Sunday, 28 March 2010

The Bull God (Part 3)

Seated in a seedy tavern, Huevos del Toro was attempting to describe to his new friend exactly what had happened to him.

Krondagg, for his turn, scratched his bald head and nodded attentively.

"So there I was, in the ring with Vestido Peligroso. He grabbed hold of me and then ... here I am - with a splitting headache!"

Maybe the bull-headed wrestler was mad, but Krondagg had his doubts. Ever since he had started working for the buxom sorceress Mordama, his view of reality had been severely shaken up. Things that would seem like insanity to most people had become everyday reality for him. Could it be that the unexpected arrival of this outlandish stranger had something to do with his Mistress's plans? He had learned never to assume that anything was a coincidence so far as Mordama was concerned.

"You must come with me to see my employer", he said, "she is a very wise and beautiful sorceress. She will know why you are here. And, if anyone can get you back home to this place 'Mex-ico', it is she."

Huevos could not believe his luck. Within the space of an hour he had gone from losing a wrestling match, to being mistaken for a god. And now, he was going be taken to see an actual sorceress!

Ever since childhood, when he had stayed up watching old Santo movies with his wrestling-mad grandfather, Huevos had craved adventure. As he followed his silver-masked idol's battles against were-wolves, vampires, witches, reanimated mummies and other forces of evil, he knew that this was to be his destiny. Like El Santo he would defeat the wicked and protect the weak. Lovely girls would melt into his arms as he rescued them from cackling would-be masterminds, and grinning peasants would raise him shoulder-high as they paraded him through their newly-saved village to a feast of thanksgiving.

Up to now, however, Huevos had to admit that the reality of being a masked luchador had been disappointing, depressing even. Acting out scripted routines night after night to ever-dwindling audiences did not match what he had seen on the silver screen. Still, Huevos felt it was his duty to keep the magic alive, to make it as real as possible for the true fans who followed him as a t├ęcnico or "good guy" in the ring. El Santo had shaped his life by giving him something positive to believe in; perhaps he could do the same for others and save them from the traps of crime and drugs that were rife in the impoverished barrios.

"Yes," he said, "I would very much like to meet your sorceress. But, I trust she only practises good magic? You see, I am sworn to fight evil. It is why I wear this mask. I will help your sorceress fight the bad witches! And - you say she is very beautiful?"

"Ah, yes ..." drooled Krondagg, making a curvaceous gesture with his hands, a faraway look on his scarred features. "But!", he suddenly glared, "She is mine. You must remember this. It is me she loves, although ..." he added wistfully "she does not realise this yet. But I see it in her eyes, her gorgeous deep eyes ..."

The two odd companions drained their tankards and Krondagg dropped some coins on the rough wooden bar. "We had better leave now", he said, "you are lucky I have a spare horse that I won in a bet last night. Let's go!"