CW: Upsetting (but not gory/violent) pic at the end
Pepelito's ears flicked back and forth, his eyes dripping with tears. The rope tying him to the truck roof by his horns just about let him drink. He couldn't lie down or turn around. He thought about Silvio. He hadn't said goodbye properly before they dragged him off. The old man had been so good to him; he wanted to show his respect.
Why was this happening?
Had he been bad? Was it his fault?
'He's got a day or two, give him a last meal,' Pepelito heard Castella laugh down the phone, as the gangsters who worked for him stopped at a service station; one had got out.
'Not too much, though. Don't want him getting comfortable.' Hearing the matador's voice made his whole body tremble with fear. It was boiling hot. He had finished the tiny bucket of water they had given him; he licked the bottom, trying to get more moisture out of it. There wasn't any. He could hardly move; his sides touched the walls of the compartment.
'Of course. Be with you shortly.'
'I guess you haven't found the others. One isn't fucking good enough.'
'Señor, we're picking another one up now. It's being taken care of as we speak. No security at that place the cops sent him. Fucking hippies, no idea how to handle a brave bull. Treating him like a puppy, I guess...' The banderillero's voice was defensive and anxious.
'Hah. General Franco would have dealt with them properly,' Castella scoffed. The other gangster laughed, relieved, as his boss praised their hero.
Why was nobody helping him, Pepelito thought?
Had something happened to them?
He felt the truck's engine start again and continue on the road; before long, it turned down a dirt track. It was so bumpy and he felt ill. It wasn't Silvio's dirt track; that had been on a hill, it felt different.
The truck stopped. One of the men opened the back and Pepelito tried to smell the grass and fresh air outside. One of the walls slid away from his side and the rope slackened slightly. He heard and smelt another bull nearby, agitated and scared. Straining his head, he saw more men yanking the new bull on a rope.
'Get on with it, Chicero. Why so scared? What did they do to you in Valladolid, eh?' Laughter greeted the gangster's mocking words.
'Everything OK with him, no lameness?'
'Yep. Looks good enough for any arena. Get him in before the dirty hippies notice he's gone. I can still smell them.'
Pepelito's feet clunked on the ground, warning Chicero not to get in. But he needed someone by his side. He felt so scared, away from everyone who loved him, alone in this horrible place.
And maybe two could deal with them better than one.
*
Once Chicero was in the truck, Pepelito tried to calm him down but the grey bull was having none of it. He kept bashing his horns against the panel they'd installed to keep the bulls apart, stopping them from injuring each other and spoiling the show. Maybe they could help each other get out of here, Pepelito thought.
After a while, Chicero stopped struggling so much; the truck reached a smoother piece of road, slowing to a crawl as it hit traffic. At least his arrival had meant more water. The other bull was very frightened. Pepelito tried to nuzzle him through the bars, letting him know he meant no harm. Like Maribel had done for him, he tried to tell Chicero that whatever had happened to him was not his fault.
Maribel was bleeding. They'd hurt her – or worse.
He retreated into a place in his mind where he was happy, touching Chicero as far as he could through the bars, if he couldn't calm himself down he could at least try to soothe his fellow captive. He pictured himself eating grass, lapping cold water from that stream on the farm he'd grown up on, or cooling down in the pond with the geese. He imagined the splodged cow he liked so much watching him from the neighbouring field.
Did they hurt her too?
Would he ever see her again?
He tried to look at what was in front of him but he didn't have a clear view and it frightened him. He bellowed in fear, setting Chicero off too.
The truck sped up fast as it went over several speed bumps. Pepelito felt nauseous at the sudden jolts as he was thrown around in the truck, hitting the side. His hooves pounded the floor as their water sloshed to the ground. He tried to lick it up but couldn't reach it; the rope was too short for his tongue to get near the puddle. He was feeling faint.
The vehicle turned down another road. It slowed down for several hundred metres. Chicero attempted to lick him but he couldn't reach through the bars. Pepelito's eyes welled up; he remembered Ladron groaning, the crowd's deafening whistles and cheers as he stood in the dark, filthy cell. And then, the ring, when the pain kept getting worse, so hot, so hungry, so thirsty, looking round for an exit that wasn't there. He thought of how his rancher and some bullfighters had chased him down on horseback to brand him. Just an 8 month old calf, he'd cried out for his mum from the pain, but they never gave him back; it was the last time he ever saw her.
He couldn't make any of it go away.
Finally the truck stopped. Pepelito couldn't move as the rope tightened and yanked him forward towards the drivers' part of the truck. A hatch opened from the top and one of them cut the rope tying his horns with a knife. The knife scratched him slightly and he flinched, tossing his head away from it. The divider drew up and the tailgate opened onto a muddy path. Neither got out straight away; the men came towards them with sticks. Chicero looked around, bellowing in fright.
'Get out,' one of the men spat, prodding Pepelito hard with a wooden stick. He stood on the ramp, not wanting to move.
'Just get out! What's the matter with you!' The man struck him harder and Pepelito skidded down the ramp and into the muddy pen at the back of the private bullring, twisting his left front leg. Other than two water troughs and a small pile of grain Pepelito could see nothing. It wouldn't be enough for two of them, let alone whoever else arrived. Soon even that would be taken away; no cowpats could be allowed to pollute Castella's pristine sand.
And he was standing by the fence.
AN: Poor sweetheart :( and in reality, transport conditions can be even worse :(
https://avatma.org/2017/06/22/maltrato-animal-en-las-ganaderias-de-lidia/ (in Spanish, English info at the bottom)
https://www.stieren.net/en-gb/the-myth-of-the-good-life-of-the-bull/
Of course, some of this cruelty happens in industrial farming as well. If we don't change something the human race itself will have no future at all.