The Long Day of Revenge (3 page)

In a tienta, the year old calves were tested for bravery by being let into a small arena, where they charged a heavily padded horse. The man in the saddle would issue a light jab with a pointed pole. If the calf turned and ran it would be considered cowardly and sold for beef. If he attacked the horse and rider in spite of the discomfort he would be considered brave and allowed to grow for three more years. Then, at the age of four, he would be sent to the bullring and fulfill his destiny.

Manolo and Lucinda had been friends since they were little, but nothing had truly developed between them, though it seemed secretly both wished it to. Lucinda was not fond of the bullfights and hoped her potential lover would find a safer trade, even working as a wrestler in the local arena or a boxer instead. He, however, would not hear of it, and resigned to this, she gave him support. She also served as a bull when he practiced, charging the lure with a pair of mounted horns as he worked his way through varied passes.

The owner of the rodeo ring allowed him to practice when nothing else was going on, though they came close to kicking him out one time when they caught him trying to cape a Brahma bull in the corral that was reserved for a rodeo. In intercepting him before he could pull off the stunt, he may have saved his life, for there were vast differences in the charge and the temperament of Brahmas as opposed to fighting bulls used in the ring. Rather than charge the cloth and try to use its horns, the Brahma surely would have kicked, jumped and trampled the aspiring matador to death.

“This is what I plan to do tomorrow,” he announced in the midst of his workout. “Don Eliseo has guaranteed me a cow to fight once the animals are all tested.”

“A cow?” Lucinda questioned.

The cow is just as dangerous as a bull but never used in a bullring, so they just let people fight them on the ranches to train. You see, a bull charges the cape because of movement and not because of color. After so many minutes, it starts to wise up and will veer away from the cloth and into a man. That’s why the bulls are killed in the ring. You can’t use them over and over as they’d go right for the man’s body after some fifteen minutes or so. That’s why when the baby bulls are tested, they only see men on foot or an occasional flap of a cape as a distraction, but nothing more. If they did, they’d remember it down the road and kill a man in a heartbeat.”

“I still wish they’d do like in Portugal and not kill the bulls in the ring here,” Lucinda complained as she paused to look at her would-be superstar. “I just don’t like it.”

“Sometimes the bull doesn’t die in the ring, so he has a better chance than in a slaughterhouse. Haven’t you ever heard of an indulto?”

“No!”

Manolo adjusted the sword behind the muleta, the red flannel cloth used in the last act of the bullfight before the kill, where armed only with this, the matador faces his horned enemy alone.

“A bull that charges well and gives a memorable showing will receive an indulto where they pardon him and let him go back to the ranch alive. There, he is used for breeding and lives out his days. It only happens rarely, but sometimes it does.”

“So what do you plan to do with the cow?” Lucinda asked him.

Manolo adjusted the cloth once more and motioned for her to charge. Snorting, she aimed the mounted horns at the red rag and attacked.

“This!”

As she went past him, Manolo dropped to his knees and spun on his kneecaps, turning so he faced his makeshift animal from the opposite side. Again, Lucinda charged and as the horns approached, the aspiring phenomenon whirled on his knees once more, enveloping himself in the lure while the horns sliced perilously close to him.

“The molinete de rodillas,” he informed her. “I think it was Armillita who invented this pass.”

His bull was running out of steam.

“Okay, take a break,” he instructed. “I’ll just work on my own.”

Taking several steps backward, he held the cloth aloft in his right hand and led an imaginary animal in circles. His form matched that of any legendary star from the past.

“Just remember tomorrow you aren’t going to be fighting thin air,” she warned. “You be careful out there.”

Manolo continued to practice with the muleta, watching his own shadow on the ground. In his mind he could hear the cheering of a thousand or more people, while the band played a song in his honor and fans chanted his name.

Inspired by the audience he heard only in his mind, he again dropped to his knees and spun about, daring the fabricated beast to kill him.

“Why don’t you practice with the big capote and make some passes with it as well?” Lucinda questioned. “Isn’t that what you’re going to be using?”

“Only during the tienta part where they test the calves, and again, only to distract and position the baby bulls. With the cow, I plan to work just with the muleta. That’s what the managers and the important people will be looking for.

Rising and straightening his back, he stood firm as he lifted the lure directly in front of him. Lucinda thought he looked like someone shaking crumbs out of a picnic blanket on a Sunday afternoon.

“They call this the Pass of Death.”

“And why is that?”

Manolo repeated the maneuver, this time with a bit more coordination.

“Because at least four people I can think of were fatally gored while executing it. Gitanillo, Carnicerito, Granero, and someone else I can’t remember right now. Maybe even more…”

Lucinda frowned.

“Just don’t add your name to the list.”

Again, Manolo did the Pass of Death and looked into the empty stands.

“Someday the people will be calling out my name above all others. Someday I will be the greatest star the bullring has ever known. I will be another Granero.”

“Didn’t you just say Granero got killed?” she responded.

Manolo smiled.

“Okay. Cordobes then. He lived and retired rich. Cordobes, Capetillo, Espartaco, Aparicio, and Viti. People don’t die from gorings so much anymore, because medical treatment is so far advanced. It’s not like the olden days.”

Lucinda still frowned.

“Remember Ciudad Obregon? Come on, Lucinda! I have fought live bulls and nothing’s happened yet. Nothing’s going to, either. Especially tomorrow.”

Manolo furled the lure and posed, looking away from the snorting beast he was fighting within his brain and into the stands. He could hear the people chant his name.

“Garza! Garza! Garza! Garza!”

He stood defiant on the sand, flaunting himself before the horns.

“All I ask tomorrow is for Manzano to give me a good animal. His bulls are the best in Mexico. You have Manzano bulls on the poster and the people come as much as when you have a top matador contracted.”

Lucinda still did not seem impressed.

“What’s with you now?” he asked.

Lifting the horns, she indicated everything was fine and she was ready to go back to playing her role as a bull for him.

“No, I can tell. What’s on your mind?”

Lucinda looked not at him, but into him.

“When you killed those bulls before, what did it feel like? Didn’t it bother you?”

Manolo didn’t have to think in order to answer.

“No. I killed them because if I did not, they would have killed me. We are killers. Both of us are killers. The bulls are killers, and I am a killer. That’s the way of things.”

Without warning, Lucinda charged, but her friend was prepared. He made a flash with the lure, and acting as a real animal would have, she followed the movement, veering away from his legs.

Manolo moved and set himself up for a fancier pass once more. This time he shifted his grip so the sword was in the right hand and the lure was in his left.

Obediently, Lucinda turned on him and followed the dancing cloth as he took it in a circle.

It was as he watched her charging him that a different sensation came. He’d felt it before with other women. As she bent to charge, he caught view of her body and wondered what she looked like undressed. It wasn’t the first time. Neither were virgins but had never done it with each other.

“Ha, toro,” he called.

“Wouldn’t I be a cow like you’re going to face tomorrow and not a bull?” she corrected.

“Don’t get technical. Just charge.”

Again, Manolo stretched himself out in a gesture known as running the hand. He led the horns past him as he reached to abnormal lengths, making his body contort and prolong itself beyond human limits.

“Ha, toro.”

Again, he did it and again envisioning this very same thing during tomorrow’s activities. If he was able to do half as well, someone would be impressed enough to latch on to him and give him some management. Then, it would be the major rings like Guadalajara, Aguascalientes, Tijuana, and even Mexico City.

“Ha.”

He stamped his foot, indicating Lucinda should charge again. As she bent and stretched with the disembodied horns, he felt the temptation to look deeper, imagining her without a top. It was then he faltered, and had it been in a real bullfight with a live animal, he would have been in big trouble.

Lucinda followed the lure and slammed him strait in the testicles with the flat of the horn.

“Jesus!”

Manolo dropped the cloth and sword as his hands went to his crotch. Turning, he took a set of limping steps before falling to his knees.

“Jesus Christ!” he screamed as he dropped forward unto the ground and rolled. “Jesus Christ almighty!”

They were the last words before he lost his breath and could only groan as the agonizing pain shot through him.

Had this been with a live animal, the moment he dropped the cape and tried to walk away, he would have taken the horn again and it would have been a monstrous goring.

“Sorry!” Lucinda screamed in panic. “Sorry! Sorry!”

Instantly, she was upon him, trying to cradle him and help him to his feet. Together they resembled one of those military statues of one dying solider giving water from a canteen to another.

“Are you okay, Manolo? Are you okay? I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”

“No! I am not fucking okay,” he managed to gasp out. “You hit me right in the balls with those things! It fucking hurt!”

He was not overacting.

“I’m sorry,” Lucinda kept babbling. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

They were embracing each other and as they did, something wonderful happened. They stared into each other’s eyes and in spite of the pain, which was starting to decrease, Manolo felt totally unrestrained passion. Before either could think, they were kissing.

“Manolo.”

Still in each other’s arms, they moved their heads to look into each other’s eyes, overwhelmed at what had happened. Neither was sure how to proceed.

“What can I do to make this better?” she asked.

It was then another odd impulse came. Pulling her body back toward him with his free arm, he brought her close. Though his lower body was feeling the twangs of the blow with the bull horn and breathing was difficult, he relished the impact of her breasts against his chest.

“You hurt me and you should get a little of this yourself. You’re a bad girl.”

Reaching downward with his right hand, he yanked at her sweat pants, pulling them down on the back end. Though he could not see, he could feel her flesh as the panties came down with the movement as well.

“What?”

At first, Lucinda thought Manolo was about to undress her, which in the momentary wave of passion would have been acceptable, but she was not prepared for the hard set of whaps that came against her exposed buttocks.

“Ow! Ow! Ow! Ow! Ow! Ow!”

Suddenly, she tried to free herself and though she was sure Manolo intended it as a joke, it was not funny. It also felt way too real.

“Oww! Owwwww! What are you doing! Owwwwww!”

As she pressed against him, she realized the accidental impact of the horn flat had not been as damaging as it appeared to be, for his equipment was clearly working.

“Owwww! Stop it!”

Shoving herself away she looked angrily at him and swore.

“What the fuck were you doing?”

Manolo gave a slight grin.

“Giving you a little of what you gave me.”

He again reached downward to rub himself, while Lucinda did the same. Rather than pulling up her sweatpants right away, she massaged her bare bottom. Facing him, he was unable to see anything, but he knew there would be handprints if she turned around.

“Fuck you!” she shouted. “That wasn’t funny!”

Manolo again offered an apologetic shrug.

“I’m going home,” she snarled. “You’re on your own.”

Still limping, Manolo went to the place where he had dropped his sword and muleta, picking them up.

“Does this mean you aren’t giving me another kiss?”

Lucinda had pulled up her pants and was staring angrily at him.

“Fuck you!” she exclaimed.

To this, Manolo grinned, as if to indicate he considered it an invitation.

“Fuck you!” she repeated, turning to head for the exit slot in the wooden fence surrounding the rodeo ring, so she could make her way to the empty corral and parking lot.

“No!” Manolo called after her. “You can’t go!”

“And why not?” she asked, with her voice starting to cool a little. As she did, she reached behind to rub her bottom once more. “Just tell me why not?”

“I need you to drive me home, and I need to have you drive me to Hermosillo.”

“And how am I supposed to sit in the car after you beat my ass?”

“It isn’t that bad.”

“It isn’t that good either.”

“Of course, it is.”

“My ass hurts worse than your nuts.”

“And how would you know that? Do you have a pair?”

Luckily for him, Lucinda started to laugh, though she was none too happy about having her rear end violated as it had been.

“So were you turned on?” she managed to ask.

The aspiring matador nodded.

“You want to see it then?”

Manolo again nodded enthusiastically.

“Well…”

Lucinda turned and made like she was going to pull down her sweat pants for his approval, but didn’t do so.

“No. You hurt my butt. You don’t deserve it.”