horsesandhumans.com/blog

Watch! There he is in all his grace and power, dancing the stallion across the sunlit meadow. Resolute but gentle, he guides the muscles and hooves in a rhythmic flow above the grass. Eye to eye, horse and human celebrate life in a waltz that only they can dance together. We watch. The joy, the splendour, our very souls are touched. The master is at play.

Then in a flash of disbelief master and stallion vanish. The sun pales as acrid fumes devour the grass flattening it into blackened smouldering stumps. Scorched earth yields to the stomping feet of a small, grotesque creature. It flails its arms, its face disfigured by rage and greed. ‘Submit!’ it shrieks. ‘I want more money.’ We peer closer. The creature assumes a shape. ‘Yield!’ he thunders. ‘I want more money!’  It is a little man. The master we have been seeking has fled. The nightmare begins.

On Wednesday, 8 June, we receive an email from Klaus advising us that he is taking us ‘out of the list of participants for the One-Year Schooling’. Our dream, all that we have been working towards for six months, collapses. Why? Because he wants us to pay him much more money than we agreed to when we paid our deposit in December. He says that, acting on the advice of his financial advisers we will need to pay him the euro equivalent at the end of June of the outstanding balance which we still owe him expressed in Swiss francs as at 15 May. We have calculated that if the euro continues to fall in relation to the Swiss franc at the same rate that it has fallen since 15 May, we could end up having to pay thousands of euros more than we had agreed to do.

Yet there is hope. Klaus simultaneously invites us to visit him in Denmark ‘to start completely new again’. We are to ‘meet on a completely new and open field’. He is willing ‘to start  “virgin” again to find out in a personal and calm conversation, directly in the school, if and what kind of possibilities there are’. As someone who maintains that honesty is absolutely essential, we take him at his word and accept his offer.

We make arrangements to close our business for three days. On Tuesday, 14 June we load up the car, place Dubu in the back (we cannot find anyone to dog-sit him, because he now requires constant supervision and no one is keen to assume that responsibility) and drive the eight plus hours it takes to get to Faaborg at the southern end of Denmark’s undulating Funen island. Here we will stay for two nights in a room that we have rented on the outskirts of town. We hope the trip will be worthwhile. Vicki tries to dispel my doubts by saying that Klaus has always preached strongly against dishonesty and we should therefore not doubt his honesty. If he says tomorrow will be a new start, then that is what it will be. I am doubtful but am resigned to any outcome, whatever it may be.

The quaint little town of Faaborg

Faaborg is a charming little waterfront town with quaint, old buildings huddled around narrow cobblestone streets and a large square in front of the town hall. Fortunately, the sun sets late at this time of the year and is followed by a lengthy period of twilight, so we have plenty of time to soak up initial impressions in the evening. Because our meeting with Klaus is only scheduled for three o’clock in the afternoon, we will have time to explore the town in the morning.

Dawn is chilly and seemingly hesitant, as though a sheer discoloured sheet has been cast across the sky. We walk along the waterfront towards the harbour and then head for the town square to have breakfast. By the time we arrive the sun has staged a shaky entrance. Unlike the easygoing Dutch, the Danes bar dogs from entering restaurants, so we find a table at the edge of the square. In the shade it must be to protect Dubu, who is ensconced in his new Bichon Buggy, a vehicle which will earn him numerous curious stares from passers-by during the day. Small, lime-coloured blankets are folded over the chairs. Vicki wraps one around her legs and I notice that people at the other tables do the same.

The morning passes quickly. There are all these enchanting nooks and crannies that invite us to explore and photograph them, so we do. It is a pleasant way to pass the time, although Dubu looks a bit dubious about this as he bounces across the cobblestones in his little buggy. Before we know it, the time comes to collect our car and make our way to the ferry that will take us to Lyø. We would have liked to travel to the island on foot but Dubu needs a place to sleep while we are with Klaus and the car is his home away from home.

By the time we drive on to the ferry and go above deck, the day has pronounced itself to be gloriously part of the summer. Nature blesses us with the warmth of the sun and splendid views as we head out of the harbour into the Faaborg fjord and then around the headland to reveal the jewel that is Lyø.

En route to the island: Vicki and Dubu with Faaborg in the background.

If the weather and the surroundings are portents of what fate has in store for us, today’s meeting should go well. I am looking forward to it. Klaus’ approach to horses and humans has been increasingly shaping my life since late 2007. I am keen to meet the man behind it. We park the car in the shade cast by a large hedge separating the road and old school from Klaus’ indoor ménage. It is almost three o’clock. It is time.

I have come to Lyø to find a master from whom to learn. Instead, I find a man who spends much time talking about his greatness and my insignificance, proclaiming his honesty and demanding an apology for calling it into question. There is no fresh start here, as he has promised. Instead, he seizes upon the past and stages a last-ditch battle for submission: mine. The sun beats down on us in his garden, but there is darkness all around.

I suddenly realise that he is seeking from all humans who come to him, what he demands from horses: dominance and trust, his dominance and our trust. Without them there is nothing. The hallmarks of a true master are nowhere to be found. There is no empathy here, no attempt to empower, no sign of enlightenment: not in the absence of submission to his dominance. Just a hugely inflated ego on a man who is besotted with the preoccupation of bullies: winning.

It dawns on me that the master of horses is not a master of humans. No one seems to have told him that humans are not horses. Follow or be followed: this is what horses do. They do not draw a fine distinction between dominance and leadership. Humans do. Dominance oppresses us. It shackles us to the ground. Leadership enables us to fly.

I am suffocating in the parched atmosphere of this man. I thank him for his hospitality and lurch towards the door. ‘You are blind,’ I cry, and finally, ‘You are a little, little man!’

And then I am in the open air of the island gulping it in, my eyes widening to the beauty of what I see. The sun is on my neck. I sense it and then the rest of my body, part by body part, begins to leap with relief. There is shade and thatched roofs, narrow little roads, a white church, flowers and trees, waterways … and then our little puppy. Out of the car we walk together down the road breathing in the splendour of being alive. We wander aimlessly lapping up what this delightful island has to offer. It is green and fresh to the senses.

The island mountain

Yet there is one more thing to do before we catch the ferry. But we will need to hurry. I bundle Dubu into his buggy and go in search of what I set out to do six months ago. Where is it? And then I see it across the sportsfield gently rising to the tall mill that crowns its summit: the island mountain. We cross the hamlet to ascend the hill. Halfway up the hill the church clock strikes six. The ferry. We have to hurry. And then we are there. The mill towers above a solid complex of buildings. I stand outside the windows of the dwelling that had been promised to us half a world away and look around. The island unfurls its beauty down to the horses grazing in the meadow and the sea lapping in the distance. I may not get the education I have sought but I have ascended the island mountain. I am content.

View from the island mountain

Our mood on the return trip to Faaborg belies the tranquillity of the scene as the ferry slides past islands and sailing boats gliding through the water under the slanting sun. There is an outside chance that Vicki may yet be able to attend the course. She so wants to, as did I, but more acutely, passionately. Yet the knowledge that she would have to do so without me for a year weighs heavily. Then there is the enormity of what has happened today. We have only just begun to feel its weight. Understanding what it entails will take more time. Tomorrow morning we must return to Holland.

She feels so fragile in my arms, this woman who is so dear to me, like a pigeon rescued from the fracas of a city square cowering in the face of what could be impending annihilation but focused on the hope of flight. Her back heaves against my chest as she sobs into the crook of my arm. I hold her gently but firmly, scared of losing her to the master who dances with horses. Yet I so want her to fly on the wings of her dreams, wherever that may take her. Be free, my love. Freedom is your birthright and acceptance of this is the greatest gift I can give you.

It is Sunday evening, four days and seemingly endless discussions later. We have considered, pondered and weighed up every significant detail of that Wednesday meeting on Lyø and the events that led up to it. We have done that together on our own and we have consulted family and friends here and on the other side of the world. Like a jigsaw puzzle the pieces slot into place to produce a picture that is as disturbing as it is complete.

Yet these are only the material aspects, the stuff that drives lawsuits. They can all be quantified and a currency value can be assigned to them. There is a bleaker side that is difficult to express in quantitative terms. The one-year course was supposed to usher us into a new way of life, one that we would share together and with our animals. It was to be life-changing. Now we find ourselves stranded in Europe with a horse and a dog that is too old to fly again. And the future is one big question mark.

I plead with Vicki not to attend the course for fear of what it may do to us. Simultaneously I insist that she must make up her own mind, that I will support her if she decides to go and that I will help her to get to Denmark with Anaïs. The choice that she is wrestling with is tough but hers only. So every evening I hold her sobbing body close to mine, knowing that I have to release her and let her fly. If I try to tie her down, it will destroy what we have together. And so she wrestles with it.

It is Monday morning, five days after the nightmare began. Vicki turns to me. I am not going, she says softly. Are you sure? I ask. I cannot, she says, not after the way in which he has betrayed my trust. Her face collapses, her body crumples and tears stream from her eyes. I am devastated by what has happened to the woman I love.

An hour later we are walking in the forest near the stable. Anaïs is alongside us, her ears pricked forward, halting now and then to investigate the signs of other horses. We stop and let her graze in a clearing. A sudden rustle disturbs the bush. We all look up and the mare rises to her full majestic height. She is a creature of beauty. Pity she will never learn to dance in Lyø. In the gentle light of the early morning a small deer emerges into the clearing, sees us, freezes and then speeds off into the forest. Anaïs is mesmerised. We look at her and then at each other. The mare will learn to dance elsewhere.

Oh Master who dances with horses, I could sue you for the havoc you have wreaked in our lives. But then you would have to take your eye off the stallion and break off the dance. If you ever acquire the hallmarks of a master in your dealings with humans, I shall be the first in line to beg tuition. Until then I shall continue to learn from you at a safe distance as I chose to do in the past. Be well!

Tags: horses, humans, Klaus Ferdinand Hempfling