The Blind Man of Seville

‘No,’ said Javier. ‘It looked like crushed bone or teeth.’

‘That doesn’t sound very spiritual,’ said Paco.

‘More macabre,’ said Javier.

‘I’d have thought after all the blood you’ve seen you could stomach some dry old bones, little brother,’ said Manuela.

‘But crushed?’ he said. ‘That seemed violent to me.’

‘How do you know it’s human? It could be old cow bone or something.’

‘But why the “spirit of pure genius”?’ asked Javier.

‘You know who gave her that, don’t you?’ said Paco. ‘Papa … a long time ago. There were some strange things happening in the house at the time. Don’t you remember? Mama started a fire on the patio. We came back from school and there was a black patch by the fig tree.’

‘He was too young,’ said Manuela. ‘But you’re right, he gave her the urn the next day. And the other odd thing — that wonderful sculpture he gave Mama for her birthday the year before … that disappeared. She had it next to her mirror. She really loved that thing. I asked her what had happened to it and she just said, “God gives and God takes away.”’

‘She started going to Mass almost every day around that time, too,’ said Paco.

‘Yes, she only ever went once a week before,’ said Manuela. ‘And she stopped wearing her rings, too. She only ever wore that cheap agate cube that Papa had given her for her birthday. You remember that, surely, little brother?’

‘No, I don’t.’

‘Papa gave you her present to take to her at her birthday dinner. She undid the box and the lid sprang open and hit you on the nose as this paper flower burst out. Inside the flower was the ring. It was very romantic. Mama was touched. I remember the look on her face.’

‘She must have known something was going to happen to her,’ said Paco. ‘Going to Mass all the time, only wearing that one ring Papa had given to her. It was the same with me when I got gored in La Maestranza.’

‘What was the same?’ asked Javier, fascinated by these old memories, even touching his nose to try to remember the box hitting it.

‘I knew something was going to happen.’

‘How?’ asked Paco’s father-in-law, one of life’s great sceptics.

‘I just knew it,’ said Paco. ‘I knew I was coming to a big moment and being young and arrogant I assumed it was going to be greatness.’

‘But what did you know?’ asked his father-in-law.

‘I don’t know,’ said Paco, hands all over the place, ‘a sense of things coming together.’

‘Convergence,’ said Javier.

‘Toreros have always been very superstitious,’ said the father-in-law.

‘Yes, well, when you risk your life like that … everything has meaning,’ said Paco. ‘Stars, planets … all that stuff.’

‘Aligning themselves over you?’ scoffed his father-in-law.

‘I’m exaggerating,’ said Paco. ‘Maybe it was just a sixth sense. Perhaps it’s only in retrospect that I attach greater significance to an event which, in a matter of seconds, ruined my youth.’

‘Sorry, Paco,’ said his father-in-law. ‘I wasn’t diminishing …’

‘But that was why I wanted to be a torero,’ said Paco. ‘I loved the clarity of danger. It was like living life squared at that level of awareness. All that happened was that I misinterpreted the signs. Nobody could have predicted that disaster. Throughout my entire faena the bull hadn’t hooked right and then … when I’m right over the horns, he hooks right. Anyway, I was lucky to survive. It’s as Mama said to Manuela: God gives and God takes away. There is no reason.’

The lunch broke up after that and Manuela left with her party. Paco’s family and in-laws went up to bed for a siesta. Javier and Paco sat with a bottle of brandy between them. Paco was on the edge of drunkenness.

‘Maybe you were too intelligent to be a torero,’ said Javier.

‘I was always terrible at school.’

‘Then perhaps you were thinking too much to be a good torero.’

‘Never,’ said Paco. ‘The thinking came afterwards. Once the leg was wrecked I had to clear my head out. All those reports and footage of my glorious moments, which never happened and never would happen, had to go in the bin. It left me completely empty. I had nightmares and everybody thought I was reliving the terrible moment, but as far as I was concerned that was in the past. My nightmares were about the future.’

Paco poured himself some more brandy and slid the bottle to Javier, who shook his head. Paco rolled a cigar cylinder across and Javier rolled it back to him.

‘Always the man in control,’ he said.

‘Is that what you think?’ asked Javier, nearly blurting out laughter.

‘Oh, yes, nothing ever gets through to you and disturbs your inner calm. Not like me. I was in a turmoil. My leg like a rag and no future. Papa saved me, you know. He installed me in the finca. He bought me my first livestock. He sorted me out … gave me direction.’