We’re going to spread Mr. Internicola’s story “Train Robbers” over a next few days, for it is long. This is a great story. Enjoy. Read Part 1, and Part 2 if you haven't already.
"TRAIN ROBBERS (PART 3)"
by Michael Internicola
Now besides the run, bullfights thrive. For 1000 pesetas we score tickets to supposedly the best match of the festival. Come four o' clock we took seats with a crew from Los Angeles and England. An older woman named Frosty spoke with me about the thirty-one runs she had made over the years--ending up three years ago bloodied and bruised against a wall lying down face first.
The father and son had stories about meeting ***** ******* and James Milchner before the two of them had died. They had pictures from their six days holding up the walls. The young kid was in his first run, hiding along side a wooden fence as the bulls passed by. He had the pictures to prove it although I could hardly see him in any of them. I am sitting in the middle watching three hotties sneak sangria into the place. The waiter is from London, teaching English in Madrid for the last seven months. When I ask about my Jingo Visa card he says they don't take it. This means we have little cash because Charlie's ATM isn't working but he graciously offers us two cervasas on the house. I say...Good Luck Charlie says yes...so, one thing for certain after entering the bullring around six is that we will be caked with wine and flour and fruit and whatever other product they're throwing up top. Our seats we on something called the terasda--the party scene inside the gates. Probably about twenty thousand strong. People go off in echo celebration--feeling revolution everywhere. Inside the ring are two red circles, shade on the other side and everyone's dancing and playing music--gunning tapa shit on me and Char. Now besides everything else described, Good Luck Charlie has a bladder problem which means she either can't pee or she goes every five seconds. Magnificent describes the best and only way I can put it. People keep filling our glasses with champagne, food and whatever else they could get their hands: sardines or olives or meat sandwiches. Half hour in were pink from all the mercy wine being poured on us--still dangling red bandanas around our necks and noticeably foreigners which everybody is finally cool with. To study the art and spirit of what goes on in that ring is a different tune from ********* describes. To begin with probably four to six men are out before the feeling begins. The bull runs out and charges anything that moves. Bulls are color blind. The men take refuge behind small bulls eye wood dividers. While the stands go off, the first knifes are planted in the bulls back to wear him down. All together the men plant six with blood from the beast visible this far away.
The matador enters the ring to cheers. He then begins his march to the center of the circle. He is stylized and sexy. Uniform snug and tight and it isn't until his first pass with the red tarp that you truly see the art of what's going on. With each movement fans gasp and scream and party until they chant for death some 15-20 minutes in but it's nothing horrifyingly threatening. The matador walks off to the side after showboating the audience. the bull breathes heavy and frustrated to the point where he can't move. His lack of will defiant and the wounds slow him exhaustingly down.
the matador then exchanges his security blanket for a long ass silver sword, comes back and calmly picks out the exact spot to plant the weapon--cutting off the aorta right through the neck. The bull drops sudden with a good mark and he is dead. Everyone cheers. The limp bull is then tied to a cart and dragged behind the gates by three horses. One minute later, another bull is let loose and the whole thing starts up again. Six rotations in all.
Afterwards, I had to pee so bad I jumped through the crowded mess barely able to stand--ignoring the young boy behind me pleading me to go in a cup.
After pissing I rushed back to the gate with Charlie and everyone had flooded the ring including us. Seat cushion were being thrown all over the place. A young bullfighter named José Thomas carried the crowd while we sang and jumped our way to the first signs of happiness now and forever.
The good news lasts a short while. Like when JFK Jr.'s plane had gone down.
I talked with my old man when his wife and sister-in-law all crashed heading towards Martha's Vineyard. It's a shame because he really seemed to have life by the balls. On the other hand, if he is dead he lived a roaring life I'm sure. That morning we arrive in stylish Valencia--capital of soft sandy beaches. Out of gas from the two nights travel without any bed. Poor girl...all I did was take out my frustrations on Charlie. I passed out in the train hallway with everyone stepping on my dumb ass. Admired most of Rio Turia then. Got my bearings at the Plaza de la Reina and was set to check out Ibiza or Mallorca to get out of this oven. Saturday we chilled, drank some sangria and then she complained that we weren't talking or touching much. What the fuck do I really know? Shit, just that yesterday morning the room was getting so hot I had to ask the manager to switch things around. It was like being cooked slowly on a barbecue. I was naked on the bed with Charlie writing home. On the road for a whole two weeks then. Had a talk with a swedish couple about the bull run and that was all the fun besides the expensive hotel nothings or the Japanese kid sweating on the train. In the weeks to come we did manage to see Aerosmith and *** ***** ****** in Barcelona. Got surrounded by ten thousand screaming girls chasing on e of the Backstreet Boys down the road--N' Sync maybe...who knows. man, CR during the concert moving and the energy. Eddie harsh on piano all the way from detroit, Michigan...(Seeing Things...July 15, 1999). We didn't speak with that many strangers besides the Brits Charlie had us meet by El Carme. I remember reading, "Why let men go on living in misery? I have no peace, no rest, and my troubles never end."-JFK Jr. What a talk he and his father must have had. The following Friday was hot spot Ibiza. Took the Love Boat cruiser over all the ten hours it took to get there. at noon we arrived into a seaport and such a pretty place already. For the next five days we lived on that island but wait...Selenes, the beach, climbs two hundred meters out and anybody who has been there will talk about this. Green shallow water up to our knees. Now I haven't kissed her in three days. Ahhh, hun it's just the booze and drugs and the biting writer lifestyle choosing sides again.
I'm tense or upset. I just broke down in the shower after she had fallen asleep, "I'm sorry about being a jerk."-I said, "Alright."-"I apologize for being such a dick to you."-"What do you want me to say?"-she asked, "Just don't lean on me."-I said, "Alright."-she answered, "I don't know. I want you here and I don't want to ruin your good time...."-and slowly I began to cry. Desperately, I tried to catch my voice but it cracked and I couldn't look her in the eyes. I should have never rode this one out. I knew she was leaving and now I'm killing her ever so softly...like the bull the other day...she will twitch gently, touch the wind for a breath of two seconds and someday be gone of me or it will haunt her like a ghost for the rest of her young days. Only time will tell, "Put your shoes on."-she said laughing, "They're stinking up the room."...then a fresh new day. A day to break the chain that the Higher Power has laid on my mind. And what has the Higher Power laid on my mind? Dear Higher Power...please break the chain of miserableness that crowds my space. We were leaving the hotel but before that I went down to the reception area and got the room for one more night.
The clerk asked me if my wife was feeling better and I said yes. Just went what the fuck and then I went to bed until five in the afternoon luckily the sun still shines until eight or so. We got Charlie medicine and she felt fine. The Mediterranean was as blue as I remember it being. The sand and Charlie swimming topless is beautiful. Much fun strutting around in the buff like animals. the water is magic colored. Sat there most of the next day and had lunch at the Jockey Club. Both our moods had switched after some sleep.
I felt a tremendous burden lifted from my shoulders. I looked at Charlie writing and so it goes. It takes time to feel another person out on the road both good and bad. This is the life. I can see in Charlie's eyes every time she tells me she wants to move here. She spoke with a woman who made clothes. Moved here 22 years ago all the way from The Big Apple. I felt like a million bucks. The next day we moved into a place on Vera Del Ray. Ran into a guy named Louis (Great Dane Louis) who we think owned the hotel. The room was set up old Spanish style with rugs, incense, fish bones and bullshit like that. the entire town reflects techno. Disco buses to San Antonio clubs were kids take X and dance and touch shit. The first night we were there we were partying. Took some bad E laced with heroin and that was that. Hooked up with a few good guys from L.A. who did make-up on movies.
Decided to skip the 7 A.M. after hours with Carol Cox when Charlie started peeing in garbage cans. The last night we went out for dinner. Kissed three times on top of the castle with the view. During the day we put a deposit down on a rent-a-scooter. I put the helmet on and everything while Char took it for a ten second spin and crashed into a wall. The manager came running out and was saying, "No, no...no. No ride."-I was just standing there with my Harley helmet on and big sunglasses ready to ride. We laughed our butts off and got the deposit back. I should have known when Charlie couldn't get the kick stand down and asked the man in charge, "Are there any special rules?"-he answered no. She thought it was the funniest too. The sun continued to shine in between movie theater blowjobs and life was great all through Cannes, the rest of Spain and Italy.
[More of "Train Robbers" will come tommorow. . .]
---
Michael Internicola lives in New York City.
---
PREVIOUS WORK
"TRAIN ROBBERS (PART 2)" by Michael Internicola
"TRAIN ROBBERS (PART 1)" by Michael Internicola
ART by Vanessa Hall-Patch
"DOUG'S HAMSTER" by Beau Levitt
"BARGAINING" by Colleen Neumann
ARCHIVES
HOME
|
