Bulls Stories

Joe Butler was a wildlife biologist who worked for the tribe. He was from back east somewhere. Joe was a bearded bachelor who lived at the end of Gunzler lane, where he built a unique house. The only side of his house that wasn’t buried within a range-land hill was the east side. Plate glass windows, shaded by a gable, looked out upon the sun rising behind the Mission Mountains every morning. The dry range grasses and sag...

(with apologies to 'Papa' Hemingway)In a clean, well-lighted place out of the rain, the man and woman drank wine. The wine was good. They ate the testicles of a young bull that had bravely faced death in the afternoon. Both were good.Back in their room, he went to her breasts. Her breasts were there, and good."You were good," she said."De nada," he said, and left. It had been good.They met no more.Each died alone--in the...

“What’s happening in San Andres today?" Claire asked. "It's the patron saints day of the pueblo, Sand Andres de la Cal."  "Take us with you this time," Claire pleaded. “I want to show the girls the washing troughs and shower room you had built.” “It's not like a village fete in Dorset, Claire, these people are very rough. They’ll be showing their skills breaking in horses, and how brave they are riding a bulls. It's very...