Pathetic, really, how late in life he had come into his beauty. It didn\u2019t even have the decency to be the normal kind of beauty\u2014no, his was the beauty of a svelte but surprisingly strong former prisoner of a gulag, rangy and bearded, quiet about the before parts of his life but with bright eyes that brightened more when he listened to you, and you thought: oh<\/em>. It wasn\u2019t like he turned heads on the street, not even in this little ski town, yet in line for a bakery as it opened, or in the unpopular sections of a bookstore, the right kind of person would stop, notice him, and scrape their tongue against their top teeth. The smell of their hair would get stronger and Matt would know that if he opened his mouth they\u2019d think the word love, <\/em>or at least sex. <\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n He had nothing against inviting people back to his place, but much more often he found himself invited. He saw the insides of all sorts of apartments and cabins. Often, trying to get back to town in the morning to shower before work, he got turned around between the windbald mountains. This meant he got to the shop at wildly inconsistent times depending on where his date lived or was staying. Vlad of course would already be in the back, listening to the Beach Boys and complaining to himself in Bulgarian. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Matt worked quietly in the stale shopfront, coaxing the old coffee machine under the gaze of the mounts on the walls, antelope and elk. When he shouldered through the workshop door, steaming mug out in self defense, Vlad switched to complaints in English. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYou ass bastard,\u201d said Vlad. After his coffee, he calmed and returned to work. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Currently, Vlad\u2019s professional focus was hooves. An animal\u2019s true essence, he posited, was in its relationship to the ground. This morning, experiments with laces and eyelets crowded his workbench\u2014the floor beneath was piled with failed prototypes incorporating velcro, or inner layers of stocking, or just glue. The job ad had been for an amanuensis. During the interview, conducted on Facebook Messenger, Vlad had asked all sorts of questions about sewing, the treatment of hides, and other such taxidermic knowledge Matt did not have, but in practice the job was making coffee, manning the forlorn front desk, and talking to Vlad. The talking was the hardest part. Vlad took his work seriously, especially his current project, and it was an art to know when he needed building up and when he was due for a cold dose of reality. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cSo,\u201d said Vlad. \u201cYoung Flower.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n Vlad called him Young Flower. Matt was 30. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYou must please tell me. I am dying to know. Have you always had such girlish ankles? Or did you earn them in the acrobatics gymnasium?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cOh, these?\u201d Matt joked. Jokes were, generally, safe. \u201cThese are my mother\u2019s.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cGod, she must be an elegant woman!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYeah, well, keep your eyes to yourself or I\u2019ll start charging.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Vlad laughed hard. Then his eyes went flat and in disgust he threw down his tools. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI must stop thinking in clothes!\u201d he exclaimed. \u201cA bull wears no clothes. A bull is. I must think: skin. I must have new skin.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Partly, Matt thought, the tragedy of Vlad was that he\u2019d been born a few decades too early. These days, if you wanted a new kind of skin there were all sorts of resources and communities online. Agreed-upon, empowering taxonomies. You picked the animal you wanted to be, added the word kin <\/em>to its name, and you were reborn. Matt wasn\u2019t sure whether Vlad was aware of the existence of furries. He wasn\u2019t about to tell him. Though a humble Oregon taxidermist, Vlad was a tortured genius type. If he found out other people were already doing what he was trying to do\u2014even with much less commitment\u2014it would go one of two ways. Either he\u2019d laugh and laugh at the synthetic fur and mo\u00e9 optimism, or he\u2019d go quietly up to his apartment above the shop and blow his brains out.<\/p>\n\n\n\n That night, Matt had dinner with a cosmetologist. She wore black latex gloves when she cut hair. It was part of the uniform. She had a throatpiece of an open pair of scissors. When it was Matt\u2019s turn to talk about work he talked about Vlad, though not the project, whatever the project was. He listened to Vlad talk about it all day but wouldn\u2019t know where to begin describing it. Hooves? New skin?<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cVlad\u2019s really into animals,\u201d Matt told her. \u201cI\u2019ve been kind of worried about him.\u201d Which was the truth. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cHmm. Does he have any friends?\u201d asked the cosmetologist from the kitchen, grabbing them beers. Matt lay naked in her bed, which was also more or less in the kitchen. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cSort of.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n One day after closing, Vlad had said, \u201cCome, Young Flower! We go out.\u201d In his suspensionless pickup they\u2019d driven up the mountain to a campground filled with men. On the way, Vlad had explained how men have to work hard to retain friendships, especially as they get older. Old men who are alone die fast. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cAnd what,\u201d asked the cosmetologist, \u201cwomen get assigned magic besties?\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI asked about that. Vlad\u2019s theory is that women have spent millennia living under the overwhelming, institutionalized hatred of men. To survive, they\u2019ve developed methods of underground friendmaking, the creation of alliances beneath and within a hostile power. Nowadays, with things sort of equalizing power-wise, men are discovering they don\u2019t know such methods. They\u2019ve never needed to develop them.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n The cosmetologist considered. \u201cI\u2019ll have to get back to you on whether I\u2019m offended by that.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n In any case, Vlad, the men, and by extension Matt had spent the evening doing nothing at all. Some played horseshoes at first, but eventually all settled around the fire in silence, adding wood until it was right to stop adding it, and the hoop of their faces dimmed like cave paintings in the sputter of a people\u2019s last dying torch. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cOh and get this,\u201d Matt told the cosmetologist. \u201cWhen they all went home, they didn\u2019t say goodbye. <\/em>They said: Good luck with the night.<\/em>\u201d <\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWeird,\u201d she said. \u201cNorway, right?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cBulgaria. It\u2019s between three seas.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cOh, I was going to say something about long, dark winters. No accent on you, though.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI\u2019m from California.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cOof. Money problems?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n She meant the reason for his being in town. Middle of nowhere. At first he had lied about why, but pretty quickly it turned out he couldn\u2019t do it right, not about Ingrid. So he\u2019d thought out a pared-down version for dates.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cGrief reasons,\u201d he said. \u201cDeath in the family and I came up here because I couldn\u2019t stand it. Staying down there, I mean.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cSounds bad,\u201d said the cosmetologist. For a second she was stiff with discomfort but then she loosened and set her beer on the bedside table, which was her microwave. She put the sole of one bare foot against Matt\u2019s chest. \u201cHi,\u201d she said. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Vlad hit the books. This was the first time Matt had known him to conduct research, but one day bringing a refill he found him braced over a double-page diagram of a bull cut in half, its insides trussed, color-coded, and labeled. He turned the page. The next spread was dedicated to the matador, similarly labeled though his insides were not on display. The red cape was called the muleta.<\/em> The costume was called traje de luces. <\/em>Suit of lights. Without turning, Vlad spoke: \u201cI think, Young Flower, I am arriving at some kind of idea.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Matt paused. The few times Vlad had made a pronouncement like this, Matt had come in the next morning to find the taxidermist mute with misery because, once again, the latest unnamable idea had failed unnamably. He refused to say what had happened those nights\u2014the days after hung hostile and burnt and quiet. Now, not for the first time, Matt wondered whether all this was a little too strange for him. The little shop in the woods, and inside a little man attempting something. He liked Vlad, he did. Criminal paycheck aside he liked the job, its nothingness and total disconnect from what he\u2019d been doing before. But maybe it was time he found a real job at the resort like everyone else, or just moved farther north. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Before closing for the day, Vlad asked Matt to check on the crate in the utility closet. It was there like always, unpried, compact but long enough to accommodate the horns. Vlad had said that, before opening it, he wanted to be sure. That\u2019s how he put it. Be sure. <\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cLooks fine,\u201d Matt reported. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThank you, Young Flower. Now, go clean yourself up! You cannot appear before her so bedraggled!\u201d Matt had told Vlad a little about his dates. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Now the taxidermist looked him in the eye. \u201cGood luck with the night,\u201d he said. <\/p>\n\n\n\n In fact, Matt did not have a date that night. Instead he took a walk. As he paused to browse the one-dollar carts outside the used bookstore, a woman pulled up like a hunting hound. She breathed loudly out her nose and looked Matt right in the eyes. \u201cYou were an emo kid,\u201d she announced. \u201cI can tell.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n He was wearing a band t-shirt. \u201cOh yeah?\u201d he asked. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThey were my Myspace page song circa 2007.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cHaha. I can just see your scene bangs and studded belt.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cOh, I still have that belt,\u201d she said. \u201cWanna see?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n He guessed it had been a while for her because he got winded trying to keep up walking to her place. Downtown was rental shops and specialty gear stores beneath apartments and Airbnbs. All exploded with skiers in the winter, though he\u2019d only been here long enough to catch the tail end of the previous season. <\/p>\n\n\n\n The woman said she worked for the resort as a ski lift technician. She was pretty but had strangely dated hair\u2014shiny brown ringlets framing a noble forehead. She probably wouldn\u2019t appreciate him calling her forehead noble, <\/em>but that\u2019s what it brought to mind for him: feudalism. Sorting her keyring before the door of her third-story walkup, her wrists trembled. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI was a punk kid by the way,\u201d Matt told her. \u201cNot an emo kid.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cSame difference.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cNo way!\u201d he protested. <\/p>\n\n\n\n She turned the knob. The door opened and water gushed out. It sheeted over their shoes and down the steps, the stairwell echoing like a grotto at low tide.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cOh, fuck you,\u201d hissed the ski lift technician. \u201cOh, god damn you.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n While she rushed downstairs to get the super to shut off the main, Matt ran around her unfamiliar studio picking up objects that seemed both important and susceptible to water damage. A lot of things fell into both categories. The water was cold and she was gone a long time. It was not fun. <\/p>\n\n\n\n The super turned out to be supers\u2014plural. Two sisters, maybe forties, maybe Swiss. They gave him a synchronized once-over. \u201cWith any luck he is a plumber,\u201d one sang. Her accent made it sound like she was singing. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cHaha,\u201d he said. <\/p>\n\n\n\n The sisters threw down towels, threw on soup, and hung the soaked area rug from the balcony rail. They made Matt lug up a sump from the basement while the ski lift technician let it all happen around her, looking embarrassed though Matt couldn\u2019t tell in what direction. Then she began to cry. The sisters sat with her. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cHer mother recently died,\u201d one sister explained, rubbing the ski lift technician\u2019s back. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cMy niece died last year,\u201d Matt offered. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Both sisters gave him a look that informed him this had been the wrong thing to say, selfish and irrelevant, so he excused himself. He was disappointed, which was fine. The hot drink feeling of want from a stranger was still unpredictable to him. He was learning how many different ways that feeling could go over the course of a night. <\/p>\n\n\n\n The technician caught up with him on the landing. \u201cUgh,\u201d she said, \u201cI\u2019m so sorry. Home improvement shit like this is so unsexy to me. But you seem really cool. Raincheck?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n He said, \u201cSure.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n A storm came up from the low altitudes overnight. Matt made his morning drive through pondgreen air, black pines thrashing above the old moraines. He was early; the front of the shop stood dark. The door though was unlocked, and when the bell sounded Vlad called out to him from the workshop. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYoung Flower. Matthew, my friend.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n A quaver to his voice. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYou okay, Vlad?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI am wonderful. But don\u2019t come in. Before coming in, please pause.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cPause and do what?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cJust pause.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI\u2019m coming in.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Vlad sat at his workbench, chest heaving, his skin candy red and his clothes inky with sweat. Coming around, Matt saw, hitched up on the stool\u2019s rest bar, one scuffed cowboy boot and one polished hoof. The fur above the hoof curled and shone like a little boy\u2019s tousled crown. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWow, Vlad. It looks real.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cIt is real,\u201d Vlad gasped. \u201cTouch it, Young Flower.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Matt touched it. It was real. The heavy, split keratin dollop of the hoof. The angle of the pastern joint, a bull\u2019s soundness, everything Vlad had spoken of. Lifting the fur there was no transition line, no place of change from his flesh to its. Blood pumped across and within. The hoof reeked. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Lifting the fur there was no transition line, no place of change from his flesh to its.<\/p><\/blockquote><\/figure>\n\n\n\n \u201cFirst,\u201d Vlad said, \u201ccoffee.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Once Matt got him settled, Vlad admonished him through the mugsteam. \u201cDo not be so surprised, Young Flower. I have been telling you this whole time. You did not believe, but it is the law of the universe. If for long enough nothing happens, something will happen. Empathy.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cEntropy.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWell. In addition, I wished for it very hard.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYou wished for it?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYes. It required finding a place of agony. Within, I mean. This will be a problem for us, as I cannot remember how I reached that place. But that is for the future. For now my happiness is enormous.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n The rest of the day, Vlad lunged about heroically, humming to himself. He took stretches of hide and draped them over a pommel horse, then spread them on the floor and lay on top, arms crossed like the undead soon to rise. Meanwhile, his new hoof was real. No way around it. The hoof leg was longer than his human leg, and when he walked he bobbed up on it, then swung back down. Shuffle, click. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Matt sat at the workbench, nauseated. He wondered who he could call. As if he didn\u2019t know. He\u2019d never deleted his brother\u2019s texts from his phone. Because Cooper wasn\u2019t texting him anymore, the vitriol his brother sent after Matt disappeared had slid farther and farther down the screen, buried by texts from dates until Matt just didn\u2019t see it anymore. A few weeks ago, Matt had met a law school hopeful for pasta at a pizza place. She\u2019d talked about acceptance statistics the whole dinner and it had made Matt think of Coop for the first time in a while. His brother the veterinarian. Statistically, vet school was harder to get into than law school or even medical school. The only grad programs with nastier rejection rates were poetry programs, for whatever fucking reason. <\/p>\n\n\n\n The law school hopeful had been abuzz\u2014not in a good way\u2014with waiting for her news, due any day now. She kept kicking the toe of Matt\u2019s boot under the table with the toe of hers. Right when he became sure it was intentional she sort of shuddered, stood, and, saying she didn\u2019t feel so good, walked out the restaurant door and across its nightblack window to where she\u2019d parked. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Vlad ordered in two huge blocks of polyurethane that took up most of the workshop. He spent three days carving mannequins out of them, one in his shape and one in the shape of a bull, starting with the chainsaw then switching to a kind of garrote, his face clamped between the huge, trapezoidal filters of an industrial respirator. He insisted Matt wear one too. Before calling it quits each day they vacuumed up the foam dust, then hit each other with the leaf blower. It made Vlad\u2019s hair fly up and he laughed patting it down. \u201cYou rascal,\u201d he said. \u201cGood luck with the night.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n A week passed. The next Monday, Matt came in to find Vlad on the floor, gulping air, his body so hot the room had been made hot. Protruding from both legs of Vlad\u2019s cargo shorts were two identical bull\u2019s hooves. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Matt crouched over him, touched Vlad\u2019s clammy forehead. A substance had pooled beneath. It smelled sweet. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cJesus, Vlad.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI am very good,\u201d Vlad said, then coughed for six minutes straight.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Matt helped him up to his apartment, which had thin, public school carpet but big windows full of pine fronds. Vlad had tidied since the last time Matt had been up here, a couple months ago to take out an old window AC unit. New books had been artfully arranged on the coffee table. While Vlad clopped into the kitchen for water, Matt opened An Illustrated History of Bullfighting <\/em>to an impressionist painting of the moment of the kill: the bright, dartlike flags drooping from the haunch of the downed beast, the blood down it in melodramatic pink. In the middle ground, an attendant handed the fighter his weapon. <\/p>\n\n\n\n The feeling Matt got from this was bad. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cHey Vlad?\u201d he called. \u201cWhy a bull in the first place?\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n Vlad emerged from the kitchen with, instead of water, a bottle of red and the stems of two glasses twined between his chemicalstained fingers. He and Matt sat at his small dining table.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cHmm,\u201d said Vlad, pouring. \u201cWell, it is\u2014well, bulls, they are single-minded. Yes? They are strong. A force. Their horns, like a crown, no? They are kings.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cExcept they\u2019re chattel.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYes, Young Flower!\u201d Vlad exclaimed. \u201cYou are right, just so. What I say is too simple. A bull is king of nothing. He is in a pen. He is bred and then he is knocked on the head with a hammer. Do you know how much blood spills from the freshly slit throat of a stunned bull?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI guess not.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cMagnitudes, Young Flower. Magnitudes.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n If Vlad had earned a second hoof, it meant he\u2019d found his place of agony again. Matt wondered how he was doing it. Hurting himself maybe, physically or otherwise, then using the pain to dive down into some well or through some eye, past some membrane. Real magic probably worked like that. Stepping past a threshold, then fighting your way back with whatever you\u2019d managed to plunder. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Vlad was beaming. He topped off both glasses. \u201cWhat I am saying is the bull, even more than an animal, is a symbol. He is a dumb, sad brute and yet we see in this creature dignity? Strength? A bull has no strength. In no contest does the bull prevail. If it kills the fighter, all it earns is the next. And yet. We do see these things. Strength. Through the animal\u2019s own oblivion, we see them.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n The apartment\u2019s windows were old and set badly in their frames. Matt could hear the tree branches telling on each other. He got the bad feeling again. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Vlad sat back. \u201cAh, Young Flower. I want to be a bull because they are cool. That is all. And you? What do you think is cool?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cUh. Birds? Like, hawks?\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n Vlad rolled his eyes. \u201cBirds. Of course. You Americans. Hey, Young Flower? Watch this.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n Out in the empty parking lot, Vlad set his hooves into a sprinter\u2019s starting position then erupted across the gravel, ungainly at first but then finding his rhythm and picking up so much speed Matt\u2019s uncanny valley instinct pinged. When Vlad tried to turn at the lot\u2019s end he couldn\u2019t overcome his own momentum and, arms wheeling, he careened into the brush. After a second, his face poked back out like one of Peter Pan\u2019s lost boys, except old. <\/p>\n\n\n\n The ski lift technician with the flooded apartment texted, asking for a re-do date. She suggested hiking. Matt remembered her crying over the sound of the sump pump, almost said no, then said yes. The afternoon of, she didn\u2019t take him to any sort of trail but to the autumnbare slopes of the resort itself. There had been fearful talk in town that it wouldn’t snow at all the coming season. Scrabbling after her under the lonely lift lines, Matt theorized how badly being at her place of employment killed the mood. The answer didn\u2019t matter. Matt didn\u2019t go on dates for the mood. <\/p>\n\n\n\n She seemed anxious again. They talked while resting on a bluff, periodically cupped and uncupped by giant hands of mist. She talked about her job, how she liked the way it was high skill but low stakes. He defined the word amanuensis for her. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWow. Are you an artist too?\u201d she asked. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cNot really. In a previous life I was an actor.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cNo lie?\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n Immediately Matt wished he had lied. He usually did about the acting. But he was rooting for the technician, had been trying to encourage her, offer up something. By mistake he\u2019d offered a true thing he did not want to talk about. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Meanwhile the technician waited. <\/p>\n\n\n\n He\u2019d been born and raised in an unfamous part of LA\u2019s sprawl, Claremont if she was interested. Mortifyingly, he fell in love with the movies. He insisted and whined and his parents had paid for theater magnet school, but neither of them were in the business so after that he\u2019d had to get lucky. And he did. From an open call he was cast as Lancelot in an overly ambitious but visually stunning adaptation of The Once and Future King<\/em>, which led to a lead role in a gender-swapped, eighties junkie neo-horror version of The Little Girl Who Lives Down the Lane. <\/em>Indie darling, critically acclaimed. He got an agent. He was 19. He appeared in a handful of decent projects out of respected studios and was breaking into second- and third-round auditions for bigger things from hot directors. He was good. <\/p>\n\n\n\n And then 10 years passed. If he\u2019d had a moment it was gone. His agent\u2019s words. The few casting directors he did get in with said they were moving in a different direction, or that he was talented but, unfortunately, not handsome enough.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cUh, you\u2019re pretty handsome,\u201d the ski lift technician said. \u201cAt least I think so.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThanks. But there\u2019s handsome and there\u2019s movie handsome. And I\u2019m more handsome now than I was then.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n Joshing him for vanity, she looked him up on her phone. Press tour shots and film GIFs. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cOh dang,\u201d she said. \u201cYou are more handsome.\u201d Here she frowned, confused. \u201cBut wouldn\u2019t that mean you\u2019d have better luck now? Getting hired? Cast?\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n He shrugged. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cDid you get tired of trying? Is that why you\u2019re up here? Or did something big break your heart?\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n Matt looked at her anew. \u201cYou\u2019re good,\u201d he admitted. <\/p>\n\n\n\n She grinned. \u201cLet me show you something.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n They hiked up to where one of the lifts terminated. No one around. With a small red lever in a locked metal cabinet she fired it up. The cables shrieked, the hanging chairs began to move. They got on one together and descended along the angle of the mountain. With no snow, the lift supports and resort outbuildings looked furtive, like the surface protrusions of a vast, secret underground facility. <\/p>\n\n\n\n The ski lift technician touched his hand, but did not lean in. \u201cSay it up here,\u201d she told him, \u201cif you can\u2019t on the ground. The wind takes your words away, so it\u2019s like you didn\u2019t say them at all. Try it! I\u2019ve banished tons of demons like this.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n Matt swallowed. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cHere, I\u2019ll go first.\u201d She cupped her hands around her mouth. He expected her to say something about her mom\u2019s death but instead she shouted: \u201cMargrith and Julia are nice but they\u2019re killing me on rent! They\u2019re bleeding me dry and I hate them!\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThere,\u201d she said. \u201cNow you.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cIt wasn\u2019t even related to acting,\u201d Matt said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThat\u2019s okay,\u201d said the technician.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Matt looked down, trying to gauge the distance to the earth below. He swallowed so he could shout.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cMy niece died!\u201d he shouted. \u201cLeukemia! I was there for the whole thing! I went with her and my brother and his wife to appointments and surgeries! But it just kept getting worse! She had a downward trend! My brother is a vet and it killed him to be so close to being able to understand and help professionally but not being able to! And she died!\u201d Beside him the technician took her hands off the safety bar and pressed them to her legs. \u201cAnd suddenly there was LA! And the idea of wading into it all again was so stupid I left! I had to! I left before Ingrid\u2019s funeral and didn\u2019t tell anyone! It\u2019s the worst thing I\u2019ve ever done but it was like I couldn\u2019t see straight! My brother called and texted and I never answered! My phone felt like a bomb until he stopped! Now I\u2019m here!\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n He hated how the volume of his voice gave every sentence an exclamation point. The technician had lied: the wind hadn\u2019t taken a single one of his words away. The lift brought them back to earth and in the vacant parking lot he suggested coffee at his place. She said maybe not. That night she texted to apologize. I have pretty severe issues with abandonment<\/em>, she wrote. I get what you went through was hard, but I need to protect myself from people not strong enough to, you know, be there. Good luck with everything.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n Amazing that you think you understand a single thing about me<\/em>, he texted back. <\/p>\n\n\n\n After that, Matt went two weeks, then three, without going on another date. This wasn\u2019t good or bad. Well at first it felt good, easy, then it felt bad. His life condensed more than he\u2019d already made it to. He worked, then went home alone. Cooked something simple and watched a movie. Good luck with the night. He braced for Vlad\u2019s next change.\u00a0<\/p>\n\n\n\n Only it didn\u2019t come. Two weeks, three\u2014whatever Vlad had done before he seemed to be having trouble doing again. The taxidermist turned jokey, then brittle. At the shop, Matt didn\u2019t know where to position himself relative to his dark cloud; if he stayed in front, Vlad seemed abandoned. If he hung out in the workshop, he had to witness Vlad abusing the mannequins. The man-shaped mannequin he covered in animal parts and orbited, telling it things in Bulgarian that could only be degrading. The bull mannequin stood away, faced into a corner. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cIt is as I feared,\u201d Vlad groaned. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Matt hesitated. \u201cThe agony problem?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Vlad covered his face. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI\u2019ve been trying to understand,\u201d Matt said. \u201cWhat you did the first two times\u2014\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cIt is different,\u201d Vlad snapped. \u201cEvery time different, every time harder. I am trying now to be two things. Not a bull and a man, but a symbol and a being. The symbol endures. The being ends.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n The being ends, thought Matt. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThe problem is this. I must wish for it, yes? I have wished for it. But what I have already, it is too much like I hoped it would be. The changing is too beautiful and I keep thinking how beautiful it is. I know it will eventually become familiar and less bright. All it will take is time. But ah, Young Flower, I hate to wait. A disgusting flaw, no?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Before lunch Vlad would not look at his new legs. In the afternoons he stroked them carefully. He tried breathing meditations, following the recorded voice on an app he\u2019d asked Matt to download onto his phone. When not meditating, Vlad breathed like his lungs owed him money. It was clear he wasn\u2019t sleeping. Another week. Matt found himself wishing alongside Vlad. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cDo they hurt?\u201d Matt asked him. \u201cYour legs?\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cMy hooves are wonderful,\u201d Vlad said. \u201cIt is the rest of me that is in pain.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Another week and Matt couldn\u2019t stand it. His apartment, the shop, back to his apartment. This was not surprising to him. On the apps, he matched with a woman who worked for the Bureau of Land Management. He asked if that was like being a park ranger and she responded with a crying laughing emoji. Haha no I\u2019m a clerk.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n She invited him to dinner at her cabin and they ate on her amazing deck until a chill set in and she had to lend him a heavier coat. The sun went down. It always had and still did scare him, how quiet it got in this place after dark. The fairy lights she had strung tree to tree did not help but rather burned in invitation to whatever might be walking in the night. And Matt wondered: Where was the magic coming from? Here? The mountains above that sometimes fell? Or had Vlad brought it with him from his homeland between three seas? He was cold and afraid and begged off early to the clerk\u2019s look of hurt confusion. The next day, he went in early for want of anything else to do. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Vlad slunk across the floor out into the shopfront about midmorning and sat with his back against the counter where Matt was standing. He made wet sounds into his elbow until Matt looked down at his boss. Vlad\u2019s pale scalp at the part of the tough greywire hair, pulled away from his neck into milkmaid braids. Vlad had turned on the building heat for the winter and it was working overtime\u2014they\u2019d stripped down. Vlad wore a tank top and hazard-orange swim trunks, the fur of his hooves spiked with sweat.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWill you stand there and do nothing, Young Flower?\u201d whispered Vlad. <\/p>\n\n\n\n This question surprised Matt. Vlad had never asked for help before but more than that Matt was surprised at how angry the question made him. The past weeks had been frustrating, ugly even, but he\u2019d never felt actually pissed off until this moment. I do not want to be here, Matt thought, but Vlad gazed up at him from the floor.\u00a0<\/p>\n\n\n\n Vlad had never asked for help before but more than that Matt was surprised at how angry the question made him.<\/p><\/blockquote><\/figure>\n\n\n\n \u201cWhat do you want me to do, Vlad?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Vlad sniffed. \u201cTell me something bad.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cSomething bad.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYes. I am too happy. As usual. Tell me I am never going to do it. Tell me it is hopeless.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cIt\u2019s hopeless,\u201d Matt tried. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Vlad flinched but then looked disappointed. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cIt\u2019s hopeless, Vlad,\u201d Matt said again. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Vlad cocked his head. As if at something he detected in Matt\u2019s voice. After a moment he licked his lips. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYoung Flower,\u201d he said. \u201cWhat do you say we make a night of it. Hm? The couch has its comforts, take it from me. Be here to see the night. Or what it could be. Lend your perspective. We can talk into the hours. Yes?\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n Matt looked at Vlad. He looked at the clock. Not even noon. Something bad, he thought. <\/p>\n\n\n\n He started packing up. \u201cSorry,\u201d he said. \u201cI have a date. I was actually hoping you wouldn\u2019t mind if I took off early. I have a few things to get ready. Have I told you about this girl? I like her a lot. She works for the Bureau of Land Management.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n Vlad closed his eyes. When he opened them he stood, stroking his braids haplessly. \u201cEarly?\u201d the taxidermist said. \u201cOh well yes of course. Not as though things are happening here.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThanks.\u201d Matt grabbed his bag, pulled on his hat. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cA special lady this time, you are saying?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThat\u2019s right. I might be in love, honestly. Anyway I\u2019ll tell you all about her tomorrow, okay? She\u2019s beautiful. I can\u2019t wait to see her.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cAh,\u201d said Vlad. <\/p>\n\n\n\n He followed Matt to the doorway and was still there when Matt pulled out of the lot. <\/p>\n\n\n\n At home Matt slept. When he woke it was dark. The responsible thing to do for dinner was leftovers\u2014his fridge was overflowing from ordering in the past month more than was probably morally correct. He couldn\u2019t remember which were most recent. A few styrofoam lids opened to reveal mutated remains. There was a smell, actually. He got a trash bag from under the sink but had trouble opening it; in the light of his one lamp he couldn\u2019t tell the difference between the bag\u2019s inside and its outside. This reminded him of Vlad. Right about now he had to be hyperdense in the darkness of the shop, forgesteam spewing out of his mouth. Ever since Matt had told Vlad about his dates, talk had increased about the girls, the girls out there, was Matt seeing girls, what girls were they, and how many? \u201cAh you are abandoning me for the girls,\u201d he\u2019d say when Matt leaned through the workshop door at quitting time. \u201cWell, good luck with the night I suppose.\u201d To do Vlad the kindness of solving the agony problem he\u2019d had to be cruel, but Matt wasn\u2019t sure he\u2019d done right. There was no telling how many more nights it would take. <\/p>\n\n\n\n He took out his phone, tapped to contacts, scrolled. His brother was listed as Brother Cooper, like a monk. As opposed to a veterinarian. After Matt had fled up here, the cruel texts his brother sent became, under the name, benedictions of a kind. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Cooper was a great veterinarian. He cared for the pets of stars. He had to know something. Matt sat with his thumb over the call icon. He wasn\u2019t sure how he\u2019d broach the subject, so he sat there trying to figure that out. Then his phone shook with an incoming call. Impossibly, it was his brother.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Matt answered on speaker. The connection was wide, hissy with the interference of every cell tower between here and Los Angeles. He heard the spin of ice in a glass. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI am giving you a phone call,\u201d Cooper said. He was drunk. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThis is really fucking weird,\u201d Matt said after a second. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cNot a great start, bud.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cNo. I was\u2014I was literally about to call you. Like my thumb was up. But then you called me.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cSpooky,\u201d Cooper allowed. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cEverything okay?\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI found out where you\u2019re living today,\u201d Cooper said. \u201cFinally. Francine told me. She brought Spanky in. Her blue-and-gold. That parrot\u2019s fucking ancient. And dying, unfortunately. You remember Francine, right? You were in that movie together. The one set in the apartment building that crosses time like a ship, and the tenants listen to each other through the walls. At the end everything catches fire.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI remember,\u201d Matt said. Over the line he heard the lap of water. \u201cOut by the pool?\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYep. Just little old me.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cHow\u2019s Lil?\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cAnyway Francine was like, is Matty still up there in the woods? She\u2019s worried about you. Said I should give you a call. So. I\u2019m calling.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n Matt imagined Cooper\u2019s backyard. The bluelit pool and soulless monoculture grass. Cooper had kept it so carefully, wasted so much water and leeched so many poisons into the topsoil, so Ingrid would have a soft place to play. Matt hoped Coop and Lilly weren\u2019t having marital problems. But of course they were. Their little girl had died in their arms. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cIt\u2019ll be a year in the spring,\u201d Cooper said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n This was a fact. Nothing Matt could say to it. Last spring had been unseasonably cold in LA. Ingrid had wanted to go to the beach. Her lips had turned blue in the wind, then the rest of her had. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYou should come home,\u201d Cooper said next. <\/p>\n\n\n\n This was not a fact. Not even close. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWhat does that mean?\u201d Matt asked. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cIt means come home. You shouldn\u2019t be up there. There\u2019s nothing up there, man.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI guess I don\u2019t know what you\u2019re saying,\u201d Matt said. <\/p>\n\n\n\n In LA, Cooper stood in anger. Matt heard the topple of his plastic chair. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cGod dammit you little twerp,\u201d he shouted. \u201cI don\u2019t forgive you, okay? You fucking selfish prick. You crumbled the minute we needed you the most. It was the three of us, plus her, the whole time, and then suddenly you were gone. I had to say her name in front of all those people, and Lilly was alone in the front row, and you\u2014a few more days, you piece of shit? I would have driven you up there myself. But no. And tonight? I had to call you. That is fucking monstrous, man.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI know,\u201d Matt said. \u201cI swear I was about to call.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cShut up. Come home. I\u2019m pissed. But come back to LA so I can be pissed at you in LA. You\u2019re not special. You can be forgiven. Someday. You can stay in the office.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n Matt ran into his tiny bathroom. He was going to barf out of relief. He lifted the seat and bent but the relief stayed put, plugging. Eventually he managed to speak. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cLilly might have something to say about that.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cOh Lilly will fucking hate it. But come and the two of you can have it out. Listen, your defense is that, yes you missed the funeral, but you were there for everything else. You came over, cleaned up Ingrid\u2019s vomit, and 15 minutes later she couldn\u2019t breathe because she was laughing so hard at some dumb shit you said. Tell Lilly that, then say you\u2019re sorry. That\u2019s all you need to do. Are you ready to say sorry?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI\u2019m ready,\u201d Matt said. He was. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cGood.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cBut Coop?\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYeah?\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI crumbled when Ingrid stopped needing me. That\u2019s what happened.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n For a long time Cooper didn\u2019t say anything. Then he said, \u201cCome home. You\u2019re not special.\u201d He hung up. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Matt didn\u2019t wait to start packing. It was suddenly very funny to him how few things he owned. He was rolling one of his four t-shirts when he heard a crash outside. His apartment was on the first floor, with windows to the alleyway there. He opened one and poked his head out. Nothing other than a fallen trash can and a new bite to the breeze. <\/p>\n\n\n\n In the car, the radio talked about a big surprise snow on the way. Everyone had been worried but it was coming. Matt didn\u2019t really listen. He hadn\u2019t slept. He kept being surprised by the same realization. He\u2019d thought Ingrid dying had clarified the world and what mattered in it but it hadn\u2019t clarified shit. In fact it had hidden so much away. <\/p>\n\n\n\n He got to the shop. Vlad was in the front, making coffee. He was covered in mud. No, it was fur. A velvet shell of hide up his chest to the top of his throat. The hide looked warm and it suited Vlad in a way Matt would not have guessed. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Vlad held up a bristled hand. It was still a hand. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cBefore you say a word, Young Flower, I want to say something to you. Thank you.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cVlad, I\u2014\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cNo. No. Whether you meant to or not, you have helped me. It is past. It is good. Thank you hugely.\u201d Vlad stepped forward, gripped Matt\u2019s shoulders. \u201cMore importantly Matthew, I am feeling you have something to tell me. Something joyful, yes? It is that you are leaving, no?\u201d At Matt\u2019s expression he said, \u201cOh it is obvious. You floated in here like a sunbeam. How happy for you! A new stage of your life.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n Matt explained. He felt he owed an explanation, which was why he\u2019d come. About his life, about moving up here, Ingrid and Lily and his brother. But midway through Vlad disengaged, busying himself straightening a mount. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThat is wonderful, Young Flower,\u201d Vlad said. \u201cDo you leave now?\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cEarly tomorrow, probably. After they clear the roads. There\u2019s a storm.\u201d This would break his lease but Matt didn\u2019t care. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYes,\u201d Vlad said. \u201cA big one.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI\u2019m sorry it\u2019s so fast.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cOh do not, Matthew. Do not. There is much for you to do. Arrange your conveniences. One last croon upon your lady love. Ha!\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n Matt laughed. \u201cYou\u2019re using \u2018croon\u2019 wrong.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI will croon you upside the head. But how about this, Young Flower. Do one last favor for me. I have a package. Pick it up, return, and we\u2019ll have a last drink. A good midday drink. I will toast you and you will toast me and we will say our farewells. What do you say?\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI say great.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWonderful. Meet me in the flat.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n The post office was 20 minutes there, 20 minutes back. Halfway, it began to snow. Ski families were appearing. The streets were suddenly packed with them, hybrid SUVs jockeying, every child with an iPad. There was a line at the post office. Waiting, Matt decided that during their drink he would only tell Vlad kind things, no matter how badly he begged. He thought about the word croon <\/em>and opened the apps to message the few drinks he had lined up. One of them texted back, disappointed. The other two blocked him. All these dates. His new handsomeness had come on suddenly during the worst time of his life and felt like something distributed out to him by a system as compensation. Acting upon it felt like blooming. Like a televised Olympic feat he wouldn\u2019t accomplish again. Glorious to be wanted, sure, but glory required the logistics of pain. Of being brusquely dismissed, of taking and being taken for granted. Of making concessions, of dehumanizing and being dehumanized in minor ways that weirdly he had not felt accumulate, though they must have. It was all a room he could step out of and thank god.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The postal worker retrieved two packages: a cardboard roll like for a poster and a longer, heavier, rectangular box. Back at the shop Matt parked in a thin blanket of snow on the gravel, climbed the stairs, and let himself into the apartment. \u201cI come bearing gifts!\u201d he called. <\/p>\n\n\n\n No answer. Outside the snow was turning heavy. Soft music played from a turntable by the small TV and a delicious smell wafted from a saut\u00e9 pan simmering on the stove. An open bottle breathed on the counter. Vlad was not in the kitchen or the bedroom, nor the bathroom when Matt checked. There was only the music and Vlad\u2019s low furniture, his weirdly chic European taste. He found Vlad\u2019s phone facedown on the carpet by accidentally stepping on it. <\/p>\n\n\n\n To get to the shop he had to go downstairs and back outside, shifting the packages arm to arm. He shouldered through the front door and the bell jingled. Setting the packages on the counter, he went into the workshop. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cVlad,\u201d he called, \u201cwhatever\u2019s cooking up there smells amazing.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n When he saw what was in the workshop he stopped. He turned around and, silently, returned to the shopfront. <\/p>\n\n\n\n The bull had not reacted hostilely to his presence or even seemed much aware of him. It stood at an oblique angle from the door, staring amicably ahead, chewing its cud, its incredible muscle mass lit into chiaroscuro by the harsh light of the workbench lamp. No evidence whatsoever of rampaging. The only indication of something amiss at all was the fluffs of industrial packaging strewn across the floor from the open utility closet. The man-shaped mannequin had had some of its facial features smoothed. It wore a shirt Matt could not find last night to pack. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Matt peeked back in. There it was. He noticed the horns for what they were: weapons, rigged to the neanderthal brow beneath a bowlcut tuft of hair. The whippy tail and the eyes, emotionless yet in their whites a madness irrespective. Matt stepped back, wondering what exactly had, in the end, made Vlad sad enough. <\/p>\n\n\n\n He considered calling animal control. He considered calling Cooper. He had forgotten to mention Vlad last night when they\u2019d talked. He decided against both. The packages lay before him on the counter. After last night\u2019s call, Matt had decided to be a person who kept his promises. The cardboard tube contained a cape the size of an overgenerous apron, red. From the longer box he pulled a narrow and wicked sword, the hilt one-handed, a combination T and crescent guard. Matt held both objects in the thin storm light. He flowed the cape this way and that, getting a feel. Danced back, then forth. Matadors were not killed in the sacred arena but gored<\/em>. A final test felt expected and fair, all things considered. Behind the door the bull sighed deeply and the sound was his name.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" “Young Flower” by Samuel Jensen Pathetic, really, how late in life he had come into his beauty. It didn\u2019t even have the decency to be the normal kind of beauty\u2014no, his was the beauty of a svelte but surprisingly strong former prisoner of a gulag, rangy and bearded, quiet about the before parts of his […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1546,"featured_media":313801,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"om_disable_all_campaigns":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_feature_clip_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false},"categories":[5557,63],"tags":[690,18,62,178,5577,94,556],"class_list":["post-313729","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-lit-mags","category-recommended-reading","tag-animals","tag-dating","tag-death","tag-family","tag-recommended-reading","tag-relationships","tag-work"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"\n
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