Sangre De Toro (Old Draft - Now Published!)

Chapter 34 - Nightmares

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.