Most matadors begin training very young. Will they ask how old he is? Fuga doesn’t know. When they lived in the boys’ home and Rafa had asked his age, Fuga just shrugged.
“Well, when’s your birthday?” Rafa inquired.
“What’s a birthday?” asked Fuga.
Following their escape, they traveled the roads, begging. Outside of Barcelona they came upon a small town where an old Catalonian woman shared kindness and food. That night they lay on their bellies in the dirt, peeking through a crack in the stone wall. The villagers were assembled in a dark building to watch a flickering film. The hero of the movie was Currito de la Cruz, “Curro,” an orphan from the slums of Sevilla who becomes a bullfighter. They couldn’t hear the sound, but they didn’t need to. The visuals told the story. That night Fuga did not sleep. He lay on the grass next to Rafa, staring at the darkened sky.
“Is it really possible for us, amigo?” Rafa had asked.
Fuga nodded. It was.
That night, Rafa pledged support and protection to his friend. They shook hands.
Now there is pulling, a twisting in Rafa’s stomach that for once has nothing to do with hunger. Life has never offered him triumph. Despite his hopes and dreams, he cannot shake the shadow of guilt that has followed him since the death of his father. He had sat in the bushes, frozen with fright. He did nothing to help his papá.
Although Rafa is determined to face fear, a quiet part of him worries that he may be luckless. What then? If they actually take part in the capea today, the participation alone will be the most fortune he has ever known. As he considers the potential for victory this afternoon, an overwhelming sense of joy emerges. The voices in his head, the questions—they are his own. They are not voices from the shadows, creeping forth to taunt him.
A black bull suddenly appears in the distance.
It’s the Texano’s Buick.
74
“Hola,” says Daniel. “Ready to go?” Rafa slaps him into a huge hug.
Daniel is not alone. Asleep in the front seat is Nick Van Dorn.
“He wanted to come. I hope that’s okay?” whispers Daniel.
Rafa stares at Nick. He finally shrugs. “Sure, your car.”
“Is your girlfriend coming?” asks Daniel.
Rafa throws a quick glance over his shoulder. “Shh. No. Just us. I’ll get Fuga.” Rafa turns and makes his way toward the encampment of crumbling shacks. Daniel follows.
Only Fuga, Julia, and the baby are present in the shack.
“Buenos días, señora,” Daniel greets Julia. “I brought you a couple of pictures.” He hands Julia the photo he took of Lali and also the picture of Julia fitting Fuga’s suit of lights.
“Gracias, señor. I will cherish these. I saw the photo you took of our matador. It’s fabulosa.” Julia shoots Fuga a prompting look. Fuga shrugs.
“I have photos for some of the people in Vallecas,” says Daniel.
“¡Qué fantástico! You can share them upon our triumphant return!” says Rafa.
Julia hands Rafa the bundle of clothes. She whispers to both young men and gives them each a kiss. She then lifts the stiff cape from the table, prepared to follow them.
“No, you needn’t come,” says Rafa quickly, blocking her from the doorway.
“Lali is sleeping. She’ll be fine. I just want to see you off.”
Rafa whispers to Julia. Her face shrinks with alarm. “Nick? What is he doing here?”
Daniel tries to conceal his frustration. Why didn’t he trust his instincts and just say no to Nick?
“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize there was a problem. He wanted to come along,” says Daniel.
Julia gives a tired wave of her hand. “Just go. Go!”
The three men trudge from the shack.
“It’s a long story,” says Rafa. “And not mine to tell.”
They take a few steps and are bombarded by teams of shrieking children, grabbing at the bundled suit of lights.
“¡Basta!” yells Rafa. “Enough. But if the afternoon goes well, we will all celebrate,” he assures them.
Daniel opens the trunk of the car so Rafa can put in the clothing. Seeing crates of food, the children squeal with delight. Tortilla de patata, oranges, and Manchego cheese.
“I thought we might get hungry,” says Daniel.
Rafa slams the trunk. “No food. Not until after. He’s on a restricted diet.”
A boy tugs at Daniel’s sleeve. “The torero must have an empty belly. That way it’s easier for the doctor to sew him back together if the bull tears holes in him.” The little boy smiles and nods, proud of his macabre knowledge.
“It’s true,” says Rafa. “But there will be no specialized surgeon today. No doctors or chaplains standing by.”
Daniel gets in the car. He is grateful he took Ana’s advice and brought towels.
The children surround Fuga’s side of the car, waving and pushing their faces against the glass. They wish him well, bubbling with joy and excitement. The faintest hint of a smile emerges on Fuga’s lips. He takes his finger and touches the window, replying to the girl with the raven braid, who is kissing the glass. Daniel grabs his camera from the floorboard and takes a picture.
Daniel spent the night reading a book he bought on the history of bullfighting. In ancient times, bulls were revered as mythological gods. Those who stood before the bulls and presented their life for sacrifice were considered high priests. Symbolically, in facing a bull, some believe a matador achieves closeness with God and unifies himself with death.
Daniel looks in the rearview mirror. Fuga’s eyes are closed, a quiet smile crossing his face. He is composed. Ready.
The Buick pulls slowly out onto the road.
75
Ana makes her way down the corridor of the seventh floor.
Do guests realize that personal details reveal themselves in a hotel room? Lorenza shared her daily brief earlier in the basement:
The man in 615 eats in bed (crumbs in the sheets), has high blood pressure (medicine in the bathroom), and plays Casanova (leaves his wedding ring in the room while out for the evening).
The woman in 248 secretly likes gin (bottles under the bed), sleeps with her makeup on (evidenced by her pillow), and has a penchant for mystery (books with “Murder” in the title by someone named Agatha Christie).
Ana unlocks the door to 760.
Daniel’s suite is not neat, but also not messy. Coins, expensive cuff links, and a fountain pen sit exposed on the bureau. He is trusting. She looks to the undressed bed. The hotel coverlet lies bunched at the foot of the mattress. He sleeps with only a sheet, his head on the left pillow. Most American guests have pajama sets or nightclothes. He doesn’t. She blushes. On the nightstand sits his Capa book. Daniel reads before going to sleep.