Medardo Requena had the power to turn himself into a horse at will. Even in his human shape, his long face with its brutish—one might say horsey—features caught people’s attention, as did his hulking great body. And the way he walked, as though he were trotting. He was in cahoots with a man called Mouriño—a Galician, from Ourense—who had gone off to America to make his fortune but had come back a failure. They went to all the stock fairs together, and Requena, in the shape of a spirited courser, would be sold by Mouriño to the highest bidder. Then that night, once he had been stabled, he would regain his human form and walk out as if nothing had happened. If ever he were discovered in the stable, stark naked, he would just pretend to have got lost, and his appearance was so extraordinary and disconcerting—especially if the transformation were not yet fully completed—that they would let him leave right away without asking any more questions.

Medardo Requena admitted that he was fed up with this way of life, going from place to place without ever having a home, or a wife, or children, cheating honest people. But they earned so much money that Mouriño would always convince him to play the old trick one last time before retiring. They had already been working together for a decade, when one year, in Medina del Campo, after having struck a deal with a farmer from Osuna, Mouriño waited in vain for Requena to turn up at the agreed spot. He went over to the stables, afraid that there had been some kind of problem, and discovered to his astonishment that his comrade was there, but still in equine form. When Mouriño asked him what the hell was going on, Requena shook his mane, stomped cheerfully and, with a jerk of his head, pointed out a mare who was eating hay a mere ten yards away. When it looked as though Mouriño still didn’t get it, Requena used his hoof—for the time being still unshod—to sketch out in the dust the rough shape of a heart.