Handsome Freaks: Ch 4 P2 - the Bull Fighter

ezravan (63)in #story • 8 years ago (edited)

Handsome Freaks Cover

...she could see a bullfighter slumped on one knee with several swords in his back. He held, with both arms extended, a severed bullhead over his own head, the blood had poured down on his shoulders drenching his chin and white shirt–he looked as if he had drunk the blood of the bull.

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This is an original STEEM series novel. If you like odd dramas about odd things, strangely funny and sad, freaks, bearded ladies, emotional pain of invisible boys–I'm writing this on steemit based on a short story I've written... enjoy. Resteem, UpVote & Follow @ezravan

Chapter 4 / Part 2

The Bull Fighter

Zola met her husband Elmo when she was fourteen, he was twenty-six; It was the longest day ever recorded in Spain's history. Many people fell in love that day and were married that night. Some who were just married even bore their first child within the long day–which was cause for much speculation by the mystical brotherhood of St. James.

As to the spiritual significance of the long day, some related it to the long afternoon the Lord delivered up Israel to the Amorites and then stopped the constellation's movement over Gibeon; though the older members of the brotherhood insisted on the day being an omen of the coming eternal white-fire of hell for the youth disrobed in the streets and like the wicked fallen son of the garden, they were unashamed of the disgraceful parts of the women–even when seen in full light.

Zola had been selling sweet wine for her Father all morning to the thirsty celebrators who filled the streets of Pamplona. She enjoyed the days they spent there because her Father would become very drunk during the celebrations and as a result unable to be 'comforted by her,' at night, as he would call it, though he might try.

It was the time of the Running of the Bulls, there were thousands of men who lined the streets, drunk, and ready for pain, laughter and blood. She had sold all of her wineskins except one and had turned back towards the hotels, where her father replenished her supplies–that's when a tall man with wet hair stopped her and requested the last wineskin.

He was taken back by her extraordinary innocent beauty and told her that He had never seen such artistry of God. He had a deliberate way of speaking; as if he considered each word that left his lips. Zola was flattered by his words and dazed by his almost black eyes which looked through her and not at her. He asked whether she would wait for him at the bullring; she said her father did not allow her near the stadium.

He stepped backward in a rhythmic step, bowed and said, "Please reconsider little one. What a pity if I were only to see you this once. ...Come to the Stadium... be my guest."

"If I do, how will I find you with all the crowds?" Zola had said.
"Just follow the blood," he said with a sideways smile.

Zola watched him disappear into the masses.

Pablo Picasso

The day was so long that when the bulls were released the men with their red scarves were well drunk and sleeping; sprawled on the stone streets, their white shirts stained with wine. The bulls that raced out of the pin were suddenly halted by the quiet of a sleeping city and with nothing to be enraged about, they wondered the streets of Pamplona, tasting the only freedom they would ever know.

The drunk men awoke many hours into the long day and shouted at the bulls who were casually exploring the city; some men shot guns in the air and beat the bulls with their empty skins but the bulls would not give the deranged men the thrill of the chase that they desired. Defeated and angry, the men finally herded all the peaceful bulls into the stadium and slaughtered them in a blood-drenched delirium.

Zola found her father. He was drunk but still selling wine skins in front of their hotel. She gave him a large skin full of coins. He took the bag, look inside of it and smiled; he then stuffed the money bag into the crotch of his pants. "... Look, Zola, see how it bulges today. We will have enough for a vineyard of our own won't we?"

"Yes papa," She said diverting her eyes. He loaded more skins on her shoulders and told her not to go near the bullring.
"Be careful, Dove," he said. "...the men are hungry because it is such a long day and the bulls have found peace and will not chase them. They are very dangerous this day. There will be much blood."

picasso Bull fight

Zola did not listen to her father's warnings because he was drunk and he tended to exaggerate all things when he was full of his own wine.

When she had reached a far enough distance from her Father, she ran straight to the stadium. She was thinking of the man with the almost black eyes and wet hair who she had met earlier and who spoke with such considered words. She looked for the trail of blood that he said would lead to him.

As she neared the stadium there were great shouts that shook the ground beneath her feet. She ran even faster–pushing her way through thousands of boisterous loitering men. She climbed onto the front row of the stadium where she could see in the ring at least three hundred men gathered in a circle thrusting their fist in the air and shouting in unison. A horn blasted, the circle opened like a gate; she could see a bullfighter slumped on one knee with several swords in his back. He held, with both arms extended, a severed bullhead over his own head, the blood had poured down on his shoulders drenching his chin and white shirt–he looked as if he had drunk the blood of the bull.

Zola could see the bullfighter as he tried to stand but shook his head and collapsed back to his knees. A loud cheer shook the dirt underneath her. Zola looked up to see the many hundreds of men rushing the field and on the field, they were crazed, their eyes were wild, blood dripped from their mustaches. The bullfighter dropped the bullhead. The crowd shouted in unison, "...Elmo Piccolo il Toro." He looked up and wipe the blood from his face. That is when Zola saw the almost black eyes that look through her and not at her. His face was red with blood and rage. As wild drunken men shouted his name, 'Elmo,' she felt a deep desire to lay beside him; to give herself to him on this very long day.

To Be Continued...

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