Restricted to adults and readers 18 or above for extreme graphic violence, psychological conflicts and obscene language.
In private, I asked the family man here if Arthur had told him his dream two nights before. He said the boy did and was quick to lighten the issue, "everybody is so very nervous in town, classes were suspended, people are at home full of concern and it sometimes appears in the dreams, that's all. I must thank you all for your concern, but there's nothing to do here we cannot do as a family. Our heads of cattle are our problem and nobody else's. We can defend ourselves."
Pride is a bankrupt institution. Still, we bet all our precious chips on it as the only chance we have to maintain our self-esteem. As if self-esteem were remotely connected with pride… If only we could understand sometimes we need each other.
Open session at the Mithraeum. The bull shed's bays are almost complete. Today the second and fourth bays were filled. Only the seventh still awaited its occupant. Anderson and Bruno had a good hunting day this morning, according to themselves. They told us each one's experience.
"You had to see what was left of Souza's grocery store, the poor little fella was distressed. He's an industrious little fella but this time he's suffered a real loss", Anderson told us.
"Yes, Souza's and the Town Hall have attracted most of the attacks at the main square, I don't know what they enter those places for. Mine I took from the Mayor's room. No well-built barricades, there was no holding. The only thing that held him back was Rompun®. Guess what is left of the Mayor's room right now, only broken down furniture and manure all over." Bruno gasped before the overall laughter and had to stop to laugh along.
"Arthur", said Andrés after the laughter subsided, "we are only waiting for your Sacred One now. Do you think you'll be able to bring it tomorrow?"
"Yes, he's long overdue, he'll be here tomorrow." Arthur seemed so sure that he cheered up everyone around him.
"Well, now we can be a bit calmer about it, because tomorrow is already the sixth…"
"As for the dismemberment, it must be performed as slowly as possible in a long, disgusting and pleasurable ritual of sufferance, blood, gore and death…"
Renan
We opened the book for some scanning. All of it is a log of everything concerning and around Taurinos' Ancient Society. If a leaf fell from a tree this wouldn't of course be recorded. But if a leaf fell from a tree in one of the Society's sessions, it would, for sure, so great was the passion for details and thorough descriptions throughout the book. Renan had the idea of scanning the end of the book. True. We have the book on the farm Taurinos and haven't spared a moment to dedicated to a closer scan into the book's records, as if we were all feeling too afraid inside to go through the ancient book.
"Hey, what are all those blank pages in the end? How cool, you have written yesterday's meeting down too!" Anderson, Bruno and Adriano had gone ahead. Actually I had been left behind on account of my ubiquitous reflections, considerations and wise thoughts. But I told them in advance I hadn't written a single word on the book. The kids' frowns started washing all over me and I had to go along with them. Andrés denied writing on the book. Adriano wouldn't take the trouble either.
"Not my father's calligraphy and were it my father's, he was not present at the meeting anyhow", justified Andrés.
"So the book is writing itself… Isn't it?", Adriano seemed to be lightning-struck at that moment of enlightenment.
"Holy Father, what nonsense", Andrés fulminated his brother with his eyes.
"Do you have a better explanation?", insisted Adriano.
And Andrés didn't happen to have an explanation for the fact that the meeting was recorded there. The book eventually made it to my hands. I had from refrain from screaming in total astonishment: it was my calligraphy on the bloody book. It was my bloody calligraphy on the bloody book.
"It's you writing, isn't it? This is your calligraphy, isn't it? I can tell by your face", teased Bruno.
"The calligraphy is mine… But it's not me writing."
Overall laughter. I can't place blame on them for not believing. I turn one more page, read what's on and asked them if this is my calligraphy. They scan the two pages and find the same calligraphy, mine. I pass the book to Andrés, point at a random paragraph on the last page and have him read it out loud.
"Comments on the blank pages at the end of the yearbook and the records of the previous session at the Mithraeum by Anderson Nascimento Caldeira, followed by Bruno Linhalis Pinho and Adriano Silva Conselheiro. The members of the Taurinos' Ancient Society also found strange that the previous meeting was recorded in this book without them opening the book for such recording. Stella Freitas-Grisam's calligraphy was recognized as being chosen for the recording of information on the current activities of the Taurinos' Ancient Society for the current year of 2009. Adriano Silva Conselheiro and Andrés Silva Conselheiro denied handling the book any further than taking it home. Andrés Silva Conselheiro also clarified that his father had no such calligraphy and even if it was his, his father was not present at the meeting, not being able to record it by himself for…"
"Holy Father…", Anderson looked appalled as he glared at the book, "is this what has stayed in my home all this time???"
Andrés glanced at me for a moment, slightly terrified. Down there in bull shed's bays, the Sacred Ones were frankly impatient, the metallic sound of them against the bars seemed to be stronger and the bars themselves weaker each passing day down here in this catacomb (and now they are six). Arthur was thoughtful locked in that brooding silence of his own though he didn't seem impressed at what we had just found out. He didn't even seem to be there with us. These introspections of him worried me, and I even ended up eclipsing the astonishment at learning something is using my calligraphy to record one year in the life and times of the Taurinos' Ancient Society and its class of 2009 in real time.
We looked backwards. My name is there, full name under Renan's name at the meeting for the foundation of the Society told in the same cold and bureaucratic way, as a notary would, including the fact that Andrés reproached both Renan and me during the meeting. More and more intrigued, we went back to the ceremony in 1957. Where'd it go? Nowhere to be found, I guess. Earlier still, we have the account of the process in 1905 in early twentieth century. Earlier still we had 1853, 1801, 1749 and so on (or so back?). There's nothing about 1957.
"How weird, isn't it in another part of the book?", Anderson was amazed.
We went through the book inside out, back to front and upside down but the 1957 records are really nowhere. As if the class of 1957 had never existed. In the year of 1905, the records showed that a handler was expected to return in 104 years to bring his wisdom to the other handlers, all that stuff we saw yesterday right here.
"Look here, it's your ancestor, Luís Felipe Mattos Conselheiro in the class of 1905. Conselheiro is your ancestry, right?" asked Arthur, curious at his finding.
"Fuck, your family have come a long way chasing bulls, eh, Adriano? Andrés?" added Bruno, frankly admired.
"Something doesn't match", I told the kids, "or it does match all very well."
"What I realized", affirmed Guilherme, "was that if they were expecting one of Those Who Have Returned or whatchamacallit in 1905 and he'd come 104 years later in this case he's here with us in this Mithraeum. He is… one of us seven."
The boys started looking at each other in typical paranoid stress of a whodunnit novel. None of them corroborated Guilherme's idea as being one of Those Who Have Returned though they found it perfectly possible since the book had been their guide since the beginning of times in Taurinos.
"Very probably he knows who he is", explained Renan, "he must have his plans, beats me…"
"Is it you, Renan?", asked Adriano.
"No. Isn't it you, Adriano?" retorted Renan.
I told them it was no use. If one of Those Who Have Returned was really among us either he would claim he was the one at this stage of the process or if he didn't it was because he had plans of his own, like Renan had said. I told them he probably wouldn't give away his identity to us. What it boiled down to was that the Society needed to get ready for the ceremony in two days.
They agreed. Andrés went on to speak about the most painful part of the process. The process of dismemberment of the goddamned animals waiting for their own obliteration down there in the bays. As though the animals perceived it, the turmoil in the bays was clearly heard. Renan was summoned to stand up and bring the others a quick and informal workshop on the art of causing the most of suffering in the bull before it was sliced into small steaks proper for the consumption by the barbecue pits and grills all over Taurinos. It was plain to see that was right up Renan's alley.
"The sword is buried on the upper part of his back. It has to sink deep, you have to sting him with force, but mainly with a technique. No compassion because you need to relax their neck muscles before anything else, that is what is going to drain most of his energy and make for a more comfortable battle for…"
"To relax is a bit humorous to describe what really goes on with the bull, no?" I threatened to tumult the session with my sarcasm.
"Ms. Grisam and the sense of humor… Please let the brother go on", snarled Andrés.
"…the handler at the arena. The sword can be spun or swung to open the wound some more before it is taken out. It's got to be taken out to allow more blood to flow out of the wound and so weaken him more and more. Did you like the word "weaken", Ms. Grisam? Better than relax?" the tiny Mineiro knew how to be sarcastic too.
"As for the dismemberment, it must be performed as slowly as possible in a long, disgusting and pleasurable ritual of sufferance, blood, gore and death…" He stared at me as an ultimate tease. Renan was cute, what didn't mean he was cute all the time.
"Renan, we know how much you love it, but please don't drool on the grandstands", warned Andrés under a shower of laughter from the other Taurinos.
"And the main thing: don't you drool blood", added Anderson absolutely perplexed, "fucking shit, the son of a gun has bitten his own tongue…"
Renan tasted his own blood and was uneasy. He sat down to avoid falling, was panting like a dog, spat more blood. My blood pressure is oscillating, my eyes can't make it out of the event, all else is darkness. My eyes always wander back to the same point.
Andrés decided to call it a day. They would still need to take Renan to the Health Mixed Unit of the town to see that tongue. The boy might even say I cast a spell on him. I didn't. Anderson would still pull his legs, saying there's nothing like our own blood to quench a thirst like that.
Ten men | Promised you a miracle
Radio Universal: A Love Like Blood
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