Goldie's Tale

Goldie’s Story

“That has got to be the most amoral story I have ever had the displeasure to hear!” frowned Death.
“At least it wasn’t boring!” said Hoss.
“But Hoss, where is the moral of the story?” asked Goldie.
“The what?”
“You know, the life lesson? What we are supposed to learn from the story?”
“Learn from a story? Are you kidding me? Stories are supposed to be entertaining. The minute you paste a moral on, the story withers up and dies.”
“Hmm,” said Death and Goldie together, with pursed lips.(Do horses have lips?)
“Look Goldie, if you want a story with a moral maybe you should tell one!” said Hoss.
“Oh my, I don’t know any stories…”
“Oh come on, Goldie,” said Death, “You know lots of stories!”
“Hmmm, how about ‘Winning True Love’?”
“That doesn’t sound very promising…” moaned Hoss, fearing a serious plot-line.

Once upon a time, there was a beautiful princess who spent every afternoon at the bullfights cheering on Rodrigo, the dashing matador, the most famous matador in all of the land.
The princess (whose name was Mitzi) had been in love with Rodrigo for as long as she could remember. Rodrigo, who was somewhat self-centered, didn’t even know she was alive. Well, of course, he knew that she was alive because she was a princess and all, but he certainly didn’t know that she was pining for him with every fiber of her being.
“I knew it!” whined Hoss, “This is a total mare’s tale and I don’t mean the weed!”
“Hush, Hoss, you might like it,” said Death.
Mitzi decided that she needed to attract the matador’s attention but she had no idea how to do it. She tried wearing the most gorgeous gowns to the bullfights, she tried showing off all of her most precious jewels, she stood on her chair and waved silken handkerchiefs at him (until her mother, the Queen, made her sit down). Nothing worked; the handsome Rodrigo was oblivious.
“Sound familiar Hoss?” asked Death.
“Now Death,” tutted Goldie, “You’re interrupting my flow.”
“Sorry…” said Death.
“You outta be!” said Hoss.
One day Mitzi had had enough. She decided to seek out the Witch of Nobbi and enlist the help of the Dark Realm in her quest for Rodrigo’s heart. She thought that the Witch could just cast a spell on the matador or give her a love potion and that would be that. She would get true love and nobody would be hurt. She was as naïve as she was beautiful.
Mitzi rapped at the door of the Witch’s cottage and waited. A crackly voice responded: “Yes, I’m coming, keep your shirt on!” The Witch opened the door and peered at the princess. “Well, come on, out with it! I’m not getting any younger you know.”
“Uh,” said Mitzi, her eyes goggling at the withered old woman, “I’d like to purchase a charm, or spell, or love potion…”
“Hmm,” muttered the Witch, “a charm, or a spell or a love potion. My deductive skills lead me to suspect that you are in love.”
“Oh yes, I am!” said the princess, expecting background music to swell up at the announcement. “His name is Rodrigo and he is the most famous matador in the land!”
“Does he love you?”
“No,” she said, her voice crestfallen, “I don’t think he knows that I exist!”
“Then, I would recommend Love Potion #7, with a splash of ginger to make it go down smoothly.”
“How does it work?”
“Simply put three drops of # 7 in his beverage and make sure that you are the first woman he sets eyes on and he will surely fall in love with you.”
“What happens if I’m not the first female he sees?”
“What do you think happens, you ninny? He falls in love with the first female he sees, so make sure that it is you!”
Princess Mitzi gathered in the potion and ran for home with the Witch’s cackles ringing in her ears. She immediately went to the royal wine cellar and found a bottle of extremely expensive wine that she was sure Rodrigo could not resist. She carefully pried out the cork and put three drops of the potion into the bottle. Then, she plunged the cork into the bottle again.
Next day, she was in her usual seat at the bullfight. Rodrigo was in his glory, dispatching a huge black bull with the kind of balletic moves that would have made a prima ballerina jealous. He walked languidly around the ring occasionally picking up a flower and smelling it.
“Well done, Rodrigo,” cried the princess as he drew near.
“Thank you,” he said bowing.
“I award you this bottle of fine wine from the royal cellars,” she said and a lackey picked it up and brought it to the smiling matador.
“My grateful thanks, your Majesty!” he said with another somewhat less deep bow.
Mitzi waited until Rodrigo was in his dressing room and waited another ten minutes to ensure that he would have opened the bottle and had a glass of wine. Then she rapped on his door.
“Just a minute,” called the matador, “I’m just dressing!” Mitzi tapped her foot impatiently.
Finally, Rodrigo opened the door to admit the princess. Mitzi waited for him to enfold her in his arms and declare his eternal love for her, but the matador just stood there smiling at her questioning.
“Uh…did you enjoy the wine?” she blinked.
“Oh, I gave your kind gift to my valet, Dulco, red wine gives me a headache!” At that moment, Dulco emerged from the kitchen with an empty glass in his hand. He took one look at the princess and it was as though Cupid shot him through the heart with about twenty arrows. His jaw dropped open revealing some pretty awful dental decay. He drooled stupidly at the princess whose eyes were wide with horror at the disastrous mistake.
“Well, I must be going!” she cried and ran back to the Witch’s cottage.
She rapped at the Witch’s door again.
“It better not be you again,” shouted the Witch from within.
“It is…” said the princess.
The Witch came to the door wiping the sleep from her eyes. “What happened?”
“He is allergic to red wine.”
“You didn’t already know that about him? You don’t really know him all that well do you?”
“But I love him!” she said passionately.
“Are you sure that you’re not in love with the idea of him?”
“What do you mean?”
“ You know, handsome, dashing matador falls for the beautiful princess blah, blah, blah…and now they are the ideal couple and live happily ever after?”
“What’s the matter with that?”
“Well, it’s not very realistic is it? It doesn’t take into account having children, changing dirty diapers, getting along with his relatives, making your royal parents happy that you are marrying a commoner and I could go on…”
“You are a horrible, horrible Witch and you know nothing about romance, nothing!”
The Witch sighed, “I suppose you want to take another stab at magic?”
“Yes please.”
“Take this herb. It is called ‘virgin’s cry’ or ‘heartache’. You must bake a pie with the fruit of a tree that has never had its fruit picked before and blend in this herb. The pie must then be cut with a knife that has never been used before. A piece of the pie measuring the same radius as your own heart must then be put on a plate that has never been used before and served to the matador. As with the potion, yours must be the first face he sees after eating the slice.”
“That’s pretty complicated…”
“Magic is not for dummies,” chided the Witch, who had never heard of the book: ‘Magic for Dummies.’
The Princess paid the Witch and got the necessary items. The blacksmith made her a brand new knife and the royal china-maker fired a brand new plate. She made a trip to the royal orchardist and he showed her a tree that, in its fifth year, was just bearing its first crop of Jonagolds. She picked a basketful and raced to the royal kitchens.
She blended the ingredients and added the herb. The smell of the pie backing filled her with longing for Rodrigo. They would be so happy together.
She cut a piece to the radius of her heart with the help of the royal tutor and made her way to the bullfights.
Rodrigo was on fire that day. His moves were so graceful and exact that all the bull could do was gaze at him dumbstruck, until Rodrigo dispatched it. The bull died with a grateful smile on its bovine lips.
The princess raced to his dressing room to present him with the pie.
“I hope you like pie?” she asked.
“Is it fruit pie?”
“Yes, apple.”
“I adore apple pie, but I’m trying to cut back on carbs.”
“Oh, but just smell it! Isn’t it wonderful?”
“Well,” said the matador, his nose wrinkling with desire, “maybe just a forkful?”
He lifted the piece to his lips and ate it greedily. “Amazing!” he cried full of bliss, “maybe just one more forkful?” Soon the piece was completely eaten. The princess waited with bated breath. The matador smiled at her. She smiled at him expectantly.
“Well,” said Rodrigo, “thanks again for the wonderful pie. See you soon?”
“Um, isn’t there something else you want to say to me?”
“I don’t think so…”
Mitzi stamped her foot and glared at the matador. He shrugged his shoulders, so she stomped out of his dressing room. What could have gone wrong? she wondered as she ran to the Witch’s cottage.
Once more, she rapped on the cottage door.
“Good heavens!” cried the Witch of Nobbi, “is that you again?”
“Yes, but this time I did everything you said and it still didn’t make Rodrigo love me!”
“You cut the piece precisely?”
“To the radius of my own heart!”
“You used the first fruit?”
“Yes and a never-before-used plate and knife!”
“And fork?”
“What? You never said anything special about the fork I used!”
“Didn’t I? Well, it stands to reason that if everything about the spell is virginal that the fork must also never have been used!”
“But you didn’t tell me that!”
The Witch sighed, “Amateurs! I have one last spell for you but this is the last time I’ll help you.”
“Oh please, good Witch!”
“Stop using such vile language! Here, take this egg.” She handed a curiously large blue egg to the princess. “It is the egg of the paradox bird. You must take this egg and keep it always with you next to your heart. Watch Rodrigo like a hawk. The second that he fails to do something to his satisfaction you must throw this egg at him. If you hit him squarely, he will fall in love with you and you will live happily ever after!”
The princess thanked the witch and ran back to the bullfights, hoping for the matador to fail just once.
She might as well have hoped for the moon to fall from the sky. Rodrigo was Rodrigo, perfection personified. Never did he make a false move, never did he fail to deliver the coup de grace at the most fitting moment. He was a wonder!
The princess realized that she would have to prime the pump of his failure. She negotiated for a new shipment of bulls to be sent to the kingdom from faraway Andalusia, home of the most vicious and creative bulls ever bred to dismay a matador. She chose the most wicked bull and had it trained by the most gifted animal trainer in the kingdom. She fed it a special diet ensured to make him even more vicious. After many weeks, she judged that her bull, the gifted Gratto, was ready for the ring.
She chose to release her bull to the bullring on the Feast of St. Valentine which made everything perfect! Rodrigo entered the ring to the delight of his fans and he was showered with roses even before he could snap out of his bow. And then the crowd hushed as the huge Gratto entered the ring.
Unlike the other bulls, Gratto did not paw at the ground, he simply looked at Rodrigo sizing him up. He noted the placement of the killing sword and determined that the matador was right-handed. He would start with a Filionacci Gambit, a long looping run, designed to draw out the matador and test his flexibility with the cape. Rodrigo countered with a Flying French Twist, which impressed the bull not a little.
Mitzi found herself cheering on her bull, “Come on, Gratto, take him down a peg!” It was, of course, true love speaking.
Gratto, out of respect for the matador’s obvious expertise decided to try a combination play, beginning with a Danish horn-rush and finishing with a Bruce Lee 360 roundhouse that he’d always wanted to try in the ring.
Rodrigo was expecting the horn rush and made his cape flutter like a wounded butterfly, but the 360 caught him completely by surprise. If it were not for his superb reflexes, he would have been stomped flatter than a pancake.
“Come on, Gratto. Let him have it!” wailed Mitzi.
Gratto could tell that the 360 was effective so he knew that the matador was definitely old school. He decided to try a Funky Slider with a half-twist on the bullfighter. He ran with a choppy, staccato beat, easing into the slider at the last moment. Rodrigo’s eyes widened with shock at the sight of the bull sweeping in like a runner trying to steal home, he swirled around just quickly enough to avoid the half twist. He jumped into the air only narrowly managing to avoid falling on his back.
Rodrigo got ready for the next rush, trembling just a little. It was time for him to go on the offensive. He readied his killing sword and advanced on the bull. Gratto smiled, he was definitely getting to the matador. Who ever heard of a matador charging a bull?
Rodrigo stopped himself. Calm down, he whispered to himself. You are the master, he is only a bull. He snapped his cape, once more ready to do battle.
Gratto saw that the matador was calm again. He decided that a Zen approach would be fun. So he composed himself and went into a state of deep rest. Rodrigo was appalled. What was the bull doing? It was surely time for it to charge him! What now?
Gratto rested until he could see that the matador was getting agitated. An agitated matador was clearly ripe for another charge. He went through his list of moves and decided to try the “Balkan Offensive” but with a bender thrown in to make it fresh. He surged toward the matador, all hooves and horns and snorting breath.
“It’s a Balkan!” thought Rodrigo, “Let’s see if you already know the ‘Velvet Fog’ counter.” He seemed to shimmer in the noonday sun, zigging and zagging at what looked like super slow motion. The bull flashed by without landing a horn on the matador. How the crowd cheered (except Mitzi)!
And that’s when Rodrigo made his first mistake of the evening. He bowed low to his adoring fans, without counting on the bull’s turn around speed. Gratto spun on a dime and sent a low bending horn toss right on the seat of Rodrigo’s satin pants.
Mitzi saw her chance and flung the egg directly at Rodrigo’s head. Splat! Gratto stopped running, the crowd stopped yelling and Rodrigo stood stock still covered with yolk. He looked up and caught sight of the princess as though for the first time. Like a man in a dream, he walked over to the royal stand and bowed to her.
“I love you,” he said passionately.
“Um…” she whispered.
“Do you think you could ever love me?”
“Er…” she muttered.
“Because, I truly love you!” he cried.
“Well…” For the truth of the matter was, seeing the matador humbled and covered with yolk had removed the scales from her eyes. She didn’t really love Rodrigo at all!
Mumbling excuses, she ran out of the bullring, leaving Rodrigo heart-broken.
She was a wiser Mitzi from that day on. So much so, that when she eventually ascended to the throne, all of the people called her “Mitzi the Mature.”
“That’s not a happy ending!” said Hoss. “What about true love winning in the end?”
“Yes, but that was not true love, only enchantment,” said Goldie calmly.
“What is true love then?” he whinnied angrily, his ears pressed flat to his head.
“True love is a choice made you make when you see someone as he is not as you wish he was. Mitzi did not truly love the matador, for as soon as she saw him flawed, she no longer loved him.”
“Aw, you mares don’t know how to tell a good story,” he complained, “I’m getting some shut-eye!” And with that he promptly fell asleep.
“He’s obnoxious, but the last thing he said makes sense,” said Death, lowering her head.
“Good night, my dears, pleasant dreams…” whispered Goldie as the stars twinkled golden, purple, green and red in the Polymorphan night.