My Uncle Oswald(28)

“‘There you are,’ my brother said. ‘Over there. Can you see them?’

“We were by a gate leading into a twenty-acre field and in the moonlight I could see the great herd of Friesians grazing all over the field. To one side, not far away, was the big house itself, Somerton Hall. There was a single light in one of the upstairs windows. ‘Where’s the bull?’ I said.

“‘He’ll be in there somewhere,’ my brother said. ‘He’s with the herd.’

“Our cow,” A. R. Woresley said to me, “was mooing away like mad. They always do when they’re bulling. They’re calling the bull, you see. The gate into the field was padlocked with a chain, but my brother was ready for that. He pulled out a hacksaw and sawed through the chain. He opened the gate. I leaned my bike against the hedge and we went into the field, leading the cow. The field was milky white in the moonlight. Our cow, sensing the presence of other animals, began mooing louder than ever.”

“Were you frightened?” I asked.

“Terrified,” A. R. Woresley said. “I am a quiet man, Cornelius. I lead a quiet life. I am not cut out for escapades like this. Every second I expected to see his lordship’s bailiff come running toward us with a shotgun in his hands. But I forced myself to keep going because this thing we were doing was in the cause of science. Also, I had an obligation to my brother. He had helped me greatly. Now I must help him.”

The pipe had gone out. A. R. Woresley began to refill it from a tin of cheap tobacco.

“Go on,” I said.

“The bull must have heard our cow calling to him. ‘There he is!’ my brother cried. ‘Here he comes!’

“A massive white and black creature had detached himself from the herd and was trotting our way. He had a pair of short sharp horns on his head. Lethal, they looked. ‘Get ready!’ my brother snapped. ‘He won’t wait! He’ll go right at her! Give me the rubber bag! Quick!’”

“What rubber bag?” I said to Woresley.

“The semen collector, my dear boy. My own invention, an elongated bag with thick rubber lips, a kind of false vagina. Very effective too. But let me go on.”

“Go on,” I said.

“‘Where’s the bag?’ my brother shouted. ‘Hurry up, man!’ I was carrying the thing in a knapsack. I got it out and handed it to my brother. He took up his station near the cow’s rear and to one side. I stood on the other side, ready to do my bit. I was so frightened, Cornelius, I was sweating all over and I kept wanting to urinate. I was frightened of the bull and I was frightened of that light in the window of Somerton Hall behind me, but I stood my ground.

“The bull came trotting up, snorting and dribbling. I could see a brass ring in his nose, and by God, Cornelius, he was a dangerous-looking brute. He didn’t hesitate. He knew his business. He took one sniff at our cow, then he reared up and thrust his front legs onto the cow’s back. I crouched alongside him. His pizzle was coming out now. He had a gigantic scrotum and just above it this incredible pizzle was getting longer and longer. It was like a telescope. It started quite short and very quickly it got longer and longer until it was as long as my arm. But not very thick. About as thick as a walking-stick, I’d say. I made a grab for it but in my excitement I missed it. ‘Quick!’ my brother said. ‘Where is it? Get hold of it quick!’ But it was too late. The old bull was an expert marksman. He’d hit the target first time and the end of his pizzle was already inside the cow. It was halfway in. ‘Get it!’ my brother shouted. I grabbed for it again. There was still quite a bit of it showing. I got both hands on it and pulled. It was alive and throbbing and slightly slimy. It was like pulling on a snake. The bull was thrusting it in and I was pulling it out. I pulled so hard on it I felt it bend. But I kept my head and started synchronizing my pulls with the animal’s backward movements. Do you see what I mean? He would thrust forward, then he would have to arch his back before going forward again. Each time he arched his back, I gave a pull and gained a few inches. Then the bull thrust forward and in it went once more. But I was gaining on him and in the end, using both hands, I managed to bend it almost double and flip it out. The end of it whacked me across the cheek. That hurt. But quickly I jammed it into the bag my brother was holding. The bull was still bashing away. He was totally absorbed in his work. Thank God he was. He didn’t even seem to be aware of our presence. But the pizzle was in the bag now and my brother was holding it and in less than a minute it was all over. The bull lurched backwards off the cow. And then suddenly he saw us. He stood there staring at us. He seemed a bit perplexed, and who could blame him. He gave a deep bellow and started pawing the ground with his front legs. He was going to charge. But my brother, who knew about bulls, walked straight up to him and slapped him across the nose. ‘Git away!’ he said. The bull turned and ambled back toward the herd. We hurried out through the gate, closing it behind us. I took the rubber bag from my brother and jumped onto the bicycle and rode hell for leather back to the farm. I made it in fifteen minutes.