An hour later Maria was sitting on the marble bench in the garden of
the sultana, and had a vision of an immense arena divided in half by
a strong shadow, with tiers of stone seats and balconies covered with
shawls of a hundred gay colors, and the queen herself sitting in the
king’s balcony. A black bull was in the middle of the arena, with head
bent low, snorting and bellowing, pawing the sand under him. Don Jose
with a red _capa_ hiding the red-hilted spade underneath, was facing
the brute.
A moment later her father and the other keepers were attracted to her
by a terrific shriek. She was hiding her face in her hands and yelling:
“The bull! The bull!” when they neared her.
“That child of yours does not seem to be well,” said a keeper to Don
Hermanos after Maria had been led weeping to her home.
But Don Hermanos smiled. He knew what the trouble was. A great matador
as a son-in-law was a pleasant prospect for his daughter.
Maria drank a glass of water which was given her by her mother, and
seemed to have regained her composure immediately. She went to the
mirror to fix her hair, and having looked at herself carefully, she
proceeded to dress to go out. She asked her mother to accompany her. No
self-respecting Sevillana would ever go out alone. Maria had till then,
considering herself a child, always gone about alone. Her mother smiled
as she answered:
“Give me time to get ready!”
It took the mother a full hour to get herself ready. On going out into
the populated street, cool now because the sun was no longer shedding
its straight rays, the two women heard the cry of the barefoot boys in
rags selling papers. Don Jose had been wounded severely by the first
bull he had fought.
“Quick, Mother!” Maria begged, and dragging the old woman by the hand
she began to run in the direction of her old home in the Triana, where
she was certain Don Jose would be brought to his mother.
But on arriving there they were told that the Gitanas had moved out
from the “Casa” to a more comfortable home, now that Jose was earning
so much money. And when the former neighbors heard about the accident
that had happened, they left their cooking-pots, and the children left
their play in the mud, and howling and running they followed the two
women to the home of the matador.
Jose’s face was white from the loss of blood. He was lying stretched
out on a white bed. A number of friends and the priest and a doctor
crowded the room.
“Will he die?” Maria screamed, looking up at the physician.
The man shook his head and put a finger to his mouth.
“No noise, please.”
And then Jose opened his eyes and saw Maria; and his faint lips
murmured her name.
Jose did get better; he had not been wounded in any vital part of his
body. He was only weak because of the blood he had lost before they had
succeeded in driving away the bull that had gored him. Daily, Maria and
her mother would come to sit at his bedside and care for him. When the
wounds in his upper thighs had healed, it was upon Maria’s shoulder
that he first left the bed to sun himself on the balcony. And with that
marvelous recuperating power of youth he was able before the summer to
appear again in the ring.
Maria sat in a box with her mother watching the first appearance. And
the cheering of the crowd as he bowed before the balcony of the queen
was deafening. Maria, paler than usual, was not interested in the
bull-fight as such. To her it was merely the man she loved who was now
facing a formidable brute. It was her man that was in danger--in danger
of that black bull, snorting and running wildly about the arena. She
could not appreciate the cheers that came, round after round, as Don
Jose with graceful fleetness avoided the charging animal by fooling him
with the red _capa_ that he held in his hand. She could not understand
why he did not use the spade and kill the brute. To her mind every bull
was the same that had wounded the man she loved.
The crowd cheered and yelled in appreciation of their idol’s dangerous
play. Suddenly there was a great silence. The _banderilleros_ had done
their work and distanced themselves from the animal. The matador alone
faced him now. He played and enraged the bull for a few minutes, then
he poised himself with his spade for the final thrust. But when the
bull made a movement, courage failed him, and he stepped aside. And the
same crowd that had been cheering so wildly now began to hoot him. The
other matadors sprang to his help and began to throw their red _capas_
over the bull. Don Jose shook his head sorrowfully without looking up,
and waving his quadrilla aside, he again posed himself before the bull,
trying to get him to lower his head. There was silence again. Maria’s
heart stood still. And while the crowd was hooting again the matador,
who had side-stepped for a second time, her own heart was glad, for he
was there yet and alive. Her mother and the mother of the matador were
pale with anger and shame. What had happened to Jose? The bugle gave a
warning to the matador that he must be quick about his business. His
time was up. And this time the matador did not side-step. His thrust
was sure and deep, and the crowd cheered wildly, although when the
ring had been cleared, the _afficianadoes_ were looking at one another
and shaking their heads, as if saying, “The best days of the Gitana
are over.” Never before in his short, but glorious, career had he been
known to side-step a charging bull.
He did not do much better with the second animal. And it was only
because they remembered how severely he had been wounded before that
the crowd did not do the usual things on such occasions, throwing the
hard cushions underneath them into the arena, and even empty bottles
and stones. Even Jose’s mother looked coldly at her son when he
returned home with her in the waiting carriage, for the papers were
sure to report his lack of courage. Only Maria was happy. He had come
out of the fight alive and he had killed the bulls.
The next few weeks took the matador out of the city to fight in other
_pueblos_. It was understood that he was going to marry Maria as soon
as he returned from the season’s activities. Left alone, Maria, now
the acknowledged fiancée of Don Jose, again took possession of the
Alcazar. But everything within it was now filled with Joses. Joses in
silken garb. Joses in the center of bull-rings. Joses wounded, Joses
side-stepping, and crowds upon tiers and tiers in a large circle. She
tried to conjure again the old visions of sultanas and _bayaderes_
dancing in the great halls and in the gardens. And when they did
appear, Don Jose was somewhere about them. And she would harshly
order her vision figures to disappear, for they all looked at him so
longingly. And they were all so much more beautiful than she was.
She would wait trembling with fear the afternoons she knew he had
appeared in the distant bull-rings for a telegram that he sent her at
the end of every _corrida_. He gave no details, only telling her that
all was well and that he loved her. But in reality things were not as
well with him as they had been before. There was great doubt whether
he would ever be engaged again to fight in the bull-ring after that
season. There was great dissatisfaction with his work. He still gave
them great thrills in playing with the bull, but courage generally
failed him when he faced the animal with spade in hand. He could not
forget that he had been wounded. And he played longer with the animals
than he should have done to avoid as long as possible the last moment.
And again and again the warning bugle had sounded, the papers reported.
Don Hermanos was far from being satisfied with his future son-in-law.
Yet all Maria cared was that Jose was alive and untouched by the brutal
beasts.
She rejoiced to the fullest of her soul when he returned. Only Don
Hermanos was not satisfied to see him walk about in street clothes
instead of the matador uniform, like the others of his profession.
Every day after sundown Jose would come to the Alcazar, and Maria would
show him the great halls and the gardens and tell him the legends of
the place. She had found again the Alcazar now that he was near her.
Speaking to him, all the old charm of the palace had returned. She was
not even jealous of the sultanas she now conjured from the ceramic
walls and from behind the balconies overhead.
As the day of her wedding approached, Don Jose spoke to her.
“How will you ever be able to live within the poor walls of your home
after having lived here amid such great beauties?”
Maria laughed and laughed. Don Jose intended to leave Seville and
go elsewhere. He had saved quite a goodly amount of money. He had
premonitions about his being killed in the ring if he should continue
to fight next season. An old sorceress had told him so also. He had
different plans. He thought sheep-raising upon the Saragoza Hills
pleased him best. He owned there quite a good stretch of land. And
there was an old adobe house on top of the hill. He thought it was
better to live in seclusion for the next year or so than being hooted
and reviled in the bull-ring. Maria was willing to follow him anywhere.
And he told her: “When my feelings change, I will return to the ring.”
“Which I hope you will never do!” Maria exclaimed.
She had no desire to see her husband glorified by the multitude after
he had been gored to death in the ring.