The return

It was a sizzling hot day. The overheated streets of Granada were empty. Only rare passing taxis disturbed the silence, leaving clouds of raised dust behind. Slowly, Vasio climbed up the street. His shirt was creased and covered with dust. Drops of sweat showed through on his neck. Vasio had already regretted his decision to save money on a taxi. From the railway station to the hotel where he was going to stay it was only a couple of kilometers, but the heat and the steep streets left him completely out of breath.

The old hotel met him with silence. There was almost no one, except a half-asleep concierge and dormant fat flies. After registering and picking up his light suitcase, Vasio walked up to the top floor where his room was. The staircase was old and creaked at every step. At the top of the stairs Vasio stopped. Two corridors went in different directions. Right in front of him on the wall there was a large painting made in bright Andalusian colors with a label saying, ‘Young matador and the defeated bull’. Dressed in the gold-embroidered "traje de luces ", gracefully stretched, a matador gazed victoriously towards the spectators and the presidente in anticipation of approval and the trophies "dos orejas y rabo ". At his feet, on the ground covered with blood, a huge bull lied lifelessly.

Vasio stared at the picture for a long time. Something inside him responded with sadness and fatigue. Vasio moved on. He needed a shower and something to eat after a long journey. Then he was going to finish off working on a plan for the upcoming deal tomorrow.

The company where Vasio worked for the last 21 years was a major trading house. Vasio was commissioned by the company to look for new clients for goods imported from China. Competition on the market grew every year, but the percentage that Vasio received from the deals didn’t seem to grow at all.

As he entered his room, Vasio wearily placed his suitcase onto a big desk and opened it. On the top of the neatly folded clothes resided a thick folder of business papers, and immediately underneath it there was a shabby notebook in an old leather binding. Not looking at the business papers, Vasio pulled out the notebook, opened it on a blank page, and stood over it for a while thinking about something, then slammed it shut it with a sense of disappointment and emptiness. He moved business papers and the notebook to the desk and dug out a fresh shirt and underwear from the suitcase.

In a clouded bathroom mirror he saw himself. Gray faded eyes, rather dry tanned skin, fine deep wrinkles around the eyes, and a wiry red beard sticking out in all directions composed the reflection of Vasio’s face. He looked 50 years old though he was still a couple of months away from his 40th birthday.

The shower and the clean shirt refreshed Vasio but did not bring the energy back. On a chair by the window Vasio tried to think about the upcoming deal. He thought about it all the way to Granada but could not find the right points he needed for the negotiation. A sense of anxiety gripped Vasio – his last three deals were terminated under the pressure of competitors and another failed deal would mean he could lose the job. He thought of how firmly he used to stand on his feet, and how freely he breathed, and how the time, which always been so kind to him, began to stick short spears of small failures in his back. With a sense of longing and fear for tomorrow, Vasio sunk into the sleep, and when he woke up, dusk had already fallen.

Still feeling fuzzy from the sleep, Vasio got up from the chair and walked to the desk where he had left the notebook. He wanted to write at least something. A swarm of vague words buzzed in his head like a swarm of bees, and the muttering voices that whispered something unclear in his ears made him feel sick. To shake it off, he resolutely packed the notebook and a pencil into his pocket and left the room. He was hungry and needed to find a place to eat.

There was still no one on the street. As he walked up a block and crossed an intersection, he spotted a small bar hiding on the corner after an old dark chapel. The warm glow of the light coming through the windows of the bar and hum of the voices gave Vasio strength. He accelerated his pace.

Last hundred meters and Vasio reached the bar entrance. Suddenly he felt the urge to look back. He turned and froze stunned. In the descending darkness, right on the intersection where he came from, there was a huge figure of an animal. The remarkably large size horns and wide torso did not leave a doubt – black as the night, the bull looked at Vasio without blinking. Vasio's heart dropped. In a panic, he turned around looking for someone to help or at least to witness his vision. But there was no one. At a catch of a breath Vasio grabbed the handle of the entrance door and jerked it desperately. The door opened. But before he disappeared into the depths of the bar, he caste his last glance on the intersection. The bull was gone. The dark intersection was empty.

The bar was lively and crowded. A barkeeper joked behind the counter making two young women to burst out in laughter. Some tables were occupied by couples and some by groups of people talking loudly. In the furthest corner of the bar, a bunch of inebriated patrons argued about something. As Vasio looked around and calmed down he ordered a large sandwich and a pint of beer. In the relaxed and playful atmosphere of the bar Vasio’s fear faded and a sense of curiosity took its place. Strangely, he now wanted to know whether the bull was still there. With the sandwich and the beer in his hands he walked to a lonely table by the window that overlooked the intersection. The dark street and the intersection were empty. Vasio sat down and waited but nothing was happening. Then, feeling his pocket, Vasio drew the notebook out on the table and opened it again. He wanted to describe his vision. A black bull and an empty street. He sipped some more beer and set to work. The pencil began to slide slowly across the page and the words laid in a neat pattern. Absorbed in writing Vasio didn’t immediately notice the sound of an approaching hum from the street. It was getting louder. He stopped writing and listened eagerly. Soon, the noise of the stomping hooves flooded the street, but no one else in the bar seem to notice. Vasio could not bear sitting any longer. Having forgotten about the beer and the sandwich, he jumped up, nervously grabbed his notebook, and ran out of the door into the street.

A bizarre view opened to him. Huge black shadows slid along the walls, but there was nothing to cast them. In their contour he could recognise what they were. He gasped. They flowed along the street hovering over the pavement, rushing somewhere forward, into the darkness. Another moment, and everything disappeared.

As if in a daze, Vasio walked forward, following the direction where the shadows disappeared. He passed one or two blocks, turned left, then turned right, being drawn by an invisible power. Enchanted, he kept wandering through the city oblivious to the time, until the moment he found himself standing against the hotel entrance. He was jolted from his trance. Confused and tired he thought ‘I just need a good sleep’. He went up to his room and without taking his clothes off slumped onto the bed and fell asleep.

It is a hot day. The withering sun is drying out the land. In the shade of a lone tree, I am bending over my notebook. The sun is so bright – it makes me squint in the shade. The air is dry - I crave water. But I pay no attention to it. I peer into the horizon and wait. Wait for a distant sound. My heart is pounding, but the valley is silent.

Flies buzz incessantly around my face and hands. I ignore them. Time has stopped, at least it feels like it.

Finally, in the distant skyline, a cloud of dust appears. Hundreds of animal silhouettes emerge from the horizon. Hundreds of wide backs blaze through the land. Hundreds of hooves plough through the ground. Their eyes spark, reflecting the sky.

I am rejoicing. I can no longer sit under the tree. I jump to my feet and run towards the wild herd. Instinctively. Without hesitation or fear. Nothing more to ponder about. In a moment the river of powerful bodies engulfed me, seized me, and carried me away.

Now I run with them. Blood is pumping through my body. Alongside the animal athletes, I move with a strange new force. I feel the beating of their hearts in my chest as the animal spirit courses through me. I hear my own hooves pounding. Furious breathing, foaming mouth, eyes raised to the horizon.

We will gallop until the sun, enormous and white, swallows us - the land, the lone tree, the bulls, and myself.

Morning came. The concierge knocked the door. Not receiving an answer to the knocking, he opened Vasio’s room. A dusty shirt hung on the chair and a neat pile of the business papers lay folded on the top of the desk.

The place where Vasio had his notebook was empty, as was Vasio’s bed.

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