27 Years Online
••• The International Writers Magazine - Two Young Matadors

OLE! • John Richmond Every boy loves a challenge

         It was fall, it was cool and there was a bit of a breeze blowing in off the lake so as to necessitate that the two boys - Jerry and Jack- wear jackets.
         They were lightweight, zippered- easy on and easy off- a “double function” that would be helpful a little later in the afternoon.
         Thus, they were outfitted, accompanying both sets of parents on an outing to visit with “Ivan, The Pig Farmer.”
        Maybe a twenty-minute ride north, off the peninsula, onto what was then known as “King’s Three,” west to the dirt drive turnoff that led past the pigpens to the house.

The transition from asphalt to dirt necessitated a vehicular crawl as both cars navigated the ruts and potholes.
Yet, as much as it was slow going, it was also an opportunity to get a closer look at what the boys had been waiting to see - the pigpen and - most importantly - the pigs.
They were big pigs - lots of them - just wandering around, each, seemingly, minding their own business, yet, as far as the boys were concerned, they were almost beckoning.
“Come hither, young fools, we’d like to talk to you - we’d like to play.”
Needless to say, this is what the boys were waiting for back when their parents announced the upcoming visit to Ivan’s farm and his pigs.

Upon arriving at the house, they were greeted by Ivan and his wife, Josie.They were warm and embracing and truly happy to see everyone especially the boys. Ushered into the extremely modest farmhouse, there was food and drink on the tables around them, which made the boys hungry, hungry to get out and explore the farm.

Walking out the door, they found so many things calling to them; the pigs, the plank that was laid across the garbage pit, the edge of the ridge on the back side of the house, and the most dangerously enticing possibility of all - the highway. Yes, they would get around to the pigs, but first things first, especially since everyone told, warned, instructed and even frightened the boys - “…you could get killed…” from going out onto the highway.
Of course, the boys agreed with what they were told, long enough to get out the door and into forbidden territory.

However, they still knew that they might be being watched, so, just in case instead of heading down the driveway, the boys headed for the back of the house and the ridge line.
They spent a sense of some minutes wandering around, just long enough - as they calculated - for whoever was watching to get hungry or thirsty and forsake their vigil.  Then, the boys turned and headed for the highway.
They made it fast, sensing that their names could be called out at any moment, thwarting their need to risk.
Quickly, they approached the “magical place” where the loose dirt of the driveway met the solid asphalt of the road - and they did it! Both of them, taking one set of toes and stepping out onto the highway before retreating and beginning the walk back toward the house.

They were happy they did it, but more so, they felt something that was strange- and it felt good. They felt accomplished.  No longer did they feel like little boys, but something indescribably more.
They walked silently until they reached the pigpen.
It was there that they stopped as an idea swept over them, simultaneously.
“They’re really big,” Jack said.
“Yeah,” Jerry agreed, “almost like bulls.”
Neither of them repeated those last two words - “…like bulls…” but the impishly, conspiratorial grin on both of their faces told each other that they both had the same idea.
“Why don’t we bullfight them?” Jerry asked Jack and began to unzip his jacket.
Initially, Jack said nothing - verbally- but, he, too, was already doing the same.
Now, the boys - each with his “cape” in hand - approached the pigpen fence.
But, they did not do so with the trepidation of two young boys, but with the seasoned confidence of world-renowned- “bullfighters”- Matadors!
They stopped at the outside of the fence and assessed the situation.

There were ten pigs inside the pen, standing at the far side, looking like they hardly noticed the boys.
Jerry shook his head as he put his hands on the top rail of the pen fence and began to climb.
“I’m not sure this is going to work,” he said looking over at Jack.  “How are we suppose to bullfight them when they’re all standing way over there?”
“I don’t know,” Jack replied, following Jerry up and over.
Finally, the moment came, the two soon to be matadors found themselves inside the pen, standing there, poised- capes in their hands - seemingly ready to fulfill their bullfighting destiny.
“You ready?” Jack asked Jerry.
Jerry looked from Jack to the pigs and then back at Jack.
“I am,” he replied.
The boys took a few steps toward the pen’s center, watching the pigs for any sign of movement.
“Maybe they’re sleeping,” Jack suggested.
Jerry laughed.  “Pigs don’t sleep standing up!”
“How do you know?” Jack shot back.  “You ever see a pig sleep?”
“No, but it doesn’t make sense,” Jerry replied.
“Well, if we’re going to bullfight them, we’d better get started before somebody comes out and sees us,” Jack said and then unfurled his coat.
Jerry, in turn, stepped off to Jack’s left side and did the same.

Both of them began shaking their jackets at the pigs, who, in turn, just stood there, until...
Until, one of the largest pigs dropped its head and got that “look in his eyes” that was not lost on the boys- and slowly started to move toward them with teeth chomping.

The boys didn’t know much Spanish and had they been asked, they probably would have been hard pressed to acknowledge that any of the pigs understood English.  But what they did know, what probably every bull in the world knew and understood was the waving of the cape, calling to them semaphorically that - “It’s time to fight!”
Sensing, now, that the possibility of a pig fight was at hand, both boys with fully deployed jackets and shook them while calling out- “Ole!”
In some way, it seemed that was all the pigs needed to see and hear, and, in a way that would have made a real bull proud, they charged.
Not all at the same time, but, after one or two decided to do their “pig-level-best” to “gore” the matadors, their message was unmistakably clear- GET OUT!

The boys- matadors- in turn, were caught somewhere between being surprised and shocked, but not for long.
After all, bullfighting one pig apiece was one thing, having the entire pen join in was neither what they expected nor were ready to handle. So, they pulled their capes in, turned and headed for the fence.

During the time between when the boys started running and when they got to the fence, you would have thought that a pen full of four-legged pigs would easily have overtaken two boys running scared on two legs apiece.
Well, it was close; probably decided by the fact that rather than climbing over the fence, the boys dove under it.
Once they were on one side and the pigs were on the other, both the boys and probably the pigs realized that the “lead pig” could have easily gotten them, seemingly cheered on by plenty of grunts which were unmistakably angry in nature and intent.
“Wow,” Jack said to Jerry, “that was close!”
“Sure was!”
They then turned and looked back at the pigs, all of whom were now at the edge of the fence.
“That was fun!” Jerry said.
“But scary!”

They were dusting off their jackets and putting them back on when they turned up the driveway toward the house and saw the three of them, standing in a row, at the edge of the porch, Jack’s father, John, Jerry’s father, Stanley, and Ivan, the pig farmer.
The boys exchanged quick glances that told each other - “Boy, are we in big trouble.”
The two fathers were one thing, but they were Ivan’s pigs that the boys were “bullfighting” Both boys knew instantly, he was the one would be the angry the most. Though, had they thought and wondered a little more deeply, they might have a bigger problem on their hands than a pen full of angry pigs, that being, going out onto the highway.

And, so, with “double trepidation” consuming every step they took, the boys - frightened to no end- reached the first of the two stairs that led up to the house.
There, for long and agonizing seconds that seemed like hours, they all stood there in silence.
Finally - almost in a synchronized way - the three men started laughing.
The boys looked at each other and then back to where the three men were standing.
It was Ivan who spoke first.
“Did you boys learn anything, today?” he asked.
Jerry and Jack looked back and forth at each other.
“We did,” Jack answered.
“And what was that?” John asked, through a muffled laugh.
“We learned,” Jerry offered, “we learned that they can move really fast when they want to.”
This, again, set the three men laughing, contagiously passing the ease of the experience down onto the boys, who laughed in turn.
“So,” Stanley said as the laughter subsided, “how about you two matadors come on inside and get something to eat?”
The boys looked at each other, but this time with looks of total relief on their faces.
“Well come on,” Ivan called down to them, you boys have to be hungry after a hard day of bullfighting!”
With that, the boys mounted the stairs where the three men opened the door and allowed the honors befitting two new pig fighters to enter.

©  John Richmond 2026

Most recently, John Richmond has made his way to a small upstate New York town where he divides his time between writing and discussing the state of the world with his coonhound buddy- Roma.

John Richmond he has appeared in Adelaide Literary Magazine (3), Qutub Minar Review (India), ArLiJo, Taj Mahal Review (India), Rundelania, New Ulster (Northern Ireland), The Corner Club Press, Oddball Magazine, The Tower Journal, Stone Path Review, Meat for Tea: The Valley Review, Rogue Particles Magazine, From the Depths, Flash Frontier (N. Z.), The Birmingham Arts Journal, Riverbabble (2), The Writing Disorder, Lalitamba, Poetic Diversity, Marco Polo Arts Magazine, Embodied Effigies, ken*again, Black & White, SNReview, The Round, The Potomac, Syndic Literary Journal, Ygdrasil (Canada), Slow Trains, Forge Journal, and others.

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