the man said as he turned and walked away. “I remember the night it happened. Police were everywhere. All those damned sirens. Well, you try to have a nice day, okay...”
The stranger was now unlocking his apartment, most likely greeting his family, and in the distance, Tamara was speeding away as fast as she could. Blair however stared at the doorway of what had been Darren’s quarters. She now noticed there were no drapes and no lights on inside.
Shaking, she withdrew into her own apartment with tears streaming down her face. Only this time, they were not from the effects of a sexual spanking.
Once again, she was alone.
Chapter Two
The El Toreo
San Luis Rio Colorado was a Mexican border town south of Yuma, Arizona. The famed bullring there, constructed with concrete and seating 5000, had seen better days. In fact, the historic structure was slated for demolition. Out with the old and in with the new, as the grounds the stadium stood on would be used to house a church of all things, with evangelicals buying the property, and a new ring being built by a different party on the outskirts of the city, heading toward El Golfo.
The old caretaker recognized the women approaching him right away. She had aged well and was no longer young, but not as old as him or the bullring.
“So, it is true?” she asked from the distance. “They’re tearing down the El Toreo?”
The old man nodded, partially in greeting and partially in response to her question.
“Yes, matadora. How are you?”
“Fine, Rafael,” the woman answered. “How are you this day?”
The two embraced, but as they did, the woman’s eyes drifted upward to one of the murals above her. This was the unique design of the El Toreo. Before each entrance was a mural depicting a famous matador from the past.
“Well, I should have expected it, too much for them to put one up of me,” she quipped.
“Yes, matadora,” Rafael responded. He was using the proper title for a female matador.
“Call me Angela,” she replied with her eyes still nailed to the image above her. “You have always been too formal.”
The old man released his grip, and he also gazed upward. Above him, the sad face of Joselito looked downward, seeming to absorb the scene with its painted eyes. This man had never appeared in San Luis Rio Colorado, nor was it likely he even knew it existed. He had been killed in 1920, long before the ring was built, yet being one of the greatest of all time, it just seemed obligatory for him to be included among the murals.
“They never put Mariano up there either,” Angela noted. “So maybe I shouldn’t complain. He should be up there. He deserves a spot.”
“Why?” the old man snorted. “So it could be torn down with the rest of the ring!”
Together they continued to gaze upward at Joselito, who had lived and died for the bulls. They both knew he had not been the only one.
“They do have the plaque to Mariano,” the old man muttered. “He wasn’t up on the murals because he came along after the bullring and the paintings were created. Just like you.”
A gust of wind swept up, as if Joselito’s ghost floated about the ring in which he had never appeared, assembling the dead from near and far to mourn the loss of the El Toreo that was destined to come.”
“I had some great afternoons here,” Angela whispered in reflection. “I trained here as well. I learned with Mariano. I loved him. I am sure that you know.”
“You never married either,” Rafael answered, with his eyes still transfixed by Joselito’s painted visage. “I don’t suppose one replaces the love of a lifetime?”
Angela shook her head.
“I went on without him and the bulls were my life. I was lucky enough to become famous and retire though, wasn’t I? I beat all the odds. I was a woman in a man’s world. I was an American in a Latino culture. I was as good as any man on the sand. I did it all in his memory. All of it.”
Rafael finally shifted from
The stranger was now unlocking his apartment, most likely greeting his family, and in the distance, Tamara was speeding away as fast as she could. Blair however stared at the doorway of what had been Darren’s quarters. She now noticed there were no drapes and no lights on inside.
Shaking, she withdrew into her own apartment with tears streaming down her face. Only this time, they were not from the effects of a sexual spanking.
Once again, she was alone.
Chapter Two
The El Toreo
San Luis Rio Colorado was a Mexican border town south of Yuma, Arizona. The famed bullring there, constructed with concrete and seating 5000, had seen better days. In fact, the historic structure was slated for demolition. Out with the old and in with the new, as the grounds the stadium stood on would be used to house a church of all things, with evangelicals buying the property, and a new ring being built by a different party on the outskirts of the city, heading toward El Golfo.
The old caretaker recognized the women approaching him right away. She had aged well and was no longer young, but not as old as him or the bullring.
“So, it is true?” she asked from the distance. “They’re tearing down the El Toreo?”
The old man nodded, partially in greeting and partially in response to her question.
“Yes, matadora. How are you?”
“Fine, Rafael,” the woman answered. “How are you this day?”
The two embraced, but as they did, the woman’s eyes drifted upward to one of the murals above her. This was the unique design of the El Toreo. Before each entrance was a mural depicting a famous matador from the past.
“Well, I should have expected it, too much for them to put one up of me,” she quipped.
“Yes, matadora,” Rafael responded. He was using the proper title for a female matador.
“Call me Angela,” she replied with her eyes still nailed to the image above her. “You have always been too formal.”
The old man released his grip, and he also gazed upward. Above him, the sad face of Joselito looked downward, seeming to absorb the scene with its painted eyes. This man had never appeared in San Luis Rio Colorado, nor was it likely he even knew it existed. He had been killed in 1920, long before the ring was built, yet being one of the greatest of all time, it just seemed obligatory for him to be included among the murals.
“They never put Mariano up there either,” Angela noted. “So maybe I shouldn’t complain. He should be up there. He deserves a spot.”
“Why?” the old man snorted. “So it could be torn down with the rest of the ring!”
Together they continued to gaze upward at Joselito, who had lived and died for the bulls. They both knew he had not been the only one.
“They do have the plaque to Mariano,” the old man muttered. “He wasn’t up on the murals because he came along after the bullring and the paintings were created. Just like you.”
A gust of wind swept up, as if Joselito’s ghost floated about the ring in which he had never appeared, assembling the dead from near and far to mourn the loss of the El Toreo that was destined to come.”
“I had some great afternoons here,” Angela whispered in reflection. “I trained here as well. I learned with Mariano. I loved him. I am sure that you know.”
“You never married either,” Rafael answered, with his eyes still transfixed by Joselito’s painted visage. “I don’t suppose one replaces the love of a lifetime?”
Angela shook her head.
“I went on without him and the bulls were my life. I was lucky enough to become famous and retire though, wasn’t I? I beat all the odds. I was a woman in a man’s world. I was an American in a Latino culture. I was as good as any man on the sand. I did it all in his memory. All of it.”
Rafael finally shifted from
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