Death and the Sun Read Free

this route easier to drive; in Paquirri’s time it was a hellish mountain road of hairpin turns, unnerving to traverse by day, terrifying by night.
    There is now a hospital in Pozoblanco, but in Paquirri’s day the only medical facility was the bullring infirmary, a rough room with two tables, a sink, and a shrine to the Virgin Mary. It may seem odd that Pozoblanco should have its own bullring, but many small Spanish towns and even some villages do, and those that don’t can rent a portable ring or close off a public square for bullfights. One way or the other, many places in Spain of any size or importance will hold at least one bullfight or bull event a year, usually during the local
feria. A feria
is like a civic festival or celebration. The Spanish are mad for local traditions of this sort and maintain them with a fervor that is unmatched in Europe, and there is a
feria
somewhere in Spain most days of the year.
Ferias
differ from region to region, but most are dedicated to a local patron saint, and most include religious processions, an outdoor market, and some kind of bullfight or bull-related event.
    By the time Paquirri arrived in Pozoblanco, the town was well into its
feria
. The municipal fairground on the outskirts of town was full of people eating, drinking, dancing, shrieking on amusement park rides, and riding horses. As afternoon became evening a crowd began to assemble at the town bullring, and by six P.M. the ring was packed under a strong evening sun. A trumpet sounded, the bullfighters marched in, and the festivities began. The first half of the bullfight went smoothly and each of the three matadors killed his bull with minimum fuss. Then it was time for Paquirri to face his second and final bull of the day. The gate opened and Avispado spilled into the ring. Paquirri came out, planted his feet, and swung his cape, using the cloth to lure the bull into charging back and forth across his body, and each time the bull chugged safely past Paquirri’s legs, the crowd chanted “
Olé!
” in approval.
    It was after the first series of passes that something went wrong. It might have been a miscalculation on Paquirri’s part, or it might have been the bull that tripped or swerved unexpectedly. But as Avispado charged past Paquirri one more time, it bumped into him, spinning him around, sending his hands, still holding the cape, into the air. As long as Paquirri had the cape between himself and the bull he was relatively safe. Suddenly he found himself unprotected and with his back to the bull. He staggered around to face the bull again and yanked the cape out of the air, sliding it over to get it in front of his legs. Had he been a beat quicker he might have gotten the cape down before the bull had a chance to react to it. But Avispado was following the cape, and as Paquirri swung it over, the bull pursued the cloth straight into the matador’s right thigh, sinking the horn deep into the flesh.
    Somewhere in the audience a woman shrieked. Avispado thrust its head upward, flipping Paquirri feet-first into the air, the horn still in the leg. Four bullfighters ran up to Avispado, but the little bull was too fast and too strong and all they could do was watch. Avispado rushed forward. In a desperate attempt to extricate himself, Paquirri swung himself upright, which only made matters worse, causing his full weight to bounce up and down on the horn, producing more damage. After nine full seconds, Avispado wheeled, lowered its head, and Paquirri fell away. He stood for a moment, then collapsed. Several bullfighters picked him up and ran him from the ring. A matador named José Cubero, El Yiyo, stepped onto the sand. By law it was now his responsibility to kill Avispado.
    Â 
    As soon as Paquirri was tossed, Dr. Elíseo Morán left his place in the
callejón
and rushed to the bullring infirmary. Dr. Morán had a thriving surgical practice in Córdoba, but he spent summer