The Blood of the Arena Part 37

The people seemed to revel in his terror, with the undaunted courage of those who are in a place of safety. Others, thinking of their money, shouted against this man who let himself be ruled by the instinct of self-preservation, defrauding them of their joy. A robbery! Vile people insulted the swordsman, expressing doubt as to his s.e.x. Odium had brought to light and spread abroad, after many years of adulation, certain memories of the bull-fighter's youth, forgotten even by himself.

They recalled his nocturnal life with the vagabonds on the Alameda of Hercules. They laughed at his torn breeches and at the white clothing that escaped through the rent.

"If thou couldst see thyself!" shouted shrill voices, with feminine accent.

Gallardo, protected by his companions' capes, took advantage of all the bull's distractions to wound him with his sword, deaf to the mocking of the public.

He dealt thrusts that the animal barely felt. His terror at being caught lengthened his arm and caused him to stand at a distance, wounding only with the point of the sword.

Some blades were scarcely embedded in the flesh, and fell; others remained lodged in bone but were uncovered in their greater length, vibrating with the movements of the bull which walked with lowered head, following the contour of the wall, bellowing as if with weariness at the useless torment. The swordsman followed him, _muleta_ in hand, eager to finish him, yet fearful of exposing himself, and behind came the whole troop of a.s.sistants moving their capes as if they wished to induce the animal by the waving of their rags to bend his legs and lie down.

The bull's journey about the ring close to the barrier, his muzzle drivelling, his neck bristling with swords, provoked an explosion of mockery and insult.

"It is the Via Dolorosa," they said.

Others compared the animal to a cushion full of pins. Thief! Miserable bull-puncher!

Some, more vile, persisted in their insults to Gallardo's s.e.x, changing his name.

"Juanita, don't get lost!"

A long time pa.s.sed and a part of the public, wishing to discharge its fury against something higher than the bull-fighter, turned towards the presidential box. "_Senor Presidente!_" How long was this scandal going to last?

The president made a sign that quieted the protestants and gave an order. A minor official with his plumed shovel-hat and floating cape was seen to run along behind the barrier until he stood near the bull.

There, turning to Gallardo, he held out his hand, with his index finger raised. The public applauded. It was the first notice. If the bull was not killed before the third, he would be returned to the _corral_, leaving the swordsman under the stain of the greatest dishonor.

Gallardo, as if awakening from his dream, terrified at this threat, raised his sword and threw himself upon the bull. Another thrust that barely penetrated the bull's body.

The swordsman let fall his arms in dejection. Surely the beast was immortal. Sword-thrusts made no impression on him. It seemed as if he would never fall.

The inefficiency of the last stroke infuriated the public. Every one rose to his feet. The hisses were deafening, obliging the women to cover their ears. Many waved their arms, bending forward, as if they wished to hurl themselves into the plaza. Oranges, bread crusts, seat cushions, flew into the ring like swift projectiles aimed at the _matador_.

Stentorian voices rose from the seats in the sun, roars like those of a steam siren, which it seemed incredible should be produced by the human throat. From time to time a deafening clamor of bells pealed forth with furious strokes. A derisive chorus near the bull pens chanted the _gorigori_ of the dead.

Many turned towards the president. When would the second notice be given? Gallardo wiped off the sweat with his handkerchief, gazing in all directions as if surprised at the injustice of the public, and making the bull responsible for all that occurred. At that moment his eyes rested on Dona Sol's box. She turned her back so as not to see the ring; perhaps she felt pity for him; perhaps she was ashamed of her condescensions in the past.

Again he threw himself upon the animal to kill, but few could see what he did, for he was hidden by the open capes hung continually about him.

The bull fell, a stream of blood gushing out of his mouth.

At last! The public became less restless, ceasing to gesticulate, but the shouts and hisses continued. The beast was finished by the _puntillero_; the swords were drawn out, he was harnessed by the head to a team of mules and dragged from the ring, leaving a broad belt of smoothed earth and pools of blood which the attendants obliterated with the rake and baskets of sand.

Gallardo hid himself between barriers, fleeing from the insulting protests which his presence raised. There he remained, tired and panting for breath, with his leg aching, but in the midst of his dejection feeling satisfaction at being free from danger. He had not died on the wild beast's horns, but he owed his safety to his prudence. Ah, the public! A mult.i.tude of a.s.sa.s.sins that hankers for a man's death as if they alone made good use of life and had a family.

His departure from the plaza was sad, behind the crowd that filled the environs of the ring, the carriages, the automobiles, the long rows of tram-cars.

His coach rolled along slowly to avoid driving over the groups of spectators coming out of the plaza. These separated to let the mules pa.s.s, but as they recognized the swordsman they seemed to repent their amiability. In the movement of their lips Gallardo read tremendous insults. Other carriages in which rode handsome women in white _mantillas_ pa.s.sed near his. Some turned their heads so as not to see the bull-fighter; others looked on him with eyes of pitying commiseration.

The _matador_ shrank as if he wished to pa.s.s unnoticed. He hid behind the corpulence of Nacional who rode silent and frowning.

A crowd of boys following the carriage broke out into hisses. Many who were standing on the sidewalks imitated them, thinking thus to avenge themselves for their poverty, which had compelled them to remain outside the plaza the whole afternoon in a vain hope of seeing something.

The news of Gallardo's failure had circulated among them and they insulted him, glad to humiliate a man who earned enormous riches.

This outburst aroused the swordsman from the mute resignation into which he had fallen.

"Curse it! But why do they hiss? Have they been at the bull-fight? Have they paid out their money?"

A stone struck against a wheel of the coach. The vagabonds were shouting at the very steps, but two guards rode up on horseback and quelled the disturbance, afterward escorting all the way up Alcala Street the famous Juan Gallardo--"the greatest man in the world."

CHAPTER XVII

THE ATONEMENT OF BLOOD

The _cuadrillas_ had just entered the ring when loud blows were heard on the door of the _Caballerizas_.

A plaza employee approached it shouting with ill-humor. n.o.body entered there; they must go to another door. But an insistent voice answered him from without, and he opened it.

A man and a woman entered; he wearing a white Cordovan hat, she dressed in black and with a _mantilla_ over her head.

The man grasped the employee's hand, leaving something in it that humanized his fierce aspect.

"You know me, don't you?" said the newcomer. "Really, don't you know me?

I am Gallardo's brother-in-law and this lady is his wife."

Carmen gazed all around the abandoned courtyard. In the distance, behind the thick brick walls, sounded music, and the respiration of the mult.i.tude could be felt, broken by shouts of enthusiasm and murmurs of curiosity. The _cuadrillas_ were defiling before the president.

"Where is he?" anxiously inquired Carmen.

"Where should he be, woman?" replied the brother-in-law brusquely. "In the plaza, doing his duty. It is madness to have come; nonsense. Oh, this weak character of mine!"

Carmen continued gazing about her, but with a certain indecision, as if repentant for having come there. What was she to do?

The employee moved by Antonio's hand pressure, or by the relationship of those two persons to the _matador_ of fame, became obsequious. If the lady wished to await the termination of the bull-fight, she might rest at the _concierge's_ house. If they chose to see the _corrida_, he could get them a good place, although they had no tickets.

Carmen shuddered at this proposition. See the bull-fight? No. She had come to the plaza by an effort of her will, and she regretted it. It was impossible for her to endure the sight of her husband in the ring. She had never seen him fighting bulls. She would wait there until she could bear it no longer.

"G.o.d help me!" said the leather-worker with resignation. "We will stay, though I don't know what we shall do here in front of the stables."

Encarnacion's husband had been following after his sister-in-law since the day before, putting up with her hysteria and tears of nervousness excited by fear.

Sat.u.r.day at mid-day Carmen had talked to him in her husband's office.

She was going to Madrid! She was determined on taking this journey. She could not live in Seville. She had spent a week of insomnia, seeing horrible visions. Her feminine instinct warned her of some great danger.

She must rush to Juan's side. She did not know why, nor what she could accomplish by the journey, but she longed to be near Gallardo, with that affectionate desire that believes it can minimize danger by being close to the person beloved.

This was not living! She had learned through the daily papers about Juan's bad luck the Sunday before in the Plaza of Madrid. She understood bull-fighter professional pride. She guessed that he would not tolerate this misfortune with resignation. He would do mad deeds to reconquer the applause of the public. The last letter she had received from him gave her to understand it vaguely.

"Yes, yes!" she said energetically to her brother-in-law, "I am going to Madrid this very afternoon. If thou wishest, thou mayest accompany me; if thou dost not wish to come, I will go alone. Above all--not a word to Don Jose; he would prevent the trip. No one knows about it but _Mamita_."