Other neighbours who had come from the corrida insinuatingly flattered Señora Angustias, as they looked admiringly at her portly figure.
Blessed be the mother who bore so brave a son!...
The poor woman's eyes wore an expression of bewilderment and doubt. Could it be really her Juanillo who was making everyone run about so enthusiastically?... Had they all gone mad?
But suddenly she threw herself upon him, as if all the past had vanished, as if her sorrows and rages were a dream; as if she were confessing to a shameful error. Her enormous flabby arms were flung round the torero's neck, and tears wetted one of his cheeks.
"My son! Juaniyo!... If your poor father could see you!"
"Don't cry, mother ... for this is a happy day. You will see. If God gives me luck I will build you a house, and your friends shall see you in a carriage, and you shall wear a Manila shawl which will make everyone...."
The saddler acknowledged those promises of grandeur with affirmative nods, standing opposite his bewildered wife, who had not yet got over her surprise at this radical change. "Yes, Encarnacion; this youngster can do everything if he takes the trouble ... he was extraordinary! the real Roger de Flor himself!"
That night in the taverns of the people's suburbs, nothing was talked of but Gallardo.
The torero of the future. As startling as the roses! This lad will take off the chignons[61] of all the Cordovan caliphs.