MANUEL GARCIA climbed the stairs to Don Miguel Retana's

  • office. He set down his suitcase and knocked on the door.
    There was no answer. Manuel, standing in the hallway, felt
    there was some one in the room. He felt it through the door.

          'Retana,' he said, listening.

          There was no answer.

          He's there, all right, Manuel thought.

          'Retana,' he said and banged the door.

          "'Who's there?' said some one in the office.

          'Me, Manolo,' Manuel said*.

          'What do you want?' asked the voice..

          'I want to work,' Manuel said. ^^ ~*

          Something in the door clicked several times and it swung
    open. Manuel went in, carrying his suitcase.

          A little man sat behind a desk at the far side of the room.
    Over his head was a bull's head, stuffed by a Madrid ta&i-
    dernust; on the walls were framed photographs and bull-
    fight posters.

          The little man sat looking at Manuel.,

          *I thought they'd killed you/ he said
          Manuel knocked with his knuckles on the desk. The little
    man sat looking at him across the desk.

          'How many corridas you had this year?' Retana asked.

          'One, 3 he answered.

          'Just that one?' the little man asked.

          'That's all.'

          'I read about it in the papers, 5 Retana said. He leaned
    back in the chair and looked at Manuel.
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  • wooden box of cigarettes toward Manuel.

          'Have a cigarette,' he said.


          Manuel lit it.

          'Smoke?' he said, offering the match to Retana.

          'No,' Retana waved his hand, 'I never smoke.'

          Retana watched him smoking.

          'Why don't you get a job and go to work?' he said.

          *I don't want to work,' Manuel said. 'I am a bull-fighter/

          There aren't any bull-fighters any more,' Retana said.

          Tm a bull-fighter,' Manuel said.

          212 THE UNDEFEATED

          'Yes, while you're in there/ Retana said.

          Manuel laughed.

          Retana sat, saying nothing and looking at Manuel.

          Til put you in a nocturnal if you want,' Retana offered.

          'When?' Manuel asked.

          'To-morrow night.'

          'I don't like to substitute for anybody,' Manuel said. That
    was the way they all got killed. That was the way Salvador
    got killed. He tapped with his knuckles on the table.

          'It's all I've got,' Retana said.

          'Why don't you put me on next week? 5 Manuel suggested.

          'You wouldn't draw,' Retana said. 'All they want is Litri
    and Rubito and La Torre. Those kids are good.'
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  •       'They'd come to see me get it,' Manuel said, hopefully.

          'No, they wouldn't. They don't know who you are any

          'I've got a lot of stuff,' Manuel said.

          'I'm offering to put you on to-morrow night,' Retana said.
    4 You can work with young Hernandez and kill two novillos
    after the Chariots.'

          'Whose novillos?' Manuel asked.

          'I don't know. Whatever stuff they've got in the corrals.
    What the veterinaries won't pass in the daytime.'

          'I don't like to substitute,' Manuel said.

          'You can take it or leave it,' Retana said. He leaned for-
    ward over the papers. He was no longer interested. The
    appeal that Manuel had made to him for a moment when he
    thought of the old days was gone. He would like to get him

    to substitute for Larita because he could get him cheaply.
    He could get others cheaply too. He would like to help him,
    though. Still he had given him the chance. It was up to him.

          'How much do I get?' Manuel asked. He was still playing
    with the idea of refusing. But he knew he could not refuse.

          'Two hundred and fifty pesetas,' Retana said. He had
    thought of five hundred, but when he opened his mouth it
    said two hundred and fifty.

          THE UNDEFEATED 213

          'You pay Villalta seven thousand/ Manuel said.

          'You're not Villalta,' Retana said.

          'I know it,' Manuel said.

          'He draws it, Manolo,' Retana said in explanation.

          'Sure,' said Manuel. He stood up. 'Give me three hun-
    dred, Retana! 5
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  •       'All right,' Retana agreed. He reached in the drawer for a

          'Can I have fifty now?' Manuel asked.

          'Sure,' said Retana. He took a fifty-peseta note out of his
    pocket-book and laid it, spread out flat, on the table.

          Manuel picked it up and put it in his pocket.

          'What about a cuadrilla?' he asked.

          'There's the boys that always work for me nights,' Retana
    said. 'They're all right.'

          'How about picadors?' Manuel asked.

          'They're not much,' Retana admitted.

          'I've got to have one good pic,' Manuel said.

          'Get him then,' Retana said. 'Go and get him.'

          'Not out of this,' Manuel said. 'I'm not paying for any
    cuadrilla out of sixty duros.'

          Retana said nothing but looked at Manuel across the big

          'You know I've got to have one good pic,' Manuel said.

          Retana said nothing but looked at Manuel from a long way

          'It isn't right,' Manuel said.

          Retana was still considering him, leaning back in his chair,
    considering him from a long way away.

          There're the regular pics/ he offered.

          'I know, 5 Manuel said. 'I know your regular pics.'

          Retana did not smile. Manuel knew it was over.
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  •       'All I want is an even break, 5 Manuel said reasoningly.
    *When I go out there I want to be able to call my shots on the
    bull. It only takes one good picador. 5

          He was talking to a man who was no longer listening.

          2i 4 THE UNDEFEATED

          If you want something extra/ Retana said, 'go and get it.
    There will be a regular cuadrilla out there. Bring as many
    of your own pics as you want. The charlotada is over by

          'All right/ Manuel said. 'If that's the way you feel about

          'That's the way/ Retana said.

          Til see you to-morrow night/ Manuel said.

          Til be out there/ Retana said.

          Manuel picked up his suitcase and went out.

          'Shut the door/ Retana called.

          Manuel looked back. Retana was sitting forward looking at
    some papers. Manuel pulled the door tight until it clicked.

          He went down the stairs and out of the door into the hot
    brightness of the street. It was very hot in the street and the
    light on the white buildings was sudden and hard on his eyes.
    He walked down the shady side of the street toward the
    Puerta del Sol. The shade felt solid and cool as running
    water. The heat came suddenly as he crossed the intersect-
    ing streets. Manuel saw no one he knew in all the people he

          Just before the Puerto del Sol he turned into a cafe.

          It was quiet in the cafe. There were a few men sitting at
    tables against the wall. At one table four men played cards.
    Most of the men sat against the wall smoking, empty coffee-
    cups and liqueur-glasses before them on the tables. Manuel
    went through the long room to a small room in back. A man
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  • sat at a table in the corner asleep. Manuel sat down at one
    of the tables.

          A waiter came in and stood beside Manuel's table.

          'Have you seen Zurito?' Manuel asked him.

          'He was in before lunch/ the waiter answered, 'He won't
    be back before five o'clock.'

          'Bring me some coffee and milk and a shot of the ordinary/
    Manuel said.

          The waiter came back into the room carrying a tray with a

          THE UNDEFEATED- 215

          big coffee-glass and a liqueur-glass on it. In his left hand he
    held a bottle of brandy. He swung these down to the table
    and a boy who had followed him poured coffee and milk into
    the glass from two shiny, spouted pots with long handles.

          Manuel took off his cap and the waiter noticed his pigtail
    pinned forward on his head. He winked at the coffee-boy as
    he poured out the brandy into the little glass beside
    Manuel's coffee. The coffee-boy looked at Manuel's pale face

          'You fighting here?' asked the waiter, corking up the bottle.

          'Yes,' Manuel said. 'To-morrow.'

          The waiter stood there, holding the bottle on one hip.

          'You in the Charlie Chaplins?' he asked.

          The coffee-boy looked away, embarrassed.

          'No. In the ordinary. 5

          'I thought they were going to have Chaves and Hernan-
    dez,' the waiter said.

          'No. Me and another.'
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  •       'Who? Chaves or Hernandez?'

          'Hernandez, I think/

          'What's the matter with Chaves?'

          'He got hurt. 5

          "Where did you hear that?'


          "Hey, Looie,' the waiter called to the next room. 'Chaves
    got cogida.'

          Manuel had taken the wrapper off the lumps of sugar and
    dropped them into his coffee. He stirred it and drank it
    down, sweet, hot, and warming in his empty stomach. He
    drank off the brandy.

          'Give me another shot of that,' he said to the waiter.

          The waiter uncorked the bottle and poured the glass full r
    slopping another drink into the saucer. Another waiter had
    come up in front of the table. The coffee-boy was gone,

          'Is Chaves hurt bad?' the second waiter asked Manuel.

          'I don't know,' Manuel said. 'Retana didn't say.'

          216 THE UNDEFEATED

          'A hell of a lot he cares/ the tall waiter said. Manuel had
    not seen him before. He must have just come up.

          'If you stand in with Retana in this town, you're a made
    man/ the tall waiter said. 'If you aren't in with him, you
    might just as well go out and shoot yourself.'

          'You said it,' the other waiter who had come in said. 'You
    said it then.'

          'You're right I said it,' said the tall waiter. 'I know what
    I'm talking about when I talk about that bird.'
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  •       'Look what he's done for Villalta,' the first waiter said.

          'And that ain't all,' the tall waiter said. 'Look what he's
    done for Marcial Lalanda. Look what he's done for

          'You said it, kid,' agreed the short waiter.

          Manuel looked at them, standing talking in front of his
    table. He had drunk his second brandy. They had for-
    gotten about him. They were not interested in him.

          'Look at that bunch of camels,' the tall waiter went on.
    'Did you ever see this Nacional II?'

          'I seen him last Sunday, didn't I?' the original waiter said.

          'He's a giraffe,' the short waiter said.

          'What did I tell you?' the tall waiter said. 'Those are
    Retana's boys.'

          'Say, give me another shot of that/ Manuel said. He had
    poured the brandy the waiter had slopped over in the saucer
    into his glass and drank it while they were talking.

          The original waiter poured his glass full mechanically, and
    the three of them went out of the room talking.

          In the far corner the man was still asleep, snoring slightly
    on the intaking breath, his head back against the wall.

          Manuel drank his brandy. He felt sleepy himself. It was too
    hot to go out into the town. Besides there was nothing to do.
    He wanted to see Zurito. He would go to sleep while he waited.
    He kicked his suitcase under the table to be sure it was there.
    Perhaps it would be better to put it back under the seat,
    against the wall. He leaned down and shoved it under.

          THE UNDEFEATED 217

          Then he leaned forward on the table and went to sleep.

  •       When he woke there was some one sitting across the table
    from him. It was a big man with a heavy brown face like
    an Indian. He had been sitting there some time. He had
    waved the waiter away and sat reading the paper and
    occasionally looking down at Manuel, asleep, his head on the
    table. He read the paper laboriously, forming the words with
    his lips as he read. When it tired him he looked at Manuel.
    He sat heavily in the chair, his black Cordoba hat tipped

          Manuel sat up and looked at him.

          'Hello, Zurito, 5 he said.

          c Hello, kid,' the big man said.

          'I've been asleep,' Manuel rubbed his forehead with the
    back of his fist.

          'I thought maybe you were.'

          'How's everything?'

          'Good. How is everything with you?'

          'Not so good.'

          They were both silent. Zurito, the picador, looked at
    Manuel's white face. Manuel looked down at the picador's
    enormous hands folding the paper to put away in his pocket.

          'I got a favour to ask you, Manos,' Manuel said.

          Manosduros was Zurito's nickname. He never heard it
    without thinking of his huge hands. He put them forward
    on the table self-consciously.

          'Let's have a drink,' he said.

          'Sure,' said Manuel.

          The waiter came and went and came again. He went out
    of the room looking back at the two men at the table.

          'What's the matter, Manolo?' Zurito set down his glass.
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  •       'Would you pic two bulls for me to-morrow night?' Manuel
    asked, looking up at Zurito across the table.

          c No, J said Zurito. Tm not pic-ing. 5

          Manuel looked down at his glass. He had expected that
    answer; now he had it. Well, he had it.

          2i8 THE UNDEFEATED

          Tm sorry, Manolo, but I'm not pic-ing.' Zurito looked at
    his hands.

          'That's all right,' Manuel said.

          Tm too old,' Zurito said.

          'I just asked you,' Manuel said.

          'Is it the nocturnal to-morrow?'

          'That's it. I figured if I had just one good pic, I could get

    away with it.'

          'How much are you getting?'

          'Three hundred pesetas.'

          'I get more than that for pic-ing.'

          'I know,' said Manuel. 'I didn't have any right to ask

          'What do you keep on doing it for?' Zurito asked. 'Why
    don't you cut off your coleta, Manolo?'

          'I don't know,' Manuel said.

          'You're pretty near as old as I am,' Zurito said.

          *I don't know,' Manuel said. 'I got to do it. If I can fix it
    so that I get an even break, that's all I want. I got to stick
    with it, Manos.'
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  •       'No, you don't.'

          'Yes. I do. I've tried keeping away from it.'

          'I know how you feel. But it isn't right. You ought to get
    out and stay out.'

          'I can't do it. Besides, I've been going good lately.'

          Zurito looked at his face.

          'You've been in the hospital.'

          'But I was going great when I got hurt.'

          Zurito said nothing. He tipped the cognac out of his
    saucer into his glass.

          'The papers said they never saw a better faena,' Manuel

          Zurito looked at him.

          'You know when I get going I'm good,' Manuel said.

          'You're too old,' the picador said.

          'No, 5 said Manuel. 'You're ten years older than I am.'

          THE UNDEFEATED 219

          'With me it's different.'

          Tm not too old,' Manuel said.

          They sat silent, Manuel watching the picador's face.

          'I was going great till I got hurt,' Manuel offered.

          'You ought to have seen me, Manos,' Manuel said y

          'I don't want to see you,' Zurito said. 'It makes me

          'You haven't seen me lately.'
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  •       'I've seen you plenty.'

          Zurito looked at Manuel, avoiding his eyes.

          'You ought to quit it, Manolo.'

          'I can't,' Manuel said. 'I'm going good now, I tell you/

          Zurito leaned forward, his hands on the table.

          'Listen. I'll pic for you and if you don't go big to-morrow
    night, you'll quit. See? Will you do that?'


          Zurito leaned back, relieved.

          'You got to quit,' he said. 'No monkey business. You got
    to cut the coleta/

          'I won't have to quit,' Manuel said. 'You watch me. I've
    got the stuff.'

          Zurito stood up. He felt tired from arguing.

          'You got to quit,' he said. Til cut your coleta myself.'

          'No, you won't,' Manuel said. 'You won't have a chance/

          Zurito called the waiter.

          'Come on/ said Zurito. 'Come on up to the house.'

          Manuel reached under the seat for his suitcase. He was
    happy. He knew Zurito would pic for him. He was the best
    picador living. It was all simple now.

          'Come on up to the house and we'll eat,' Zurito said.

          Manuel stood in the patio de caballos waiting for the
    Charlie Chaplins to be over. Zurito stood beside him.
    Where they stood it was dark. The high door that led into
    the bull-ring was shut. Above them they heard a shout, then

          220 THE UNDEFEATED
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  •       another shout of laughter. Then there was silence. Manuel
    liked the smell of the stables about the patio de caballos.
    It smelt good in the dark. There was another roar from the
    arena and then applause, prolonged applause, going on and

          'You ever seen these fellows? 5 Zurito asked, big and
    looming beside Manuel in the dark.

          'No,' Manuel said.

          'They're pretty funny,' Zurito said. He smiled to himself
    in the dark.

          The high, double, tight-fitting door into the bull-ring
    swung open and Manuel saw the ring in the hard light of the
    arc-lights, the plaza, dark all the way around, rising high;
    around the edge of the ring were running and bowing two
    men dressed like tramps, followed by a third in the uniform
    of a hotel bell-boy who stooped and picked up the hats and
    canes thrown down on to the sand and tossed them back up
    into the darkness.

          The electric light went on in the patio.

          Til climb on to one of those ponies while you collect the
    kids,' Zurito said.

          Behind them came the jingle of the mules, coming out to
    go into the arena and be hitched on to the dead bull.

          The members of the cuadrilla, who had been watching the
    burlesque from the runway between the barrera and the
    seats, came walking back and stood in a group talking, under
    the electric light in the patio. A good-looking lad in a silver-
    and-orange suit came up to Manuel and smiled.

          Tm Hernandez,' he said and put out his hand.

          Manuel shook it.

          'They're regular elephants we've got to-night,' the boy said
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  •       'They're big ones with horns/ Manuel agreed.

          'You drew the worst lot,' the boy said.

          'That's all right,' Manuel said. 'The bigger they are, the
    more meat for the poor.'

          THE UNDEFEATED 221

          'Where did you get that one?' Hernandez grinned.

          'That's an old one/ Manuel said. 'You line up your cuad-
    rilla, so I can see what I've got.'

          'You've got some good kids,' Hernandez said. He was very
    cheerful. He had been on twice before in nocturnals and was
    beginning to gfet a following in Madrid. He was happy the
    fight would start in a few minutes.

          'Where are the pics?' Manuel asked.

          'They're back in the corrals fighting about who gets the
    beautiful horses/ Hernandez grinned.

          The mules came through the gate in a rush, the whips
    snapping, bells jangling and the young bull ploughing a
    furrow of sand.

          They formed up for the paseo as soon as the bull had gone

          Manuel and Hernandez stood in front. The youths of
    the cuadrillas were behind, their heavy capes furled over
    their arms. In back, the four picadors, mounted, hold-
    ing their steel-tipped push-poles erect in the half-dark of the

          'It's a wonder Retana wouldn't give us enough light to see
    the horses by/ one picador said.

          'He knows we'll be happier if we don't get too good a look
    at these skins/ another pic answered.

          'This thing I'm on barely keeps me off the ground/ the
    first picador said.

  •       'Well, they're horses.'

          'Sure, they're horses.'

          They talked, sitting their gaunt horses in the dark.

          Zurito said nothing. He had the only steady horse of the
    lot. He had tried him, wheeling him in the corrals and he
    responded to the bit and the spurs. He had taken the
    bandage off his right eye and cut the strings where they had
    tied his ears tight shut at the base. He was a good, solid
    horse, solid on his legs. That was all he needed. He intended
    to ride him all through the corrida. He had already, since he

          222 THE UNDEFEATED

          had mounted, sitting in the half-dark in the big, quilted
    saddle, waiting for the paseo, pioed through the whole
    corrida in his mind. The other picadors went on talking on
    both sides of him. He did not hear them.

          The two matadors stood together in front of their three
    peones, their capes furled over their left arms in the same

    fashion. Manuel was thinking about the three lads in back of
    him. They were all three Madrilenos, like Hernandez, boys
    about nineteen. One of them, a gipsy, serious, aloof, and
    dark-faced, he liked the look of. He turned.

          'What's your name, kid?' he asked the gipsy.

          Tuentes,' the gipsy said.

          'That's a good name,' Manuel said.

          The gipsy smiled, showing his teeth.

          'You take the bull and give him a little run when he comes
    out,' Manuel said.

          'All right,' the gipsy said. His face was serious. He began
    to think about just what he would do.

          'Here she goes,' Manuel said to Hernandez.

          'All right. We'll go.'

  •       Heads up, swinging with the music, their right arms
    swinging free, they stepped out, crossing the sanded arena
    under the arc-lights, the cuadrillas opening out behind, the
    picadors riding after, behind came the bull-ring servants and
    the jingling mules. The crowd applauded Hernandez as they
    marched across the arena. Arrogant, swinging, they looked
    straight ahead as they marched.

          They bowed before the president, and the procession
    broke up into its component parts. The bull-fighters went
    over to the barrera and changed their heavy mantles for the
    light fighting capes. The mules went out. The picadors
    galloped jerkily around the ring, and two rode out the gate
    they had come in by. The servants swept the sand

          Manuel drank a glass of water poured for him by one of
    Retana's deputies, who was acting as his manager and sword-

          THE UNDEFEATED 223

          handler. Hernandez came over from speaking with his own

          'You got a good hand, kid, 5 Manuel complimented him.

          'They like me,' Hernandez said happily.

          'How did the pasco go? 5 Manuel asked Retana 5 s man.

          'Like a wedding, 5 said the handler. 'Fine. You came out
    like Joselito and Belmonte. 5

          Zurito rode by, a bulky equestrian statue. He wheeled his
    horse and faced him toward the toril on the far. side of the
    ring where the bull would come out. It was strange under
    the arc-light. He pic-cd in the hot afternoon sun for big
    money. He didn't like this arc-light business. He wished
    they would get started.

          Manuel went up to him.

          'Pic him, Manos, 5 he said. 'Cut him down to size for

          Til pic him, kid,' Zurito spat on the sand. Til make him
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  • jump out of the ring.'

          'Lean on him, Manos,' Manuel said.

          Til lean on him,' Zurito said. 'What's holding it up?'

          'He's coming now,' Manuel said.

          Zurito sat there, his feet in the box-stirrups, his great legs
    in the buckskin-covered armour gripping the horse, the reins
    in his left hand, the long pic held in his right hand, his broad
    hat well down over his eyes to shade them from the lights,
    watching the distant door of the toril. His horse's ears
    quivered. Zurito patted him with his left hand.

          The red door of the toril swung back and for a moment
    Zurito looked into the empty passageway far across the
    arena. Then the bull came out in a rush, skidding on his four
    legs as he came out under the lights, then charging in a gallop,
    moving softly in a fast gallop, silent except as he woofed
    through wide nostrils as he charged, glad to be free after the
    dark pen.

          In the first row of seats, slightly bored, leaning forward to
    write on the cement wall in front of his knees, the substitute

          224 THE UNDEFEATED

          bull-fight critic of El Heraldo scribbled: 'Campagnero, Negro,
    42, came out at 90 miles an hour with plenty of gas '

          Manuel, leaning against the barrera, watching the bull,
    waved his hand and the gipsy ran out, trailing his cape. The
    bull, in full gallop, pivoted and charged the cape, his head
    down, his tail rising. The gipsy moved in a zigzag, and as he
    passed, the bull caught sight of him and abandoned the cape
    to charge the man. The gip sprinted and vaulted the red
    fence of the barrera as the bull struck it with his horns. He
    tossed into it twice with his horns, banging into the wood

          The critic of El Heraldo lit a cigarette and tossed the match
    at the bull, then wrote in his note-book, 'large and with

  • enough horns to satisfy the cash customers, Campagnero
    showed a tendency to cut into the terrain of the bull-fighters'.

          Manuel stepped out on the hard sand as the bull banged
    into the fence. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Zurito
    sitting the white horse close to the barrera, about a quarter
    of the way around the ring to the left. Manuel held the
    cape close in front of him, a fold in each hand, and shouted
    at the bull. 'Huh! Huh!' The bull turned, seemed to brace
    against the fence as he charged in a scramble, driving into
    the cape as Manuel side-stepped, pivoted on his heels with
    the charge of the bull, and swung the cape just ahead of the
    horns. At the end of the swing he was facing the bull again
    and held the cape in the same position close in front of his
    body, and pivoted again as the bull recharged. Each time,
    as he swung, the crowd shouted.

          Four times he swung with the bull, lifting the cape so it
    billowed full, and each time bringing the bull around to
    charge again. Then, at the end of the fifth swing, he held the
    cape against his hip and pivoted, so the cape swung out like
    a ballet dancer's skirt and wound the bull around himself
    like a belt, to step clear, leaving the bull facing Zurito on the

    white horse, come up and planted firm, the horse facing
    the bull, its ears forward, its lips nervous, Zurito, his hat over

          THE UNDEFEATED 225

          his eyes, leaning forward, the long pole sticking out before
    and behind in a sharp angle under his right arm, held half-
    way down, the triangular iron point facing the bull.

          El Heraldo's second-string critic, dra,wing on his cigarette,
    his eyes on the bull, wrote: 'the veteran Manolo designed
    a series of acceptable veronicas, ending in a very Belmontistic
    recorte that earned applause from the regulars, and we
    entered the tercio of the cavalry.'

          Zurito sat his horse, measuring the distance between the
    bull and the end of the pic. As he looked, the bull gathered
    himself together and charged, his eyes on the horse's chest.
    As he lowered his head to hook, Zurito sunk the point of the

  • pic in the swelling hump of muscle above the bull's shoulder,
    leaned all his weight on the shaft, and with his left hand
    pulled the white horse into the air, front hoofs pawing, and
    swung him to the right as he pushed the bull under and
    through so the horns passed safely under the horse's belly
    and the horse came down, quivering, the bull's tail brushing
    his chest as he charged the cape Hernandez offered him.

          Hernandez ran sideways, taking the bull* out and away
    with the cape, toward the other picador. He fixed him with
    a swing of the cape, squarely facing the horse and rider, and
    stepped back. As the bull saw the horse he charged. The
    picador's lance slid along his back, and as the shock of the
    charge lifted the horse, the picador was already half-way out
    of the saddle, lifting his right leg clear as he missed with the
    lance and falling to the left side to keep the horse between
    him and the bull. The horse, lifted and gored, crashed over
    with the bull driving into him, the picador gave a shove with
    his boots against the horse and lay clear, waiting to be lifted
    and hauled away and put on his feet.

          Manuel let the bull drive into the fallen horse; he was in no

    hurry, the picador was safe; besides, it did a picador like that
    good to worry. He'd stay on longer next time. Lousy pics!
    He looked across the sand at Zurito a little way out from the
    barrera, his horse rigid, waiting.

          226 THE UNDEFEATED

          'Huh!' he called to the bull, 'TomarP holding the cape in
    both hands so it would catch his eye. The bull detached him-
    self from the horse and charged the cape, and Manuel, running
    sideways and holding the cape spread wide, stopped, swung on
    his heels, and brought the bull sharply around facing Zurito.
    'Campagnero accepted a pair of varas for the death of one
    rosinante, with Hernandez and Manolo at the quites,' El
    Heraldo's critic wrote. 'He pressed on the iron and clearly
    showed he was no horse-lover. The veteran Zurito resur-
    rected some of his old stuff with the pike-pole, notably the
    suerte '

          'Ole! OleP the man sitting beside him shouted. The shout
    was lost in the roar of the crowd, and he slapped the critic on
    the back. The critic looked up to see Zurito, directly below
    him, leaning far out over his horse, the length of the pic
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  • rising in a sharp angle under his armpit, holding the pic
    almost by the point, bearing down with all his weight, hold-
    ing the bull off, the bull pushing and driving to get at the
    horse, and Zurito, far out, on top of him, holding him, hold-
    ing him, and slowly pivoting the horse against the pressure,
    so that at last he was clear. Zurito felt the moment when the
    horse was clear and the bull could come past, and relaxed
    the absolute steel lock of his resistance, and the triangular
    steel point of the pic ripped in the bull's hump of shoulder
    muscle as he tore loose to find Hernandez's cape before his
    muzzle. He charged blindly into the cape and the boy took
    him out into the open arena.

          Zurito sat patting his horse and looking at the bull charg-
    ing the cape that Hernandez swung for him out under the
    bright light while the crowd shouted.

          'You see that one?' he said to Manuel.

          'It was a wonder/ Manuel said.

          'I got him that time,' Zurito said. 'Look at him now.'

          At the conclusion of a closely turned pass of the cape the
    bull slid to his knees. He was up at once, but far out across
    the sand Manuel and Zurito saw the shine of the pumping

          THE UNDEFEATED 227

          flow of blood, smooth against the black of the bull's shoulder.

          'I got him that time,' Zurito said.

          'He's a good bull,' Manuel said.

          'If they gave me another shot at him, I'd kill him,' Zurito

          'They'll change the thirds on us,' Manuel said.

          'Look at him now,' Zurito said.

          'I got to go over there,' Manuel said, and started on a run
    for the other side of the ring, where the monos were leading a
    horse out by the bridle toward the bull, whacking him on the
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  • legs with rods and all, in a procession, trying to get him to-
    ward the bull, who stood, dropping his head, pawing, unable
    to make up his mind to charge.

          Zurito, sitting his horse, walking him toward the scene, not
    missing any detail, scowled.

          Finally the bull charged, the horse leaders ran for the
    barrera, the picador hit too far back, and the bull got under
    the horse, lifted him, threw him on to his back.

          Zurito watched. The monos, in their red shirts, running
    out to drag the picador clear. The picador, now on his feet,
    swearing and flopping his arms. Manuel and Hernandez
    standing ready with their capes. And the bull, the great,
    black bull, with a horse on his back, hooves dangling, the
    bridle caught in the horns. Black bull with a horse on his
    back, staggering short-legged, then arching his neck and
    lifting, thrusting, charging to slide the horse off, horse sliding
    down. Then the bull into a lunging charge at the cape
    Manuel spread for him.

          The bull was slower now, Manuel felt. He was bleeding
    badly. There was a sheen of blood all down his flank.

          Manuel offered him the cape again. There he came, eyes
    open, ugly, watching the cape. Manuel stepped to the side
    and raised his arms, tightening the cape ahead of the bull for
    the veronica.

          Now he was facing the bull. Yes, his head was going down
    a little. He was carrying it lower. That was Zurito.

          2*8 THE UNDEFEATED

          Manuel flopped the cape; there he comes; he side-stepped
    and swung in another veronica. He's shooting awfully
    accurately, he thought. He's had enough fight, so he's
    watching now. He's hunting now. Got his eye on me. But
    I always give him the cape.

          He shook the cape at the bull; there he comes; he side-
    stepped. Awful close that time. I don't want to work that
    close to him.
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  •       The edge of the cape was wet with blood where it had
    swept along the bull's back as he went by.

          All right, here's the last one.

          Manuel, facing the bull, having turned with him each
    charge, offered the cape with his two hands. The bull looked
    at him. Eyes watching, horns straight forward, the bull
    looked at him, watching.

          'Huh! 5 Manuel said, 'Toro!' and leaning back, swung the
    cape forward. Here he comes. He side-stepped, swung the cape
    in back of him, and pivoted, so the bull followed a swirl of cape
    and then was left with nothing, fixed by the pass, dominated
    by the cape. Manuel swung the cape under his muzzle with
    one hand, to show the bull was fixed, and walked away.

          There was no applause.

          Manuel walked across the sand toward the barrera, while
    Zurito rode out of the ring. The trumpet had blown to

    change the act to the planting of the banderillos while Manuel
    had been working with the bull. He had not consciously
    noticed it. The monos were spreading canvas over the two
    dead horses and sprinkling sawdust around them.

          Manuel came up to the barrera for a drink of water.
    Retana's man handed him the heavy porous jug.

          Fuentes, the tall gipsy, was standing holding a pair of
    banderillos, holding them together, slim, red sticks, fish-hook
    points out. He looked at Manuel.

          'Go on out there, 5 Manuel said.

          The gipsy trotted out. Manuel set down the jug and
    watched. He wiped his face with his handkerchief.

          THE UNDEFEATED 229

          The critic of El Heraldo reached for the bottle of warm
    champagne that stood between his feet, took a drink, and
    finished his paragraph.
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  •       c the aged Manolo rated no applause for a vulgar series
    of lances with the cape and we entered the third of the

          Alone in the centre of the ring the bull stood, still fixed.
    Fuentes, tall, flat-backed, walking toward him arrogantly,
    his arms spread out, the two slim, red sticks, one in each hand,
    held by the fingers, points straight forward. Fuentes walked
    forward. Back of him and to one side was a peon with a cape.
    The bull looked at him and was no longer fixed.

          His eyes watched Fuentes, now standing still. Now he
    leaned back, calling to him. Fuentes twitched the two
    banderillos and the light on the steel points caught the
    bull's eye.

          His tail went up and he charged.

          He came straight, his eyes on the man. Fuentes stood still,
    leaning back, the banderillos pointing forward. As the bull
    lowered his head to hook, Fuentes leaned backward, his arms
    came together and rose, his two hands touching, the

    banderillos two descending red lines, and leaning forward
    drove the points into the bull's shoulder, leaning far in over
    the bull's horns and pivoting on the two upright sticks, his
    legs tight together, his body curving to one side to let the
    bull pass.

          e Ole!' from the crowd.

          The bull was hooking wildly, jumping like a trout, all four
    feet off the ground. The red shaft of the banderillos tossed as
    he jumped.

          Manuel, standing at the barrera, noticed that he looked
    always to the right.

          'Tell him to drop the next pair on the right,' he said to
    the kid who started to run out to Fuentes with the new

          A heavy hand fell on his shoulder. It was Zurito.

          230 THE UNDEFEATED
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  •       'How do you feel, kid?' he asked.

          Manuel was watching the bull.

          Zurito leaned forward on the barrera, leaning the weight
    of his body on his arms. Manuel turned to him.

          'You're going good,' Zurito said.

          Manuel shook his head. He had nothing to do now until
    the next third. The gipsy was very good with the banderillos.
    The bull would come to him in the next third in good shape.
    He was a good bull. It had all been easy up to now. The
    final stuff with the sword was all he worried over. He did
    not really worry. He did not even think about it. But stand-
    ing there he had a heavy sense of apprehension. He looked
    out at the bull, planning his faena, his work with the red
    cloth that was to reduce the bull, to make him manageable.

          The gipsy was walking out toward the bull again, walking
    heel-and-toe, insultingly, like a ballroom dancer, the red
    shafts of the banderillos twitching with his walk. The bull
    watched him, not fixed now, hunting him, but waiting to get

    close enough so he could be sure of getting him, getting the
    horns into him.

          As Fuentcs walked forward the bull charged. Fuentes ran
    across the quarter of a circle as the bull charged and, as he
    passed running backward, stopped, swung forward, rose on
    his toes, arm straight out, and sunk the banderillos straight
    down into the tight of the big shoulder muscles as the bull
    missed him.

          The crowd were wild about it.

          That kid won't stay in this night stuff long,' Retana's man
    said to Zurito.

          'He's good, 5 Zurito said.

          'Watch him now.'

          They watched.

          Fuentes was standing with his back against the barrera.
    Two of the cuadrilla were back of him, with their capes ready
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  • to flop over the fence to distract the bull.

          The bull, with his tongue out, his barrel heaving, was

          THE UNDEFEATED * 3 t

          watching the gipsy. He thought he had him now. Back
    against the red planks. Only a short charge away. The bull
    watched him.

          The gipsy bent back, drew back his arms, the banderillos
    pointing at the bull. He called to the bull, stamped one foot.
    The bull was suspicious. He wanted the man. No more
    barbs in the shoulder.

          Fuentcs walked a little closer to the bull. Bent back. Called
    again. Somebody in the crowd shouted a warning.

          'He's too damn close,' Zurito said.

          'Watch him,' Retana's man said.

          Leaning back, inciting the bull with the banderillos,
    Fuentes jumped, both feet off the ground. As he jumped the
    bull's tail rose and he charged. Fuentes came down on his
    toes, arms straight out, whole body arching forward, and
    drove the shafts straight down as he swung his body clear of
    the right horn.

          The bull crashed into the barrera where the flopping capes
    had attracted his eye as he lost the man.

          The gipsy came running along the barrera toward Manuel,
    taking the applause of the crowd. His vest was ripped where
    he had not quite cleared the point of the horn. He was
    happy about it, showing it to the spectators. He made the
    tour of the ring. Zurito saw him go by, smiling, pointing at
    his vest. He smiled.

          Somebody else was planting the last pair of banderillos.
    Nobody was paying any attention.

          Retana's man tucked a baton inside the red cloth of a
    muleta, folded the cloth over it, and handed it over the
    barrera to Manuel. He reached in the leather sword-case,

  • took out a sword, and holding it by its leather scabbard,
    reached it over the fence to Manuel. Manuel pulled the
    blade out by the red hilt and the scabbard fell limp.

          He looked at Zurito. The big man saw he was sweating,

          'Now you get him, kid,' Zurito said.

          Manuel nodded.

          232 THE UNDEFEATED

          'He's in good shape/ Zurito said.

          'Just like you want him, 5 Retana's man assured him.

          Manuel nodded.

          The trumpeter, up under the roof, blew for the final act,
    and Manuel walked across the arena toward where, up in the
    dark boxes, the president must be.

          In the front row of seats the substitute bull-fight critic
    El Heraldo took a long drink of the warm champagne. He
    had decided it was not worth while to write a running story
    and would write up the corrida back in the office. What the
    hell was it anyway? Only a nocturnal. If he missed any-
    thing he would get it out of the morning papers. He took
    another drink of the champagne. He had a date at Maxim's
    at twelve. Who were these bull-fighters anyway? Kids and
    bums. A bunch of bums. He put his pad of paper in his
    pocket and looked over toward Manuel, standing very much
    alone in the ring, gesturing with his hat in a salute toward a
    box he could not see high up in the dark plaza. Out in the
    ring the bull stood quiet, looking at nothing.

          'I dedicate this bull to you, Mr. President, and to the public
    of Madrid, the most intelligent and generous of the world,'
    was what Manuel was saying. It was a formula. He said it
    all. It was a little long for nocturnal use.

          He bowed at the dark, straightened, tossed his hat over his
    shoulder, and, carrying the muleta in his left hand and the
    sword in his right, walked out toward the bull.

  •       Manuel walked toward the bull. The bull looked at him;
    his eyes were quick. Manuel noticed the way the banderillos
    hung down on his left shoulder and the steady sheen of blood
    from Zurito's pic-ing. He noticed the way the bull's feet
    were. As he walked forward, holding the muleta in his left
    hand and the sword in his right, he watched the bull's feet.
    The bull could not charge without gathering his feet together.
    Now he stood square on them, dully.

          Manuel walked toward him, watching his feet. This was
    all right. He could do this. He must work to get the bull's

          THE UNDEFEATED 233

          head down, so he could go in past the horns and kill him.
    He did not think about the sword, not about killing the bull.
    He thought about one thing at a time. The coming things
    oppressed him, though. Walking forward, watching the
    bull's feet, he saw successively his eyes, his wet muzzle, and
    the wide, forward-pointing spread of his horns. The bull
    had light circles about his eyes. His eyes watched Manuel.
    He felt he was going to get this little one with the white


          Standing still now and spreading the red cloth of the
    muleta with the sword, pricking the point into the cloth so
    that the sword, now held in his left hand, spread the red
    flannel like the jib of a boat, ManueL noticed the points of
    the bull's horns. One of them was splintered from banging
    against the barrera. The other was sharp as a porcupine
    quill. Manuel noticed while spreading the muleta that the
    white base of the horn was stained red. While he noticed
    these things he did not lose sight of the bull's feet. The bull
    watched Manuel steadily.

          He's on the defensive now, Manuel thought. He's reserv-
    ing himself. I've got to bring him out of that and get his
    head down. Always get his head down. Zurito had his head
    down once, but he's come back. He'll bleed when I start him
    going and that will bring it down.

          Holding the muleta, with the sword in his left hand widen-
    ing it in front of him, he called to the bull.

          The bull looked at him.

  •       He leaned back insultingly and shook the widespread

          The bull saw the muleta. It was a bright scarlet under the
    arc-light. The bull's legs tightened.

          Here he comes. Whoosh! Manuel turned as the bull came
    and raised the muleta so that it passed over the bull's horns
    and swept down his broad back from head to tail. The bull
    had gone clean up in the air with the charge. Manuel had
    not moved.

          234 THE UNDEFEATED

          At the end of the pass the bull turned like a cat coming
    around a corner and faced Manuel.

          He was on the offensive again. His heaviness was gone.
    Manuel noted the fresh blood shining down the black
    shoulder and dripping down the bull's leg. He drew the
    sword out of the muleta and held it in his right hand. The
    muleta held low down in his left hand, leaning toward the

    left, he called to the bull. The bull's legs tightened, his eyes
    on the muleta. Here he comes, Manuel thought. Yuh!

          He swung with the charge, sweeping the muleta ahead of
    the bull, his feet firm, the sword following the curve, a point
    of light under the arcs.

          The bull recharged as the pase natural finished and Manuel
    raised the muleta for a pase de pecho. Firmly planted, the
    bull came by his chest under the raised muleta. Manuel
    leaned his head back to avoid the clattering banderillo
    shafts. The hot, black bull body touched his chest as it passed.

          Too damn close, Manuel thought. Zurito, leaning on the
    barrera, spoke rapidly to the gipsy, who trotted out toward
    Manuel with a cape. Zurito pulled his hat down low and
    looked out across the arena at Manuel.

          Manuel was facing the bull again, the muleta held low and
    to the left. The bull's head was down as he watched the

          'If it was Belmonte doing that stuff, they'd go crazy/

  • Retana's man said.

          Zurito said nothing. He was watching Manuel out in the
    centre of the arena.

          'Where did the boss dig this fellow up? 5 Retana's man

          'Out of the hospital,' Zurito said.

          That's where he's going damn quick,' Retana's man said.

          Zurito turned on him.

          'Knock on that,' he said, pointing to the barrera.

          'I was just kidding, man,' Retana's man said.

          'Knock on the wood.'

          THE UNDEFEATED 235

          Retana's man leaned forward and knocked three times

    on the barrera.

          'Watch the faena,' Zurito said.

          Out in the centre of the ring, under the lights, Manuel was
    kneeling, facing the bull, and as he raised the muleta in both
    hands the bull charged, tail up.

          Manuel swung his body clear and, as the bull recharged,
    brought around the muleta in a half-circle that pulled the bull
    to his knees.

          'Why, that one's a great bull-fighter,' Retana's man said.

          'No, he's not,' said Zurito.

          Manuel stood up and, the muleta in his left hand, the
    sword in his right, acknowledged the applause from the
    dark plaza.

          The bull had humped himself up from his knees and stood
    waiting, his head hung low.

  •       Zurito spoke to two of the other lads of the cuadrilla and
    they ran out to stand back of Manuel with their capes. There
    were four men back of him now. Hernandez had followed
    him since he first came out with the muleta. Fuentes stood
    watching, his cape held against his body, tall, in repose,
    watching, lazy-eyed. Now the two came up. Hernandez
    motioned them to stand one at each side. Manuel stood
    alone, facing the bull.

          Manuel waved back the men with the capes. Stepping back
    cautiously, they saw his face was white and sweating.

          Didn't they know enough to keep back? Did they want to
    catch the bull's eye with the capes after he was fixed and
    ready? He had enough to worry about without that kind of

          The bull was standing, his four feet square, looking at the
    muleta. Manuel furled the muleta in his left hand. The
    bull's eyes watched it. His body was heavy on his feet. He
    carried his head low, but not too low.

          Manuel lifted the muleta at him. The bull did not move.

    Only his eyes watched.

          236 THE UNDEFEATED

          He's all lead, Manuel thought. He's all square. He's
    framed right. He'll take it.

          He thought in bull-fight terms. Sometimes he had a
    thought and the particular piece of slang would not come
    into his mind and he could not realize the thought. His
    instincts and his knowledge worked automatically, and his
    brain worked slowly and in words. He knew all about bulls.
    He did not have to think about them. He just did the right
    thing. His eyes noted things and his body performed the
    necessary measures without thought. If he thought about it,
    he would be gone.

          Now, facing the bull, he was conscious of many things at
    the same time. There were the horns, the one splintered, the
    other smoothly sharp, the need to profile himself toward the
    left horn, lance himself short and straight, lower the muleta,
    so the bull would follow it, and, going in over the horns, put
    the sword all the way into a little spot about as big as a five-

  • peseta piece straight in back of the neck, between the sharp
    pitch of the bull's shoulders. He must do all this and must
    then come out from between the horns. He was conscious
    he must do all this, but his only thought was in words: 'Corto
    y derecho.'

          'Corto y derecho,' he thought, furling the muleta. Short
    and straight. Corto y derecho, he drew the word out of the
    muleta, profiled on the splintered left horn, dropped the
    muleta across his body, so his right hand with the sword on
    the level with his eye made the sign of the cross, and, rising
    on his toes, sighted along the dipping blade of the sword at
    the spot high up between the bull's shoulders.

          Corto y derecho he launched himself on the bull.

          There was a shock, and he felt himself go up in the air. He
    pushed on the sword as he went up and over, and it flew out
    of his hand. He hit the ground and the bull was on him.
    Manuel, lying on the ground, kicked at the bull's muzzle with
    his slippered feet. Kicking, kicking, the bull after him,
    missing him in his excitement, bumping him with his head,

          THE UNDEFEATED 237

          driving the horns into the sand. Kicking like a man keeping
    a ball in the air, Manuel kept the bull from getting a clean
    thrust at him.

          Manuel felt the wind on his back from the capes
    flopping at the bull, and then the bull was gone, gone
    over him in a rush. Dark, as his belly went over. Not even
    stepped on.

          Manuel stood up and picked up the muleta. Fuentes
    handed him the sword. It was bent where it had struck the
    shoulder-blade. Manuel straightened it on his knee and ran
    toward the bull, standing now beside one of the dead horses*
    As he ran, his jacket flopped where it had been ripped under
    his armpit.

          'Get him out of there,' Manuel shouted to the gipsy. The
    bull had smelled the blood of the dead horse and ripped into
    the canvas cover with his horns. He charged Fuentes's cape,

  • with the canvas hanging from his splintered horn, and the
    crowd laughed. Out in the ring, he tossed his head to rid
    himself of the canvas. Hernandez, running up from behind
    him, grabbed the end of the canvas and neatly lifted it off
    the horn.

          The bull followed it in a half-charge and stopped still. He
    was on the defensive again. Manuel was walking toward him
    with the sword and muleta. Manuel swung the muleta
    before him. The bull would not charge.

          Manuel profiled toward the bull, sighting along the
    dipping blade of the sword. The bull was motionless,
    seemingly dead on his feet, incapable of another charge.

          Manuel rose to his toes, sighting along the steel, and

          Again there was the shock and he felt himself being borne
    back in a rush, to strike hard on the sand. There was no
    chance of kicking this time. The bull was on top of him.
    Manuel lay as though dead, his head on his arms, and the
    bull bumped him. Bumped his back, bumped his face in the

    sand. He felt the horn go into the sand between his folded

          238 THE UNDEFEATED

          arms. The bull hit him in the small of the back. His face
    drove into the sand. The horn drove through one of his
    sleeves and the bull ripped it off. Manuel was tossed clear
    and the bull followed the capes.

          Manuel got up, found the sword and muleta, tried the
    point of the sword with his thumb, and then ran toward the
    barrcra for a new sword.

          Retana's man handed him the sword over the edge of the

          'Wipe off your face/ he said.

          Manuel, running again toward the bull, wiped his bloody
    face with his handkerchief. He had not seen Zurito. Where
    was Zurito?

          The cuadrilla had stepped away from the bull and waited

  • with their capes. The bull stood, heavy and dull again after
    the action.

          Manuel walked toward him with the muleta. He stopped
    and shook it. The bull did not respond. He passed it right
    and left, left and right before the bull's muzzle. The bull's
    eyes watched it and turned with the swing, but he would not
    charge. He was waiting for Manuel.

          Manuel was worried. There was nothing to do but go in.
    Corto y derecho. He profiled close to the bull, crossed the
    muleta in front of his body and charged. As he pushed in the
    sword, he jerked his body to the left to clear the horn. The
    bull passed him and the sword shot up in the air, twinkling
    under the arc-lights, to fall red-hiked on the sand.

          Manuel ran over and picked it up. It was bent and he
    straightened it over his knee.

          As he came running toward the bull, fixed again now, he
    passed Hernandez standing with his cape.

          'He's all bone,' the boy said encouragingly.

          Manuel nodded, wiping his face. He put the bloody
    handkerchief in his pocket.

          There was the bull. He was close to the barrera now.
    Damn him. Maybe he was all bone. Maybe there was not

          THE UNDEFEATED 239

          any place for the sword to go in. The hell there wasn't!
    He'd show them.

          He tried a pass with the muleta and the bull did not move.
    Manuel chopped the muleta back and forth in front of the
    bull. Nothing doing.

          He furled the muleta, drew the sword out, profiled and
    drove it on the bull. He felt the sword buckle as he shoved it
    in, leaning his weight on it, and then it shot high in the air,
    end-over-ending into the crowd. Manuel had jerked clear as
    the sword jumped.

          The first cushions thrown down out of the dark missed him.

  • Then one hit him in the face, his bloody face looking toward
    the crowd. They were coming down fast. Spotting the sand.
    Somebody threw an empty champagne bottle from close
    range. It hit Manuel on the foot. He stood there watching
    the dark, where the things were coming from. Then some-
    thing whisked through the air and struck by him. Manuel
    leaned over and picked it up. It was his sword. He straightened
    it over his knee and gestured with it to the crowd.

          'Thank you,' he said. 'Thank you!'

          Oh, the dirty bastards! Dirty bastards! Oh, the lousy,
    dirty bastards! He kicked into a cushion as he ran.

          There was the bull. The same as ever. All right, you dirty,
    lousy bastard!

          Manuel passed the muleta in front of the bull's black

          Nothing doing.

          You won't! All right. He stepped close and jammed the

    sharp peak of the muleta into the bull's damp muzzle.

          The bull was on him as he jumped back and as he tripped
    on a cushion he felt the horn go into him, into his side. He
    grabbed the horn with his two hands and rode backward,
    holding tight on to the place. The bull tossed him and he was
    clear. He lay still. It was all right. The bull was gone.

          He got up coughing and feeling broken and gone. The
    dirty bastards!

          2 4 o THE UNDEFEATED

          'Give me the sword/ he shouted. 'Give me the stuff.'

          Fuentes came up with the muleta and the sword.

          Hernandez put his arm around him.

          'Go on to the infirmary, man/ he said. 'Don't be a damn
    fool. 5

          'Get away from me/ Manuel said. 'Get to hell away from

  • me.'

          He twisted free. Hernandez shrugged his shoulders.
    Manuel ran toward the bull.

          There was the bull standing, heavy, firmly planted.

          All right, you bastard! Manuel drew the sword out of the
    muleta, sighted with the same movement, and flung himself
    on to the bull. He felt the sword go in all the way. Right up
    to the guard. Four fingers and his thumb into the bull. The
    blood was hot on his knuckles, and he was on top of the bull.

          The bull lurched with him as he lay on, and seemed to
    sink; then he was standing clear. He looked at the bull going
    down slowly over on his side, then suddenly four feet in the

          Then he gestured at the crowd, his hand warm from the
    bull blood.

          All right, you bastards! He wanted to say something, but
    he started to cough. It was hot and choking. He looked

    down for the muleta. He must go over and salute the presi-
    dent. President hell! He was sitting down looking at some-
    thing. It was the bull. His four feet up. . Thick tongue out.
    Things crawling around on his belly and under his legs.
    Crawling where the hair was thin. Dead bull. To hell with
    the bull! To hell with them all! He started to get to his feet
    and commenced to cough. He sat down again, coughing.
    Somebody came and pushed him up.

          They carried him across the ring to the infirmary, running
    with him across the sand, standing blocked at the gate as the
    mules came in, then around under the dark passageway, men
    grunting as they took him up the stairway, and then laid him

          THE UNDEFEATED 241

          The doctor and two men in white were waiting for him.
    They laid him out on the table. They were cutting away his
    shirt. Manuel felt tired. His whole chest felt scalding inside.
    He started to cough and they held something to his mouth.
    Everybody was very busy.

  •       There was an electric light in his eyes. He shut his eyes.

          He heard someone coming very heavily up the stairs. Then
    he did not hear it. Then he heard a noise far off. That was
    the crowd. Well, somebody would have to kill his other bull.
    They had cut away all his shirt. The doctor smiled at him.
    There was Retana.

          'Hello, Retana!' Manuel said. He could not hear his voice.

          Retana smiled at him and said something. Manuel could
    not hear it.

          Zurito stood beside the table, bending over where the
    doctor was working. He was in his picador clothes, without
    his hat.

          Zurito said something to him. Manuel could not hear it.

          Zurito was speaking to Retana. One of the men in white
    smiled and handed Retana a pair of scissors. Retana gave
    them to Zurito. Zurito said something to Manuel. He could
    not hear it.

          To hell with this operating-table. He'd been on plenty of
    operating-tables before. He was not going to die. There
    would be a priest if he was going to die.

          Zurito was saying something to him. Holding up the

          That was it. They were going to cut off his coleta. They
    were going to cut off his pigtail.

          Manuel sat up on the operating-table. The doctor stepped
    back, angry. Someone grabbed him and held him.

          'You couldn't do a thing like that, Manos,' he said.

          He heard suddenly, clearly, Zurito's voice.

          'That's all right,' Zurito said. 'I won't do it. I was joking/

          'I was going good,' Manuel said. 'I didn't have any luck.
    That was all.'

  •       -2 4 2 THE UNDEFEATED

          Manuel lay back. They had put something over his face.
    It was all familiar. He inhaled deeply. He felt very tired.
    He was very, very tired. They took the thing away from his

          *I was going good,' Manuel said weakly, 'I was going

          Retana looked at Zurito and started for the door.

          Til stay here with him/ Zurito said.

          Retana shrugged his shoulders.

          Manuel opened his eyes and looked at Zurito.

          'Wasn't I going good, Manos?' he asked, for confirmation.

          'Sure,' said Zurito. 'You were going great.'

          The doctor's assistant put the cone over Manuel's face and
    he inhaled deeply. Zurito stood awkwardly > watching.