing facilities, such as solar and wind generators. Solar panels in particular have the potential of drastically reducing the need for electricity generated by less efficient means—and the technology to create them is already available.

“Your automobiles need to be made more energy-efficient. Even a small increase in what you call ‘mileage’ would result in a large reduction in the yearly consumption of gas and oil.

“These are fairly obvious—and already identified—goals that could be attained by your civilization with minimal disruption, if implemented in some uniform and rational way.”

She paused for a moment while Nesta and I discussed these ideas between ourselves. We quickly reached an agreement, and my companion then responded:

“We agree that these are worthy goals. They’ll be resisted strenuously, however, by certain elements in Human society, unless those individuals are compelled to comply. Therefore, we also believe that the creation of a targeted virus, something that could act as a deterent to these people, would be worthwhile. How quickly could you accomplish this?”

Now it was Dr. Shianyshiharha’s turn to look flustered, and she stopped for a moment to consult with the Herder of Herds—and then left the podium to speak with a number of Equines who appeared to be members of her particular group (at least they all sported sashes that suggested such an affinity). When she returned, she said:

“My colleagues and I feel that this would take us a minimum of six to twelve of your months to attain—perhaps longer. The difficulties are greater here than perhaps most individuals might appreciate.”

I then spoke directly to the Herder of Herds. “You realize,” I said, “that your existence will have to be revealed to the world in order for this program to work. Humans must perceive you as an external threat greater than themselves. Some countries may be tempted to attack you, possibly with nuclear missiles—can you defend yourselves from such aggression?”

“We understand the need to drop our cloak of secrecy,” the Equine leader said, “and we agree to do so, when the time comes. In answer to your question, none of your weapons have the capability of penetrating our defenses. Indeed, your people will not even be able to tell that our island exists—or where it is located—even after we reveal our existence.

“But you in turn may find yourselves reviled or attacked by some of your countrymen, who might regard you as traitors to your race.”

Nesta’s face turned white. She turned to me: “That hadn’t occurred to me,” she said. “What…?”

“If that’s the price we have to pay, then we pay it,” I said.

“But.…”

“We pay it, Nesta! There’s always a price to be paid. We were never going to escape this situation unscathed. Already, I suspect, various government agencies may be looking for us.”

“But…maybe we can still make some time for us before everything breaks, John. I’d like that, I’d like that very much. I want some time to get to know you better, to be with you and enjoy your company, without being pressured.”

“I feel the same way,” I said. “I just never thought.…”

“You are welcome to remain in our land for as long as you wish,” the Herder of Herds said, “or at least until we are both ready to proceed with our joint ‘alteration’ of Human-Speaker behavior. We must rely on your understanding of Human-Speaker psychology in order to know what and where and how we can proceed.”

“With your permission,” I said, and Nesta pressed my hand to convey her agreement, “we’ll remain in a quiet, isolated part of your country—perhaps where we were staying with Equine Ssihahnahmy before we came here. We’d have time then to consider our next step, and to consult with Dr. Shianyshiharha and her colleagues, as well as with whomever you appoint as your liaison.”

“That is agreeable to us,” the Equine leader said.

* * * *

And so it was that, following a feast of reconciliation that we enjoyed with the chiefs of the Four Herds of the Houyhnhnms, we moved once more back to our refuge on the coast.

What the future might bring, I do not know. But as I gaze down at the beach, where my beautiful companion is splashing in the waves, her hair limned by a setting sun, I think to myself that life has never been better, at least for me—and I believe for her as well. Let’s hope that better days will fill all our futures.

Humans have the ability to accomplish almost anything, given enough time and energy and resources. Sometimes they have to be nudged in the right direction to attain those goals, to discard the fantasies and foolishnesses that they’ve allowed to encrust their thinking. If Nesta and I and the Horse-People can provide that push, then all of this travail will have been well worth the effort.

And if not…well, the future could be dire indeed.

My lovely wife is running toward me, laughing at some private joke. I think she regards me as a bit foolish, as men often are around their acknowledged betters. I don’t know how I got so lucky. But I’m not so dumb as to throw it all away.

I give her a kiss, and she slides down beside me, her warm thigh snug against mine. It’s a good day to be alive. In truth, every day we live and breathe and laugh and care is always the best of days.