Class 11 English (Snapshots book) Chapter 1 - The Summer of the Beautiful White Horse
By William Saroyan
The Summer of the Beautiful White Horse- Introduction of the Lesson
The Summer of the Beautiful White Horse is written by William Saroyan. The story is about two Armenian boys – Aram and Mourad who belong to the Garoghlanaian family. Their tribe is known for their honesty. They are poor and can hardly earn money for food. They both long to ride a horse. Mourad had stolen a horse from a farmer a month ago. One early morning, he brought it to the window of Aram and asked him to come along for a ride. They rode the horse for many days. When Aram gets to know the horse is stolen, he gets shocked but discounts the stealing in his mind. One day the owner of the horse, John Byro, comes to his house to complain about his missing horse to Uncle Khosrove.
One day on their way back to hide the horse on the deserted vineyard, they meet the owner and feel guilty at the end. The next morning, they returned the horse back to the owner’s barn.
Summary-
Aram and Mourad were two poor boys who belonged to the Armenian Garoghlanian family who were known for their honesty since the eleventh century. One early morning when Aram was asleep and was enjoying pleasant dreams, his cousin Mourad showed up to his window with a beautiful white horse. Aram could not believe it and was thinking it was a dream. But since there was a little light outside, he knew this for sure that the horse was real. As they were poverty-stricken, he couldn’t believe that the horse was their own. He was trying to figure out if the horse had been stolen by his cousin. Mourad had come to invite him for a ride-along. He asked him to make it quick before everyone in the world wakes up. Aram wore his clothes and jumped out of the window and sat behind Mourad on the horse.
They rode on the old countryside of the area where they lived – Walnut Avenue. After some time, Mourad asked him to get off as he wanted to ride the horse alone. Aram asked him if he could also ride the horse alone just like him to which Mourad said they will see as it was for his own safety. He got to know that Mourad had stolen the horse a month ago and was riding it every morning.
When Aram got his chance of a ride, the horse took him to the vineyard and threw him off and ran away. After searching for thirty minutes, Mourad finally managed to find the horse and they hid him in a deserted vineyard that had some oats and alfalfa. Mourad had a way with everything, especially horses. He knew how to handle every type of animal and also humans. Every morning for two weeks, they would take the horse for a ride and then hide it again. One day, John Byro came to Aram’s house to talk to his uncle Khosrove who was an irritated and loud man who shouted at almost everything. Byro told him about his missing horse whom he bought at sixty dollars. For one month, he couldn't find it and he walked for 10 miles to come to their house. Khosrove roared at him and told him, ‘it’s no harm, pay no attention to it.’ Byro became irritated by his attitude and he went away.
Aram went to Mourad and told him about the missing horse of Byro and asked him not to return the horse until he learns to ride it. Mourad told him that it would take one year for him to learn to ride the horse. He further angrily added that they could not be thieves as their tribe is known for honesty and said that they would return the horse after six months.
One day on their way back to hide the horse to the hidden spot, they met John Byro who was going back to the town. He talked to them and carefully examined the horse. He admitted that the horse looked exactly like the one he had but since he knew his parents and the honesty of their family, he didn’t believe that they had his missing horse. He assumed it was a twin horse. Mourad managed to let Byro assume that it was not his horse so they went away. The next morning, both of them took the horse back to Byro’s vineyard and put it in the barn. The dogs followed them all along quietly and they left the place.
The same afternoon, John Byro came back to his house to tell his mother about his horse who had come back. He was happy and was astonished to see the horse’s better temper and it was stronger than ever. Uncle Khosrove again roared, ‘Quiet, man, quiet. Your horse has been returned. Pay no attention to it.’
The Summer of the Beautiful White Horse- Lesson and 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
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
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
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
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
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
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
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
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
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
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
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
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
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.
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.
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.
Question and Answer
Reading with Insight
1. You will probably agree that this story does not have breathless adventure and exciting action.
Then what in your opinion makes it interesting?
Ans: The story did not have exciting action and breathless adventures’ yet it had suspense in the story which made it interesting for the readers. It was a good psychological narration and both the boys wanted to try something adventurous. As their family was poor and they both wanted to ride a horse. Mourad stole it and they both rode it for quite some time. After they were over their game play, they took it back to its original place and owner.
2. Did the boys return the horse because they were conscience-stricken or because they were afraid?
Ans: The boys returned the horse not because they were afraid but because of their conscience. Their family was known for its honesty yet they had stolen the horse months ago. When they met John Byro on his way to town, the horse was with them. He carefully examined it and shared that it looked exactly like the one he had just like a twin. It felt like it was his own horse but since he knew his parents, he didn’t believe it was his horse they were carrying. This struck the boys and they decided to take the horse back to the farmer’s vineyard to put it in the barn.
3. "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..."The story begins in a mood of nostalgia. Can you narrate some incident from your childhood that might make an interesting story?
Ans: By reading those lines, no one can stop themselves from travelling back to the memory lane. I remember when I was twelve years old. I used to visit my grandparent’s home which was located at a hill station. I would spend my entire summer vacation with them. We would go to the market to eat delicious snacks, would go shopping and watch TV together. I remember once going to a summer camp for a month. They would drop me off to the place and would come to pick me up after the classes got over. Sometimes, my grandmother would bring a packed lunch for me. I would eat it as fast as we would go shopping after that. I always got sad whenever I had to go back to my home to go back to school.
4. The story revolves around characters who belong to a tribe in Armenia. Mourad and Aram are members of the Garoghlanian family. Now locate Armenia and Assyria on the atlas and prepare a write-up on the Garoghlanian tribes. You may write about people, their names, traits, geographical and economic features as suggested in the story.
Ans: Garoghlanian tribe is said to be a work of fiction by author William Saroyan in his book of the year 1940 ‘My name is Aram’. They were Armenian. They were poor people who hardly managed to gather food to feed their stomach every day but they were known for honesty. Hospitality is one of the important aspects of the tribe. Most of the Armenian people followed Christianity. They have a huge variety of food at social gatherings. They focussed on forgiveness of sins and on the spirit of tolerance.
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