Excerpt from "Toreador"

When I awoke from my fitful night’s sleep Fernando was gone. The rumpled sheet on the couch confirmed to me where he had slept. I got up and headed to the shower, where I lingered for a long time. I couldn’t help but fantasize that Fernando would join me under the cascading water, but when I got out to dry myself I was just as alone as I had been before. I got dressed in a little white dress covered in small red flowers and tied my long hair in a high pony-tail. Then I headed downstairs to the hotel lobby, where the receptionist told me that Fernando was having breakfast with his entourage in a café next door. Hesitating only a moment, I left the hotel and found where they were easily enough. They were quite a crowd and their voices traveled out into the street. I walked into the café and saw them all seated at a long table littered with the remnants of breakfast.

Javier was the first one to see me and he gestured for me to join them in an unusually friendly manner. I walked over to the table full of only men feeling self-conscious and a little uncomfortable, and noticed that Fernando did not even look up. When I saw this I almost turned and walked back out, but I pulled up a chair beside Javier and he immediately ordered me a cup of café con leche.

“Buenos dias, señorita,” he said, turning to me with a small smile. The rest of the table mumbled the same words and the combined effect was that of a wave washing over me. Fernando glanced up at me and I saw something close to pain twist his face. I wondered if his uncle had something to him about me, but I knew there was no way I was going to find out what was wrong until after the fight. The idea was like a knife in my heart and the day stretched like a desert before me.

Breakfast was a fairly leisurely affair for the cuadrilla. Lots of coffee was consumed and the upcoming fight was discussed from all angles: the bulls, the toreros sharing the cartel (including Javier Conde, whose father I had met the night before), the weather and the president of La Malagueta were some of the topics they touched on. I listened to everything and did my best to avoid looking at Fernando. When Fernando got up, the rest of the cuadrilla and I followed suit. The cuadrilla headed back to their hostel down the street and Fernando waited uncomfortably for me. When I reached his side he made an effort to look at me and said:

“I’m going to be resting until Pablo comes to help me dress at around 3.30pm. You are free to come, of course, but I won’t be very good company.”

I looked into his eyes. I still saw something there that didn’t look quite right.

“I’d like to go and walk around a bit,” I said. “I’ll be back later.”

Fernando nodded and smiled a little.

“Have fun. I’ll see you when you get back.” He gave me a quick peck on the cheek and disappeared into the hotel.

I had decided than rather than spend the rest of the day enduring an uncomfortable situation, it made more sense to walk away from it and to do some sightseeing – I was particularly interested in seeing the Juderia, the Jewish quarter. And sometimes it was lonelier to be somewhere you didn’t feel wanted than to be by yourself.

The Jewish quarter, on Agustin and Alcazabilla streets was picturesque but there was nothing much left of its history. I was informed by some friendly people in the bar where I stopped for another coffee, however, that this was going to change. Apparently the current Jewish community in Malaga was planning quite an overhaul of the neighborhood, including rebuilding the synagogue. I managed to pass the whole morning walking around the city, but I did eventually start to feel quite tired so I headed back to the hotel. When I opened the door I found the room quiet and dark; I saw that Fran was asleep on the bed. His vulnerable expression was one I loved and it was extremely difficult for me not to bend over and kiss him. Instead I made my way over to the sofa and lay down. Within minutes I was asleep, tired as I was from not sleeping the night before and from all the walking I had done.

When I awoke and sat up, I saw Fernando kneeling in front of a makeshift altar, his back to me. The altar consisted of several photos of different virgins whose names I did not know, three candles, a rosary and two small statues of virgins. For a moment I watched, transfixed. Then I saw that Luis was in the room as well and when he saw me looking at me he gestured for me to come over to him. Reluctantly I did so. When I was at his side he whispered:

“I didn’t want to wake you, but could you make yourself scarce until the corrida starts while Fernando gets ready? It is best if he has no distractions.”

I shook my head, as much to get rid of this day as my grogginess. Why was Fernando allowing his uncle to treat me this way? Or did he have no idea of what was going on? Although I would have had little problem with getting out of the way if Fernando had asked me himself, I didn’t understand why Luis was acting the way he was. With resignation I made my way downstairs and out into the street. I started to walk in the general direction of La Malagueta, Malaga’s bullring, wondering what to do with my time. I passed an inviting terrace where I sat myself down and ordered a large cup of coffee. I had not had any lunch but I couldn’t face the prospect of eating. As I sipped the strong hot coffee I felt myself calm down a little. After all, what did I know about bullfighters, really? It was not that hard to imagine that they would need to be able to focus utterly on the job at hand. And keeping in mind the effect Fernando and I seemed to have on one another, I could definitely see how I would be a distraction. But what if he was using his uncle as a means to pushing me away? Part of me wanted to get on a train and head back to Ronda. But another part, the less proud one, wanted to just ride out the day to see if it would end on a happier note.

I arrived at La Malagueta half an hour before the start of the fight. I was just wondering how I was going to get in without paying when I saw Javier, wearing his suit of lights, near the main entrance. I waved to him and he beckoned me over. I followed him through the entrance where the picadors and their horses would later enter the ring. I found myself in the callejon, the passageway that runs around the entire ring just in front of the first row of seats. Miguel, the mozo de espadas, hoisted me up into the first row of seats where I found a spot right next to the entrance through which the bullfights would appear. I could look down on Fernando’s head, and I did. The time passed surprisingly quickly this way and the next thing I knew the alguaciles were riding into the ring, followed by the toreros.

Fernando was the senior matador, so he headed the procession on the left. His three banderilleros made up the second row. As I watched them I realized my body was tense, as if I were ready to jump up out of my seat. I took some slow, deep breaths and tried to relax. The first bull in the ring was Fernando’s. He was a big brown bull, weighing 548kg, by the name of Caprichoso. With a flourish and a smile Fernando dedicated the bull to the audience, a common and always well-received gesture. As I watched the ensuing fight, I almost forgot the last twenty-four hours. Caprichoso and Fernando connected and put on a beautiful show. At times, Fernando let Caprichoso come so close to him I felt like my heart might stand still. The culmination was a swift and merciful death for the bull and two ears for Fernando. I watched the other two matadors as closely as I was able to, wanting to learn more about this beautiful, brutal art form, but I was easily distracted by Fernando’s presence at the side of the ring (the senior matador is responsible for helping the others out if something should go wrong) and found my eyes wandering in his direction more often than not.

When it was time for his second bull, the fourth one out, his work with the cape left me breathless. It was absolutely stunning. He received the bull straight out of the door down on one knee, and the pink and yellow cape swirled above his head as the bull thundered past. As the bull turned back toward him he was ready and received him with a chiquelina, a movement that brought the bull close past him and ended up by wrapping the cape around his body. I was utterly bewitched by what I was witnessing. After several more breath-taking passes – butterflies and veronicas – the picadors entered the ring. The bull was a strong one, 569kg, midnight black, named Granero. Fernando took him to the picador twice and then placed the banderillas himself. It was terrifying to watch and I was glad when it was over. I was so absorbed in watching the corrida that it took me a moment to fully realize that Fernando was looking at me, and walking towards where I was sitting with his montera in his hand. When I did realize what was happening I stood up and took the montera from an out-stretched hand that was passing it from Fernando to me. I felt a huge grin break out on my face and on Fernando’s face I saw a more controlled but nonetheless genuine. It was as if our distance of the past day had never been. The faena that Fernando performed was a true work of art, better even than I had seen him perform in Seville. The killing was so swift and clean that the bull fell almost immediately, and the crowd went wild. The whole plaza seating was white with the waving of handkerchiefs. Fernando was awarded two ears and the tail, a rare trophy. He was carried out on shoulders and without hesitation I left my seat and made my way outside, hoping to be able to get to him. I was still clutching his montera to my chest, and, seeing it, the crowd outside made an effort to let me through. When I reached Fernando he was back on his own two feet, surrounded by people wanting to congratulate him, touch him and ask for his autograph. He was just handing someone back their pen when he spotted me and his face broke into that smile I had grown to love. My heart lifted as he opened his arms as best as he could and I stepped into them. The crowd broke into cheers and whistles as we kissed, and even though the rigid jacket of his suit of lights created a barrier between us I felt my familiar desire for him well up inside me. He must have felt it too because he started to work his way through the crowd towards where the van stood with Pablo ready at the wheel. It was customary for toreros to go to and from the plaza in a vehicle – you would never see one walking the streets in his suit of lights, no matter how close the hotel may be. He continued to be polite to his fans, posing for photos and signing autographs, but his progress towards the vehicle was steady and he didn’t let go of my hand. I could see several press photographers also present, snapping away at Fernando and at me – I guessed that we would be featured in the gossip magazines within the next few days.

We finally made it to the van and got into the back. I hadn’t been inside it before and I was interested to see that it was separated from the driver by a thick black screen. As soon as the door was closed and the blackened windows provided privacy, Fernando said:

“Help me with my jacket, mi amor.”

My heart beat faster at the sound of his voice speaking the endearment. As soon as the jacket was off I lost myself in his arms. All was forgiven. I didn’t care what had happened before – this moment was pure joy. The hotel was close and soon we were falling into the room together.

“I have to shower before everyone gets here,” Fernando said breathlessly. Wordlessly I accompanied him into the bathroom and under the pounding water of the shower we devoured each other as if it were the first time. When it was over I felt my tears mix with the water from the shower, and when Fernando turned off the shower he saw that I was crying. Still wet, he pulled me to him.

“I’m so sorry for what I put you through,” he said. “I should have warned you, but I thought it would be different for me this time.”

“What do you mean?” I whispered.

“I always withdraw emotionally and physically before a fight, but I thought that with you I wouldn’t do that,” he explained. “I’m sorry, my love.”

My heart was practically bursting with forgiveness. How could it not? As I toweled myself dry, Fernando pulled on some shorts and combed his thick, black hair.

“Will you put on a t-shirt, too?” I asked. “I don’t like the way some of those women look at you.”

Fernando threw back his head and laughed.

“That’s the most adorable thing I have heard for a long time,” he said, pulling on a white t-shirt with a smile.