Europa and the Bull

The woman scaled the fence and climbed into the bull pen, despite the old man waving his arms and hollering that she could die.

By way of answer, she draped a wreath of flowers around the beast’s neck.

Old Jim, the hired hand whose job it was to look after the bull, told the Sheriff’s deputy he’d never seen anything like it.

“That bull’s mean as a son-of-a-gun,” said Jim. “But with her, he's docile as a lap dog."

The deputy, an affable young man with no facial hair whatsoever, managed to lure the woman out and escort her down to the jail and book her for trespassing, but bail had been abolished in New York State, so she was set free on her own recognizance.

When Jim arrived at the barn the next morning, he found the woman curled up in the hay, sound asleep, and the bull standing watch.

Jim put a foot on the fence railing as if he was like to climb over. The bull generally tolerated the old man fairly well, but now lowered his head, signaling danger. Jim backed down. The bull charged anyway and rammed his head into the enclosure, snorted, and returned to his vigil.

The deputy came calling, but in Old Jim's estimation, ‘he weren’t much help.’ The deputy's bright idea was to shoot the bull, which would yield some fine steaks. By the gleam of his broad smile, Jim could see the young man was pleased with himself.

"Well, son, that's a prize bull, cost my employer around $500,000, and my job is to keep the creature thriving, not turn it into Happy Meals."

“Half a million?” said the deputy. “That’s a lot of bull.” He snorted at his own joke, but sobered at the old man's dour expression. The deputy turned in a complete circle, noticing for the first time the perfectly manicured acres of lawn that stretched as far as the eye could see, and the imposing mansion in the distance. His Adam’s apple bobbed. “Half a million,” he gulped. “That’s a lot of scratch-off tickets.”

“What did she say when you arrested her?”

“Nothing.”

“On the drive to the station, she must ‘a said somethin’.”

The deputy toed the ground. “Guess I did most of the talking. She’s a good listener.” He toed the ground some more. “I could see those green eyes in the rear view mirror, so serene.” He snapped his fingers. “When they did the intake.” The deputy tapped his forehead, recalling. “She gave her name as Europa something-or-other. Smith? or Jones? One of those ordinary, unmemorable names.”

Smith was Jim’s last name, but he doubted the deputy knew that. Old Jim glanced at the young officer’s nameplate. Emile Klinger. What sort of a name was Emile.

“No I.D,” said Emile. “Ran the name, nothing. Ran her fingerprints – no record. Sometimes you see that. Somebody who’s outside the system. No social security number, so maybe they never had a job, or got paid under the table.”

“That’s how they got Capone. Tax evasion.” Jim spat in the dirt, but there was no substance to it as he’d given up the chaw some time ago on doctor’s orders. “Anyway, I don’t see how she has the right to trespass.”

“Her day in court will come and if she doesn’t show, they’ll convict her for failure to appear,” said Emile. “Not much jail time with that, but going forward, she’ll have a record. If that's any consolation."

The old man assured him it wasn't.

The days passed and the woman stayed. Now Jim had another problem on his hands: Emile. The deputy spent every daylight hour leaning on the railing, gazing at the woman or calling out to her, trying to engage her in conversation without prompting the bull to charge the fence.

“Aren’t you on duty?” said Jim.

Emile shrugged. “To be a deputy in this neighborhood is to be bored out of your skull.”

Old Jim had to admit the woman was a beauty, even if he disapproved at how unkempt her long black hair was and the fact that she went barefoot. She had good bones, tall and slender, a fine sculptured face, and long, graceful hands and feet that showed beneath her white cotton dress—but that didn’t make her a princess. You often saw the finest features on folks who lived in shanties with dirt floors.

Old Jim thought of calling the muckety-mucks at the Sheriff’s office, but he dreaded they’d send another bonehead who’d want to shoot the bull and rescue the damsel. In any case, she didn’t seem to be in too much distress. Jim couldn’t figure out how she was sustaining herself, until finally he did.

“The kitchen staff’s noticed food missing at the house,” Jim told Emile. “Would they keep her in jail for that? If she were caught in the act?”

“Not with the bail reform. No jail time till she’s found guilty by a jury of her peers. And the courts are running behind because of the virus.”

“Her peers? And who might that be?” said Jim. “The mentally impaired?”

“She's innocent until proven guilty,” said Emile. He gazed at the woman a while longer, then said, “You think she’s stealing into the house at night?”

“This woman shows up with no visible means of sustaining herself and suddenly food’s missing from the kitchen. Two and two. Put ‘em together.”

Emile pulled the old man aside and said in a low voice, “I know we pride ourselves in not having to lock our doors around here, but tell the kitchen staff to lock the doors tonight.”

“They’re gonna wonder why.”

“They don’t know about her?” said Emile.

Old Jim shook his head. “Part of my job is keeping worries off my employer’s plate.”

“Just get it done,” said Emile. “Lock her out, and I’ll take care of the rest.”

He departed in his patrol car, though it was only mid-morning. Lately, he hung around till sundown, and only headed home cause Jim told him to leave.

Old Jim placed three breeding cows in the pen next to the bull’s and left the connecting gate open, but to his certain knowledge, the bull showed no interest. Now this was a problem. When you’ve spent a half million bucks on a bull, you expect said bull to earn his keep. Getting this “Europa” to move on was now a matter of urgent concern.

There was another worrisome change in the bull. At night, the beast spent hours with his head tilted sideways, like he was gazing at the stars. Normally, Jim would not have witnessed the behavior, as he tended to knock off at an early hour to indulge in his favorite pastime: lounging in his La-Z-Boy with a cold brew and the TV remote control. But lately he’d become worried about the whole Europa situation, so he’d begun to check on the animal at random hours. Was the bull gazing, or was he listening? Hard to tell.

Just before dark, the deputy showed up with two card tables, tablecloths, candles and a 5-course meal. He set it up in the middle of the lawn, halfway to the kitchen, planning to intercept the young lady as she made her nightly maraud for victuals.

“Looks to me like you’re planning more wooing than arresting.”

“We need to have a conversation," said Emile. "This is a conversation starter.”

It was a warm summer night and a full moon.

“I should have brought fairy lights,” said Emile with a tone of regret one might reserve for more dire life events.

Old Jim caught himself feeling sympathy for the young'un, who had gone all out with the fancy dinner. Whatever the Bunsen burners were heating in those chafing dishes smelled awfully good. The kid even had champagne cooling in a bucket, and a couple of ornate glasses.

They waited and waited. It was getting late, and no sign of their quarry.

“Think I might have a bite of whatever it is you’re Bunsen burnering?”

“You should go on home,” said Emile. “Fact is, your presence here might have scared her off.”

The situation was ridiculous, and Jim realized he shouldn’t have let it go this far.

“Now look--” Old Jim began, but right then they caught sight of something coming towards them across the vast expanse of lawn. It was moving slowly but steadily, and because it was twilight and the light was playing tricks, neither of them could translate the strange shape into something known.

As the shape drew closer, they realized it was the woman riding the prize bull, not astraddle, but sidesaddle, the way ladies used to ride. Dainty like.

About a 100 feet away from the men, the bull stopped and stared at them and the dinner set-up blocking the way. He took a few more steps and stopped again, stared some more. Europa glided off his back like liquid. The bull lowered his head.

Old Jim and Emile had only a few brief moments to register they were in danger. They dove to either side of the table just before the bull hooked his head under it and sent it flying, along with all five courses and the champagne. Both men kept running, as they were unprotected on the great expanse of lawn with no tree to climb or bush to take shelter behind. By the time the men stopped running and turned around to take stock, the bull and the woman riding him were nothing but a silhouette shrinking on the horizon.

The men regrouped over the trashed remains of the beautiful dinner. The candles had been extinguished, but the moon provided plenty of light.

“What’s beyond that hill?” cried Emile, his voice hoarse from the fright he'd suffered.

Old Jim, dazed at the fact that a half million dollars had just disappeared over the horizon, said, “The Hudson River.”

“Is it fenced?”

It was, Jim was sure, but truth be told, he hadn’t ventured that far in quite some while.

“Get your car,” croaked Old Jim, and the deputy took off towards the barn like it burned his feet to touch the ground.

The silence was oppressive while Jim waited. He righted one of the chafing dishes, plucked a fork from the lawn, and scarfed down some white fish in sauce that was bona fide delicious. The champagne bottle was intact, so he popped the cork, releasing a sound of celebration that was out of step with the occasion. He chug-a-lugged a few swigs directly from the bottle.

The deputy’s patrol car came screaming across the lawn, leaving ruts. How will I explain that, thought Jim. He hopped in the passenger seat, still clutching the champagne.

“Put on your seatbelt, old man.”

Jim complied, and Emile hotrodded to the far end of the property. What they saw shook their insides. The prettified wooden fence was not meant to restrain livestock. It had been reduced to splinters where the bull had broken through. Walking over to investigate, it was clear the beast had trampled a path through the thick vegetation down the slope to the water.

From their lofty perch, they could see the Hudson River below, and in the moonlight, they could just make out the shape of the bull, swimming out to sea with Europa on his back.

“We'll get the Coast Guard to intercept--” began the deputy, when Jim tugged his sleeve and pointed. The bull lifted off the water, and with Europa still on his back, took off flying into the air. The men witnessed the silhouette of his wings against the moon.

“We've got to work out a story,” said Jim. “Cause what just happened didn't happen. You hear?”

The old man and the young deputy stood watching until there was nothing to see, and they shared the champagne, passing the bottle back and forth between them till it was empty.