A PAMPLONA HEMOS DE IR

A Short Story

In Two Parts

by

ginofso

PART 2

"Uno de enero, dos de febrero, tres de marzo, cuatro de abril, cinco de mayo, seis de junio, siete de julio - San Fermin. A Pamplona hemos de ir, con una media y un calcetin - Pobre de mi, pobre de mi. Se han acabado las fiestas de San Fermin."

Folk song from the Province of Navarra

Pamplona, Spain - July, 1962

For three hundred, fifty eight days out of the year Pamplona is a sleepy provincial village, but for the seven days between July seventh and fourteenth it is a Mecca for bullfighters, bullfight aficionados and crazies of every persuasion. Hotels are booked for months in advance as are the private homes that are opened up by families, not just to earn a few extra pesetas, but, also, to share with the rest of the world their very special fiesta.

It was late in the afternoon by the time they arrived. Through Pete's connections as an officer in the embassy he had managed to get them all into a small pension, just off the Plaza de Castilla, the main square. After checking in they changed to their "Donated by the People" costumes, shirts and dresses made from the flour sacks of food donated to Spain by the people of the United States. Then, filling their "Donated By" tote bags with magazines they set out to sell them to the people sitting in cafes surrounding the Plaza or drinking in the tascas and bars. Henri and Barbara went in one direction; Birgitta and Pete went another. They agreed that they would meet back at the Cafe Iruña at two in the morning.

The town was overflowing with French, English, Germans and Swedes. Basque fife and drum bands played Jotas Navarras while the white-suited, red-sashed Mozos de Pamplona danced the fast heel and toe jig that is characteristic of Navarra. Pete and Birgitta shoved their way through the milling crowds of laughing, drunk, half-drunk and just plain happy tourists, bullfighters, mozos, pimps, whores and queers. Everybody wanted a copy of the magazine, and they roared with laughter when they found out that Pete was an American diplomat. "I'm helping out a poor struggling expatriate artist," he told them. "You can help, too, by taking several copies."

At three hundred pesetas a copy, almost five bucks, they still went like hot cakes. If they had brought some "Donated by the People" shirts, dresses and tote bags with them they would have gone like hot cakes, too. Everybody wanted to know where they bought them. When Pete told them the story everyone bought drinks for them. Birgitta laughed so hard she cried.

They stopped to watch a group of mozos dance, and when the mozos,finished, one of them pressed his bota, a leather wine skin, into Birgitta's hand. Shaking his thumb towards his mouth, he urged her to drink. She held the bota out at arms's length and squeezed a stream of dark red Rioja wine into her mouth. She cut it off smartly without spilling a drop, and the mozos, all applauded her. She handed the bota back to the mozo and he handed it to Pete; he took it, repeated the performance, and was rewarded with a round of applause. The mozos could tell that Pete and Birgitta were lovers. Lovers radiate a special light that other people sense and like.

It was almost two in the morning by the time they got back to the Plaza de Castilla, and the action was in full swing. The bars, streets and sidewalk cafes were jammed with the fun seekers who migrate each year to Pamplona. They walked through the park in the middle of the square, stepping over the collapsed bodies that either from fatigue, drunkenness, or both had given up the ghost. They had both sold all the magazines, and when Barbara and Henri arrived they learned that they had sold out, too.

Stoping in a sidewalk cafe they ordered bowls of sopa de ajo. The tradition of eating garlic soup at two or three in the morning is as characteristic of the Sanfermines as the running of the bulls. To wash it down they asked for a pitcher of Rioja wine. "Are you going to run with the bulls, Pedro?" Henri asked.

"No way," Pete said. "A gypsy fortune teller told me to stay away from bulls. She said bulls were not good to me. Are you?"

"I don't know," Henri said. "I'll watch tomorrow morning. I'll see if I can get up the nerve to do it one day before we go back."

"You've got to be crazy and self-destructive to run with those fucking bulls. People get killed every year doing it," Pete said.

"What the hell, Pedro, you only go around once, and running with the bulls is like climbing Everest. You've gotta do it just because they're running."

"I'm too important to my children to run with bulls. My children's welfare depends upon my well being."

"If they let girls run, I'd do it," Birgitta said.

"Me too," Barbara said. "Why don't we dress up like boys and do it, Birgitta?"

"It won't work," Pete said. "Every year they catch women trying to do it."

"What the hell, we could try," Barbara said.

"God!," Pete moaned. "I'm surrounded by self-destructive crazies."

.

They finished their soup, returned to the pension for a couple of hours sleep, and they were up again at five o'clock to watch the encierro, the running of he bulls. After a quick coffee, they crossed the main square and roamed through the narrow cobbled streets that zigzag out from the plaza to the street where they run the bulls, which is fenced off so the sane public can watch. They stopped at the fence. A gun went off, indicating that the bulls were on their way. In the distance they heard the roar of the crowds as the men and bulls passed by. A few seconds later they heard the cow bells on the Judas oxen that lead the bulls to their final destiny, then the bulls were right in front of them. Close up, the bulls were huge as they galloped behind the oxen; their heads swayed from side to side, the horns looking for something solid to hook into.

One of the mozos tripped and fell right in front of`Pete and Birgitta. A bull trampled over him then stopped, turned around and attacked. The horn snagged the mozo, picked him up and tossed him like a rag doll. Pete and the others all called to the bull, trying to get his attention.

"Uh huh, toro," they shouted and banged the fence with their hands.

The bull turned to look at them. The mozo jumped up, ran for the fence and leaped over. The bull turned, and ran toward the herd. The running for that morning was over with just one near miss.

The mozo laughed, thanked them, then jumped the fence again and ran toward the plaza de toros to see if he could still get some of the action.

"See what you missed," Pete said. "That could have been you, or Henri or Barbara. And it could have had a different ending."

"I want to do it," Birgitta said.

"You've got to be kidding!" Pete moaned.

"Me, too," Barbara screamed.

They walked back to the Plaza de Castilla, had breakfast then resumed their magazine sales. By noon they had sold all the magazines. Henri's pockets and Barbara's purse were stuffed full of one hundred peseta notes. They were sitting in the Cafe Iruña drinking Jerez wine, and the women were deep into a conspiracy to dress up like mozos, and run with the bulls the next morning.

"Do you know that if the Guardia Civil catches you, they'll throw you in jail, and fine you a thousand pesetas? Maybe even deport you," Pete said.

"They won't catch us," Birgitta said. "Come on Barbara let's go shopping."

They both pushed back from the table and stood up.

"We'll see you chaps back at the pension," Barbara said.

They walked across the park in the middle of the square.

"They're insane; you're all insane," Pete said and clapped his hands for the waiter. "Do you want another Jerez?"

"Sure," Henri said. "Why not." He had an ironic, half smile expression on his face that Pete had seen before. An ironic, twisted smile that said he knew something that nobody else knew. In Pete's mind he had labeled it as Henri's director of theater smile.

They finished their wine, ate lunch,and returned to the pension for a siesta. Pete was dismayed, but he could see that he was being manuevered into a position where, if Barbara, Birgitta and Henri all ran with the bulls, he would have to do it, too. It scared the shit out of him.

Back in his room Pete pulled off his clothes and flopped on the bed. From outside the window he could hear the crowds, and the sound of traca, fireworks, exploding over the town. He dropped into a deep sleep, and dreamed he was standing in the center of a bullring looking into the gates of fear. From the stands he could hear a crowd roaring and a bunch of mozos singing the folk song about the Sanfermines. "Uno de enero, dos de febrero, tres de marzo, cuatro de abril, cinco de mayo, seis de junio, siete de julio, San Fermin. A Pamplona hemos de ir con una media y un calcetin. Pobre de mi, pobre de mi, se han acabado las fiestas de San Fermin."

The sun was low in the sky and his shadow stretched out before him, pointing toward the dark tunnel from which his enemy would soon come thundering at him. The trumpet sounded; the crowd roared; the gate opened and Pete's balls were in his throat.

"I'm home," Birgitta whispered and lay down on the bed beside him. She was naked and she pressed her body against him.

"Did you find what you were looking for?" he mumbled.

She slipped her hand around him and stroked. "Yes," she whispered.

They made love, then slept until eight o'clock that night. When Pete awakened Birgitta was dressed in a white shirt and a pair of baggy white pants with a red sash around her waist. Her hair was stuffed under a wool visored cap.

"How do I look," she asked with a wide white toothed smile.

Pete squinted his eyes. The wine and sleeping in the afternoon left his mouth feeling like the bulls had run through it. "You look cute as hell," he said. "But you also look like you're candidate for a funny farm."

"What do you think? Do I look like a boy?" She smiled and wiggled with excitement.

"Not even a little bit," he said. "You look like a sexy Swede. What did you do with your tits?"

She unbuttoned the shirt to show him that she had wrapped her chest with a long strip of plain white muslin cloth.

"Jesus," he said. "You're going to get us all killed. I hope the Guardia Civil catches you before a bull does." He got up. "I'm going to take a shower."

"Me too," she said and pulled off her mozo costume.

Dressing up like a boy, and the prospect of running with the bulls, made her aggressive and sexy. She was like a wild woman in the shower.

They dried each other, and Birgitta dressed in a plain shift that showed off her long willowy body.

"I like you better in a dress," Pete said and kissed her.

"Me too, but sometimes you have to hide your stuff." She laughed. She was having a delightful time with her fantasy.

They ate dinner in a cafe/taska locked somewhere in the labyrinth behind the main square, then pushed away from the table to roam through the crowds of people that were jammed into the town.

In their rambling Birgitta and Pete managed to get separated from Henri and Barbara, and they ended up on the street where they run the bulls at the same place they had been that morning.

They stopped at the fence, and Pete put his foot on the bottom rail then rested his arms on the top one. Looking up and down the street he had a tightening in the pit of his gut. Shit he thought. How in the fuck did I allow myself to be conned into this absurd situation? It's one thing to sit around in the cafes‚ in Madrid and talk about bullfighting, and it's another to put your balls on the pass line, to know that your bluff has been called.

"Are you scared?" Birgitta rested her head on his arm.

"Yes," he replied, "a little bit." That was pure bullshit. He was scared to death, and he wasn't at all sure that he was going to have the balls, or whatever it takes to go through with this insane nightmare.

"Then don't do it," she said and rubbed her cheek against his bare forearm.

Don't do it! My God, he thought, if the word got back to Madrid that at the eleventh hour old hard drinking, hell raising, Pete Stuart had lost his nerve, he'd be finished. What if they, who ever they are, found out that he had watched two women and Henri run with the bulls. He'd be exposed as a fraud. No, godamnit,he'd gotten himself into the box, and he'd have to run his way out of it. "How about you? Are you scared?" he asked.

"A little bit," she said.

He wondered if she was lying, too.

They walked back to the Plaza de Castilla, to find Henri and Barbara, then went for sopa de ajo and a pitcher of wine. Both Barbara and Birgitta were sailing ahead of the wind and giddy with their fantasies. Pete decided to give up and go along with them.

"Let's eat, drink and be merry," he said, and raised his glass.

"For tomorrow...."

Pete held up his hand to interrupt Henri. "Shut up!" he said. "Let's just eat, drink and be merry."

The fear that Pete had felt the night before was nothing compared to what he felt as they all stood in front of the Ayuntamiento looking down the street, waiting for the gun shot that would signal that the bulls were on their way. White suited mozos were all around them, joking and laughing with or at them. One of the mozos passed his bota to Pete and he took a long pull of the wine from it. He wondered how many terrified gringos they had watched before him? How many smart ass Yanquis had stood in the same place where he was standing and peed their pants? He was not playing with little two year old calves with a cape in a tienta. He was there with no cape waiting for a herd of five year old bulls! Oh God, he prayed, don't let me pee my pants. Birgitta and Barbara hovered on the side by themselves.

A pareja of Guardia Civil walked by and looked at the women.

Maybe the Guardias will spot them and we can get the hell out of here and be on our way back to Madrid, he thought.

The gun went off, signaling that the bulls were on their way. They started running. Pete ran as though the Devil himself were chasing him. He passed the place where they had stood the night before, and out of the corner of his eye he saw Birgitta running just behind him. Barbara and Henri were in front of him.

He ran faster and harder as he heard the cow bells on the Judas oxen, and the thought crossed his mind that he still had time to jump the fence. Then they were at a point in the street where there was no fence. There was nothing but buildings; there were no doors to run into, no fence to jump. There was no way out; NO EXIT! Then the bulls were right beside him.

They were big and black, and their horns were as long as Pete's arm. Their heads swayed from side to side searching for something solid to hook into. Pete knew that if they found something solid, Birgitta, Barbara, Henri, him for example, they were in serious trouble. It was when the bulls got separated from the rest of the herd that they became dangerous. Then the bulls were in front of them. The bulls had passed. He stopped running.

Pete spotted the patent leather three cornered hats of another pareja o f Guardias. He grabbed Birgitta and ran for the fence.

"Let's get the hell out of here b efore the Guardia Civil catches you."

They jumped the fence. Barbara and Henri were right behind them. The Guardias looked at them, then turned to walk away.

"Holy shit!" Pete said. "I thought those Guardias were going to get us. Where were they when I needed them, before we ran?"

They walked back to the Plaza de Castilla, ate breakfast then packed their things in the MG.

"I'll see you when I get back from Libya, guys,"Pete said. "Ciao"

He shoved the car in reverse and backed away from the curb. Henri and Barbara stood on the sidewalk and waved. Pete and Birgitta both waved back. The top was down, and a mozo walked to Birgitta's side of the car, and touched her arm. He pointed to his eye, then at Birgitta. "Yo te vi hoy en el encierro," he said and smiled. I saw you this morning. He held out his fist with a thumbs up signal. She laughed and gave him the same sign.

"It takes a crazy to know one," Pete said and laughed. "You're lucky the Guardia Civil didn't see you."

"Maybe they did see me," she said and smiled.

"What makes you think so?"Pete asked.

"Did you see that pair of troopers walk by just before the gun went off this morning?" she asked.

"Yes, I saw them. I was hoping they would come over and pull you off the street," he said.

"Well, one of them winked at me," she said and smiled again. "Do you think he was queer, and he thought I was a boy?"

"I doubt it," he said. "I told you that you looked cute as hell in your mozo outfit. You were lucky, both with the Guardia Civil, and the bulls. Neither one of them got you."

She laughed. "I told you we wouldn't get caught."

Pete pulled forward to pass a parade of gigantes y cabezudos that was forming beside a fife and drum band playing Jotas Navarras. The huge papier-maché gigante y cabezudos, giants and big heads, images are archetypal symbols of life's problems, good and evil, love and death, old wise men and women; each morning during the feria they parade through the streets to remind people of their own human frailties and imperfections. Life's problems loom like gigantes, and we are cabezudos, big heads, if we think we can solve them.

Birgitta and the open MG attracted people's attention as they inched through the crowds milling in the streets. Several more mozos, tapped Birgitta's arm and gave her a thumbs up sign. It was obvious that she had not gotten by with her little deception of presenting herself as a man, posing as a boy, and she liked the recognition. She smiled and flashed her own thumbs up sign back when ever it was given to her.

"I can see why the men want to run with the bulls," she said. "It makes you feel grateful, and glad to be alive."

"Do you feel grateful and glad to be alive?" Pete asked. He turned to look at her and smiled.

"Very grateful, and very glad to be alive," she said and reached over to stroke his face. "I love you. Thank you for bringing me. It's the most fantastic thing that has happened to me since I give birth to my first child. It's impossible to appreciate feeling safe and secure with life, until you've been as scared as I was this morning."

"You were scared this morning?" he asked.

"Yes," she giggled. "I almost peed my pants. Weren't you scared?"

"A little bit," he lied.

Birgitta was the incarcation of all of the characteristics that Pete admired in people, men or women. She was light and gay without being reckless, despite her demonstration of bravado that morning. She was honest, open and willing to take risks with her heart and feelings, and not just her body, as she had done with the bulls. She let down her defenses, made herself vulnerable, and she was beautiful. Pete found it hard to imagine that her husband would want another woman.

Once out of town, on the highway, he allowed his mind to wander over the possibility of marrying Birgitta.

In order to marry her, he would first have to ask her if she wanted to marry him, agree to take on the raising of her two children, as well as the two of his own, then they would both have to get divorces. He supposed that she would have to get a divorce in Sweden, and he would have to go to the States. After all of those little "details" were worked out, he would have to submit his resignation from the Foreign Service. In those days an FSO, Foreign Service officer, could not marry a foreign national without the approval of the Department of State, and the department did not give the approval automatically. Sometimes they accepted the resignation.

Also, In those days, or at least in his mind, Foreign Service officers did not take mistresses if they were married, or live-in companions if they were single. In Pete's mind an FSO was supposed to be holier than Caesar's wife. They were, after all, representatives of the United States of America, diplomats who dealt with the big picture, classified information, strategic interests.

Both Birgitta and Pete were married to other people, and Birgitta was a foreigner in so far as the State Department was concerned. With such ponderous gigante and cabezudo notions, is there any wonder that he was attracted to Birgitta's one day at a time lightness and gaiety?

His mind could not grasp all of these gigante issues; they loomed larger than his coping skills. Pete had never heard that commitment moves the universe, or that some Higher Power solves gigante problems. He was a cabezudo. He thought he should be able to solve the problems all by himself. His head and his heart swirled like a whirlpool.

To stop the swirl, he focused his attention on the immediate tasks at hand; getting himself to Libya, and the work he had to do once he was there.

They stopped in a country inn for lunch just outside Burgos, and as they sipped coffee Birgitta stroked his hand.

"Do you know it's only been eight months ago that I first saw you drinking coffee and eating churros in the Bar Central in Torremolinos," she said.

"Yes," he said. "It seems a long time ago doesn't it?"

"Yes," she inhaled. "I'm going to miss you."

"I'll be back," he said.

"I know," she said. "I'll still miss you while you're gone. I was looking forward to spending the whole summer with you in Madrid."

He didn't know what to say to her. They were both starting to feel the let down from all the excitement of the past month, and especially the last two days. They were both anticipating the pain of separation.

"I'll miss you, too, Birgitta," he said and stroked her hand.

He could see tears in the corner of her cool blue Scandinavian eyes. She smiled and brushed the tears away. "Let's not get heavy," she said. "We've had so much fun together. Let's stay light, and gay and 'Look to this day. For it is life. The very life of life.'"

"You remember that little Hindu poem?" he said.

"How could I forget it," she said. "I remember every second from that morning I first saw you in the Bar Central till now. I'll always remember them for the rest of my life. They've been perfectly perfect."

"They have been perfectly perfect, and I still think you're perfectly perfect, even if you are a little crazy when you get around bulls. I love you." He smiled at her.

She smiled. "I love you," she said.

It was just after eight o'clock Sunday night when Pete dropped Birgitta in front of Marge's apartment. "I'll go to my place and pack my things then come back here," he said. "I'll have the duty driver pick me up here in the morning to take me to the airport."

"Okay," she said. "Do you want to eat something tonight?"

"I guess we have to eat," he said. "Would you like to go to Horcher's?"

"What's Horcher's?" she asked.

"The fanciest restaurant in Madrid," he said. "Very elegant."

"Do you want to go there?" she asked.

"What ever you'd like."

"I'd rather be alone with you tonight," she said. "I can fix us something here."

"That sounds good to me," he said.

"Perfectly perfect?" she asked and laughed. She opened the door to get out of the car.

"Perfectly perfect," he said. "I'll see you in about an hour. He leaned over and kissed her.

He packed his bags for a three month's stay in Tripoli, said goodbye to Merche, then with a bottle of Cordon Rouge champagne took a taxi back to Birgitta'sapartment.

Birgitta prepared a light supper of scrambled eggs, smoked Navarra trout, grilled tomatoes and a crisp green salad. Pete opened the champagne, and they sat on the floor in the living room to eat.

They had finished eating, and were sipping the last of the wine.

"Would you write that little Hindu Proverb you recited for me the day we went to Ronda?" she asked.

"Yes, do you have a piece of paper and a pen or pencil?" he said.

She reached under the table and picked up a note pad and pen. She had it ready.

Pete opened the pad, and recited it aloud while writing, "'Look to this day. For it is life. The very life of life. In its brief course lie all the realities and verities of existence. The bliss of growth. The splendor of action, the glory of power For yesterday is but a dream, and tomorrow is only a vision. But today well lived, makes every yesterday a dream of happiness And every tomorrow a vision of hope. Look`well, therefore to this day.'"

"It's so beautiful," she said and brushed tears from her eyes. "Shall we go to bed?"

"Yes," he said and stood up. He offered her his hand and pulled her up. "I love you, Birgitta."

They made love twice during then night with a passion that was beyond anything in the past.

"Running with the bulls makes you passionate," he said.

"I can't get enough of you," she said. "I wish I could store the feelings I get when we make love."

They slept.

At six o'clock the next morning Pete was an FSO again and dressed in a khaki Brooks Brother's suit.

"You look so handsome. You look like a spy," she said and laughed.

Pete laughed.

The bell from downstairs rang. It was the duty driver come to pick him up.

"Pete?"

"Yes?" he said.

"I love you."

"I love you, Birgitta."

"I won't be here when you get back," she said.

"Where will you be?" he asked.

"I'm going back to Stockholm."

"When did you decide?" he asked.

"Last night. I had a message to call my husband when we got home."

"And you called?"

"Yes. He wants me back. The other woman moved out when the children came home."

"I think you're doing the right thing, Birgitta."

The bell from downstairs rang again.

"Who knows?" she said.

"Goodbye," he said and kissed her.

"Goodbye."

© Copyright Gene McCoy

July 1998

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