THE BULL OF ARATHIMBA

One woe leads to another. First the whirlwind which rose from the cane fields like a snake, lifting white dust, filling lungs and adding years to eyebrows as eyes stared, helpless. It eventually quieted down, leaving ice-cream cones skipping around the narrow streets of Arathimba, like autumn leaves.

What a disaster! Before the children set foot outside their doorsteps, a bull came storming down from the slopes where the farms lay, hopping on two legs and four, and entered the village like a horned conqueror. The doors were once again bolted and gazes darkened as they watched from behind large keyholes. The bull, composed as a Roman emperor, stopped, positioned himself in the middle of the crossroads and eventually let out a long piss. The amber yellow rivulet hit the coble stone and trickled down onto a doorstep. He shook his head in relief and with his curved horns then charged into the window of the Cooperative Grocery, smashing everything in sight to smithereens. A chandelier, a symbol of the nouveau-riche in the newly built houses of the village, fell around his neck like a necklace. So, like a crowned queen he strolled along the streets of Arathimba, measuring the kingdom which he had just inherited.

One child, unaware of the danger, failed to close the door behind him in time, was trampled on by the raging beast and lay motionless, foaming at the mouth. The boy lay in anguish until his father grabbed him and ran. The child swayed limp and lifeless in his arms. The bull crashed into a phone booth where the violently ripped out cables dangled, leaving anguished voices and conversations unfinished. He impaled a kinder garden bus which he then wedged in a palm tree. There the bus hovered as the children urinated with fright; the street turned yellow.

Two, three, five, ten – those who tried to stand in the way of this disastrous hurricane lay trampled and bloody. Not even the State through its organs, the police, was able to stop the destructive storm. He was acting, after all, like a queen. “Conquer evil with good”, somebody suggested. A statement that was misconstrued.

“No way!”, said the plump police sergeant tripping backwards. “Let them call the owner!”
The owner, a bull fattener and fighting-rooster trainer, resembled a bull himself and a rooster. As a child he survived a nail injury bychance and was either an orphan or illegitimate. He treated life like a joke and made a living out of pranksters in the massive square building – formally the Religious Orthodox Foundation, later to become the Nationalistic Association. Codswallop!
- If you put this radish on Zaopetris’ chair before he sits, I’ll treat you to a baklava.
- You’ll have one on me too.
Then there were the bets that he won, later on in EOKA. Everybody remembered how he upturned the village president’s car with his bare hands, because the village president had refused to obey his order to resign. After Independence, the “Chief” or Best Man Minister adopted him and he was recruited amongst hundreds of other blood-brothers for the unofficial mechanism that was destined to protect the state. When the “Chief” was murdered by his employer the CIA, Costalas also lost his bearings.
He stopped acting like a bully and was no longer in a position to hire and fire policemen. He even stopped beating them up outside night-spots. It wasn’t long, however, before he came around, was re-recruited, forgiven, recommended once more and forgiven by the patient and merciful Leader. He set out on his new course and settled into power. Lately he went round wearing a huge golden crucifix around his thick neck, on a thick chain which was also made of pure gold. If he had not been so hefty, but scrawny like he once was when he hung around the coffee shops in the square, he probably would have tripped over the crucifix like Jesus did when he made his way up to Calvary.

Costalas arrived panting and sweating, not from the heavy load of the crucifix but from haste and anger. His fists were clenched, full of strength.

The first instructions from police headquarters was that the bull should be killed on the spot. This was a general demand and aimed at compensating the wounded…

- No one’s going to do whatever they want, said an angry Costalas rolling up his sleeves.
- But that’s the order that came from Nicosia, said the plump sergeant meekly, who was surely sweating around the crotch.
- I am Nicosia, replied Costalas.

A concession was finally made. Such solutions were very much in fashion before the summer of 1974. ‘The animal is to be transferred to the station until further instructions.’ Just in time an order came through confirming the first, forcing the police sergeant to even greater attempts to hold his water. But soon after that another order followed, luckily canceling the previous two. The order spoke indefinitely of a period of waiting.

During the period that followed many people from the villages nearby gathered to marvel at the terrible bull that had caused such destruction. Somebody suggested that he should be shot in the forehead, just as is done in slaughterhouses, but was interrupted by someone saying that real revolvers weren’t used. People began to disagree with each other. Someone else had the fine idea of calling the slaughterhouse man so that he too could offer his specialized opinion. Some dimwit said he thought that it would be more humane if they used an electric shock, because that’s how they did it in America. He soon shut up when Costalas gave him a furious look. The fool next to him however, who hadn’t understood the reason for the sudden silence, wandered aloud as to how they would invent an enormous electric chair big enough fit the bull comfortably. His stutter caused much laughter, which made matters worse. Under the circumstances laughter was forbidden, which was why Costalas eventually turned around and punched him in the face. With this heroic deed things got out of hand, and laughter turned into paroxysms of mirth, into group hysteria, with some rolling around on the dusty ground and others fainting. This all came to an end when Costalas raised his gun and fired two shots in the air. Everything went silent.

Slowly and gradually a murmur among the cow-breeders Union grew into the solid opinion that it was not a bull but in fact a grey cow. Half the townspeople agreed at once. The rest categorically disagreed and this would have led to a full-scale argument if somebody hadn’t noticed that the animal had udders between its legs.
- You idiot, can’t you see it has breasts?
- That has nothing to do with it. It’s the expression that matters. Can’t you see that all it takes is for it to jump over the fence and tear us all to pieces?
- Mmmoo-oo-oo…, answered the beast hearing the praises and with dexterity sunk its horns into the iron bars of the fence.
- “It’s a bull, it’s a bull!” argued the majority.
- “Rubbish! First of all look at its tits. Apart from that, can you see anything else dangling down there?” said someone crossly.
- “Let the police sergeant tell us…” some suggested, obviously happy that they had found the right solution. The organ of the government would surely be unbiased.

- I don’t know anything! It’s up to HQ in Nicosia, said the police sergeant anxiously stepping backwards from the heavy responsibility that they had placed on his shoulders, just like that, without him having any connection. “It’s up to whatever they say...”, and he ran towards the phone booth.

- An issue has just come up, Captain… Yes… But…Send them away? That’s impossible, Captain, nobody will move until they hear what Nicosia has to say. It’s a bull and a dangerous one at that. Or possibly a peaceful cow…

The Captain slammed the phone down on him. This became obvious as the shouting and swearing from beyond the receiver stopped abruptly. In order to salvage what he could of his pride, the police sergeant continued waffling away, pronouncing his words with great care to make the conversation sound friendlier.

- Yes, Captain, it has breasts… but the people say that it was a bull that caused the destruction… Yes… yes… the same one that I have placed under arrest. My wife? Yes, she told me to invite you over on Sunday … when you have had your bath the kebab will be ready… Yes, it’s high time we ended this nuisance. How are the children? Give everybody my best… With all respect, Captain. Bye-bye now.

He rubbed his hands satisfied with the favourable turn of events and ordered a police officer to carry out an investigation. The policeman buckled up, took a couple of steps backwards, and then charged into the iron bars terrified. He bent over carefully, always looking upwards towards the animal’s head, judging its intentions. He first felt the breasts, then proceeded further ahead, but found nothing. He petted the animal which gradually calmed down. Then he turned around to the townspeople, shrugging his shoulders.

- So? Asked the police sergeant with a gesture.
- Whether it is male or female is up to you to decide. I am only obligated to give a detailed account of what I felt and what I did not.

The phone rang.

The order came through from Nicosia. The animal is to be examined by an expert to determine whether it is male or female.

The private veterinarian of the area arrived, arrogantly. He was right not to give an opinion as to the gender of the animal. Instead, he wore a glove and put his arm up the animal’s rectum. To the surprise of the villagers, the animal calmed down, showing its contentment with a steady moo.

- Nymphomania! He said sharply. She has a cyst in the ovaries.
- Ah, nymphomania! Ah, Cysts. The uterus has swelled up like a balloon…, rushed the dimwit to explain to the others. The same dimwit who earlier on had thought up an electric chair capable of seating the bull, for which he got punched. The idiot examining this scientific issue further declared that such a uterus was capable of bearing monsters. Everybody hung on his words, trusting his great experience, because after all, upon his return from being at sea he opened the best cattle-breeding unit in the area. The police sergeant himself called him to his office to give a detailed statement about his knowledge of similar cases.

During the whole day the animal’s fate was uncertain. The constant messages reaching the police station were vague, contradictory and beyond deciphering. One message that arrived at midnight spoke of the decision taken by the Ministers’ Cabinet, which unfortunately was not clearly expressed, left the police sergeant at the village of Arathimba lingering.

The village couldn’t sleep, so it spread across the coffee shops, occasionally sending messengers back and forth to the police station for the latest news. One message arrived after midnight, asking people to help against violence, to organize a civil militia and await instructions. So they split up into groups and organized a watch facing enemy watch-posts, dug trenches and assumed battle positions.

At around four o’clock at dawn a very clear decision came through, announcing that mobilization should be stopped, that the government had everything under control and that it was capable of handling illegality on its own. Some saw this as double-crossing on behalf of the police sergeant and the vague police Captain. They asked to see the message but were told that the order had been received verbally by telephone.

So, everyone headed back to their beds, tired, with their minds at ease that the State ensured that they could sleep untroubled; that the State stayed awake while they slept, assuring that misdoings such as this would never again take place.

In the morning, a quiet day like Holy Friday, out of nowhere appeared a whirlwind that rose like a viper from the cane fields, threw dust in people’s eyes and blinded them. A bull broke loose and charged boisterously into the village like a horned conqueror, hopping on two legs and on four.

Wailing and laments echoed to the villages nearby and suffering filled the valley of Arathimba. Some of the people from surrounding villages who had gone to admire the beast, barely managed to escape. They said that all doors in Arathimba were bolted and covered in black signs.

-We’ve never experienced anything like it before, said those who survived, as they reluctantly unlocked their wooden doors.