Bull Fighters II

El Guapo was a fast, giant bull. Five-years-old, over five-hundred-kilos, and black as tar. He was a bull to strike feer in anyone, any matador, any torero, even before he had infamy. And with a bullfighter like Perro, now forever attached with El Guapo–and in such ways at that–trepidation in the would-be brave enhanced by countless folds. El Guapo hadn’t fought a man since over a year–since robbing Perro of his eye.

userimageEl Guapo was enjoying the perks of a real champion–and as the absolute rarest of kinds–a bull champion. Bulls tend to last not too long, especially in towns like Padilla, but yet there Guapo was–seemingly there to stay. Guapo was not merely just a bull that was spared, he was now thriving–and had been more than just cared for, he was pampered. Too fearsome to fight with and too noteworthy to slaughter. El Guapo was like a God amongst bulls–never knowing. And, acknowledged or not, El Guapo truly was a champion–Guapo had, after all, won his fight, defeating his challenger–something never supposed to happen but, which can. It had caused for many rumors. And not only in just Padilla. The rumors were big time, passing beyond local interest, and so because, the name involved: Leonardo Perro.

 

Perro. One of the truly elites–one of the very best bullfighters. Lost his own priceless right eye. And in Padilla. Little, old, nothing Padilla. And to El Guapo. El Guapo the bull. Had Perro been the bull and Guapo the man, and Guapo had won, Guapo would be a new local hero–just like Gil Ortega. It was now decades that Padilla was waiting, always hoping for the second-coming of a Gil Ortega, a truly great local-bred bullfighter. Never came in Padilla. The closest thing to a second-coming of Ortega was of course, Leonardo Perro. And Leonardo Perro was not from Padilla. Far from it. Perro was from the city. Just like so many others.

pixel_skyline_silhouette_by_mirz_alt-d3fj8tpIt was an odd spot to be in for the fans in Padilla. Suddenly, their tiny town, the once-always anomaly to just even exist, now found itself a hot-bed in an affair worth heating in bullfighting. Rumors had that Perro, was to seek his revenge on El Guapo, that Perro was to soon make a triumphant return as matador. Most had wanted to see that happen.

 

It was, though, only a rumor–a promising rumor, perhaps–given the expectations in considering the fighter like Perro, but a rumor is a rumor. And there were other, conflicting rumors, too. While the image of Leonardo Perro as a fearless matador was still fresh, still vivid in peoples’ minds, his horrific injury was still remembered, just as well; a decent sum had even felt that Perro would never fight again, that Perro had retired and that, had he not, he’d not dare at least fight El Guapo. Everything which was said, though, which was much and varied was not knowable.

 

It wasn’t too outrageous to think Perro might come back. Perro was perhaps the most ferocious man a bull could be faced with–and that much would be true–of that much, Perro was–but that was just that, though, Perro was a man. A man who had lost his eye to a bull. A man whose own livelihood had depended on every scintilla of his own vision–which, in much good sense was said now cut in half. But rumor had spread about, though, all the same, and above all had that, Perro was plotting  his return. It would seem, that with even the subtraction of one eye, Perro remained worthy in the eyes of fans–if anything, the injury had made Perro be thought as more manly–a testament to the kind of resilience in his celebrity–the year without his presence had passed with much notice. The story of El Guapo was now grander by the day. The legend was becoming. As rumor had it, the reason why El Guapo was named, was Perro had eyes for him–and that, which was said by many, meant to entail that Perro had eyes. For El Guapo.


El Guapo. The bovine.

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