“Wow,” Cayetano said. “I love it!”
“Like your ego needs the inflation of a documentary crew following you,” Luna joked, and he pinched her cheek.
“They want to do the first filming here, on Sunday for your fight,” Paco said. “Do you mind if they film you, Luna? Since it’s the first time you have watched Caya perform, and they would like to see how you react to it.”
“I have watched him practice on bulls at Rebelión.”
“It will be fun,” Cayetano said with a wide smile. “Bullfighting dynasties are built on the careers of me and my father.”
“We will have total control of what they see and when we want them to see it. The whole thing will be a long process, so don’t worry, Luna.”
“I’ll go and take off this heavy dress, excuse me.” Luna could hear the men chat in the centre of the ring as she walked away. Cayetano would love it; he loved the attention, he loved being known as the masculine guy, the bullfighter, the master of everything. She just needed to deal with the publicity; it wouldn’t last forever. They probably wouldn’t want her involved once Fabrizio’s drug scandal story broke.
Luna turned to go up the flight of stairs towards the changing room, her head down as she lifted her skirts to climb the steps. She didn’t see the figure come down the stairs until the two collided.
“Miguel!” she said surprised as he put his arms around her. “I’m sorry, I didn’t even know you were here.”
“I think the lady needs help with her dress.”
“These gowns didn’t get designed with speed in mind, I’ll give you that.” Luna held her dress up in one hand while Miguel took her other hand and they went up the stairs.
“Where are you running off to, Cinderella?”
“This Cinderella has her chores to attend.”
“Where are the others? Have I missed my chance to go out into the ring? I have never had a walk around the place here.”
The pair stopped at the top of the stairs; the makeup staff had already packed up and gone from the room where their day clothes hung. “Caya, Paco and Hector are all still down there, talking about the Beltrán documentary.”
“Ah, yes. Paco told me about it. I suspect Hector thinks he will get his fifteen seconds of fame.”
“You bet.”
“Cayetano is the star, always has been, always will be. I just get to walk into the ring when it is silent and empty.”
“Are you jealous?”
“No, why?’
“Sounds like it.”
Miguel shrugged. “No, I’m not jealous. Cayetano is exceptional at what he does. He is smooth and precise and noble. Caya’s better than me, and I got passed over in favour of him. I’m not the number one grandson, like Caya, so I never got the chance. Plus I like the quiet life, so it all worked out.”
“Why is Cayetano the number one grandson? Because he is the oldest?”
“There is that. It’s because he is Inés and Paco’s son. Papí never had any desire to train his sons to be bullfighters because his daughter married the greatest fighter in the country. So the bloodline of Paco and Inés needed to be tapped into and used.”
“Lucky Cayetano wanted all that.”
“Very lucky. But it’s all fine. No one questions anything in our family. Everyone is happy. I know who I am, and who Cayetano is. Luna… you don’t feel so happy.”
“Feel so happy?”
“When I put my arms around you, you felt unhappy.”
“Claro, the psychic power.” The suspicion was obvious in her voice.
“You jest, but I can promise I’m telling the truth. You feel uneasy.”
“I’m just out of patience. This little dress-up was fun, and I’m sure the photos will be celebrated, but I’ve had enough.”
“Luna, you will learn to fit in, when you let go of your pride and stubbornness.”
“What?”
“I’m just saying, you will fit into your new life, but only when you have a huge shift in attitude.”
“Sounds as cryptic as a fortune cookie.”
“Cookies never steered anyone wrong. I’m going to take a wander around the empty bullring. It’s my haven, as Escondrijo is yours.”
Luna stood in front of the mirror and examined her dress; the hem was sandy, as were her flat black shoes from being in the bullring. At least if she wanted a quiet life, she had an ally in Miguel. An ally that seemed to know her better than she liked.
7
Valencia, España ~ Marzo de 2010
“How do you feel about that?”
Luna blinked a few times and looked up from her spot in the corner of her living room. She hoped that no one would ask her anything. When Paco said that a film crew would start filming in Valencia for the Beltrán documentary, he had neglected to mention it would start in her home. Luna didn’t want the children filmed, so they were playing in their room. Shoved out the way in their own home. Luna felt annoyed already, and now the documentary-maker wanted to talk. The Morales family filled Luna’s apartment, with more of them on the way. Why couldn’t they do the talking?
“About what?” she asked.
“The superstition that women are bad luck for a torero before a fight?”
“Well, you’re in my house right now, just like Cayetano. If he believed the superstition, then he would suggest all of you go elsewhere for the fight preparation.”
The men around the room chuckled, unaware that she was serious. “We’re doing our best to keep Luna away from ‘El Valiente’,” Eduardo said. Cayetano’s cousin and banderillero in the ring loved being filmed. “Cayetano promised us that he has not ‘indulged’ in Luna for weeks, in preparation for his performance.”
Luna cringed. But then she thought about it – no, they hadn’t had sex in weeks. She assumed that was a combination of being in different cities and busy when together. Maybe he had been avoiding her. Last time he had been in the ring, he got gored in the leg, after spending the night with her. Even the least superstitious man would have to sit back and consider that.
“Superstitions are nonsense,” Paco said, and the interviewer, a short middle-aged man named Gilberto, swung the camera in his direction. Paco seemed hesitant to speak for the camera, so Gilberto jumped any time he opened his mouth. Paco ‘El Potente’ Beltrán Caño was still a respected man in Spain, retired or not.
“Such as?” Gilberto prompted him.
“The superstition that a bullfighter with a long nose is braver than the other fighters. My son and I don’t have long noses, but I defy anyone to suggest we’re not bravest men you have ever seen in the ring.”
Luna folded her arms while she listened to Paco. He was a sweet man to her, but so hard on his son. He was unrelenting in the way he pushed Cayetano. Yet here he was, defending him, talking him up to Gilberto. Luna wondered if Paco meant it; that he thought his son was the best of the best, or if was just spin for the Beltrán name and business. She hoped it was the former, but couldn’t say it to be true.
“You ignore the superstitions in the ‘quarrel with death’ that is your life, and the life of your son?” Gilberto queried.
“Some aspects are inevitable, but others are fabrications, to build up the mystique of the fighter. You must be careful with what you believe.” Paco’s voice was monotone, steady. When Paco spoke, the others in the room, Eduardo, Alonso, Hector, Miguel, and of course, Inés and Sofía, all sat still.
“What if I said that one of the characteristics of Manolete, one of Spain’s greatest ever bullfighters, was his long nose, and that made people believe in his bravery?”
“I would say that you’re a liar.”
Everyone around the room laughed, but Paco didn’t crack a smile. “Manolete should be remembered for his bravery and his skill, and nothing to do with the length of his nose. One can see his bravery in the way his feet stayed planted, in the way he gripped his sword, in his cape movements. Only actions show the bravery of a fighter.”
“Manolete
was the bravest fighter of his generation. Many fighters fought to claim this prize for years before you came along, Paco. Do you think that perhaps you should have died in the ring too, to cement your place in bullfighting history?”
“Do you think my skill and my performance would be more exciting, braver or nobler if I died by the horn of an animal? The animal who has earned its right to die in the ring? Should dying in a hot-blooded moment be my greatest achievement? To have Franco declare three days of mourning for me? To have my wife a widow, to have my children, including my prodigal son and beautiful, intelligent daughter, abandoned as infants? Would you dare sit before me, in my daughter-in-law’s home, and suggest to me that my death would enhance my masculinity?”
Luna glanced in the direction of Inés, who sat next to her husband, and she took his hand. Inés held Paco’s hand gently, but the gentle touch had the ability to hold the strength of the man. Luna’s eyes flicked to Sofía, who sat behind them at the dining table with Alonso, and she rolled her eyes. It was surprising how Cayetano and his sister could be best friends. Sofía thought the world Cayetano lived in was a pile of rubbish, including her own father’s words.
“You don’t believe it’s your right to die in the ring?” Gilberto asked.
“It was my right to cheat death of its own right to claim me,” Paco smiled. “And I cheated death of its right every time.”
“There is a whole generation of bullfighting lovers who remember your performances. The fans remember you for your sad eyes, your brooding face, your exposed chest, for your pride and your gallantry. They say it is a marvel that these virtues all passed to your son. Some divine force has gifted the Beltrán men with traits which curse them to live the life of a man who is damned to die.”
“Last August, you saw my son fall in the ring and live. Today you will see him rise to be the greatest he has ever been. All those things said of him, that he should retire, that he has lost his gift, none of it is true. My son fell last year for a good reason, a reason that is secret. Today you’ll know the Beltrán name is one of pride and victory.”
Luna frowned. The way Paco spoke showed how much it hurt him when Cayetano suffered his goring last year. Her perspective of the accident was different because she was immune to the damage her involvement in Cayetano’s life had done. At that moment, her heart began to pound. Men spoke of life and death situations involved with being a bullfighter, but Luna dismissed it as talk. But it was true, Cayetano could be done a lot of damage today, he could die. At Rebelión, training with the bulls bred for practice seemed innocent; they dipped under the cape and then were allowed to trot back to their paddock. Today seemed far more unknown. Luna thought of Cayetano, sitting in her bedroom as he got himself ready, on his own, as he always did at home in Madrid. She wanted to go in and see him, but if it made it harder for him to concentrate, Luna had to sit out here with everyone else.
“I suppose,” Gilberto continued, “people want to know how you managed to breed your strength and agility into your son, Paco?”
“My veins are filled with the blows, tears and pain of my ancestors, and that has been transferred into my boy, along with the courage of his mother. No other fighter can be as brave as my son.”
Luna smiled. That sounded far more like spin. The seriousness felt broken.
“Is it difficult?” Gilberto asked to the group. “You have Spain’s greatest fighter in your family, out there, killing bulls, and yet you also run one of the best bull breeding farms in the country. How can you be on the side of both the torero and the toro?”
“We have done this all our lives,” Eduardo said. “It is who we are as a family, the Beltrán’s fight and the Morales’ breed. We understand how to breed bravery into calves and rear them, and they leave the ganadería having never fought, ready for the challenge of the ring.”
“The animals are brave, and noble, and majestic. While it would be a disgrace to allow the bull to live at the end of its performance, it dies with consummate gallantry. He bursts through the gate of fear into the ring and is powerful against the torero,” Alonso added.
“Will Cayetano ever fight against a bull from Rebelión?” Gilberto asked.
“Never,” Hector said. “While there are bulls being bred for fighting, that will never occur. The breeding and fighting are different elements. We wouldn’t want someone suggesting that Cayetano is cheating by fighting his own bulls. While there are bulls that he practices against in the ring at Rebelión, those animals are for that purpose. They will never go on to fight any torero, and Cayetano will never lay a hand on any animal destined to die by the hand of another man.”
“I look forward to getting out to Rebelión to see how all this works, and meeting José Morales Ruiz himself,” Gilberto said as he paused filming. “I must admit, it’s all a bit daunting. My father was a devoted fan of yours, Paco.”
The conversation halted with a knock at the door. Luna answered it to find Inés’ three brothers, Pedro, Jaime and Luis, there to see their nephew Cayetano before the fight. Just about every member of the Morales household filled Luna’s apartment. The three brothers all greeted their nephew’s fiancé and went into the living room. The three men were all very alike, all one year apart in age from one another, but bore no resemblance to their older sister, Inés. The men were much darker than Inés, and much darker even than their parents, José and Consuela. The men were just over a decade older than Cayetano, a by-product of Inés having Cayetano at just age 15.
“Mummy!”
Luna looked down the hallway and saw Enzo in the doorway to his bedroom. “Mummy, I can hear Caya calling out for Paco.”
“Oh, okay, thanks,” she called out and went back into the living room and the enormous gathering. “Paco, Caya wants to talk to you.”
Every other man in the room stood up in an instant. “No, only Paco,” she added, and Paco rose to his feet.
“Pues,” Jaime wondered and sat down at the table with his son, Alonso. “Cayetano has never called for Paco ahead of a fight.”
“Do you always gather like this before a performance?” Gilberto asked the room.
“Always,” Pedro said. “But Cayetano always sits alone in another room in silence; it’s how he likes it.”
Luna glanced at Miguel, and he raised his eyebrows and pointed back at her. You, he mouthed. Luna frowned back. What?
Paco passed Luna in the double doorway and placed a hand on her shoulder. “Worry not,” he whispered. “I know what he’s going to say. I have waited Cayetano’s whole career to hear these words from him.”
“Mierda,” Luis swore. “Do you think Caya has lost his nerve?”
“Oh shut up,” Inés snapped at her brother. “Don’t speak about my son like that.”
“That is another thing you need to know,” Alonso said to Gilberto. “Never upset tía Inés. Tío Paco may be the head of the family, but Inés is the boss.”
Paco went to the bedroom door and knocked. He glanced to see Luna nearby, in the doorway of the boys’ room. He winked at her before he went into the room and shut the door behind him. Cayetano sat on the king size bed that dominated the small room, dressed and ready to fight. In his day, Paco had been dressed by his entourage, but Cayetano had always shunned that and wanted to be alone. Paco had respected that, but never understood it. But whatever Cayetano thought about when he prepared, it always worked. Until last August, that was.
“Papá,” Cayetano said, but didn’t even glance up at him. “Papá, I have a problem.”
“Caya, you are a Beltrán, and you will not lose your nerve after your goring. You are not a coward. Think of all those who have been before us, who gave us the life we have now.”
“I haven’t lost my nerve, Papá.” Cayetano turned to his father as he sat down next to him. “My desire to go into the ring as strong as ever. I took a stab in the leg, it’s not like I took a horn in the eye. I’m okay, I took a horn in the lung as a kid, and I got better. I got on with the job. No, I have
n’t lost my nerve. I can stand, two feet planted in the sand, when the gate opens today. Two bulls to kill today? I’m not scared of them; I will have their lives, and keep their ears and their tails.”
“Boy, I know what your problem is today. Don’t quarrel with your fate. You must go into the ring with sadness. You can’t have a joy for life, and you must not be afraid of death. We both know that a normal day in the ring, a confident day in the ring, can bring death. You must not be afraid of death.”
“Why do you say that?” Cayetano looked right at his father, the man who was the older image of himself. “I know all of this already.”
“Because I have seen the way you look at that girl of yours. You see your future with Luna. You love life with her. As long as you see that, you will fear death.”
“How can a man not fear death when he has something to lose? I have something to lose now, I have Luna to lose. I have her sons to lose.”
“Yes, I had this problem, many years ago, when I met your mother. I was doing superb in the ring, ready to walk out into the sun with a sombre expression, prepared to die, until the day I met your mother. In one season, I went from being a fearless single man to a husband and father.”
“How did you get over this?”
“Your mother’s faith that she could survive without me.”
“Mamá couldn’t survive without you.”
“She could have raised you and your sister without me. You know that Luna could manage without you. She has already lost one husband.”
“That is why I can’t afford to be killed.”
“On the contrary, you know that she can manage. Luna would be broken-hearted, but she would cope. Has Luna asked you not to fight?”
“No.”
“Has Luna said she is worried about you?”
Secrets of Spain Trilogy Page 48