A single moment can be enough to change the course of a life. In this excerpt from Between Asphalt and Incense, Kiran recalls one of those moments when time seems to stand still and the line between fear and transformation becomes extraordinarily thin.
He looked at me with the smile of someone who had just remembered something good.
“Do you remember years ago? When we had that crazy habit of running in the bull runs, with quite a few fewer kilos on our bones. One bad day, a huge horned brute ploughed straight into you without asking permission. Do you know who I mean?”
For a second, my mind drifted back to idyllic “Sanse”, to that time when life was more fun—and more dangerous. When he saw that I did not answer, he added:
“Our lucky star was always with us, even though we did nothing to deserve it. It saved us more than once in those life-or-death races. Am I right or not?”
“You’re absolutely right,” I exclaimed.
Good grief! We used to run in front of five-hundred-kilo bulls with horns as sharp as blades. They had tremendous strength and were faster than gazelles. If they caught you… that was it! No one could save you from a couple of gorings and a battering that would leave you completely stunned, I said, before once again becoming lost in thought.
There is something bulls do that not everyone knows about: when they charge, as well as piercing your flesh from different angles, they violently jerk their necks. It feels as though someone were beating you with a baseball bat. That time I came so close to death that I will never forget it.
Thank God I escaped with nothing more than bruises… although I did end up with a broken tooth and the fright of my life.
It happened along a hundred-metre stretch that I used to run regularly. Experience had taught me exactly how to judge it—essential when you are trying to make a clean run.
One of the bulls locked onto me from the opposite side of the street, a few dozen metres behind. It began moving diagonally, from right to left, its sights fixed on me, directly towards the side where I was running as fast as my legs could carry me. In doing so, it cut off my escape route towards the barrier on my right.
To my left were the façades of the houses; there was no decent way out unless I suddenly learned to climb walls like Spider-Man. The bull was hurtling towards me like a freight train, completely intent on charging me.
I remember my heart pounding in my chest like a bass drum in the middle of a sporting event. My feet flew over the asphalt, and I doubt I was even breathing. I kept throwing desperate glances behind me, my face contorted with tension and my eyes wide with terror; I knew that savage beast had singled me out and was determined to hit me with everything it had.
I had seen it in that executioner’s stare from beyond the grave: all it was missing was a scythe and a black hooded robe.
At some point during the run, before my bones smashed against the road, I felt a hard blow to my legs, right around the ankles.
In the blink of an eye, I found myself two or three metres in the air, falling headfirst. Then, in my spectacular descent, I slammed face-first into the asphalt. My teeth struck the cobblestones first, as though I were kissing a treacherous lover, followed by the rest of my body, which by then had become nothing more than a rag doll.
At that moment of extreme tension, I had to put into practice what I had learned as an experienced runner: keep my nerves under control and remain completely motionless, lying on the ground and hoping the bulls would continue towards the pens. The moment seemed endless.
It was an enormous relief to feel several hands grab me by the arms and pull me upright while voices around me asked whether I was all right. To me, it felt as though angels were lifting me up before I could fall into the abyss.
A short while later, a couple of medics descended on me. They looked me up and down and, apparently unconvinced by what they saw, recommended that I walk to the mobile medical unit about a hundred metres further up the street. I was undoubtedly still in shock. They assured me they would alert the doctor on duty so I could be given a quick examination.
The curious thing was that, as soon as I recovered my breath and my sense of direction, I experienced an inner clarity unlike anything I had ever felt before. I felt like a different person, as though the charge of that beast had stripped away my old clown’s disguise. What happened afterwards inside the medical unit, however, was pure science fiction—an episode I will describe in greater detail later.
Back in Madrid, sitting in my friend’s car on the way to his home near Calle Preciados, I replied:
“Of course I remember the chiropractor!”
I had also gone to him for treatment after the accident. Remember, the following morning my ankle was swollen and I had a couple of spectacular bruises after the beating that damned bull had given me. His massages helped enormously, and a week later I was able to limp back to Switzerland under my own steam.
“Well, look at that!” Nico exclaimed. “I see you haven’t forgotten him. Proof that you do think of me occasionally, you rascal.
“I’m glad to hear it, because of all the friends I left behind in Zurich, very few ever show any sign of life. I can count on one hand the ones who still remember old Nico,” he said, amused. “So I suppose you won’t mind coming with me to ‘Sanse’ the day after tomorrow. I’ve got an appointment with my favourite physio. Let’s see what he says and whether he has one of his remedies to speed up the healing. I’ve been like this for more than three weeks now, and I’m already fed up with having to do everything with one hand.
“I hope you’re not annoyed that I didn’t tell you about the injury before I came,” he added. “To be honest, I was afraid you might back out if I told you, thinking we wouldn’t be able to indulge in those little pleasures that made life so enjoyable for us years ago.”
“Well, then let me be honest with you too,” I replied. “It isn’t a problem at all—quite the opposite. Not long before Martina and I separated, I gradually lost the habit of going out partying. So deep down, I actually prefer this plan. The wild days had their time; now I’m looking for something healthier.”
“Well, I’m glad you told me,” he said.
This is only one of the thresholds Kiran crosses. The journey continues through extreme experiences, unexpected encounters and an inner search that will ultimately transform the way he understands life.
About the author
Alfonso Corchero is the author of Between Asphalt and Incense, a work born from experience, observation, and an inner search. His writing explores the contradictions of human nature, the moments when everyday life fractures, and those experiences that compel us to look within. Rather than offering ready-made answers, his stories invite readers to recognise themselves in the journey, the doubts, and the transformations of someone learning to cross their own thresholds.