be in time for the first running of the bulls that season. He had read
Hemingway and Conrad and much of the other romantic literature of the
bullring. He wondered if there might not be something for him in this
way of life. It read so well in the books the beauty, glamour and
excitement, the courage and trial and the final moment of truth. He
wanted to evaluate it, to see it here in the great Plaza Des Torros, and
then, if it still intrigued him, go on to the festival at Pamplona later
in the season.
David checked in at the Gran Via with its elegance faded to mere
comfort, and the porter arranged tickets for the following day. He was
tired from the long drive and he went to bed early, waking refreshed and
eager for the day. He found his way out to the ring and parked the
Mustang amongst the tourist buses that already crowded the parking lot
so early in the season.
The exterior of the ring was a surprise, sinister as the temple of some
pagan and barbaric religion, unrelieved by the fluted tiers of balconies
and encrustations of ceramic tiles, but the interior was as he knew it
would be from film and photograph. The sanded ring smooth and clean,
the flags against the cloud-flecked sky, the orchestra pouring out its
jerky, rousing refrain, and the excitement.
The excitement amongst the crowd was more intense than he had known at
prize fights or football internationals, they hummed and swarmed, rank
uponrank of white eager faces and the music goaded them on.
David was sitting amongst a group of young Australians who wore souvenir
sombreros and passed goat-skins of bad wine about, the girls squealing
and chattering like sparrows. One of them picked on David, leaning
forward to tug his shoulder and offer him the wine-skin. She was pretty
enough in a kittenish way and her eyes made it clear that the offer was
for more than cheap wine, but he refused both invitations brusquely and
went to fetch a can of beer from one of the vendors. His chilly
experience with the girl in Paris was still too fresh. When he returned
to his seat the Aussie girl eyed the beer he carried reproachfully and
then turned brightly and smiling to her companions.
The late arrivals were finding their seats now and the excitement was
escalating sharply. Two of them climbed the stairs of the aisle towards
where David sat.
A striking young couple in their early twenties, but what first drew
David's attention was the good feeling of companionship and love that
glowed around them, like an aura setting them apart.
They climbed arm in arm, passed where David sat, and took seats a row
behind and across the aisle. The girl was tall with long legs clad in
short black boots and dark pants over which she wore an apple-green
suede jacket that was not expensive but of good cut and taste.
In the sun her hair glittered like coal newly cut from the face and it
hung to her shoulders in a sleek soft fall.
Her face was broad and sun-browned, not beautiful for her mouth was too
big and her eyes too widely spaced, but those eyes were the colour of
wild honey, dark brown and flecked with gold. Like her, her companion
was tall and straight, dark and strong-looking. He guided her to her
