All the while Cornelius, who stood in the yard facing Caesar, seemed not to notice what was going on in the road. He had his own problems to think about. Never had he expected the regime to grant him such a formidable specimen. The truth of the matter was, he was not familiar with farm animals, especially bulls, and he wondered if his shed would be big enough or strong enough to hold this one. Somehow he didn’t think it would be. Striker was enormous; he most definitely exceeded eight hundred kilograms. He could easily ram his horns through the door or into the walls and knock everything down. How could he manage him? Everyone in the village knew that Striker was a difficult beast with a mind of his own and listened only to Kirilo. Cornelius was growing more and more uneasy.
“Take him by the horns and show him who’s boss!” someone shouted, laughing, from over the fence. “Take him home, Corny, you’ll have enough meat for two winters!” Then, “Look, Corny’s shaking. He’s white as a ghost! He’s scared.”
Cornelius turned angrily on the crowd. “I’m not scared. I’ve had more in life to deal with than the likes of this stupid bull. I, Cornelius Kovzalo, I’ll have you know, have been through hell and high water. And now I’m being rewarded with this very fine bull. But people, I don’t want you to forget the real issue at hand here. Our wonderful new regime is giving away all the riches of the land to the working masses. If it weren’t for our heroic blood brothers, Olivinski would still be slashing our backs with his horsewhip and digging his boot heels into our shins. We should all bow down to our great ruler, Joseph Stalin, to show our thanks. Hurrah to our new leader, our liberator!”
He turned to Leyzarov. “And I’m most grateful to you, Comrade Iofe Nicel for presenting me with this grand bull. I’m going to tie him to a beam in my shed and when a cow comes into season, he’ll more than prove his worth. That’s the way I see it. This bull is mine, but at the same time he’s not mine. He’ll generate life and prosperity for the whole village. As you all know, our livestock is weak and meager, but Striker is an exceptional animal; his great virility will create a revolution on our farms. Our bulls will become broad and healthy and our cows will not only produce an abundance of milk but they’ll bear an endless stream of strong, healthy calves. So you see, citizens, profits from this one bull will be never-ending, thanks only to our new family in Moscow. We must always remember to show our loyalty. May I be afflicted with cholera and suffer instant death if I ever say or do anything to betray our new regime in even the slightest way. I detest all landowners, and let a boil jump out where the sun doesn’t shine if I don’t wring the neck of every bourgeois pig that comes my way!”
Listening closely to him, the crowd was growing more and more agitated. All eyes were on the bull and it was not long before the catcalls began again.
“Hey, Corny, let the bullfighting begin!”
“Make sure he doesn’t gore you!”
“Corny, swing your red cape!”
The people stood counting the minutes for the face-off to begin. And sure enough, at that very moment Striker started digging his heels into the ground and kicking up his feet. He released several long ear-splitting yelps, and then, with his eyes gleaming fiercely, charged after Cornelius. Cornelius took to his heels and fled; blood rushed to his head and sweat poured down his back. Coming to the barn and pressing himself up against the wall, holding his arms out in self-defense, he cried, “Down, boy, down! I’m not your enemy! Come on, let me take you home!”
But the bull only became more enraged. The black hairs on his back stood on end and he snorted wildly. Cornelius braced himself for the fight of his life.
The crowd waited in suspense. Cornelius dared not move a muscle, and flicking his eyes left and right, quickly considered his options. Should he try again to calm Striker, or should he make a run for it? Finally he made a decision, and as fast as his legs could carry him, fled toward the garden fence.
Panting heavily, aiming his horns, the bull took after him in full force. The distance between them lessened with each second and Cornelius could feel the bull’s hot breath on his neck. The bull almost took him down with his horns, but with a stroke of luck, somehow Cornelius managed to scramble up and over the fence to safety. Striker shook with rage and foamed at the mouth.
“Hah! Hah!” Cornelius laughed, peering victoriously through the paling. “I’ve outsmarted you, you bourgeois bastard! You tried to pin me with your horns, and I outdid you.” Then boastfully to the crowd, “Cornelius Kovzalo, Village Chairman, has been through hell and high water! And today all he had to do was jump the fence to win the game! Hah, hah, hah!”
Sniffing the fence for a moment or two, Striker began to grunt and snort and swing his enormous body. Growing increasingly agitated, he seemed determined to get to the other side. Aiming his horns, he rammed them into the half-rotted planks, stabbing at each one as if with a knife. It was not long before the entire fence collapsed, and the bull once again took after Cornelius, who ran like the wind. But which way should he go? The fence connecting the garden to the outlying pasture was much too far, he’d never make it, and the crowd was even farther away. Cornelius ran in a zigzag and made his way into the orchard. Not knowing which way to go, he spotted a young antonivka and dashed toward it. Grabbing hold of a limb, he scrambled up the trunk and balanced himself on a branch halfway up. By the time the bull reached the tree, Cornelius was already safely out of reach. Shaking like a leaf, he called out to the crowd:
“Someone, quick, throw me up a revolver!”
But the bull wouldn’t let up. Taking a step backward, his body in full swing, with all his might, he rammed his head into the tree. The young antonivka shook as if in a terrible storm. Rotted apples dropped to the ground and branches crackled. The bull banged the tree again and again.
“Help! Help!” cried Cornelius desperately.
The people roared with laughter and clapped their hands.
At that moment Kirilo emerged from the barn, and cautiously approached the bull. In his right hand he carried a large clump of hay. He called out softly: “Caesar, hey, Caesar, come here. Why don’t you leave that idiot up in the tree, let him spend the night up there if he wants to. Come on, boy, I brought you some hay.”
The bull, hearing Kirilo’s voice, calmed down almost instantly. Giving a slight toss to his head and lowering his eyes, he began to swish his tail back and forth. Kirilo lifted the rope that was tied around his neck and stroked him gently behind the ears. The bull stuck out his thick, prickly tongue and affectionately licked his hand.
The crowd cheered. Kirilo became an instant hero.
In the meantime, Cornelius could not find the courage to climb down from the tree. It was not until he saw Kirilo lead the bull into the barn and shut the door behind him, that he slipped down. All eyes were on him and he saw everyone laughing.
“Well, Corny.” Leyzarov walked up to him and patted him on the back. “You’re very good at jumping fences and scrambling up trees. I must hand it to you, you put on quite a show for us today, yes, you really outdid yourself. Now go on home and rest up.”
Cornelius, his head lowered and his pride bitterly wounded, made for the village road. He had been so humiliated that he felt no better than a dirty old dishrag. Hurrying to get out of sight, he was soon lost behind a dense stand of trees.