"What are the secrets of success?"
"I know only one," answered Posadas, "and that is no secret. Every move the bull makes shows first in the whites of his eyes. Never for an instant do I take my eyes off his. So it has been my luck not to be once wounded," he concluded, making the sign of the cross.
"Cogidas!" cried Capita, passing a hand over a dull brown welt on his neck. "Caramba! I have five of them, and every one by a cursed miúra. No, I never felt pain, only a cold chill that runs down to your very toes. But afterward--in the hospital! Carajo!"
One would suppose that men engaged in so perilous a calling would take extreme bodily care of themselves. Not a torero among them, however, knew the meaning of "training" as the word is used by our athletes. They drank, smoked--even during the córrida--ate what and when they pleased, and more commonly spent the night strolling in the Paseo with an "amiga" or carousing in a wineshop than sleeping. Whether it is a leaving of the Moor or native to this blear, rocky land, there is much of the fatalist in the Spaniard, especially the Andalusian. He is by nature a gambler; be he torero, beggar, or senator, he is always ready and willing to "take a chance."
"If a man is marked to be killed in the ring he will be killed there," asserted Pepete. "He cannot change his fate by robbing himself of the pleasures of life."
Posadas was engaged to appear in the plaza of Madrid on the first Sunday of our acquaintance. When I descended to the street at three the city was already drifting ringward, a picador in full trim now and then cantering by on his Rozinante--a sight fully as exciting to the populace as the circus parade of our own land. I had reached the edge of the Puerta del Sol when I heard a "Hola, amigo!" behind me and turning, beheld none other than Jesús the Sevillian bearing down upon me with outstretched hand. He had found work at his trade in the city--though not yet a barber apparently.
"And Gásparo?" I asked.
"Perdido, señor! Lost again!" he sighed. "Perhaps he has found a new amiga. But I much more fear he has fallen into the fingers of the police. Mira V., señor. In all the journey we have not been able once to hide ourselves on a freight train. At last, señor, in Castillejo, Gásparo goes mad and swears he will ride once for nothing. With twenty people looking on he climbs a wagon. A man shouts 'thief!' and around the station comes running a guardia civil. I have not been able to find Gásparo since. Señor, I have come to think it is not right to ride on the railroad without a ticket. Gásparo, perhaps, is in prison. But we will meet again when he comes out," he concluded cheerfully, as I turned away.
At the plaza fully twelve thousand were gathered. The córrida was distinguished particularly for its clumsiness, though the fighters, while young, were not without reputation. Falls and bruises were innumerable and the entire performance a chapter of accidents that kept the aficionados in an uproar and gave no small amount of work to the attendant surgeons. Of the three matadores, Serenito, a hulking fellow whose place seemed last of all in the bullring, was gored across the loins by his first bull and forced to abandon his task and fee to the sobresaliente. Then Platerito--"Silver-plated"--a mere whisp of a man, having dedicated to the populace as is the custom in Madrid the death of the fifth bull, gasconaded up to the animal, fell immediately foul of a horn, whirled about like a rag caught on a fly-wheel, and landed on his shoulders fully sixty feet away. To the astonishment even of the aficionados he sprang to his feet as jaunty as ever and duly despatched the animal, though not over handily.
The misfortunes of his fellows served to bring out by contrast the skill of Posadas. Not only did he pass the day unscathed, but killed both his bulls at the first thrust so instantly that the thud of their fall might be heard outside the plaza, how rare a feat only he knows who has watched the hacking and butchering of many a "novillero." Indeed, so pleasing was his work that he was at once engaged, contrary to all precedent, to appear again on the ensuing Sunday.