Olé, Benito

Benito del Salzillo was born prematurely, sanguine, with the wrinkled skin of a lizard and without privilege. He grew up short in stature and dependent on anise since he was treated for toothache. In his village he was always known as something of a devil, for when he was six years of age he climbed to the very top of the tallest tree of the cemetery to see if the dead were moving. ‘Anise of the monkeys!’, he would shout wherever he went. The nickname of monkey stuck.

The television at home was black and white and had only one channel, which broadcasted the bullfight and a few documentaries by Félix Rodríguez de la Fuente. Curious Benito! But he was never educated. He learned numbers with the remote and was never taught to read. When they ran out of anise, his parents sold the set in order to buy more. Bored Benito! He went out into the streets to play bullfight with the statues, armed with a blanket for a cape and a broken bottle for a sword.

Silly Benito! These are not my words, but those of the villagers when they saw him with his mouth looking upwards trying to provoke the statue of an ox. ‘Hey, bull!’ The monument was motionless. ‘Hey, bull!’ His groin stuck out as if he was about to urinate. He spent a few days playing with the cows in the fields. ‘White milk!’ Benito realized that anise was better if mixed. Weeks after he went for the heifers, who were thin like skeletons, and who chased the blanket when he set on them with a stick. ‘Hey, bull!’ He cried, hand on hip. ‘Hey, Benito!’ the ranchers cried infuriated, running towards him.

Benito’s effervescent adolescence glowed from his ruddy cheeks; he started growing, but very slightly. One day, when he was walking towards the nearest village he was drawn to the indifferent black bulls as blackbirds perched on their backs. ‘So much black!’ Benito exclaimed running down the slope.

He was red with virulence when a rejoneador from Jaén found him. ‘Hey, bull!’ his lips inflated looking towards the sky. ‘Hey, bull!’ bathing his injuries with anise. The rejoneador mounted him on the black mane white horse of his when he saw his talent. ‘Brave little man, you’ve got what it takes!’ he told him excitedly.

Benito appeared on the bull ring the following year. ‘Village idiot!’ cried those from the village, astonished when they saw him. Among cheers and applause they celebrated Benito’s art. ‘Gallant Benito!’ He looked dashing in his tight matador’s outfit, armed with sword and cape (with anise bottles hidden behind the coverts). ‘Hey, bull!’ The red scars on his face were full of insolence. ‘Hey, bull!’ his groin was protracted with cockiness. ‘Daring Benito!’ The bull bled upon the ground. ‘Olé, Benito!’ The bullfighter waved the beast’s two severed ears to the audience.

Benito del Salzillo died prematurely, sanguine, with a horn dug into his spleen. ‘Poor Benito!’ As he bled, he asked to be buried high up, to see if the dead were moving. ‘Anise of the monkeys!’ He latched onto a bottle for one last sip, his lips purple, his penis limp. ‘So much black!’ he exclaimed with his dying breath.

Translated by Austin Lovell
Originally written in Spanish by Laura Muñoz

You can find more texts written by Laura at Retórica Bohemia http://retoricabohemia.blogspot.co.uk/