The Long Day of Revenge (19 page)

“Well, this is all I have to live for now. The chance to fight and kill one bull. I could live long or die. Gaditano could kill me. We could even kill each other. I don’t know. This is all I live for now. I’ve been waiting for this for a long time. I have no wife anymore, but I have a bull.”

Gaditano again snorted, as if offended by the remark.

“Yes, Gaditano. I know. We will be meeting again and for the last time. Our lives have led up to this moment. Tomorrow. Tomorrow it ends…”

The great beast turned, showing Manolo his ass. The matador noted green shit stains beneath the tail.

“The same to you, old enemy,” he murmured. “The same to you.”

“They say you have been drinking.”

“Yes. Isn’t that what usually happens when a marriage falls apart? The only thing is, since then, I have really cheated plenty on my wife. The past month or so has been total insanity. I went to see Esmeralda, and we ended up talking. That is not all. When I went back to the Casa again to set up an appointment yesterday, Esmeralda had left, and with her gone, I didn’t feel like seeing another girl just then, but in the weeks that came before, I found lots of them. That lasted for a short while. I partied. I fucked. I spanked. It grew old. Believe it or not, I mean it grew old, and I grew sick of it fast. I still love Lucinda. I didn’t know it then, but I sure do now. But does she love me? The point is; I just don’t give a fuck about anything anymore. I want to kill that bull. That is what I want to do. Every move I made the past few years has been the wrong one. Now I have one last chance to make the right one. Out there it is just the two of us. It is my day, and it is his.”

Manolo hesitated.

“In the hospital I had a dream. I made a deal with the devil in order to live. He didn’t want my soul, but said I could live if I killed Gaditano. Now as I look back, I realize he did take my soul, but did it as I was distracted. He did it slowly and not with any contracts signed in blood.”

“I think I have enough of a story for now,” the reporter noted. “Look, I will write about the bullfight, but what you spoke of today I will water down. I will just say something along the line of your breakup playing heavy on you. Okay?”

Manolo fidgeted with the thought of lighting a cigar, but decided against it. With his luck as of late he would set loose straw in the corral on fire and burn up before facing his horned opponent.

“Eliseo Manzano is at the hotel we are both staying in. See him. Or see my manager, Rafael. The ring has been sold out, but both bought extra tickets for guests. One of them will give you a ticket, and you can sit with someone who can keep you informed about what is going on tomorrow as the action takes place. If you’re going to write about the bullfight, at least make it accurate.”

“The people have heard of you on both sides of the border,” the reporter responded. “They say you made a deal with the devil, and the superstitious think he entered your body, which is why you perform like a madman but have never been gored since that ranch fight. Tomorrow, we will see if the devil leaves you or claims his own.”

It was an unusual thing to say.

“Now you sound like these God-damned ghosts who have latched on to me. I don’t tell people about them much either. There’s Fernando De La Torre, who got killed right here in Nogales, and this fucking gypsy woman with a talking dog puppet. They keep popping up all the time and warning me about all kinds of shit, but I am sick of them, too.”

“We all have our own ghosts and demons,” the reporter replied.

Manolo, however, shrugged and went back to studying his future opponent. The other three bulls were of little concern.

“I’m going to fight you first and get you out of the way, you bastard. I really don’t care how great I am or aren’t with you tomorrow, as long as I see you dead. I will eat your body for steak, you son of a bitch. Tomorrow you die. So you mull that over tonight, you bastard. Tomorrow the sword awaits you.”

Gaditano had turned to face the corral window again. In response, he shook his head, again indicating the horns were ready.

“Oh, I don’t think so,” Manolo hissed out in a voice like air escaping from a nail-punctured tire. “I felt the horn when it was small, and I will not be feeling it tomorrow. I am a matador de toros and one of the best there is. I am not some green, crazed, and ignorant kid any longer. You do not frighten me. I have no fear.”

“We all have fear,” came a familiar voice.

Turning, he saw De La Torre, dressed in his burial suit and not a bullfighting costume. With him was that infernal old gypsy from his past dream. It was De La Torre who spoke.

“We all have fear and any man who says he doesn’t lies.”

The old woman chimed in, interrupting him.

“To fight a bull when you are not afraid is no accomplishment, as that is insanity. To not fight a bull when you are afraid is no accomplishment, as that is common sense. To fight a bull when you are afraid is something else. That is an accomplishment, as you swallow your fear and go on to do what terrifies you. That is the measure of a man. That is true courage.”

She started to laugh. For once, she didn’t have her puppet with her.

“Hear me, and hear me well. I remember when you scoffed at my words and the warnings of Fernando De La Torre from beyond the grave. You will scoff them no longer, for tomorrow when you learn the truth; you will see the extent of my power. In the midst of death, there will be life. It is not the bull you must conquer, but yourself.”

De La Torre nodded and pointed at the old woman, indicating she spoke words to be heeded. He reiterated what she had said.

“In the midst of death there will be life.”

Manolo turned back to Gaditano, who watched him menacingly.

“And this means…”

There was no one to reply, as the figures were gone.

“Well, I have had enough of this.”

Leaving the corral, he started down the passageways below the ring, when at the point where he reached the wooden gate leading out to the sand where he would enter tomorrow, he heard noises.

The gate, which had been closed before, was opened.

“Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow.”

The sounds of a spanking?

Silently, he walked through the gate, not knowing what he would see.

“Ow. Ow.”

What he saw stunned him. The reporter was evidently a spanker too, but how he had found someone to punish was a mystery. Yet that was the very scene he encountered.

“Ow! Ow! Ow!”

He was kneeling on the sand. Next to him, likewise kneeling, but down in doggie fashion was a naked woman, with her knees and elbows protected by a pink capote hurled to the ground for her to position herself over.

Manolo observed the ritual in silence.

“Ow! Ow!”

“This is what you get for being bad!” the reporter yelled as he delivered whap after whap. “This is what you get! You’ve needed a naked spanking for a long time! Not only can I see your ass turning red, I’ve seen your tits and your pussy, too. I see everything about you and so will everyone else. You are going to be humiliated after this. You are going to parade naked right in front of everybody and stand in the corner where they can see you and your shame!”

“Unbelievable,” Manolo whispered. “This is too ridiculous to believe. How…”

“Owwwwwwwwwwww,” the punished woman shrieked. He could not see her face and could not be certain from the distance how red her ass was getting, but the sound of the whaps told him she was going to be crimson pretty quick, if she wasn’t already.

“Owwwwwwwwwww! It hurrrrrrrtttttttssssss!”

The cries were familiar. Had Esmeralda made it back to Nogales and somehow set up an appointment with this reporter, outside of Casa De Campo, that he was not supposed to be witnessing?

“Unbelievable,” Manolo repeated as he watched this session of discipline unfold. He felt like he was in a porno movie.

“Ow! Ow! Ow!”

“That’s enough of that,” the reporter informed his prey. “Now you stand up and walk across the bullring to the other end of the fence, just like a bullfighter in the parade. Only you will be doing it naked. Then you position yourself with your chin and arms on the fence and stick your ass out. We aren’t even close to being done.”

Crying loudly, the girl did as she was told. Marching across the ring and rubbing her punished butt all the while until she came to the end of the sand and the beginning of the fence, she did her walk of shame. There she went into position as ordered.

“You’re getting the belt for this, you bitch! You’ve been bad, and you’re going to be punished! I’m gonna tan your hide! I’m gonna blister your buns! I’m gonna redden your rump! I’m gonna fix it so you won’t forget this lesson ever!”

“Fucking unbelievable.”

Manolo said the words too loudly, and the reporter turned to him.

“Matador?”

Manolo nodded.

“Who did you expect? De La Torre?”

The reporter unbuckled his belt and pulled it from the loops, offering it to the matador.

“Would you like to get in on this?”

The matador shook his head.

“No. I cheated on my wife like this, and look what it got me. I’ll just watch.”

The reporter gave an evil smile.

“Well, watch then. More people have come to Nogales for your bullfight than you realize. I think you will find what happens next to be most interesting.”

With belt in hand, the reporter made his way to the waiting girl and struck her hard. The sound of the whap echoed through the empty bullring, as did her wailing.

“In the midst of death there will be life.”

Manolo had no reason to say these words. There was a show going on in front of him and he should logically have been more into it.

“You’ve changed. You’ve changed way too much for me.”

He remembered the words from someplace. It was Lucinda’s voice.

“Didn’t you say Granero was killed?”

These words were spoken at the rodeo ring in Agua Prieta. Happier times? Maybe. Definitely different times.

“Ow! Ow! Owwwwww!”

The girl was really taking an ass whipping, and her screams were reaching to the very top of the bullring.

“Owwwwwwwwwwww! Oh, Godddddddd!”

Manolo decided to move in for a closer look. He did, however, feel odd walking across the sand at this moment. Too soon from now, he would be here again, dressed in his green and gold costume, while the people cheered. At that time, he would be walking toward his fate and not some reporter enjoying a shared fetish.

“Owwww!”

His mind drifted away from the present to times he had shared beyond the spankings and the sex with Lucinda. He had truly wasted the best thing in his life. Her concerns about his drive to sword Gaditano were selfless ones. She was worried about his health, his sanity, and his life. That was then and this was now.

“Owwwwwwww....”

The woman on the sand cried much like Lucinda. She screamed like her. She moaned like her when taking the belt. The body looked similar.

“Owwwwwwww...”

It was then the impulse of old overtook him.

“Hey, give me that belt. Let me get in on this after all.”

“So you still haven’t learned,” the reporter answered, looking up from his duty. His face had changed. On his head were two small horns, much smaller than those of Gaditano, but horns nonetheless. His eyes were as red as the girl’s ass.

“That’s right, Manolo. It’s me. Your other old friend from Hermosillo, come to see if you live up to your bargains.”

It was then another voice, being more familiar to him, broke the silence.

“Hello, Manolo.”

Lucinda turned from her position against the fence and faced him.

“Surprise.”

The entire scene shook with an earthquake, and Manolo screamed louder than his wife had ever done during a spanking session.

“Enough!”

Manolo Garza opened his eyes to find himself in his Nogales hotel room. The lights were still on, but the clock by the bed indicated he had been sleeping a long, long while. It was just about dawn.

The long day of revenge was here.

Chapter Fifteen

“Four o’clock in the afternoon. So soon.”

These words went through Manolo’s mind as the trumpet sounded and the wooden gates were yanked open in front of him. The band started to play, and a unanimous roar came from the 5000 people in the stands. The moment he had been waiting for all this time had come.

“Garza! Garza! Garza! Garza!”

The chant was loud and obnoxious, but he relished it, for without Lucinda unless a miracle happened, and soon to be without the hated Gaditano, this was all he had to live for.

“Garza! Garza! Garza!”

Manolo strode out unto the arena floor.

“Come unto these golden sands,” a voice whispered in the wind. It was that of the gypsy women. “In the midst of death, there will be life.”

Slowly, in time to the music, Manolo marched across the sand with his hat in hand and the parade cape around his shoulder, looking down. He resembled a man not heading toward his greatest moment, but a condemned prisoner being led to the firing squad.

Behind him came the banderilleros and picadores who would assist him this day, and after them, the ring carpenters and mule tenders. It was a routine opening to a bullfight that was anything but routine.

When he reached the fence, Manolo saluted the plaza judge, who was the commander and overseer of this affair, seated high above. The matador then took off the parade cape and looked about for a familiar face to hand it to.

It was then he saw Eliseo Manzano, but to even greater surprise was the reporter and his own Lucinda in the front row next to him.

He should have been more excited. His heart should have pounded. He should have smiled. All of this, however, was beyond him. Solemnly, he went to the spot before their seats and pointed.

“For all three of you.”

Rafael took the parade cape and passed it to the trio, who spread it out in front of him.

“Capote,” Manolo called.

Someone passed him a pink and gold cape that would be used in the opening of the fight. With this in one hand and hat in the other, he saluted the crowd at long last, bringing screams of acceptance from on high.