Lying next to Maribel under a tree, Pepelito found it hot but pleasant. She was the first member of his species he'd seen since the plaza workers had driven him from the enclosure into that dark box. Far away from the arena, he was trying to put its horror and violence out of his mind. The fresh air had eased the pain in his back and in his heart.
He hadn't seen a cow for even longer, not since he last saw his mum. He'd been so young. Sometimes he still remembered her comforting presence. Maribel was different; bigger than he was, without question the dominant one. She was 15, too old to be interested, but that did not matter; with her, he could be sociable and felt loved. She was calm and accepting. Perhaps here, he could start to heal both his mind and his body.
But he sensed the terrible sadness in her. She had recently lost someone too. She had been a dairy cow and before Silvio retired she'd had calves taken away, seen other cows sold. They had a lot of space and Silvio was a kind, if irritable man who left them alone. He wasn't cruel or violent. But there were things he didn't want to or couldn't understand.
'Maribel,' Silvio said; she got up and strolled towards him. She adored the farmer. Pepelito still didn't know if he truly trusted any humans. He knew he had done something bad a few weeks ago. He'd made Rita afraid. Maybe she was angry with him. Maybe that was why Silvio took him. He was happy to be here but the journey had exhausted him; it was disorientating being somewhere so different.
He didn't miss Rita's flat or the street noises and the walls and the lack of grass, but he missed her and Alfonso, they had been kind to him and protected him. He got up and walked to the water trough. A group of geese hissed at him as they hung around it. Yesterday one had bit his leg, so he'd chased them. He'd have to do it again.
He turned round slowly and walked towards Maribel as another farmer chatted to Silvio by the fence. 'That's a nice looking bull. Where did he come from?'
'My nephew won him in a bet with some guy, and I just lost poor old Beatriz so he gave him to me.' Silvio took a drag on his cigarette. Pepelito picked up on his anxiety and irritation.
'How much is he?' the other farmer was asking, looking towards Pepelito.
'He's not for sale.'
The other farmer looked disappointed. 'He looks like the bull in that YouTube video I saw.'
Silvio shook his head in confusion.
'On the internet.'
'No idea what you're on about, son. Don't ask me about the internet. Never even sent an email.' After a few minutes the other farmer left, followed by several geese who snapped at his legs. Silvio looked confused and annoyed.
'What was that about, Maribel? That guy only talks to me when he wants something.' Maribel walked forward to be stroked. Silvio didn't like other humans, Pepelito thought, watching the geese and chickens scratching around in front of the dilapidated farmhouse.
'How you doing, Pepelito? Your back any better than yesterday?' Silvio said cheerfully as if he was chatting to a neighbour and expecting a reply.
'Lovely weather today, isn't it? Not too hot. Nice day for sitting outside and having a smoke.' Was he supposed to do anything in response? Pepelito wasn't sure. Sometimes he found the kind way people now treated him difficult to navigate. There were things he had learned not to do, to hide in front of humans. Pain and fear had been constant companions during his previous encounters, but now there seemed no reason to fear anything. His new protectors even rewarded him with treats and affection when he dropped his guard. He found their reactions disconcerting; they were so different to what he knew he had to expect.
'Ladron is it? He'll be my first,' the man smirked, pointing out the brown bull who merely looked at him sadly and then lowered his head into the trough in the corner. The food pellets tasted weird and they'd all felt tired and sick afterwards. But there was nothing else to eat.
'Then this one second.' The man pointed at him. What was this about?
Curiously, he approached the barrier where the men were standing, craning his neck over the high, whitewashed side. When he was little, sometimes the farmer's daughter had stroked him and fed him treats. But instead, the man swung a fist at his nose, punching him hard. 'What's this? Huh? Think you're a dog? Think you're my friend? Don't you know who the fuck I am?'
Pepelito hastily retreated, reeling, before the man could hit him again. Turning back to the enclosure keepers, Castella said, 'Make sure you knock that out of him before I see him next.'
Pepelito took a few more gulps of water and gazed at Silvio, who smiled indulgently at him and reached to pet him over the wooden fence. He let the man touch him, then backed away, needing his space.
As he ambled towards the barn, he heard Silvio answer his mobile. 'What do you want, now?'
'Of course not, don't be ridiculous, son.'
'Who told you that? People say anything these days don't they. How'd you get this damned number?' Silvio waited for a few seconds, then hung up. Pepelito tore at some grass. Why was he so bad tempered sometimes, had someone hurt him too?
'You're popular aren't you,' the old man said conversationally, lighting another cigarette as Pepelito stared at him, wondering what that was about.
'Ah well. Sent him packing, didn't I.'
****
Javier Castella grinned and bowed extravagantly to his fans at Madrid's world-renowned Las Ventas Arena. He lifted up the bull's ear awarded him for tonight's breathtaking, passionate display of bravery, and tossed it to someone in the audience, before parading around smirking as the dead beast was dragged away. He walked to the ringside barriers to kiss some of his female fans' cheeks, before striding back to the changing room to thunderous applause.
In front of the full length mirror, he gazed upon his reflection and congratulated himself on his triumph, ruffling the chest hair which he kept meticulously groomed, like one of the prize winning poodles Maria bred for competitions. Despite everything, tonight Javier had outshone himself before Las Ventas's famously discerning audience, with acts of artistic genius worthy of Mozart or Beethoven.
Once out of his costume Javier stared at the unlock screen on his phone, a topless picture of himself with his red cape covering everything below his waist. Before tonight's corrida, he'd had a message from Eloise Skerrett of the Taurine Club of Kensington, one of his many bits on the side. He had not replied yet; he liked to keep women waiting and remind them he was important. He posed for himself in the mirror in his smart white shirt and black trousers, basking in the fact he had so many admirers, women fell at his feet and his talents were recognised throughout the world.
'I can't wait to see you next Saturday,' Eloise's text said. As he finally replied, he grinned to himself. Maria was away that weekend for one of her party conferences. He'd had enough. She was losing her looks and she never stopped whining. It did his head in. He would have ignored her problems and pretended to be interested like he usually did, were it not for what Rita had done to him.
He knew that crazy bitch had purely done it to spite him. With no ferocity, that bull was only fit to be a hamburger. He'd be found and punished for his cowardice. Javier Castella would not be defeated by a mere animal. Fury overtook him when he thought about that day's humiliation. Let himself think about it too long and he'd set fire to something.
Gritting his teeth, he fixed his hair with mousse, before heading to the stretch limo waiting outside. Once ensconced on his luxurious leather seat, he said to the driver, 'Four Seasons Hotel.'
'Right away, boss.' The limo driver set his GPS for the most expensive hotel in Madrid, where Javier was meeting his latest fling.
He liked to keep three or four on the go at once. This one, Anastasia, was 22; she'd gone to school with the Russian president's granddaughter in St Petersburg, adding an extra layer of prestige. Tomorrow, he was meeting Lola, a model he'd met on holiday with his wife in Venice two weeks ago.
Javier checked himself out in the mirror before viewing his stock portfolio. Business was another of his many talents, and today, everything was up several percent. Then he entered the code to the luxury bar in the back of the limo, and took out an intricately carved box, given to him as a gift from a bull rancher near Bogota. Inside the box were a tiny gold spoon, a mirrored tray and eight vials of white powder.
Tonight's standing ovation echoed in Javier's mind as he opened one of the vials and brought a small spoonful to his nostril. Telling himself as he always did that he was in control, this was nothing, he wasn't anything so pathetic as a drug addict. No, this was a reward for another outstanding performance. He wasn't lying in some alley shooting himself up with heroin. Everyone did it – it was barely even a drug!
He sniffed, breathing in deeply, proud of the fact he could stop any time he liked. He wasn't some junkie craving a fix. Addiction was for the weak, for those stupid enough to get themselves hooked on his products. Feeling Colombia's finest go to his system, he leaned back with a relaxed sigh, and another text popped into his inbox. His life was perfect. He was perfect – brave, manly and successful. He had the looks of a Greek god. People only said the things they did because they envied him.
He read the text and smiled to himself.
Today had turned out well.
The message said, 'We've found him, boss.'
'Excellent,' Javier replied.
AN: well isn't he a great catch 🤢
poor Pepelito, just trying to be friendly 😭