Jaime and Raquel picked me up shortly before noon, which was usually the way in Spain. I did not know of many people who left to go to a meeting before the appointed time. Francisco’s cortijo was just outside of Ronda so we got there at about quarter past twelve. The driveway was long and wound through large fields dotted with the black bodies of toros bravos . The fencing was not pretty but definitely sturdy and very high. Made of wire it was topped by rolls of barbed wire. Fernando was waiting for us in front of the main building. A huge elaborately carved wooden door with heavy black hardware was at his back, the entrance into the courtyard of his house. The house itself was the color of sand, with a roof of red tiles. It was astoundingly beautiful. But I seemed to have forgotten how dazzling Fernando himself was.
He greeted us with a wide grin on his face, his black hair glossy as a bull’s hide, his eyes twin pools of coffee and the skin on his face smooth and tan. His lips brushed my cheeks and he said quietly:
“I’m glad to see you, rubia.”
People had called me rubia, blondie, all my life and yet hearing it from his lips gave me an odd thrill. I was beginning to realize that I might have serious feelings for this man who was practically a stranger to me.
After Fernando had greeted Jaime and Raquel he asked us if we wanted to take a tour of the place before or after drinks.
“What do you prefer?” Jaime asked politely.
“If I may, I would suggest we take the tour first and then sit down to eat and drink to our hearts’ content,” Fernando said with a smile still on his face.
“Is Luis not here today?” asked Jaime, looking around as if he could find him lurking behind a tree.
“No,” answered Fernando. “He had some family business to attend to so we are meeting up in Sevilla.”
The four of us climbed into Fernando’s open top Jeep, Jaime and Raquel in the backseat, I in the passenger seat. Fernando did not believe in hanging about and took off down the track at an impressive clip. We bumped up and down in our seats, laughing out loud. We did not go back down the driveway but instead headed deeper into the ranch’s property, through fields filled with enormous black fighting bulls, the humps of charging muscle on their shoulders shivering to rid themselves of the flies that tried to rest on their hides. Fernando stopped the Jeep at the top of a hill and we got out. From here we could see the whole ranch. The view was stunning and I leant against the Jeep, taking it all in.
“How many head of cattle do you have?” Jaime asked.
“About sixty, including erales (two year olds) and utreros (three year olds),” Fernando answered. “I have two fine seed bulls and 24 breeding cows.”
“Do the seed bulls live with the cows?” I asked.
“Most of the time,” Fernando answered. He put an arm casually around my shoulder and pointed into the distance. “That pasture is where the seed bulls and cows live.”
I followed his finger and peered at some black specks on the horizon.
“Come, let’s go and see them,” Fernando said, hopping back in the Jeep.
We followed suit and bounced back down the track for a good fifteen minutes until we reached the field that we had seen from afar. The seed bulls, being older than the novillos I has seen in Cortes de la Frontera, seemed impossibly huge to me. I must have turned a tad pale at the sight of them because Fernando put his arm around me again. This time I leant into him just the tiniest bit. I didn’t think he would notice but his hand slid from my shoulder to my arm and he pulled me against his side. It felt like my legs might give out and I closed my eyes for a second to ward off the sensation of lightheadedness.
No comments:
Post a Comment