Saturday, April 19, 2014
The Bull's Head
In 1996, when my family lived on a farm here in Brazil, my father found a piece of wood that had the features and shape of a bull's head. There were a lot of imperfections, obviously, since it wasn't carved by someone: no eye holes, asymmetrical horns and a exaggerated thin chin. Overall, though, it really resembled the animal. My mother was scared when my dad came with it. Because she hated the thing, my dad hang it in the yard.
My parents weren't happy with each other. So there were a lot of fighting going on at that time, like constantly challenges and teasing with little things, stuff like that. Like my father teached to me and to my two brothers, "a man don't cry", so we would simply hide together when the shit hit the van. And then we would cry together, like men.
We were three weak boys with social issues. Also, we didn't had friends, since we lived in a very rural area, far away from anything. And the fact that we would rather die than play soccer, wich is a big deal for a brazilian, didn't help to get affection from my father. We were always a disappointment to him. He made sure we knew that. He still does.
I don't know why my father liked that wooden head so much, but he would stare at it constantly. Sometimes, until late at night, while he would smoke a cigarrete in the dark. He would mumble things and laugh like a drunk. I was six years old and have never had much intimacy with him, so I didn't realized how he was extremely unhappy with his life. Years later, I think my dad, who has a major in engineering and is a very creative and intelligent person, thought he life was over - you know, since a not so much loving wife and three shitty boys kinda turns life into a prison. The head was just something to look at, like people do to a horizon.
Overall, though, he looked crazy to me and I started to get afraid of him and the bull's wooden head. I remember imagining all this kid's supernatural things with my father, like he using the thing as a mask to kill us all. For a while, therefore, I couldn't sleep. I could hear the string attached to the bull's head swing to the winds of the night, followed by the sound of inhalation made by my father's lungs filled with smoke. It was like the sound of hate.
One night, he just had it. He entered the house, heavy breathing, trowing things in the walls, destroying little stuff, yelling and cursing. He said my mother was frigid and that it was all a mistake, that he was still young and couldn't live like that anymore. I found out years later that my parents had sex and money issues also. We three jumped out of bed and were crying in fear. My mother started to use this to make him calm down, saying he was scaring us. But because he was not calming down, she began to yell and cursing as well. Until it became a real fight.
My mom started it. They were both red and spitting. She trowed things at him, than she ran to my father and tried to push him to outside the house while also trying to punch his chest. It was noisy and confusing. At first, my dad didin't hit her, but continued to yell and dodge. Eventually, the fight went outside. That when he lost it.
My father grabbed the bull's head, a massive piece of wood with sharp horns, and trowed at her head. The look on his face...
It didn't hit her, though. My mother is still alive today. It passed my mom's head level and broked the doors glass complety behind her. Dead silence. They looked at each other for some seconds and then he left with his motorcycle. They divorced over the weeks later and we never spoke about it ever again.
ps: I'm sorry if my english is not okay, although it is self explanatory. This is also my first time posting, so I'm sorry for formating errors.
EDIT: My father still owns the bull's wooden head. I can take a picture next time I go meet him.