In those magical moments he announced to the taurine world that he knew what he was doing and on his third pass, even better and closer than before, I heard some around me saying: "He knows, that one."
Calesero came to him and embraced him, leading him personally back to a seat beside Mrs. Evans. When the exhibition ended, Ricardo tried to steal the red cloth he had borrowed but was detected by one of Don Eduardo's men, who said boldly: "If you don't mind, I'll take that." In great humiliation Ricardo had to surrender it. But at that moment Mrs. Evans stepped in and asked the functionary: "What is the muleta worth?" for she had already learned the word, and the man said: "They're not cheap, the proper ones, the way they're cut and stretched. Ten dollars." And he showed her how what seemed to be a simple square of cloth had a pocket in it for holding the stick or sword that the matador used and also how small washers were sewn into the fringe to keep it from blowing about in a wind. "If it blew up, covering the matador," the man said, "he would become the unprotected target and might be killed. This is an important piece of cloth."
"You've explained it beautifully. Here's ten dollars and the cloth belongs to him." When the exchange was made and Martin tucked the muleta into his shirt, Le
o
n Ledesma looked at me quizzically and I nodded, which meant: "That's right, Le
o
n, he hopes to be an espontineo this afternoon," and the big man groaned: "Not two in two days. The gods are punishing me."
As we passed out of the ring toward our cars, which would take us back to the bullfight, the workman who had tried to take the red cloth from Ricardo overtook us and grabbed Martin by the arm, and for a moment I feared there might be a brawl. But the man had brought a matador's stick, the kind whose point fitted in the pocket of the cloth. It was about three feet long, too much by far to hide under a shirt when one was going to try an espontaneo. But this one had been sawn in half and brought back together by a clever system of hinges and screws. Folded, it could be hidden and when reconstituted in full length as one climbed over the red fence into the ring where the bull waited, it would be a helpful tool.
"iHoy dia, quizas?" the workman asked. (Today, maybe?) "Si."
"Buena suerte." And he left us to ride back to the bullring with workmen from the ranch.
On our ride back Mrs. Evans asked Ledesma to share the rear seat with her while I drove her Cadillac with Penny perched beside me, and I heard Mrs. Evans say: "It's pretty obvious Ricardo's going to try to get into the ring this afternoon, isn't it?"
"He and about six others," replied Ledesma.
"But if he does leap in, and if he does as well with the bull as he did with the cow, will you say so in your report?"
"I don't deal in such matters. Nothing ever comes of such an act."
"I'm told that's how Gomez got started."
"He's one in a thousand--ten thousand,"
"But let's suppose he does something spectacular, would you then say so?"
"I told you I don't deal--"
I cannot say for sure what happened, because I could see their heads in my mirror but not their hands, but I'm fairly certain that money was exchanged, paper money, and after a long silence, Mrs. Evans asked: "In your sober opinion, Senor Ledesma, what would it cost an American boy to become an apprentice and then a matador, always providing he had the talent?"
"Well now!" and he began to reel off numbers that staggered me. "First the basics. Two suits, five thousand dollars. Swords, capes, muletas, thirty-five hundred. The special cape for the entry parade, twenty-five hundred. Then the recurring fees, your
Peon
s and picadors, three thousand dollars a fight. Tips to everyone, six thousand dollars. And then the important things, publicity^ including the critics, five thousand dollars. Manager maybe as much as eighteen thousand dollars. So when you are looking at one of our top matadors, Mrs. Evans, you are looking at big money."
"But with a beginner, if one wanted to do it on the cheap?"
'That's the way I'd do it. If you had a winner, someone who could get contracts, not many but a few. Secondhand suits, swords as available, maybe as little as nine thousand dollars."
"Could an American make a real dent, at nine or ten thousand dollars?"
"Six or seven try each year, probably on less. I know of two who tried real hard on twice that much. They all failed."
"Have any succeeded?"
"Within severe limits, two or three."
"If young Martin does get into the ring this afternoon, will you be able to tell by whatever he accomplishes whether or not he has a chance?"
"Mrs. Evans, be realistic. If he tries, you'll see total chaos. He'll be lucky if he even gets near the bull. The peons won't allow it."
"But if he should?"
"You've been a tonic in this festival. And I've grown quite fond of you. So I will give you my opinion free, such as it is. So ask away."
"What I want to know, if he does well, will you say so in print?"
"I've already promised you I'll say something favorable about the testing at the ranch. I've drafted the opening lines. 'Yesterday at the Palafox Ranch I saw Calesero in his traje corto perform his arabesques with the sturdy, cows of Don Eduardo, but the highlight of the abbreviated tienta was the well-regarded norteamericano aspirant Ricardo Martin, who proved once again that he knows how to handle the muleta. He is definitely a young man to watch.' "
"Have you seen him before?"
"No, but it sounds better that way, a more considered judgment."
At this point I again lost sight, literally, of whatever transaction occurred, but when it was concluded, Ledesma said: "But only if he actually gets near the bull." And on those terms I drove the Cadillac into the parking lot and headed for the bullring, unable even to guess what might be about to happen.
Chapter
19.
SOL Y SOMBRA
RELIEVED TO LEARN that my account of the tragedy at Ixmiq-61 was in New York and that my photos had been delivered by air, I was free to attend the final fight as a spectator. I took along my notebook and cameras, on the odd chance that something memorable might happen, but my major concern was to see that my Oklahomans had a meaningful conclusion to their stay in Toledo. I had grown attached to Mrs. Evans, who seemed to have all the best attributes of a mother, and I was aware that had I been a couple of decades younger I'd have been paying more than casual attention to Penny. So it was a privilege for me to stand outside the bullring with them as crowds gathered for the culminating mano a mano between Victoriano and Gomez.
'The two gates, this Sol and that Sombra, symbolize the fight," I told them as we marked the sharp difference between the two groups of aficionados using those gates. "You'll notice that those with tickets reading Sol, a motley crowd, use the one leading to the cheaper seats. They'll sit facing the sun, which can be damned bright in Toledo this time of year. Look at how they bring hats with brims or eyeshades to keep out the glare. Even so, they'll be uncomfortable during the first three bulls, but they watch with pleasure as the sun starts to disappear behind the upper tiers of the ring."
"Do they pay a lot less over there?" Penny asked, and I said: "You bet, but now look at these coming in with Sombra tickets. Well dressed and scrubbed. Entering by a gate adorned with that statue of a Palafox bull. They'll enjoy protection from the sun through the entire fight, for their ticket means shade. You don't have to be a snob when you're sitting in comfort here in Sombra to think: Look at those poor slobs over there in that blazing sunlight. Such thoughts even occur in Christian minds! I'mm in heaven, they're in hell.' The extra pesos you pay to get seats in the shade are well spent. You ladies will be in shade."
There was a third entrance reserved for a few privileged people like Ledesma the critic and Clay the journalist. We could enter by the gate used by the matadors, but whereas they remained in a holding area until time for their processional entrance, Ledesma and I could slip through an even smaller red door that gave entrance to the narrow space between the tiers of seats and the sandy arena in which the bulls would be fought. This narrow passageway was called in Spanish the callej
o
n, and many incidents during the fight would occur here. The manager would whisper suggestions to his matador. Functionaries would carry out orders from the president high in his box overlooking everything. Occasionally a bull would leap over the barrier separating the passageway from the arena and create havoc in the narrow space, which was supposed to be a refuge. In what looked to be a safe passageway men could be killed.
On this day I would not be using the privileged entrance, for I had no reason to be down in the passageway. I could sit in a seat behind the two Oklahomans, and it was fortunate that I was there because Penny gave me a commission. Leaning back from her front-row seat she whispered: "Mr. Clay, that substitute matador at the ranch told me the big matadors might let him place one pair of sticks, maybe. If he does, he promised me: 'Mexico will not see a better pair this season,' so if it happens, do catch a photograph," and she added softly: "I would like that."
Mrs. Evans also gave me her commission in a voice even more subdued: "If Ricardo tries it, photograph everything," and I replied: "If I have enough film." She warned: "You'd better have."
As the minute hand on the arena clock crept toward five, the band of ten instruments high in the rafters began a traditional bullfight march, then suddenly stopped to allow their two trumpeters to sound the call that officially started the afternoon. A big gateway on the far sunny side of the arena opened partially and out rode a man in an ancient costume astride his white horse, which high-stepped in a slow dance to our side. There the man picked up a ceremonial key with which he galloped back full speed to open the red door through which the bulls would enter the arena. Then the big doors opened fully and into the sunlight stepped the three matadors followed by their troupes, including two mounted picadors for each matador. Trailing behind came a dozen men wearing white shirts who were called monos sabios (trained apes) whose job it was to clean up the arena after each of the six separate fights.
This entry scene was like nothing else in sport or spectacle. Even the most jaded aficionado had to be thrilled by the sight of the three matadors so handsome in their special capes, resplendent in color and decoration and used only for this entry march, followed by the
Peon
s, each also wearing the best cape he could afford. When they reached our side, Victoriano, at the height of his public acceptance, came to where the actress we had seen at the ranch sat and with a bow offered her his cape, and at the same time Pepe Huerta, the substitute, came to Penny Grim and offered her his somewhat tattered cape, which she also spread out. The difference between the two capes was immediately and almost cruelly obvious: $2,800 to $69. But the audience applauded the two gestures, and both the matador and substitute posed momentarily before the two women as we snapped our shutters. The afternoon was off to a memorable start.
But then Juan
Gomez
, almost fighting to establish and maintain his role as a major matador, eclipsed the other pair, for he waited till they had made their presentations, then marched slowly to where Lucha Gonzalez sat and with the gestures of a grandee at the court of Versailles presented her with his rather shopworn cape as spectators whispered: "She's the flamenco singer, Lucha. She danced in that movie, remember? Some years back," and the arena applauded.
Now at a signal from the president the bugler sounded his plaintive call, an echo from centuries that spoke of battle and death. The sound created an ominous mood, and as it wailed away into silence, the little red door across from us opened, and out roared the first Palafox bull of the afternoon, head high, legs pumping, horns jabbing this way and that in search of targets. The fight had begun.
Gomez ran to his first beast, the one we had described as having "small horns but quick movements," and tried to set the pattern for the afternoon by attempting a series of stately passes, but the bull did not comply. The animal was not cowardly, for when the well-padded horses came out it attacked them furiously, but again, when
Gomez
tried to lead the bull away for a set of really fine passes with the cape wrapping around his body as the bull roared past, there was no bull roaring anywhere, and the matador's attempts to make something happen proved not only fruitless but also just a bit ridiculous. The bad afternoon started for
Gomez
at that moment, but worse was about to happen, for now the intricate strategy of a hand-to-hand fight intruded.
When Gomez, having demonstrated that he could do nothing with his first bull, stepped away, Victoriano was on hand to sweep in, unfurl his cape and give the bull a series of brilliant passes that evoked cheers throughout the plaza. "Damn that bull," I would hear Gomez muttering to his peons. "Why charge at him and not me?"
With the picadors it was the same. After the first pic, not a good one, Gomez tried to lead his bull away for some fancy passes, but the animal would not respond. Now the bandylegged little Indian faced the cruel decision: ask the president to move the fight on to the next stage, knowing the bull had not been adequately tested, or deliver him to the second picador in hopes that this one would do the necessary job. But, if the bull did attack the second picador, then Victoriano was entitled to try his luck with passes. Gomez evaluated the situation only briefly, then allowed Victoriano his chance, and the graceful younger man again received a bull ready to cooperate. Victoriano gave him two sets of exquisite passes in which the cape became part of a flowing sculpture, the bull a friend to the matador, not an enemy.