Toro! Toro!

“That calf has to drink, and soon,” he told me, “or he won’t live. And he won’t be able to drink unless she stands up.”

I joined in now, screaming at the cow to get up, slapping her, jumping up and down, but still she couldn’t do it. She was stretched on her side now, completely exhausted by her efforts.

“Only one thing for it,” said Father. Crouching down beside her, he stripped some milk from her udder into a bucket. Then he poured it into a bottle with a teat on it, lifted the calf’s head and dribbled the milk down his throat until at last he suckled. All the time though, he was struggling against it, fighting the bottle, fighting Father.

“We’ve got a brave one here,” said Father. “I’ll hold him, Antonito. You feed him.” And he handed me the bottle.

So there I was, feeding the calf myself. I talked to him as I fed him, and he was calmer at once. I told him how beautiful he was, how he was going to be the finest bull in all of Spain. He sucked, and as he sucked, his eyes looked into mine and mine into his, and I loved him. After a while Father had no need to hold him any more. I told Father he should be called Paco, and Father said that it was a fine and proper name for such a brave bull. But I could see Father was becoming more and more anxious about Paco’s mother. She was weakening all the time. Despite his best efforts, it was only a couple of hours later that she breathed one last sigh and died. In that one night I had witnessed my first birth and my first death.

THE DANCE (#ulink_602f6093-ea2e-5b86-a51c-18f0fd700191)

Paco was soon up and on his feet. I stayed there, crouched in a corner, to witness his first staggering steps. Every few hours after that we would go to the barn to feed him. I found I had to get on to an upturned bucket, otherwise he couldn’t suck properly from the bottle. I’d stand up there, wave the bottle at him and call him over to me. After only a couple of days I didn’t even need to do that. As soon as I opened the door into the barn he’d come trotting over, and he’d suck so strongly that it was all I could do to hold on to the bottle. Worse still, if the teat became blocked, if he couldn’t drink the milk down fast enough, he would become impatient with me and butt suddenly at the bottle as if he wanted to swallow it whole, and the bottle would end up on the barn floor.

To begin with, Father or Mother or Maria would always be there with me. Maria said it looked easy and insisted on having her turn. To my great delight Paco went wild on her and butted her up the bottom. She never asked to feed him again. They very soon realised that with me Paco was always gentle, that I could manage him well enough on my own. After that, they just left me to it, which suited me fine.

I remember those days playing mother to Paco as the happiest of my young life. Paco followed me everywhere. I’d tie a rope round his neck and take him for walks up into the cork forests. I didn’t have to drag him – not that I could have anyway, for he was already far too strong for me. He just seemed to follow along naturally. He was forever nudging me to remind me he was there, or to remind me it was feeding time – again. The two of us became quite inseparable.

Then one morning, after no more than a couple of weeks, it was over. Mother tried to explain to me why it had to end.

“You’ve done a fine job, Antonito,” she said. “Your father’s very proud of you, and so am I. No one could have given Paco a better start in life, no one. But if he’s to make a proper bull, a bull fit for the corrida, then you mustn’t handle him any more. No one must. We’d be gentling him too much. He’s got to grow up wild. It’s what Paco was born for, you know that.”

I didn’t. I had no idea what she was talking about, and cared less. All I cared about was that Paco was being taken away from me.

“And besides,” she went on, “he’ll be better off with a cow for a mother. Father’s picked out just the right one for him. She’s got a calf of her own, but she’s still got lots of milk to spare – more than enough for Paco. It might take a day or two for the cow to accept him, but Father’ll see to that. Paco will be fine, don’t you worry.”

I argued of course, but I could see it was hopeless. It was Father himself, chewing on his bread that lunchtime, who had the last say. When it came to the farm and the animals, Father always had the last say. “From now on, Antonito,” he was pointing his knife at me, “you keep away from him, you understand, or else he’ll be no use to anyone. Keep away. You hear me now?”

It was the end of my world.

I cried for long hours in my room, and for at least a couple of days refused any food I was offered. I made up my mind I hated Father and Mother, that I would never speak to them again and that I would run away with Paco as soon as I could. I confided only in Maria. Without her I honestly think I might have starved myself to death. She took me out to see Paco in the corral with his nurse mother. I watched him frisking about with his new-found brother and all the other calves. She assured me that Paco was happy.

“That is what you want, isn’t it?” she said. “Look at him. Doesn’t he look happy to you?” I couldn’t deny it. “Well then,” she went on. “If he’s happy, then you should be happy, too.”

So it wasn’t the end of the world after all. I decided Paco and I wouldn’t need to run away. I decided instead that I would see Paco from time to time, but in secret.

Not quite in secret though, for Maria was my accomplice, my stooge. We’d wait until the coast was clear, until both Mother and Father were busy in the house or on the other side of the farm. Then we’d steal out to Paco’s corral. Maria would keep watch and I’d stand on the fence and call him over.

I was fearful at first that he might have forgotten me. I needn’t have worried. Whatever he was doing he’d come trotting over at once and lick my hand. I think he must have liked the salty taste of it. I’d let him suck on it like a teat and he loved that. It didn’t seem to matter to him that no milk came out. Sucking was enough, and when Paco sucked he sucked hard. By the time he’d finished, my hand was raw, but I didn’t mind. The other calves would be milling around but I wouldn’t let them have even a taste. My hand was for Paco only. Once or twice his nurse mother came wandering over and shook her horns at me, but I always kept on my side of the fence and she soon lost interest.

I’d spend all the hours I could on that fence just talking to Paco, scratching his head and having my hand sucked off. Maria was forever fearful of discovery, and kept badgering me to come away. But luckily, Father and Mother never did find out about our secret meetings, not then, not ever.