Blood and Sand

by Vicente Blasco Ibáñez

In one of his evolutions, the bull fatigued by the muleta, stood motionless. It was a very bad position, but Gallardo had come out of worse corners victorious.

He wanted to take advantage of the brute's quiescence, the public incited him to action. Among the men standing by the inside barrier, leaning their bodies half over it so as not to lose a single detail of the supreme moment, he recognised many amateurs of the people, who had begun to turn from him, and who were now again applauding him, touched by his show of consideration for the populace.

"Take advantage of it, my lad.... Now we shall see the truth.... Strike truly."

Gallardo turned his head slightly to salute Plumitas, who stood smiling, with his moon face leaning on his arms over the jacket.

"For you, comrade!"...

And he placed himself in profile with the rapier in front in position to kill, but at the same instant he thought that the ground was trembling beneath him, that he was flung to a great distance, that the Plaza was falling down on him, that everything was turning to deep blackness, and that a furious hurricane was raging round him. His body vibrated painfully from head to foot, his head seemed bursting, and a mortal agony wrung his chest; then he seemed falling into dark and endless space, plunging into nothingness.

At the very moment that he was preparing to strike, the bull had reared unexpectedly against him, attracted by his "querencia" for the horse which was behind him.

It was a terrific shock, which made the silk and gold clad man roll and disappear beneath the hoofs. The horns did not gore him, but the blow was horrible, crushing, as head, horns, and all the frontal of the brute crashed down on the man like a blow from a club.

The bull, who only saw the horse, was going to charge it again, but feeling some obstacle between his hoofs, he turned to attack the brilliant figure lying on the ground, lifted it on one horn, shaking it for a few seconds, and then flinging it away to some distance; again a third time it turned to attack the insensible torero.

The crowd, bewildered by the quickness of these events, remained silent, their hearts tightened. The bull would kill him! Perhaps he had killed him already! But suddenly a yell from the whole multitude broke the agonizing silence. A cape was spread between the bull and his victim, a cloth almost nailed on to the brute's poll by two strong arms, endeavouring to blind the beast. It was El Nacional who, impelled by despair, had thrown himself on the bull, choosing to be gored himself if only he could save his master. The brute, bewildered by this fresh obstacle, turned upon it, turning his tail towards the fallen man. The banderillero engaged between the horns, moved backwards with the bull, waving his cape, not knowing how to extricate himself from this perilous position, but satisfied all the same, at having drawn the ferocious brute away from Gallardo.