Hilary Gan<\/p>\n
<\/br><\/p>\n
In the town of Guell, in the province of Calana, lived a young bullfighter by the name of Victor. He was of average height but he was very handsome, and when he went striding through the city streets beneath the power lines all the women looked up at him through their eyelashes and smiled heart-shaped smiles. But when he smiled back he used only his lips, and kept his own heart to himself.<\/p>\n
In the arena Victor rode a grey mare with black stockinged feet, and he shined his shoes before every bullfight. He worked in close to the bulls, and when he killed one, which he always did, he would cut out its heart with his sword and tear off a ventricle with his teeth and grin a savage bloody grin at the first row, where the Mayor sat, squinting and shivering in the sun. Victor always remembered to wipe off the blood before the Mayor honored him at the ceremonies, and then he smiled with pearly teeth, and all of the women sighed.<\/p>\n
During the day Victor managed the local stable in exchange for lodgings for his mare and a pittance that paid for a cheap apartment above the bar across the street. In the evenings he went down to the bar and drank rum and played cards with the waiters from the Guell Inn and Alphonse, the town drunk. At midnight, exactly, Victor would push his chair back, say goodnight, pay his tab, and go to bed. The waiters and Alphonse knew better than to try to encourage him to stay, although sometimes this routine was interrupted by other bullfighters or ranchers who had been passing through town and wanted to talk bullfighting all night. But Victor would politely refuse, and in the morning he would get up in the dark, go down to the stable, and take his mare out to the practice ring and work her for three hours before tending to the stable\u2019s business. There were always three or four early-morning risers who would stop on the bridge over the arena and watch, but Victor never seemed to notice.<\/p>\n
In early spring every year, in the hours before Victor retired from the bar, the waiters and Alphonse would get drunk enough to forget what they knew about Victor and try to convince him to enlist in the official bullfighter lists in the capital city, Veparda, for bullfighting season. Victor would smile and smile and say nothing at all, and the encouragement would turn to offers of ludicrous financial backing and nebulous \u201cconnections\u201d in the ranks of judges and trainers in exchange for cuts of Victor\u2019s theoretical winnings. The piles of cash that were lost to Victor\u2019s stubborn insistence that he did not fight to compete were a constant source of torment to all of the patrons of the bar, although less so than the piles of available women that Victor did not bring back to his room in the evenings. On more than one occasion, irate potential business investors had made insinuating remarks about the widow Lyssor and her continual attempts at sponsorship, or about women in another town, or about no women at all. This would make the waiters laugh uproariously. \u201cHaven\u2019t you seen how particular he is about his shoes?\u201d the youngest one, who had gone to grade school with Victor, would invariably say. \u201cHe\u2019s that way about his women, too.\u201d<\/p>\n
The Mayor of Guell, who presided over the local bullfights, was an old and feeble man who was Mayor in name only. He had a secretary named Emmanuel who did all of the work for him and did not resent the Mayor\u2019s title. But one day the Mayor, who was, after all, old and feeble, did not wake from his slumber, and the Baron appointed a new Mayor, a family man and lawyer by the name of Kantigo, from the capital. Kantigo had a son, a daughter, and a wife who was still beautiful and wore all of the latest fashions. The son, Edward, was honorable and handsome in his own right, but the daughter was a vision, a fluttering swan in silk dresses and scarves and delicate bracelets, and her name was Annabelle. They came to town in an open car in the high heat of summer and the Mayor waved at his new constituents as they paused in their work to stare.<\/p>\n
In honor of the new Mayor, a special bullfight in the old tradition was proclaimed. Bullfighters from far and wide came in trucks with horse trailers to take part in the tribute to the new Mayor of Guell, who had been in the army and was known to be on good terms with the Baron Toldo. Bullfighting had been the favorite art of the royalty of the province for hundreds of years and had in the last century degenerated into a terribly subjective competitive sport, each bullfight judged by the local authority, whether or not he knew anything about bullfighting. The fights took place with one man, mounted on an armored horse, leading the bull through traditional passes, called \u201cgateways.\u201d In the old traditions the event had been more like theater, with different combinations of gateways executed to bring about different aesthetic and emotional effects; however, the competitive bullfights were scored on a point-per-gateway scale, and evaluated either on the artistry, the entertainment value, or whatever other qualities the judges felt like including. There were no national or regional regulations by which said local authorities could judge the sport; this lack of structure meant that in every bullfight there was a chance that even the worst bullfighter could win, or die, which delighted the audiences even more than a wonderful exhibition by a true bullfighter. The love of the traditional art, however, had managed to survive, somewhat underground and preserved in the hands of historians, philosophers, and other patrons of the country\u2019s arts.<\/p>\n
The Guell Inn had never hosted such an array of eligible and roguish men, and the young ladies of Guell who hadn\u2019t succeeded with Victor invented excuses to go downtown in their best new outfits to parade back and forth in front of the Inn as though they had forgotten to run errands on both sides of town. The little girls and boys sneaked back to the barn behind the arena and stared longingly at all the beautiful horses, black and brown and white and gold and chestnut — an earthy rainbow of well-brushed coats.<\/p>\n
And Victor shined his shoes.<\/p>\n
The day of the bullfight arrived. Only Alphonse was missing when the procession started; but even Alphonse arrived in time for the first bullfight. The noise of the arena could be heard for half a mile outside the city limits, and everywhere among the crowd was the flash of sunlight on jewelry and the smell of beer, sweat, hot dogs, and blood.<\/p>\n
Victor went last in the arena. When his horse stepped out of the fighter\u2019s chute to reveal him in his brown uniform with the golden braids, his teeth flashed and the crowd went still. By then it was hot and the bull was steaming; Victor met it casually, slowly, taunting it through all of the gateways, coming at it from the outside walls in strange little curlicues, keeping the bull in the center. His mare never missed a lead. The bull was white and dotted with brown and its flesh shook as it ran. It made no noise but rolled its eyes at Victor and tossed its head in annoyance at its slowly shrinking confinement to the center of the ring.<\/p>\n
The fight went quickly but to the crowd it felt like forever before Victor\u2019s sword sliced through the tendons of the bull\u2019s front shoulder, and its blood was redder than that of the other bulls. Some of it splattered Victor\u2019s shoes. He dismounted and cut out its heart cleanly, neatly, a square chunk of flesh lifted from its side. His horse waited patiently behind him. Victor held the heart with its sheen of fresh blood to his lips, and then, for the first time, he saw Annabelle in the Mayor\u2019s box, her dark gaze fixed upon him and her breath held suspended. The bull\u2019s heart fell from his fingers and landed with a final thump in the dust.<\/p>\n
The crowd knew what had just passed between the pair; the silence of the stands seemed interminable before all the voices erupted as one. And the bull bled and Victor stood, entranced, and Annabelle stared, until the Mayor\u2019s wife pinched her and whispered in her ear, and the first of the roses landed in the bowl of the arena.<\/p>\n
At the ceremony the Mayor gave Victor the bull\u2019s left ear, brown with blood and dirt, but Victor knew nothing except Annabelle. Men clapped him on the back as he walked through the streets, and women stared more openly than ever, but he went, clutching the ear like an illiterate with an important letter, home to change his clothes and wash. Out on his tiny uncovered balcony he smoked the cigars he\u2019d found tucked into his uniform\u2019s lapel. At dusk, he stood up grimly and put on his hat and went out into the evening.<\/p>\n
Behind the Mayor\u2019s house was a garden, filled with red-leaved maples and irises and daisies, all of which were folding in on themselves in the night; and there was a bench by the stream that ran past the house and through the town where Annabelle sat and waited. She had lilies in her hair, and a different outfit than the one she had worn to the bullfight — her shirt was golden and simple and set off her dark hair, and her jeans were dark and perfectly fitted. Her feet swung impatiently over the damp grass. Victor came through the yard with fevered eyes and a slow gait and the stub of a last cigar between his thumb and first finger. Annabelle saw him immediately and pretended she hadn\u2019t by adjusting her shirt, but then she gave it up and smiled at him, and graceful Victor, who fought bulls and never stumbled, tripped over a rock, and Annabelle laughed and held out a hand. Annabelle\u2019s brother Edward turned out the light in the sitting room.<\/p>\n
<\/br><\/p>\n
The Mayor caught Annabelle in private the day before her engagement to Victor was to be announced in the newspaper. He suggested they stop at the Inn for lunch after her daily review of the city reports, and they walked the two blocks together. The walls of the Inn were covered in flamboyant blue and gold wallpaper, and cheap gold-painted electric sconces graced each dining area. But the napkins were always clean and the waiters reliable and polite, especially when their patrons included the Mayor.<\/p>\n
\u201cAnnabelle,\u201d her father said carefully, \u201care you sure you know what you\u2019re doing with this bullfighter?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHmm,\u201d she said, chewing her roll thoughtfully. \u201cI think I\u2019m\u2026wait, no, that can\u2019t be right. Maybe I\u2019m\u2026? Oh, no, I\u2019m marrying him! Yes, I do know what I\u2019m doing.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat a relief,\u201d her father said dryly. \u201cYou know what I mean. You don\u2019t know him very well.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cEverything you need to know about Victor you can learn in the arena.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAnnabelle, that\u2019s hardly a rousing endorsement — he\u2019s a small-town hack who relies on cheap tricks to please the crowd,\u201d the Mayor objected.<\/p>\n
Annabelle regarded him with a raised eyebrow. \u201cFather, you\u2019re a wonderful mayor, but you know absolutely bollocks about bullfighting.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOccasionally I regret raising you to speak your mind,\u201d the Mayor said through gritted teeth. She ignored this and returned to her salad as she spoke, punctuating her sentences with vehement stabs at various vegetables. \u201cBefore the formal boundaries were established for our province and its neighbors in the sixth century, the aborigines who inhabited the high plains used to run down wild game on foot to the point of the prey\u2019s exhaustion, over many miles and sometimes over whole days, until the game simply gave up and lay down and waited for death. Then, in a tribute to the animal\u2019s endurance and as an honor to the gods, the heart of the beast would be cut out and shared between the hunters before the thing was skinned.\u201d<\/p>\n
The Mayor frowned, and Annabelle continued; she might have sounded like one of the Royal Historians if she hadn\u2019t been so indignant — it made her voice go slightly squeaky. \u201cWhat is largely not<\/em> known is that the same ritual continued when cattle were introduced to the region in the eighth century, only with the liver rather than the heart, as a thanks for allowing the cowboys and their herd to arrive safely on their journeys between grazing lands and the market. It also most likely survived as a natural way to curb the vitamin deficiencies experienced by men who were constantly traveling. The practice was outlawed by King Homer in 843 and denounced as barbaric, as part of his campaign to crush the revolts of the aborigines against the crown and to better control the profits of cattle-raising. As I\u2019m sure you do know, it was the cowboys who first began the sport of bullfighting on horseback around 1050, and as our cattle became a continent-wide export, the aristocracy rapidly adopted it as art and introduced elements of the Perclusian Renaissance, such as the lone figure in the arena and the black cape representing mortality. This aesthetic became the main tenet of bullfighting and stayed that way until the last century. Victor\u2019s heart-eating, and the way he positions himself on the outside of the arena to make it look like he\u2019s chasing the bull, all while observing the Perclusian customs, are an homage to the roots of bullfighting and also a mild political statement to remind the crown of its responsibilities to the aboriginal blood of its working classes.\u201d<\/p>\n Her father was grinning by then. \u201cAlright, Annabelle. I still say you should have gone into the Academy.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cUgh, and wear pearls to my defense ceremony in an attempt to tempt some Philosopher-Vicomte into making sure I never have to lift a manicured fingernail again?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYes, I\u2019m sure you\u2019ll be so much happier shoveling manure for the next fifty years,\u201d said the Mayor abruptly, throwing his napkin onto his half-finished house special.<\/p>\n \u201cBetter to shovel manure than to have to sleep next to it every night,\u201d Annabelle said.<\/p>\n \u201cThat\u2019s enough.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cAnd tell mama if she wants somebody to marry into money so badly that she can do it herself,\u201d Annabelle said. \u201cPlease excuse me.\u201d She stalked off to the bathroom; her father sighed, and the waiter, trying hard to be unobtrusive, brought him the check.<\/p>\n <\/br><\/p>\n Three days later the Mayor\u2019s wife hosted a celebration dinner and invited all the important town officials. New candles were unwrapped and the silver was polished and all of the rooms were aired and vacuumed and dusted.<\/p>\n The Mayor\u2019s wife placed Victor between Annabelle and Emmanuel, and Emmanuel next to Mayor Kantigo. \u201cThe whole town is delighted by your romance,\u201d Emmanuel told Annabelle and Victor over the roasted lamb. \u201cI think if everyone could attend your wedding, they would.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWell,\u201d said Annabelle brightly, \u201clet\u2019s invite them.\u201d<\/p>\n Victor, normally inscrutable, hastily swallowed his mouthful. \u201cEverybody?\u201d<\/p>\n She turned her sweet face to look up at him. \u201cJust the whole town, dear.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cAnnabelle, light of my eyes,\u201d said her father, splattering the tablecloth with sauce from his fork, \u201cthat seems vaguely excessive.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhere could we possibly fit three thousand people?\u201d Emmanuel asked, glancing at the Mayor\u2019s face. \u201cNot practical. The chapel is much too small.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhy, the arena, of course,\u201d Annabelle said. \u201cI think Victor would feel much more at home there, anyway, wouldn\u2019t you, Victor?\u201d<\/p>\n Victor looked her directly in the eye. \u201cI will be at home wherever you are,\u201d he said, and his intensity made even Annabelle flush.<\/p>\n \u201cIt would be a wonderful spectacle,\u201d said the head of the Chamber of Commerce, and all the heads at the table swiveled to look at him. \u201cJust the kind of publicity we need. With the Mayor\u2019s own daughter marrying a bullfighter, we could establish Guell as the new bullfighting capital of Calana.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cOh, don\u2019t talk about Victor so crudely,\u201d said the Mayor\u2019s wife, in a charming tone which both Edward and Annabelle recognized as dangerous. \u201cHe\u2019s above all that sporting nonsense — he doesn\u2019t even compete! You\u2019re not a bullfighter, are you, Victor? You\u2019re a very sensible businessman.\u201d<\/p>\n Edward muttered, \u201cMama<\/em>,\u201d while the rest of the table examined their wine glasses very closely.<\/p>\n Victor eyed his future mother-in-law with the same patient and curious gaze with which he sized up bulls in the arena. \u201cOf course. And as a sensible businessman I know better than to try to refuse a wife whatever it is she wants.\u201d The Mayor flinched at the look on his own wife\u2019s face; Victor glanced at his fianc\u00e9e. \u201cIf it is an arena wedding you want, you shall have it, and a bullfighter husband too.\u201d<\/p>\n Annabelle stared down at her hands, and her emerald engagement ring, and then looked up at her mother. \u201cJust think, mama,\u201d she said, in a voice as delicately dangerous as her mother\u2019s, \u201cif everyone who came brought lilies and tossed them at our feet after the ceremony. A touch of barbarism, for a bullfighter\u2019s wedding.\u201d She laid no stress on the title but it seemed to the table she had shouted it.<\/p>\n \u201cWe might run into a shortage of lilies,\u201d Emmanuel said, eyeing the Mayor\u2019s fork, which was threatening to splatter mint jelly even more emphatically than sauce, \u201cnot to mention funds.\u201d<\/p>\n The chaplain, frowning, added, \u201cWeddings should take place in a church, in the sight of God.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cIn that case,\u201d said Annabelle, \u201cWe\u2019ll just have to invite the Archbishop, too, so he can bless the arena beforehand.\u201d<\/p>\n The Mayor opened his mouth to speak, but Emmanuel cut across smoothly. \u201cWhy don\u2019t you come to the office tomorrow, Victor? We can discuss business during business hours.\u201d The Mayor pressed his lips together and relaxed his shoulders into the backrest of his chair.<\/p>\n Edward leapt at his opportunity. \u201cPapa, did you hear about the protests in the eastern provinces?\u201d<\/p>\n The Mayor\u2019s wife signaled to the hired waiter for another bottle of wine.<\/p>\n <\/br><\/p>\n The next morning Victor stopped at the bank on his way to the Mayor\u2019s office. When he knocked he heard the Mayor\u2019s voice call, \u201cCome in,\u201d and he pushed open the heavy wooden door and stepped into the sunlight of the great round window behind the mahogany desk where the Mayor sat with Emmanuel off to the side.<\/p>\n \u201cI assume,\u201d Victor said without preamble, brandishing his bank envelope, \u201cthat the difficulty here is one of finances.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWell, yes,\u201d said the Mayor. \u201cI admit that is my main concern.\u201d He paused. \u201cAnd not just regarding this\u2026wedding idea.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m aware of the large discrepancy between my current income and that which Annabelle is used to having at her disposal,\u201d Victor replied. \u201cAs is she. We have discussed it.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cAnd I\u2019m aware that Annabelle will do whatever she damn well pleases, like always,\u201d said the Mayor, rubbing his forehead.<\/p>\n Victor laughed a little at that, and Emmanuel smiled.<\/p>\n \u201cYes, I\u2019m sure that\u2019s true,\u201d Victor said. \u201cI do love her, you know, and I have no intention of putting her in a position where she won\u2019t be able to pursue her own talents.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThat\u2019s a relief to hear, Victor, and truly it\u2019s my only worry.\u201d<\/p>\n Victor placed the envelope on the desk. \u201cI\u2019ve just been to the bank,\u201d he said, \u201cand after this meeting I\u2019ll stop at the post office to send off my enrollment for the Veparda lists. I was saving for new armor for my horse, but it will cover my entrance fees for the qualifier and the Equinox.\u201d The Equinox Fight was the biggest competitive bullfight in the country, with a substantial fortune and lots of glory for the winner, and smaller compensations for the upper ranks: a small fortune and almost as much glory for second place, and glory only for third.<\/p>\n Emmanuel said softly, \u201cAre you sure about this?\u201d<\/p>\n Victor just looked at him. \u201cThere are thirteen fights before the Equinox qualifier in September,\u201d he continued. \u201cSmall pots, mostly, that should cover my living expenses in Veparda. But with any luck I\u2019ll be able to fund the wedding after the Equinox.\u201d He made a face. \u201cThe judging is fairly subjective, you know.\u201d<\/p>\n <\/br><\/p>\n There were going to be lilies, delivered on wide flatbeds filled with earth, still planted so they would stay fresh until the very last moment. The Baron would accompany the delivery in his personal car, with his daughters and his wife and the Archbishop of the province, who had agreed to bless the arena for a religious ceremony; arriving the day before the Baron would be the troupes of acrobats, musicians, and fire-eaters the Mayor had hired for entertainment. And because the wedding would take place on Annabelle\u2019s birthday, every baker in the surrounding area had been commissioned to provide birthday cupcakes for the guests.<\/p>\n The Chamber of Commerce made a gift of Annabelle\u2019s dress, which her mother insisted she have made by her old tailor in the capital. The local tailor was incredibly offended by this decision, and at the local bar he announced his intention to boycott the wedding to scattered applause. Edward and the Mayor came in the next day and ordered brand-new suits for the occasion, because, they said, that tailor from the capital couldn\u2019t make a sensible men\u2019s suit to save his life. Thus the tailor was placated, and everyone in town could attend the wedding with a clean conscience, not to mention have their own attire mended, taken in, or cleaned without having to listen to his grumblings.<\/p>\n The wedding dress itself would be turquoise — the Mayor\u2019s wife had objected, and wanted to put her in pink, and three days of fights had ensued over the breakfast table until the Mayor put his foot down and told them that if they didn\u2019t agree in the next ten minutes the wedding dress would be pumpkin orange and covered in sequined butterflies. Annabelle said that was fine by her as long as it wasn\u2019t pink. The Mayor\u2019s wife consoled herself with pink invitations and three-quarters of a mile\u2019s worth of white satin ribbon to decorate the stands.<\/p>\n Victor was charged, in addition to his duties in the ring, with seeing to the arrangements for the Baron\u2019s journey, delivering the invitations, and picking up the dress. Emmanuel went with him as an emissary of the city\u2019s financial department, or, as the Mayor said, \u201cTo keep the casualties to a minimum.\u201d<\/p>\n The capital was a two days\u2019 drive from Guell. In the early afternoon on the second day they reached the outskirts of Veparda with its ancient stone wall and vestigial guardposts which surrounded the numerous small houses, modern skyscrapers, and lazy Veparda River that cut straight through the city. Victor went immediately to the lists to enroll in any bullfights with open spots. He came back with a printed schedule on which he had circled the dates and times of thirteen bullfights, and then he met Emmanuel in the bar on the first floor of the hotel and went over the venues and competitors and looked at the results of the bullfights over the past six months.<\/p>\n In the high society of Veparda that fall, word spread about a bullfighter whom, the philosophers said, was the best in the country, who took the traditions apart and put them back together in ways no one had ever witnessed before: a man who made the killing a part of the art, and took bloody bites out of the heart of the beast he had fought. They called him a barbarian, and meant it as a compliment; they called him an artist. He was from a small town, a nothing town, in the backwoods of the already backwoods province, Calana, and his name was Victor.<\/p>\n In Veparda the judging was a little more worthwhile, simply because most everyone who knew anything about bullfighting lived in the capital and the backlash against a bad judge was immediate and ruthless — at least, if he chose against popular taste. And all of the judges kept handing Victor the bullfighting titles. He won his first seven fights, and ticket prices for the ninth one, an Equinox qualifier for which the arena masters had secured a wildcard judge, went astronomical. People began trading Victor and Annabelle\u2019s wedding invitations as currency.<\/p>\n But in a city there are many more people than just the high society; there are people who clean bathrooms and wash dishes and run irrigation systems for twelve hours a day, every day. The lower classes did not know what to do with Victor. On the one hand they loathed him, because the high society loved him; but on the other they knew him, with his cheap ties and dark features, as one of them, the lucky one, who had escaped dishwashing on pure talent. After his third fight, with an ancient, nasty bull who had just gored another popular bullfighter and who went down to Victor\u2019s sword like a fish on a hook, it became apparent that his habit of eating the bull\u2019s hearts was not just a gimmick. After the third fight the general populace began attending the bullfights with fake blood smeared across their faces. The muttering about the Baron and his deputies — which had always held at a low roar — swelled. When Victor left the arena after his fourth fight, there was a crowd waiting at the exit, and as he passed the men and small boys saluted like soldiers to their brother. The Baron, when he heard about the fake blood, began having the sporting reports sent directly to him each morning.<\/p>\n <\/br><\/p>\n In the eighth fight Victor\u2019s horse got hamstrung by the bull.<\/p>\n It was an ugly fight to begin with; the bull, a dun with a crooked right horn, charged the holding-pen gate and escaped before the bell, and Victor was sent into the arena with only one foot in the stirrup and his scabbard unbuckled, while the enraged bovine bucked across the dusty floor. His horse kept them away from the bull\u2019s flinging back legs while he settled into a good seat, but he steadied himself only to find he was at a distinct disadvantage tactically: towards the center of the bowl, caught between the bull and the large overhanging box seat where the judge sat. He turned the mare around and backed her, slowly, towards the long wall of the oval arena and pushed against the bull in a series of defensive, though rather aesthetically lacking, gateways, which were more difficult because he was moving the wrong direction for the intended execution of half of them. He had to completely invert one, which voided the movement of his arm of its bird-like effect and looked clumsy and unprofessional.<\/p>\n He reached the wall, and, desperate for the points he knew he had already lost, began his first offensive gateway to his right, where he thought the bull was headed; but the bull, still furious, kicked itself almost completely around its own right hind flank and then swerved left, towards them. The mare sidestepped, but the bull\u2019s straight horn caught her at the back edge of her armor where it had rusted slightly from an old dent, and the horn sank through into her hind leg. She screamed and bucked forward on three legs, out of the path of the bull, who swung around widely to come at them again from the other side. Victor pulled his sword, twisting in the saddle, and shoved it like an axe through the lower part of the bull\u2019s jugular.<\/p>\n <\/br><\/p>\n It was tradition in that country that nobody knew a bullfighter\u2019s horse\u2019s calling-name except the bullfighter himself (the pedigree name was the one published in the lists); the idea was that it would then obey only the rider in the arena, although often it just led to the horse becoming confused about its name. Victor\u2019s horse, which he had raised from a foal, knew her name perfectly, and while the vet pumped her full of painkillers and examined her leg, Victor murmured her name in a low voice like a charm while he stood by her head and stroked her neck.<\/p>\n \u201cNothing broken,\u201d the vet said, straightening up to reach for antibiotics and solvents to clean the gaping wound. \u201cBut the muscle is totally severed, and some tendons. She\u2019ll heal, but she won\u2019t fight again.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cAre you saying that because she won\u2019t fight again, or because the Equinox is in three weeks and you don\u2019t want an idiot bullfighter putting an ideal fighting horse back in the arena before she\u2019s healed?\u201d<\/p>\n The vet smiled, pressing his lips together. \u201cA little of both. It depends on how it heals, and I like to be proven wrong by a good outcome as opposed to a bad one. Either way it will be six months, at least. There may be a fear factor, as well. She may not want to fight again. Odds are not good.\u201d He patted her good hind flank. \u201cShe is an ideal horse. They shouldn\u2019t have sent you in there to fight an escaped bull.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI shouldn\u2019t have been an idiot.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThat was a perfect storm, man. Even the best captains can\u2019t predict those.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThe best captains don\u2019t have to,\u201d Victor said, \u201cbecause they\u2019re not idiots.\u201d He stroked his horse\u2019s nose. \u201cI\u2019m sorry, Selah.\u201d<\/p>\n <\/br><\/p>\n The two days\u2019 drive to Guell took Victor one-and-a-half days by rail; when his train reached the town limits it was dusk, and the walk from the train station with the package under his arm felt long. He kept getting stopped by old acquaintances in the street. Victor was glad to see them and to be home, but anxious to see Annabelle, and he kept his exchanges as short as possible. When he reached the Mayor\u2019s house he started around back, changed his mind, and then rang the front doorbell.<\/p>\n Edward answered the door, and grinned widely to see Victor. \u201cAnnabelle\u2019s getting her hair worked on,\u201d he said. \u201cBut come in and sit down.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI brought her dress,\u201d Victor said, holding the package out with both hands. Edward took it, yelled up the stairs for Annabelle, and set the package on a sofa in the sitting room. \u201cWe\u2019ll give it to them later,\u201d he said, \u201cotherwise it\u2019ll be another three hours before you see Annabelle.\u201d He sat down, and Victor did the same. \u201cI saw about your horse in the paper,\u201d he said. \u201cYou won\u2019t be able to fight her in the Equinox?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNo,\u201d said Victor, \u201cwhich is what I came to speak to Annabelle about.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cOh, well, I wouldn\u2019t worry too much about it,\u201d said Edward, smiling a little, and Victor had to ball his hands into fists to prevent his first response. \u201cThis wedding is turning out to be very entertaining. They\u2019re both too stubborn to back down now. It\u2019s like watching a tiger fight a pit viper.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhich one\u2019s the pit viper?\u201d asked Victor before he could stop himself.<\/p>\n Edward laughed. \u201cYour guess is as good as mine.\u201d<\/p>\n Just then they heard Annabelle on the stairs — \u201cwe\u2019ve tried thirteen different hairstyles already and they\u2019re all equally awful and if I\u2019m subjected to any more hairspray I\u2019ll probably lose half my brain cells\u201d — \u00a0She came through the doorway and saw Victor, who had gotten to his feet. Her eyes lit up and she launched herself across the room at him. He picked her up and kissed her soundly. \u201cHey now,\u201d Edward said lazily. Victor set her back down but she did not let go of him. His whole body relaxed in something like relief at the feel of her hands.<\/p>\n \u201cOh, goodness,\u201d said Edward, \u201clook at the time.\u201d He got up and headed through the swinging door into the kitchen.<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m so glad you\u2019re here,\u201d Annabelle said out of the side of her mouth as Victor went to kiss her again. \u201cI have something to show you.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cIt can wait,\u201d Victor said, and caught her up again, and she kissed him quickly and said, \u201cNo it can\u2019t! Even you\u2019ll think so, when you see it. Come on!\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI don\u2019t think I will,\u201d Victor said, but permitted himself to be dragged by the hand out the back door and towards the garage, where the Mayor\u2019s car was parked outside in the drive.<\/p>\n \u201cWe were going to send it by rail tomorrow,\u201d said Annabelle, producing her housekeys and heading for the side door, \u201cbut this way you can take it with you.\u201d She flipped the outside light on and opened the door; the sudden light outside made it difficult to see when he stepped into the garage, until his eyes adjusted.<\/p>\n It was a horse. A stallion, small and red and obviously bred to fight bulls; Victor felt that if it had been able to wear its lineage on its coat, it would have. With training, it would be a better horse than his had been, and it had probably cost more than he would earn in his entire life.<\/p>\n \u201cFor you,\u201d Annabelle said simply, grinning. Victor didn\u2019t know what to say and so he said nothing, only pulled her close and stared at the horse.<\/p>\n \u201cHow\u2026?\u201d he began.<\/p>\n \u201cI didn\u2019t,\u201d she said. \u201cIt was a wedding present, from the Baron Toldo.\u201d She made a face. \u201cThere\u2019s a letter for you in the house, along with his pedigree.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cFrom the Baron?\u201d Victor asked, but he was already moving towards the horse with a hand outstretched. He patted its neck and looked back at Annabelle. \u201cYou want to be the first to ride him?\u201d<\/p>\n <\/br><\/p>\n On the train back to Veparda, Victor opened the letter from the Baron. He read it twice, then crossed his arms and sat back, the letter on his lap, staring at the floor, until a pair of feet and a cane stopped in front of him. He looked up to see a thin, crooked man with a small grey beard and sharp blue eyes.<\/p>\n \u201cYou are the bullfighter-artiste, are you not?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI am Victor Plebesan,\u201d Victor admitted.<\/p>\n The man smiled slightly. \u201cVery modest of you. May I sit down?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYes,\u201d Victor said, surprised. \u201cOf course.\u201d He sat up and rearranged his possessions to make room in the seat next to him.<\/p>\n The man sat quietly for a moment and then said, \u201cIt is a very good thing, what you are doing in the ring. It is good for this country.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou are a fan of the bullfights?\u201d<\/p>\n The man laughed. \u201cYou could say as much. I am a professor at the university in Veparda.\u201d<\/p>\n Victor nodded. \u201cYou study the art, then.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYes, I study the art. I have not seen a bullfighter like you in, oh, forty years. Since I was a boy. I saw Leopold Krakar fight in \u201924.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou saw the \u201924 Equinox?\u201d Victor\u2019s voice was full of longing.<\/p>\n \u201cNo, the qualifier. My father couldn\u2019t afford the tickets to the Equinox. But even his work in the qualifier was exquisite. He understood the weight of the connections between art and history, and the people and their leaders. It was in every movement of his arm. That was a beautiful time; we had just won the Nine Years\u2019 War, but the people were hungry for another great purpose, and bread. They found it in art, in the bullfighter\u2019s ring, and in scientific progress.\u201d The professor smiled again, sharply. \u201cI spent the rest of my life studying these connections. You do not forget the things that enlarge your heart when you are a boy.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNo,\u201d said Victor softly. \u201cYou don\u2019t.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou know about the protests?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cA little.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThe people are hungry for purpose again,\u201d said the professor, \u201cand they will find it in art and progress, or in war.\u201d He sighed. \u201cI am glad there is another bullfighter to remind them which is better.\u201d He stood up and put his hat on. \u201cGood luck, Victor Plebesan,\u201d he said, and ambled away down the aisle.<\/p>\n Victor watched him go, and then picked up the Baron\u2019s letter for a third time.<\/p>\n Dear Victor,<\/em><\/p>\n Please accept my congratulations on your impending marriage, and the gift of the horse, <\/em>Atlas. There is no horse with a finer pedigree to be found. I was sorry to learn about the loss of your own horse, as I have always been a fan of the bullfights and of the artistry involved, and a friend of the Kantigo family. <\/em><\/p>\n I have been thinking much of the unrest in the provinces and the lower parts of Veparda, and of the upcoming Equinox, and so it is with these thoughts that I offer my support in the form of your horse and partner in the bullfights. I expect you are a man aware full well of the connection of the hearts of the people with the hearts of the bulls and the long history that lies in that connection. I hope you are a man aware full well of the consequences of action, of leadership, and of art. <\/em><\/p>\n Again, my most sincere congratulations and best wishes for your success. I plan to be in attendance at the Equinox, and will be pleased to find you there with <\/em>Atlas should the qualifier favor you.<\/em><\/p>\n Sincerely,<\/em><\/p>\n Baron Toldo<\/em><\/p>\n Victor folded the letter carefully and tucked it into his jacket pocket, where it stayed for the remainder of the journey. <\/em>A small boy across the aisle who had been staring looked away when Victor finally glanced up.<\/p>\n <\/br><\/p>\n \u201cThe Baron,\u201d Emmanuel said. \u201cGave you a horse.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYes,\u201d Victor said shortly, slamming the door to the truck. \u201cAnd expects me to stop eating the hearts of the bulls, or so I think I gleaned from his political meandering.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWill you?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI don\u2019t bloody know,\u201d said Victor. \u201cLook at the horse<\/em>.\u201d<\/p>\n Emmanuel eyed the beast through the slats of the trailer. \u201cIt\u2019s a hell of a horse.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cIt\u2019s the best horse I\u2019ve ever seen. It\u2019s the best horse in the country<\/em>. His great-grandsire was The Luthier, for God\u2019s sake.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou seem upset.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cOf course I\u2019m upset!\u201d Victor said, and kicked the truck wheel viciously, scuffing his shoes.<\/p>\n \u201cYou can\u2019t afford a horse, and now you have the best horse you\u2019ve ever seen. Why are you upset?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cBecause I can afford this kind of horse least of all,\u201d he spat. \u201cThe kind that costs something other than money.\u201d He slumped to the ground and put his head on his knees.<\/p>\n \u201cAh,\u201d said Emmanuel. \u201cBut can you afford to refuse it?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhat do you mean?\u201d said Victor, his voice muffled.<\/p>\n \u201cWell,\u201d Emmanuel said apologetically, \u201cthe Baron is very<\/em> close with the Kantigos. Close enough that a potential member of the family refusing his gift would be a terrible insult.\u201d<\/p>\n Victor groaned in comprehension. \u201cAnd the Mayor hates me already.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cMayor Kantigo has reason to\u2026doubt the wisdom of this particular match for his very beautiful and talented daughter, yes.\u201d<\/p>\n Victor smiled ruefully and looked up. \u201cAre you ever not a diplomat?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cOnly in my secret heart,\u201d said Emmanuel. \u201cWhen nobody who pays me is looking.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhat about Annabelle?\u201d<\/p>\n Emmanuel thought for a moment. \u201cAnnabelle is a wildcard in many ways, and she often plays the devil\u2019s advocate for the Mayor\u2019s political decisions, which is why he values her input so highly and wants to see her succeed politically, as well. But they are her family, and she loves them, and would not want to cut off ties with them, I think.\u201d He frowned. \u201cShe does love you very much. I don\u2019t know about Annabelle.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhat do I do?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI suggest that you qualify for the Equinox using the temporary loan of this magnificent horse. Remove yourself from other matches to continue training it for your personal preferences, thus giving yourself time to think it over while not appearing to lean too heavily one way or the other.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cVery diplomatic.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cQuite.\u201d<\/p>\n <\/br><\/p>\n Victor qualified for the Equinox almost without effort; the qualifier took place in a small suburb on the edges of Veparda and the judge was a local soldier, previously a farmer, who had recently been given a title for deeds in service to the king. The crowd sighed collectively when Victor rode into the arena, his brown uniform and the red coat of Atlas shining in the sun; he spied the tops of small boys\u2019 heads peeking over the walls to watch and dozens of men in the cheap seats with their faces painted in fake blood, and his stomach tightened at what he was about to do. The bull, white and grey in ugly splotches, was lazy and fat and old, and Victor had to pull a series of aggressive gateways to make the bull charge. Atlas responded to every touch of Victor\u2019s knee and pull on the reins, sometimes to their detriment; once or twice Victor shifted his weight for comfort and Atlas, confused, moved in the direction of the shift and put himself in the way of the bull. Victor clamped his teeth together in annoyance and provoked the bull with a railroad gateway, which sent Atlas in a straight line directly at it, and when the bull finally responded he sliced its windpipe and left it to die.<\/p>\n A reporter, who had been dangling his legs into the empty bullpen during the fight, called to Victor as he rode through the fighter\u2019s chute back to the prep rooms, \u201cWhy didn\u2019t you eat the heart?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWasn\u2019t enough heart in that bull to take a bite of,\u201d Victor shot back as he rode by. It was not the whole truth, but it was enough of one that he felt justified. At the awards ceremony the judge gave him the ear and clapped him heartily on the back, and Victor did not smile, and the afternoon sun was in his eyes.<\/p>\n \u201cI shouldn\u2019t have won,\u201d he said on the ride back to the hotel, shaking his head.<\/p>\n Emmanuel replied, \u201cOf course you should have. The bull was no choice of yours.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThat is part of the fight,\u201d said Victor, \u201cand should have been considered.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cSo is the inability of proper consideration by the judges,\u201d countered Emmanuel, and Victor smiled grimly.<\/p>\n \u201cYou\u2019re no fool, Emmanuel, and you know what I mean.\u201d<\/p>\n Emmanuel sighed. \u201cYes.\u201d He looked out the window momentarily, then turned back to Victor. \u201cSo what will you do?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWith the Equinox?\u201d Victor asked. \u201cGod knows.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cHave you spoken to Annabelle?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNo.\u201d<\/p>\n Both of them fell silent; as they passed the gates of the city they also passed large crowds holding signs, some with drawings of bloody hearts painted on them, and nothing else. When he rolled down the window to speak to the guard, Victor saw a man on the edge of the ropes clench his fist and hold it against his heart, his eyes on Victor.<\/p>\n \u201cWhat did that mean?\u201d Victor asked when they had driven through the gates. Emmanuel looked at him blankly and Victor repeated the gesture.<\/p>\n Emmanuel looked surprised, and then carefully rearranged his features to seem impassive again. \u201cThe slogan for these protests is, \u2018The hearts of the bulls are the heart of the people,\u2019\u201d he explained. \u201cThey are protesting the high taxes on cattle ranchers and exportation. They claim the Baron is using it to fund his private military and crushing revenue. Many people have lost their livelihood and the prices for tickets to the bullfights have nearly tripled.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cOh, hell,\u201d said Victor.<\/p>\n <\/br><\/p>\n That night he called Annabelle from the hotel courtesy telephone by the elevators; there was a lag in the connection and her voice was unnaturally loud.<\/p>\n \u201cHow\u2019d it go?\u201d she asked. \u201cMama, I\u2019m on the phone. Yes. Okay.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI made it,\u201d he said, after the conversation on the other end had stopped.<\/p>\n \u201cOh, Victor, I knew you would! That\u2019s wonderful!\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI shouldn\u2019t have,\u201d he said. \u201cThe bull was worse than useless.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cVictor,\u201d she said, \u201cthat\u2019s not the point. The point is to get you into the Equinox. Which you did, which is wonderful!\u201d<\/p>\n Victor ran a finger lightly over the buttons on the phone. \u201cYou\u2019re right,\u201d he said. \u201cThat\u2019s why I started this.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhat\u2019s the matter?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cDo you remember that letter from the Baron?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThe one about Atlas? Do you like the horse? How is he?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThe horse is perfect,\u201d Victor said impatiently, \u201cbut the Baron asked me in the letter not to cut out the hearts of the bulls.\u201d<\/p>\n Annabelle said nothing for a moment. \u201cThat\u2019s ugly.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYes,\u201d Victor agreed.<\/p>\n \u201cDid you do it today?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNo,\u201d said Victor. \u201cOf course, I didn\u2019t.\u201d<\/p>\n She sighed in relief; Victor took a deep breath. \u201cMaybe you shouldn\u2019t fight again before the Equinox,\u201d she said. \u201cAvoid pissing off the Baron.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI already pulled out of those fights.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cOh, good.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNot<\/em> good,\u201d he said. \u201cI need to pay the vet bills for the grey; I had to sell her tack to pay the last one.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019ll wire you some cash today.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThat\u2019s not the problem.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cVictor, don\u2019t be stupid.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cIt\u2019s a little late to hope for that,\u201d he said before he could stop himself.<\/p>\n Her voice went rigid. \u201cWhat does that<\/em> mean?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNothing,\u201d he said. \u201cI\u2019m just frustrated. This is more than I thought I was getting into.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cAll you need to do is get through the Equinox,\u201d she said, soothingly. \u201cThen we\u2019ll have the wedding, and you won\u2019t have to compete anymore if you don\u2019t want to.\u201d<\/p>\n He laughed. \u201cYes, just get through the competition with the best bullfighters in the country, and win it.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou\u2019re the one who acted like it was a given.\u201d Her voice made him imagine her eyes rolling.<\/p>\n \u201cI don\u2019t have any other options now.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m not the one who volunteered you for this.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNo, you only arranged the most expensive wedding this country\u2019s ever seen,\u201d he snapped.<\/p>\n \u201cWell, you don\u2019t have to go to that, either,\u201d she said coldly. He felt sick.<\/p>\n \u201cOf course I\u2019ll be there,\u201d he said. \u201cI just didn\u2019t expect to have to pay for it with my art.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cOh, yes, because your art<\/em> is what made you enter the lists after refusing for, I don\u2019t know, your whole life<\/em>,\u201d Annabelle flared. \u201cIt\u2019s not my<\/em> fault your head\u2019s the size of a cow\u2019s distended uterus and you had to prove you were the greatest bullfighter since Augustori the Great just because of some little comment — \u201d<\/p>\n \u201cAnd it\u2019s not my <\/em>job to make sure you can afford to buy Perclusian silk menstrual rags and throw a wedding with a guest list the size of a small country — \u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou agreed to all of this<\/em>, don\u2019t get mad at me<\/em> because you didn\u2019t check your flank armor properly — \u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYes, I\u2019m so sorry my dead father can\u2019t afford to buy me a brand-new one of whatever my spoiled little heart desires — \u201d<\/p>\n The phone line went dead and Victor looked blankly at the receiver before whipping it against the stone wall, where it split into three useless, jagged pieces.<\/p>\n <\/br><\/p>\n Victor did not sleep well after that; he got up early to train his horse and at night he walked around the city aimlessly. He tried calling Annabelle three different times, and once she came to the phone but they had little to say to each other after they both apologized, stiffly and without feeling. On the fifth night he wandered over to the Veterinarian\u2019s stables where Selah was recovering. He stood outside the glass door looking into the sterile white hallway, but he couldn\u2019t see her. He was interrupted by a flashlight held by the night vet.<\/p>\n \u201cWhat are you doing out on this lovely evening?\u201d she inquired mildly, but with an edge to her voice, and he smiled and stepped away.<\/p>\n \u201cJust came to see if I could see my horse,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n \u201cAh,\u201d she said, relaxing her shoulders in understanding. \u201cWhich one is yours?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThe grey with the gored leg.\u201d<\/p>\n She smiled. \u201cI\u2019d be unnecessarily worried about that one, too.\u201d She pulled out a set of keys. \u201cYou want to go in?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI would,\u201d he said. \u201cIf it\u2019s no trouble.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m not busy,\u201d she said, and opened the door and led him partway down the hallway to a stall on the left, where Selah had limped over to the gate to see about the commotion. He put a hand to her nose. \u201cHey, hey,\u201d he said, and patted her neck with his other hand. \u201cHow is she doing?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cShe\u2019s coming along,\u201d said the vet. \u201cNot as fast as your fans would prefer, I think. But a couple of months and she\u2019ll be good as new, leg-wise.\u201d<\/p>\n He leaned his head to the side in dismissal. \u201cAs long as she\u2019s healing. The other stuff we can work out later.\u201d<\/p>\n She nodded. \u201cI heard you found yourself a horse for the meantime.\u201d<\/p>\n He laughed at that description of Atlas while Selah settled her three-legged stance to enjoy being petted. \u201cI was loaned a horse, with strings tied to the saddle.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI hope you know how to ride without one, then.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cMe too,\u201d he said. He looked at the vet. \u201cThank you.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cAnytime,\u201d she said, and she walked him out in silence. The door shut behind them with a muffled thump.<\/p>\n \u201cThey say you didn\u2019t eat the bull\u2019s heart this last time,\u201d she said, and he swung around to face her.<\/p>\n \u201cNo,\u201d said Victor. \u201cI didn\u2019t.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThe protestors are angry about it, you know. They think you betrayed the cause, that you are supporting the Baron.\u201d<\/p>\n Victor sighed and didn\u2019t say anything.<\/p>\n \u201cI suppose that\u2019s what you mean by strings tied to your saddle.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cHow do you\u2026?\u201d he started to say, and stopped. She raised an eyebrow at him. \u201cWhen you have to put a horse down, for instance,\u201d he said, \u201chow do you decide that\u2019s the right thing to do? When the owner is looking over your shoulder. Or when a little girl is crying about her pony.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI remember what my job is,\u201d said the vet. \u201cOr rather, what it isn\u2019t. I\u2019m an animal doctor, not a magician. My job is to help animals. Sometimes that requires helping them die, even if little girls are crying. Even if they get angry and refuse to pay me.\u201d<\/p>\n Victor nodded. \u201cThank you,\u201d he said again. He went home and slept.<\/p>\n <\/br><\/p>\n On the morning of the Equinox, Victor, out of sheer habit, reached for his shoe polish and a rag. Before he connected with the tin he stopped, letting out a very short and small laugh at himself, and then he put on his dusty shoes and poured himself a cup of coffee. The telephone on the bedside table did not ring.<\/p>\n On the way to the Equinox, Emmanuel drove calmly with perfect posture. They passed crowds of protestors, kept a mile\u2019s radius from the stadium under the guise of safety, but really for the purpose of keeping them away from the cameras. There was a line of purple rope, and armed police, and then the crowd abruptly turned to fans. Some of the fans\u2019 signs bore the bleeding heart of the protestors\u2019 signs, but with Victor\u2019s name underneath. Victor stared out the window and his arms hung uselessly at his sides while his feet tapped the floor of the truck. With every tap a small cloud of dust rose.<\/p>\n \u201cWho is the judge?\u2019 he asked suddenly.<\/p>\n \u201cWhat?\u201d Emmanuel asked, blinking.<\/p>\n \u201cWho is the judge?\u201d Victor asked again, more clearly.<\/p>\n \u201cBaron Toldo,\u201d said Emmanuel, after a pause.<\/p>\n Victor stopped tapping his shoes.<\/p>\n <\/br><\/p>\n The bull Victor drew was young and enormous and black; all of the best bulls had been saved for the Equinox and everyone knew none of the bullfighters would be slighted in the rankings for the bull he drew. Victor sat in the rooms beneath the stands and listened to the muffled roar of the crowd. Every once in a while a boy would run up with a token from Lady Someone-or-other, a handkerchief or a flower or a note, and Victor piled them at his feet without looking at them and waited.<\/p>\n Emmanuel came by when there were only two fights before Victor\u2019s and sat next to him on the bench. \u201cYour shoes are dirty,\u201d he said, staring straight ahead.<\/p>\n \u201cI forgot to shine them,\u201d Victor said. Emmanuel snorted. \u201cIs Annabelle here?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNo,\u201d said Victor. \u201cDo you think they\u2019ve found a stand-in for me at the altar by now?<\/p>\n Emmanuel smiled, the long lines in his face more forgiving than usual in the dim light. \u201cIf they have, I doubt he\u2019ll hold up well in the wash.\u201d<\/p>\n Victor\u2019s smirk spread into a laugh that shook his whole body, and he leaned back against the wall, the tension that had gripped his solid frame for many days finally dissipating.<\/p>\n \u201cWell, then,\u201d said Emmanuel slowly. \u201cIt looks like it\u2019s just you and the bull.\u201d<\/p>\n Victor looked at him, clear-eyed, and smiled.<\/p>\n \u201cThere\u2019s a shoeshine boy by the entrance,\u201d said Emmanuel. \u201cHis prices are exorbitant but I think you could talk him down. Seeing as you\u2019re a bullfighter, and all.\u201d<\/p>\n Victor stood. \u201cYou only said that because no one who\u2019s paying you is looking.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYes,\u201d said Emmanuel. \u201cI am not a bullfighter.\u201d<\/p>\n <\/br><\/p>\n The bull was massive and bellowed continuously. When Victor rode slowly into the arena, the afternoon sun turned the bull\u2019s black coat red. It rushed him immediately and Victor caught it in an elegant opening gateway, herding it directly at the judge\u2019s box before it turned to charge again and he forced it into the first leg of a complex spiral pattern. Victor worked the Baron\u2019s horse in close to the horns, which spanned a distance the length of his own body. His movements were neat and controlled, even after his sword weakened the bull\u2019s neck muscles and the charges grew sloppy and angry. The bull took a long time to die and the crowd was growing restless while Victor worked to cut through the folds and fat deposits to pull out the chicken-sized heart. He held it for a moment, in both hands, while blood leaked from it onto his very clean shoes. Then he looked for the Baron in the judge\u2019s box and sank his teeth into the thickest part of the enormous organ, blood dripping down his chin. He chewed the rubbery flesh, rolling it over his tongue, and spat it out in the dust, and tossed the remainder towards the stands. When he left the arena he left on foot, his chin still bloody, and the very fine horse still standing obediently over the empty carcass of the bull.<\/p>\n <\/br><\/p>\n In the records that year, Victor\u2019s name was listed in third place, with an asterisk beside it and a footnote, detailing the numerous objections filed after the Baron\u2019s fall from power by prominent University historians and philosophers regarding the judge\u2019s decision.<\/p>\n <\/br> Born in the backwoods of the Empire State and sentenced to a lifetime of walking into furniture, HILARY GAN<\/strong> moved to Arizona in 2003 and intends to write her little heart out from that locale evermore. Her work has appeared in Jersey Devil Press<\/em> and The Fiddleback<\/em>; her story \u201cThe Pragmatist\u201d was nominated for a Pushcart Prize and selected as a Million Writers Award Notable Story. She likes dirty blues music, fluffy kittens, and egomaniacs.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Hilary Gan In the town of Guell, in the province of Calana, lived a young bullfighter by the name of Victor. He was of average height but he was very handsome, and when he went striding through the city streets … Continue reading
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