Lesson-1

The Summer of the Beautiful White Horse

By William Saroyan

The Summer of the Beautiful White Horse Introduction

William Saroyan wrote The Summer of the Beautiful White Horse. The plot revolves around two Armenian boys, Aram and Mourad, who are members of the Garoghlanaian family. Their tribe is well-known for its honesty. They are impoverished and struggle to make ends meet. They both wish they could ride a horse. Mourad had robbed a farmer of a horse a month before. He brought it to Aram's window one early morning and asked him to join him for a ride. They rode the horse for a long time. When Aram learns that the horse has been stolen, he is shocked but dismisses the theft in his mind.

One day, the horse's owner, John Byro, comes to his house to complain to Uncle Khosrove about his missing horse. On their way back to hide the horse on the deserted vineyard, they meet the owner and, in the end, feel guilty. They returned the horse to the owner's barn the next morning.

The Summer of the Beautiful White Horse Summary

Aram and Mourad were two poor boys from the Armenian Garoghlanian family, who had a reputation for honesty since the eleventh century. When Aram was sleeping and having pleasant dreams one early morning, his cousin Mourad appeared at his window with a beautiful white horse. Aram couldn't believe it and thought it was a dream. But because there was some light outside, he knew for certain that the horse was real. Because they were impoverished, he couldn't believe the horse was theirs. He was trying to figure out if his cousin had stolen the horse. Mourad had come to invite him to join him on a ride-along. He asked him to hurry up before the rest of the world woke up. Aram dressed up, jumped out the window, and sat behind Mourad on the horse.

They rode down Walnut Avenue, which ran through the old countryside of the area where they lived. After a while, Mourad motioned for him to dismount because he wanted to ride the horse alone. Aram asked if he could ride the horse alone like him, to which Mourad replied that they would look into it because it was for his own safety. He found Mourad had stolen the horse a month before and was riding it every morning.

When Aram got his chance to ride, the horse led him to the vineyard, threw him off, and fled. Mourad eventually found the horse after thirty minutes of searching, and they hid him in a deserted vineyard with some oats and alfalfa. Mourad had a way with horses in particular. He was well-versed in dealing with all types of animals as well as humans. Every morning for two weeks, they would ride the horse and then hide it. One day, John Byro came to Aram's house to speak with his uncle Khosrove, an irritated and loud man who shouted at almost everything. Byro told him about his missing horse, which he had purchased for sixty dollars. He couldn't find it for a month and had to walk 10 miles to get to their house. Khosrove yelled at him, 'it's no harm, pay no attention to it.' Byro became irritated by his attitude and left.

Aram went to Mourad and told him about Byro's missing horse, asking him not to return it until he learned to ride it. Mourad estimated that it would take him a year to learn to ride the horse. He went on to say angrily that they couldn't be thieves because their tribe is known for its honesty, and that they would return the horse after six months.

On their way back to the hidden spot to hide the horse, they met John Byro, who was returning to town. He talked with them while carefully inspecting the horse. He admitted that the horse looked exactly like the one he had, but knowing his parents and their family's honesty, he didn't believe they had his missing horse. He mistook it for a twin horse. Mourad was able to convince Byro that it was not his horse, so they left. The next morning, they both returned the horse to Byro's vineyard and placed it in the barn. The dogs quietly followed them as they left the place.

The same afternoon, John Byro returned to his house to inform his mother that his horse had returned. He was overjoyed and astounded to see the horse's improved temperament and strength. Uncle Khosrove yelled once more, 'Quiet, man, quiet.' Your horse has now been returned to you. 'Don't worry about it.'

The Summer of the Beautiful White Horse Lesson Explanation

ONE day back there in the good old days when I was nine and the world was full of every imaginable kind of magnificence, and life was still a delightful and mysterious dream, my cousin Mourad, who was considered crazy by everybody who knew him except me, came to my house at four in the morning and woke me up tapping on the window of my room.
Aram, he said.

I jumped out of bed and looked out of the window. I couldn’t believe what I saw.

It wasn’t morning yet, but it was summer and with daybreak not many minutes around the corner of the world it was light enough for me to know I wasn’t dreaming.

• Magnificence – extremely beautiful
• Daybreak – dawn

Aram, a nine-year-old boy, fell asleep one day and found himself in a world of breathtaking imagination. In a strange dream, his life was pleasant and kind. At 4 a.m., his cousin Mourad appeared through the window of his room. He called Aram, who jumped out of bed and couldn't believe what he saw out the window. It was dawn, and there was enough light outside for him to see outside, which made him believe he wasn't dreaming.

My cousin Mourad was sitting on a beautiful white horse.
I stuck my head out of the window and rubbed my eyes.
Yes, he said in Armenian. It’s a horse. You’re not dreaming.
Make it quick if you want to ride.

I knew my cousin Mourad enjoyed being alive more than anybody else who had ever fallen into the world by mistake, but this was more than even I could believe.
In the first place, my earliest memories had been memories of horses and my first longings had been longings to ride.
This was the wonderful part.

• Armenian – official language of Armenia branch
• Longings – an aching desire

Mourad sat atop a white horse. Aram rubbed his eyes and poked his head through the window. Mourad assured him that it was not a nightmare. He asked if he wanted a ride and told him he had to hurry. Mourad was the type of person who enjoyed life, but he couldn't believe he was seeing a horse in front of him. Aram's first memory is of horses, and he has always wanted to ride one. This was the exciting part: he was going to ride a horse for real.

In the second place, we were poor.

This was the part that wouldn’t permit me to believe what I saw.

We were poor. We had no money. Our whole tribe was poverty stricken. Every branch of the Garoghlanian1 family was living in the most amazing and comical poverty in the world. Nobody could understand where we ever got money enough to keep us with food in our bellies, not even the old men of the family. Most important of all, though, we were famous for our honesty. We had been famous for our honesty for something like eleven centuries, even when we had been the wealthiest family in what we liked to think was the world. We were proud first, honest next, and after that we believed in right and wrong. None of us would take advantage of anybody in the world, let alone steal.

• Comical – funny
• Garoghlanian – an Armenian tribe

Because Aram's family was poor and had no money, he found it difficult to believe what he saw outside his house. He was born into the Garoghlanian family, who lived in absolute poverty. They had no idea how they managed to feed themselves every day. Despite their poverty, his tribe had a reputation for honesty for eleven centuries. They were truthful, proud, and always believed in the concept of right and wrong. Nobody in their family would ever steal or take advantage of anyone in the world.

Consequently, even though I could see the horse, so magnificent; even though I could smell it, so lovely; even though I could hear it breathing, so exciting; I couldn’t believe the horse had anything to do with my cousin Mourad or with me or with any of the other members of our family, asleep or awake, because I knew my cousin Mourad couldn’t have bought the horse, and if he couldn’t have bought it he must have stolen it, and I refused to believe he had stolen it.

No member of the Garoghlanian family could be a thief.

I stared first at my cousin and then at the horse. There was a pious stillness and humour in each of them which on the one hand delighted me and on the other frightened me.

• Consequently – as a result
• Pious – religious

Aram was overjoyed to see a horse that was both pleasant and beautiful. He could smell it and hear it breathing, but he couldn't believe Mourad or anyone else in the family could afford a horse. He wondered if Mourad had stolen the horse, but he didn't believe him because no one in his family could be a thief. He fixed his stare on his cousin, then on the horse. Mourad and the horse both had religious motionlessness and wit, as one charmed him and the other scared him.

Mourad, I said, where did you steal this horse?
Leap out of the window, he said, if you want to ride.

It was true, then. He had stolen the horse. There was no question about it. He had come to invite me to ride or not, as I chose.
Well, it seemed to me stealing a horse for a ride was not the same thing as stealing something else, such as money. For all I knew, maybe it wasn’t stealing at all. If you were crazy about horses the way my cousin Mourad and I were, it wasn’t stealing.
It wouldn’t become stealing until we offered to sell the horse, which of course, I knew we would never do.
Let me put on some clothes, I said.
All right, he said, but hurry.
I leaped into my clothes. I jumped down to the yard from the window and leaped up onto the horse behind my cousin Mourad.

• Leap out – jump out from a place

He inquired as to whether Mourad had stolen the horse. Mourad responded that if he wants to ride, he must jump out the window. Mourad had stolen the horse, according to Aram. He went to see him and asked him to ride it with him. Because they were both obsessed with horseback riding, Aram tried to persuade himself that it was not the same as stealing money. He reasoned that it would not be considered theft until they decided to sell it, which they would never do. Aram stated that he will put on some clothes and go outside. From his room window, he jumped down to his yard and sat on the horse behind his cousin.

That year we lived at the edge of town, on Walnut Avenue.

Behind our house was the country: vineyards, orchards, irrigation ditches, and country roads. In less than three minutes we were on Olive Avenue, and then the horse began to trot. The air was new and lovely to breathe. The feel of the horse running was wonderful. My cousin Mourad who was considered one of the craziest members of our family began to sing. I mean, he began to roar.
Every family has a crazy streak in it somewhere, and my cousin Mourad was considered the natural descendant of the crazy streak in our tribe. Before him was our uncle Khosrove, an enormous man with a powerful head of black hair and the largest moustache in the San Joaquin Valley2, a man so furious in temper, so irritable, so impatient that he stopped anyone from talking by roaring, It is no harm; pay no attention to it.

• Vineyard – plantation of grapevines used in winemaking
• Orchards – a piece of land of the plantation of fruits
• Irrigation ditches – manmade channel used to deliver water to homes, industries and other uses
• Trot – proceed with something
• Descendant – a system that develops from an earlier simple version
• Streak – race
• Enormous – huge
• San Joaquin Valley – one of the long interior valleys of California

Aram lived on Walnut Avenue, on the outskirts of town. Behind his house were orchards, vineyards, irrigation ditches, and country roads. Within three minutes, they were on Olive Avenue, and the horse began to move. The air felt fresh and pleasant to breathe. Aram was having a great time sitting on the horse that was running. Mourad, who was considered one of the craziest members of the family, began singing loudly. Every family has one crazy person, and Mourad was the only natural descendant of a crazy race in their tribe. Before Mourad, there was only one huge man in the valley with black hair and the biggest moustache. He had a quick temper and was impatient, which irritated me. He used to roar and say, 'it is no harm, pay no attention to it,' to make anyone stop talking.

That was all, no matter what anybody happened to be talking about. Once it was his own son Arak running eight blocks to the barber’s shop where his father was having his moustache trimmed to tell him their house was on fire. This man Khosrove sat up in the chair and roared, It is no harm; pay no attention to it. The barber said, But the boy says your house is on fire. So
Khosrove roared, Enough, it is no harm, I say.

My cousin Mourad was considered the natural descendant of this man, although Mourad’s father was Zorab, who was practical and nothing else. That’s how it was in our tribe. A man could be the father of his son’s flesh, but that did not mean that he was also the father of his spirit. The distribution of the various kinds of spirit of our tribe had been from the beginning capricious and vagrant.
We rode and my cousin Mourad sang. For all anybody knew we were still in the old country where, at least according to some of our neighbours, we belonged. We let the horse run as long as it felt like running.

• Capricious – inconsistent change of mood
• Vagrant – a person without a settled home or work

Uncle Khosrove was always this rigid, no matter who was talking in front of him. When he was getting his moustache trimmed at the barbershop, his own son, Arav, came running up to him. He roared and said the same thing when he told him the house was on fire. Barber was amused and attempted to talk to him about it, but Khosrove roared again and ignored him. Mourad was thought to be a direct descendant of this man, but he was not his son. His father, Zorab, was a practical man. A child's appearance may resemble that of his father, but this does not imply that he holds his father's nature or attitude. There are various types of people in their tribes, including those who are moody and lack a stable job or home. They were still on the horse, and Mourad was singing loudly. They were still in the countryside, where they belonged, according to their neighbours.

At last my cousin Mourad said, Get down. I want to ride alone.
Will you let me ride alone? I asked.
That is up to the horse, my cousin said. Get down.
The horse will let me ride, I said.
We shall see, he said. Don’t forget that I have a way with a horse.
Well, I said, any way you have with a horse, I have also.
For the sake of your safety, he said, let us hope so. Get down.
All right, I said, but remember you’ve got to let me try to ride alone.
I got down and my cousin Mourad kicked his heels into the horse and shouted, Vazire, run. The horse stood on its hind legs, snorted, and burst into a fury of speed that was the loveliest thing I had ever seen. My cousin Mourad raced the horse across a field of dry grass to an irrigation ditch, crossed the ditch on the horse, and five minutes later returned, dripping wet.

• Vazire – a name
• Fury – anger

Mourad asked for him to get down because he wanted to ride alone. Aram inquired if he could ride the horse by himself. He told him it was up to the horse whether or not he wanted to ride you along and asked him to get Mourad down again. Aram tried to persuade Mourad that the horse would let him ride, to which Mourad replied, "We'll see," and told Aram that he had a way with horses. Aram informed him that he, too, had it. Mourad told him to get down and said it was for his own safety, which we can only hope is real. Aram got down and told him he would ride the horse alone. Mourad kicked his horse's heels and shouted, "Run to him!" The horse stood on its hind legs, exhaled, and took off running. Mourad raced his horse through a field of dry grass and irrigation ditches. They were drenched when they arrived five minutes later.

The sun was coming up.
Now it’s my turn to ride, I said.
My cousin Mourad got off the horse.
Ride, he said.

I leaped to the back of the horse and for a moment knew the most awful fear imaginable. The horse did not move.
Kick into his muscles, my cousin Mourad said. What are you waiting for? We’ve got to take him back before everybody in the world is up and about.
I kicked into the muscles of the horse. Once again it reared and snorted. Then it began to run. I didn’t know what to do.
Instead of running across the field to the irrigation ditch the horse ran down the road to the vineyard of Dikran Halabian where it began to leap over vines. The horse leaped over seven vines before I fell. Then it continued running.

My cousin Mourad came running down the road.
I’m not worried about you, he shouted. We’ve got to get that horse. You go this way and I’ll go this way. If you come upon him, be kindly. I’ll be near.

• Reared – raised
• Snorted – breathed out

The sun was nearly up when Aram informed him that it was his turn to ride. Mourad dismounted, and Aram sat on the horse. He was terrified, and the horse remained motionless. Mourad tried to guide him by telling him to kick into his muscles and to hurry because they needed to take him back before everyone woke up. Aram kicked the horse's muscles, causing the horse to raise and breathe out once more. When the horse began to run, Aram was at a loss for what to do. The horse began to move towards the road that leads to Dikran Halabian's vineyard. It began to move over the vines, and Aram fell. Mourad came running down the road towards him as the horse continued to run. Mourad assured him that he was not concerned about him, but that they needed to find the horse. They both went their separate ways to find him. He told Aram to be nice to him if he saw him anywhere.

I continued down the road and my cousin, Mourad went across the field toward the irrigation ditch.
It took him half an hour to find the horse and bring him back.
All right, he said, jump on. The whole world is awake now.
What will we do? I said.
Well, he said, we’ll either take him back or hide him until tomorrow morning.
He didn’t sound worried and I knew he’d hide him and not take him back. Not for a while, at any rate.
Where will we hide him? I said.
I know a place, he said.
How long ago did you steal this horse? I said.
It suddenly dawned on me that he had been taking these early morning rides for some time and had come for me this morning only because he knew how much I longed to ride.

• Dawned – appeared

Mourad went towards the irrigation ditch while Aram looked for the horse down the road. He returned thirty minutes later with the horse. He told him to jump over because the entire world had awakened by that point. Aram inquired as to what they would do next, to which Mourad replied that they had two options: return him or hide him until tomorrow. Mourad was unconcerned, and Aram knew Mourad would hide him somewhere and not bring it back him for a while. When Aram asked where Mourad would hide him, Mourad told him about a place he knew that would be ideal as a hiding spot. Aram eagerly inquired as to when he stole the horse. Mourad appeared to have been taking the horse for morning rides for quite some time, and he showed up this morning to ask Aram to ride along because he knew he wanted to ride one.

Who said anything about stealing a horse? he said.
Anyhow, I said, how long ago did you begin riding every morning?
Not until this morning, he said.
Are you telling the truth? I said.
Of course not, he said, but if we are found out, that’s what you’re to say. I don’t want both of us to be liars. All you know is that we started riding this morning.
All right, I said.

He walked the horse quietly to the barn of a deserted vineyard which at one time had been the pride of a farmer named Fetvajian. There were some oats and dry alfalfa in the barn.
We began walking home.
It wasn’t easy, he said, to get the horse to behave so nicely.
At first it wanted to run wild, but, as I’ve told you, I have a way with a horse. I can get it to want to do anything I want it to do.
Horses understand me.

• Alfalfa – a flowering plant

Mourad cuts him off by asking a counter-question about who says stealing a horse. Aram attempted to change the subject by asking him how long he had been riding the horse every morning. That morning, Mourad told him, was the first time. Aram was doubtful and asked if he was telling the truth. If anyone questioned Aram, Mourad advised him to say that it was true. He went on to say that he didn't want them to be liars, but that they could only say this. Aram agreed, and Mourad quietly led the horse to the barn of a deserted vineyard. It belonged to Fetvajian, a farmer. There was some oats and alfalfa in the barn. They began walking home. Mourad told Aram that it was difficult to get the horse to behave properly at first because it wanted to run wild. He told him once more that he had a way with horses and could make them do whatever he wanted. Horses could understand him.

How do you do it? I said.
I have an understanding with a horse, he said.
Yes, but what sort of an understanding? I said.
A simple and honest one, he said.
Well, I said, I wish I knew how to reach an understanding like that with a horse.
You’re still a small boy, he said. When you get to be thirteen you’ll know how to do it.
I went home and ate a hearty breakfast.

That afternoon my uncle Khosrove came to our house for coffee and cigarettes. He sat in the parlour, sipping and smoking and remembering the old country. Then another visitor arrived, a farmer named John Byro, an Assyrian who, out of loneliness, had learned to speak Armenian. My mother brought the lonely visitor coffee and tobacco and he rolled a cigarette and sipped and smoked, and then at last, sighing sadly, he said, My white horse which was stolen last month is still gone — I cannot understand it.
My uncle Khosrove became very irritated and shouted, It’s no harm. What is the loss of a horse? Haven’t we all lost the homeland? What is this crying over a horse?

• Parlour – a sitting space in a house

Aram asked him amusingly how he controlled the horse, to which Mourad replied that he has an understanding with the horse. Aram inquired as to what kind of understanding he had with him, to which Mourad replied, "a simple and honest one." Aram admitted that he, too, would like to learn how to communicate with a horse. Mourad reassured Aram that he was still a young boy and that he would learn when he was thirteen. Aram ate breakfast at home. His uncle Khosrove paid him a visit that day for coffee and cigarettes. When a visitor came to see him, he was sitting in the parlour, remembering the old country. He was John Byro, a farmer who learned Armenian because he was lonely. His mother bought coffee and tobacco for Byro. He sipped and smoked while telling them about his missing white horse, which was stolen last month and he has yet to find. Khosrove roared once more that there was no harm and questioned why he was crying over a lost horse when they had lost their homeland.

That may be all right for you, a city dweller, to say, John
Byro said, but what of my surrey? What good is a surrey without a horse?
Pay no attention to it, my uncle Khosrove roared.
I walked ten miles to get here, John Byro said.
You have legs, my uncle Khosrove shouted.
My left leg pains me, the farmer said.
Pay no attention to it, my uncle Khosrove roared.
That horse cost me sixty dollars, the farmer said.
I spit on money, my uncle Khosrove said.
He got up and stalked out of the house, slamming the screen door.
My mother explained.
He has a gentle heart, she said. It is simply that he is homesick and such a large man.
The farmer went away and I ran over to my cousin Mourad’s house.
He was sitting under a peach tree, trying to repair the hurt wing of a young robin which could not fly. He was talking to the bird.
What is it? he said.
The farmer, John Byro, I said. He visited our house. He wants his horse. You’ve had it a month. I want you to promise not to take it back until I learn to ride.

• City Dweller – a person who lives in a city
• Surrey – a country in South-East England

John told Khosrove that he would not bother because he lives in a city, but his country would be useless without his horse. Khosrove yelled that he shouldn't pay attention to it. John informed him that he had walked ten miles to get here. Khosrove yelled that he has legs, to which John replied that his left leg hurt. Khosrove tried to silence him once more, telling him not to pay attention to it. John disclosed that the horse cost him $60. Khosrove said he'd spit on the money, and John got up and walked away, slamming the door. Aram's mother told him that because John was homesick and such a big man, he had a gentle heart. Aram went to see Mourad, who was sitting under a peach tree and conversing with a robin bird. He was repairing the damaged wing. Aram told him about John Byro and how he came to their house looking for his horse. Aram requested that he not return the horse until he had learned to ride it.

It will take you a year to learn to ride, my cousin Mourad said.
We could keep the horse a year, I said.
My cousin Mourad leaped to his feet.
What? he roared. Are you inviting a member of the Garoghlanian family to steal? The horse must go back to its true owner.
When? I said.
In six months at the latest, he said.
He threw the bird into the air. The bird tried hard, almost fell twice, but at last flew away, high and straight.
Early every morning for two weeks my cousin Mourad and I took the horse out of the barn of the deserted vineyard where we were hiding it and rode it, and every morning the horse, when it was my turn to ride alone, leaped over grape vines and small trees and threw me and ran away. Nevertheless, I hoped in time to learn to ride the way my cousin Mourad rode.
One morning on the way to Fetvajian’s deserted vineyard we ran into the farmer John Byro who was on his way to town.
Let me do the talking, my cousin Mourad said. I have a way with farmers.

Mourad told Aram that learning to ride a horse would take him a year. Aram stated that they could keep him for a year. Mourad stood up and yelled at him, accusing him of encouraging him to be a thief despite being a member of the Garoghlanian family. He declared that the horse should be returned to its rightful owner. Aram asked as to when they would have to return the horse, to which Mourad replied that it would be in six months. He launched the bird into the air, and it nearly crashed twice before taking flight. They would both take the horse out of the barn and ride it for the next two weeks. Every morning, however, the horse would throw Aram and flee whenever he attempted to ride it. He still hoped he'd be able to ride it like his cousin. They met John Byro, who was on his way to town, on their way back to the deserted vineyard to hide the horse. Mourad insisted on speaking with him because he knew how to talk to farmers.

Good morning, John Byro, my cousin Mourad said to the farmer.
The farmer studied the horse eagerly.
Good morning, son of my friends, he said. What is the name of your horse?
My Heart, my cousin Mourad said in Armenian.
A lovely name, John Byro said, for a lovely horse. I could swear it is the horse that was stolen from me many weeks ago.
May I look into his mouth?
Of course, Mourad said.
The farmer looked into the mouth of the horse.
Tooth for tooth, he said. I would swear it is my horse if I didn’t know your parents. The fame of your family for honesty is well known to me. Yet the horse is the twin of my horse. A suspicious man would believe his eyes instead of his heart. Good day, my young friends.

Mourad wished him a good morning, and Byro took a close look at the horse. Byro returned their greetings and inquired about the horse's name. 'My Heart,' Mourad said in Armenian. Byro praised it as a lovely name for a lovely horse. He swore it was his horse that had been stolen weeks before. He asked to look inside his mouth. If he didn't know his parents, it said it was his horse after looking from tooth to tooth. He claimed the horse was a twin of his. He went on to say that his family is all about honesty, but the horse looks exactly like the one he lost. A suspicious man would easily believe his eyes rather than his heart. He wished them well and left.

Good day, John Byro, my cousin Mourad said.
Early the following morning we took the horse to John Byro’s vineyard and put it in the barn. The dogs followed us around without making a sound.
The dogs, I whispered to my cousin Mourad. I thought they would bark.
They would at somebody else, he said. I have a way with dogs.
My cousin Mourad put his arms around the horse, pressed his nose into the horse’s nose, patted it, and then we went away.
That afternoon John Byro came to our house in his surrey and showed my mother the horse that had been stolen and returned.
I do not know what to think, he said. The horse is stronger than ever. Better-tempered, too. I thank God. My uncle Khosrove, who was in the parlour, became irritated and shouted, Quiet, man, quiet. Your horse has been returned. Pay no attention to it.

Mourad given back his greeting. The following morning, they returned the horse to John Byro's vineyard and placed it in his barn. The dogs followed them around, making no noise. Mourad responded that because he had a way with dogs, they would not bark at them. Mourad wrapped his arms around the horse's neck and pressed his nose against the horse's nose. They left after he patted him on the back. That afternoon, John went to Aram's house in Surrey and showed his mother his horse, which had returned. He said he didn't know what to think because the horse is much stronger and calmer now. He expressed gratitude to God. Uncle Khosrove, who was in the Parlour, shouted angrily, 'Quiet, man, quiet.' Your horse has now been returned to you. Don't pay any attention to it.

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