Toro! Toro! Read Free Page B

ceiling. All Uncle Juan’s clothes were spread out on the bed – his matador’s costume, a wonderful suit of lights, glittering with thousands of embroidered beads, and beside it his shining black hat and his crimson cape. I crept in and closed the door behind me. I could hear the drone of their talk downstairs. I was safe. The costume was very heavy, but I managed to shrug it on. It swamped me of course,as did the huge hat which rested on the bridge of my nose so that I had to lift my chin to see myself in the mirror. Now the
muleta,
the crimson cape. I whirled it, I swirled it, I floated it and I flapped it, and all the while I danced in front of the mirror, using the mirror as my bull.
“Ole!”
I mouthed to the mirror.
“Ole!”
    Someone began clapping behind me. Uncle Juan filled the doorway, and he was smiling broadly. “You dance well, Antonito,” he said, crouching down in front of me. “No bull would catch you, not in a million years. Bravo!”
    “I have a bull of my own,” I told him. “He’s called Paco, and he’s the noblest bull in all Spain.”
    Uncle Juan nodded. “Your father has told me of him,” he said. “One day I may dance with him in the ring in Ronda. Would you like that? Would you come to see me?” He took the black hat off me, and the beautiful costume and the cape. I caught sight of myself in the mirror. I was ordinary again, not a matador any more, just Antonito.
    He ruffled my hair. “You want to help me practise?” he said.
    I didn’t understand quite what he meant, not at first. Then he shook out the crimson cape and stood up straight and tall and near the ceiling, stamped his feet and flapped the cape.
“Toro!”
he shouted.
“Toro!”
And I charged. Again and again I charged, and each time I was swathed in his great cape and had to fight my way out of it.
    At last he cast aside the cape, picked me up by the waist and held me high so we were face to face. “We dance well, little bull,” he said, and kissed me on both cheeks. “Now we must both be off to bed. I’ve some serious dancing to do tomorrow. Wish me luck. Pray for me.” And I did both.
    I didn’t sleep much that night. By the time I woke up, Uncle Juan had alreadygone. We set off early ourselves and rode in the cart to Algar. The road was full of horses and mules and carts all going to Algar for the
corrida.
Getting there seemed to take for ever. I sat with Maria beside me, who was strangely silent; she’d hardly said a word to me all morning.
    The bullring was a cauldron of noiseand heat, the whole place pulsating with excitement. As the trumpets sounded, Uncle Juan strode out into the ring, magnificent in his embroidered costume. There were other men behind him,
banderilleros
and
picadors,
Maria told me. But when I asked what they were for she didn’t seem to want to tell me. Instead, she took my hand, held on to it tight and would not let go. I was suddenly anxious. I looked up at her for reassurance, but she would not look back at me.
    All around the ring the crowd was on its feet and applauding wildly. Uncle Juan stopped right in front of us and lifted his hat to us. I felt so proud at that moment, so happy. Another trumpet, and there was the bull trotting purposefully out into the centre of the ring, a glistening giant of a creature, black and beautiful in the sun. Then he saw Uncle Juan and the dance began.

TORO! TORO!
    T o begin with the dance was like the photo in the village café, much as I had expected, except that Uncle Juan did not do the dancing. He watched from the sidelines. One of the other men did the dancing, and his cape wasn’t crimson like Uncle Juan’s, but yellow and magenta. The bull charged him and charged him tossing his horns into the cape. And at each pass the crowd shouted
“Ole! Ole!”
just like in the game I had seen my cousins Vittorio and José playing back in Sauceda.
    All this time Maria had my hand held tight. The bull was enjoying the game, Ithought, pawing the