Aranansi #4: Miranda and the bull

January 12, 2010, 18:24

A tan bull with large curved horns on a head the size of the front of a VW bug greeted me as I entered through the back gate. I had to move quickly to avoid an unfortunate goring incident. I spotted Miranda on the porch. She is 4 years old and often impossible to understand. She was putting some coins into one of the many vending machines lined up against the wall on the back porch of a crumbling pile of a California Victorian mansion. I scrambled up next to her. An old man and young woman moved busily around the porch. Without speaking I picked up Miranda and headed down the stairs. No bull in sight. But as my foot left the last step, I saw his swiftly moving bulk out of the corner of my eye. I could feel and hear the rumbling earthquake of his hooves on the hard patchy lawn. I headed for the gate at the front along the side of the decaying house that resembled a rambling mountain of boards. Meanwhile the shambling mountain of cow came thundering from behind. He was gaining fast. So I did a quick 180 and lost him for a second or two. We got back to the porch. Miranda had this quizzical look on her face, but seemed to be unconcerned about the bull, that had come up the steps onto the porch after us. I jumped down, grabbed Miranda and got us to the gate. I looked back and saw no sign of big and beefy. I pulled on the gate, but it would only open about 2 feet. I had no idea if I could fit through.

I put Miranda down and said, “Go!”

She looked up at me and pointed back, “Izzat what you are tho Thkared of?”

The bull was charging toward me down the narrow strip of yard.

I froze as the thunder filled my being. Miranda gently pulled me out by my hand and closed the gate. There was crashing crunch and the gate gave a little but held.  As we hurried away, the bull pulled the  impaled the gate off of its hinges, and was frantically bashing about.

Miranda rolled her eyes and shook her head at both me and the bull.  I took her hand, and we walked away past the firecracker boys huddled around something they were trying to blow up. I hoped it was not something I cared about.

This entry was posted in Aranansi, conversations, dangerous creatures, Fiction, Telling Stories and tagged , . Bookmark the permalink.

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