‘There is no Horses Schäfer any more, Rolf.’ Schäfer looked at him and smiled. ‘I haven’t been to the track for years now. That’s what you mean, isn’t it?’
‘I gotta win. There’s no other way. I have to win, Schäfer.’
‘When you have to win you always lose.’
‘But you, you won so often. You always used to tell me. Eight hundred, nine hundred, two thousand, six thousand. You always used to say the chance is there. You always used to say you understand horses better than …’
‘Than people? Did I say that?’ Schäfer looked at his full glass and the empty bottle; he was drinking more slowly now. ‘Most of it’s luck, Rolf, that’s the whole secret. And a little bit of instinct. I used to know people who’d never bet and then they won a triple, twelve hundred to one, and not even with a combination.’
‘You’re telling me you were just lucky all those years?’
‘No,’ Schäfer laughed. ‘Look around you.’
‘What if I try it, if I try on my own, at least tell me what to do. I have to try it at least.’
‘Buy yourself a paper. Sportwelt, that’s got everything you’ll need to know. Stats, form curve, does the horse know the jockey, and if you like a name, Sea Lilly or Yes I Will Win, then go for it. If you want to make big money, Rolf, then only go for triples. Pick three horses as a combination, then it doesn’t matter what order they come home in. That’ll cost you sixty if you play for ten. Always bet on the full odds. Make sure you have at least one long-shot on your list, otherwise you won’t get good odds. Not all long-shots are losers. But don’t take the ones with the highest odds, look at the outsiders whose form’s on the up. And don’t give up if you make a loss, keep telling yourself, I’ll make the big money in the next race. As long as it wasn’t the last race of the day.’ He laughed again and took a sip from his glass. ‘And only bet on the races with good odds. You want to go next Saturday, right?’
‘Yeah,’ said Rolf, ‘I have to.’
‘How much do you want to risk?’
‘Three hundred and thirty. That’s all I’ve got.’
‘That’s the same as I get, Rolf. Every month.’ They looked at each other and nodded. Schäfer told him a couple of other things to watch out for when the horses were on show in the paddock, that horses that used to be good, ‘you can tell from the stats, Rolf,’ could suddenly turn around after a long dry stretch, ‘and then they have damn good odds,’ told him about the sensations he’d experienced, ‘the great outsiders were suddenly great winners,’ named a few jockeys and trainers for him to remember, said he should listen every now and then to the commentator’s tips because he had insider knowledge, ‘but if you have an instinct, if you’re sure of yourself, don’t let yourself be swayed.’ But Rolf knew he had no real chance if Horses Schäfer didn’t come along with him. And Schäfer downed his drink in one.
‘Beginners, Rolf, beginners are often the luckiest, and that’s all that counts.’ Then they said goodbye, and as Rolf walked down the stairs he knew there was no going back now, but he had nothing to lose, only the month’s money. They wouldn’t starve if he lost. He still had a couple of emergency notes tucked away between his videotapes. And if he won … It didn’t have to be the whole three thousand at once; he could make a down-payment with the vet for twelve hundred, fourteen hundred. And as he walked home through the dark streets he imagined the horses galloping past him to the finishing post.
‘The field’s just coming in to the far turn. In the lead still Planet Pony, close behind him Poppy Flower, just being challenged by Dream Believer … Lonely Affair gaining ground. Now Miss Moneypenny’s picking up on the inside … all the others in a close pack. Only Elvis’s Love Song at the tail end of the field.’ Voices and colours, people and horses. Look how many people bring their dogs to the racetrack.
Rolf walked through the night. He didn’t know what time it was, he didn’t know exactly where he was or how long he’d have to walk to get home. He was drunk, and he reeled slightly, stopped now and then and held himself up against a wall. You can tell the winner from the start. What a load of rubbish, he thought. He staggered on. ‘This is the dream gallop phase,’ he called into the dark, deserted street. The street seemed unfamiliar, as if it were in a different town. Although everything was going crazy in his head, he knew he was in his own town, but while he reeled towards the edge of town, to the east, he was somewhere else — voices, colours, people, horses.
‘And they’re heading for the final turn. Planet Pony two lengths in the lead ahead of Belonia, Poppy Flower’s third, Ahab gaining ground on the outside. Planet Pony in front of Belonia and Poppy Flower.’
The commentator’s voice gets louder and louder. There’s a ring. Piet barks. Schäfer is standing outside. He’s wearing a brown jacket, sunglasses and a checked cap pulled low on his forehead. In one pocket of his jacket is a rolled-up newspaper. ‘I thought you might be gone by now.’
‘This is my dog, Piet.’
‘Hello, Piet.’
‘And you want to risk everything for him?’ Schäfer asks, as they’re standing at the cocktail booth drinking mojitos, and Rolf has told him everything.
‘Yes,’ says Rolf, ‘I want him to live a long life.’
‘For a dog,’ says Schäfer, spreading out his paper. ‘That’ll bring you luck.’ He’s made all kinds of notes on the page with the second race, circled a couple of horses and written little numbers next to them. ‘There’s not much to win in the first race,’ he says, ‘but we’ll raise our capital a little. It’s a sure thing.’ And he seems quite sure as he fills out the red-printed betting slip. ‘We’ll go for an exacta, number three to win and number five in second place. A bit risky but it’ll come good, ninety percent. Gimme a hundred.’
‘A hundred?’
‘It’ll only win us sixty or seventy in profit, max, if we bet a hundred. And we’ll put that into the bets that are worth it.’
‘One hundred.’ Rolf gives him two notes. They walk past the paddock, surrounded by people leaning on the railing and watching the horses being led around by their reins by girls and young women. Schäfer stops. ‘There, those are our boys.’ They have numbers on their saddle cloths and Rolf sees their boys, two large brown horses with long legs, no riders yet. He’s never looked at horses so closely before.
‘Can’t go wrong. Look how calmly and powerfully they’re stepping. Number three’s a winner. See his beautiful neck and shoulders? And number five’ll come in second. I can feel it, Rolf, the others aren’t much good, and our boys have two damn fine jockeys on board. Sure thing, Rolf.’ They walk past all the people, a line of tables under canopies; they stand in the tight crowd there and fill out their betting slips. Rolf looks over to the grandstand on the other side of the track. He can make out the people, see the flash of binoculars. Schäfer is standing in line for one of the betting counters and waves the slip at him. And he’s right, it is a sure thing.
‘Number three, Winning Streak ahead of number five, Milliana and number seven, No Words, by a length and a head.’ They win seventy euros, just like Horses Schäfer said.
And then it all goes so quickly, they drink another mojito, and the seventy euros are gone again, second race, a trifecta, Lady Diana screws it all up. ‘Now we’re back to zero,’ says Schäfer, ‘including the cocktails. Zero’s my lucky number, you know. And we’re on pretty good form. It’s the form that counts, Rolf, like with the horses.’