LEONARD MICHAELS
Nachman At The Races
People called Nachman Nachman, as if he were a historical figure. He
couldn't remember anyone ever using his first name, not even his mother.
Maybe there were some kids in elementary school, but that was long ago.
Now, a professor of mathematics, forty-eight years old, the name was
famous among mathematicians. "Nachman," they said, and that's all, as if
to use his title would diminish him. Having never been called by his first
name, Nachman felt he'd never had a childhood, and he sometimes thought
he was compensating for it by going to the races. It was a kind of playing,
the only kind he knew-playing the horses.
Being a mathematician, it was natural that Nachman had a system for
betting, but he considered it sufficient to believe his system worked. He
never tested it scientifically. He was confident of its power. It even fright–
ened him a little to think he could name the winning horse almost
anytime. Occasionally, after reading the
Daily Racing Form
and tip sheets,
Nachman felt tempted
to
name the winner-but only out of curiosity-and
he'd been right often enough to believe he could be right almost always.
He had no intention of exerting himself further, and actually applying his
knowledge.
Mter looking at the forms, Nachman always walked to the ring where
he studied the horses being displayed just before the race. In his eyes there
was nothing more beautiful than a racehorse. The line of its neck and
rump, the colors of its coat, the elegance of its slender ankles, and the light
flashing along its muscles as it moved, and simply the way it moved. This
collection of living elements, this singular and splendid life, this was a race–
horse. Nachman knew the names of hundreds of racehorses, and he could
tell you the statistics associated with their careers.
He loved everything about an afternoon at the track, from the display
of the horses to the sight of them walking to the gate and then the race
itself. It was a grand ritual, and it stirred the deepest sense of gratification
in Nachman. He loved the trumpet, the sound of the announcer's voice,
the people in the stands, and even how they lined up at the betting win–
dows.
As for Nachman's system, it had simply come to mind one day. He
wasn't trying to invent a system. It had presented itself to him. This isn't
remarkable, he thought. Ideas come and go. The mind is an independent
