Secrets of Spain Trilogy

by Caroline Angus Baker

  “No. But Luna only speaks up when she is sure. For all I know, she is holding her tongue because she thinks I won’t want to hear her objections.”

  “Then why don’t you just ask her?”

  “Because I may not like the answer.”

  “Would you stop fighting, if Luna asked you to stop?”

  “No. I can’t do that. This is who I am. For better or worse.”

  “They always said women were the enemy of the torero,” Paco sighed. “And they were right.”

  “Sí,” Cayetano said slowly. “Should I ask Luna not to come today?”

  “That’s up to you. I never banished your mother from the ring, it was her choice not to be there, just as she will never watch you in the ring. If you want Luna there, take her, but if not, tell her.”

  Cayetano stood up and moved his shoulders in a circular motion, the movements restricted by his fitted chaquetilla of royal blue with gold embroidery. “Must be time to go.”

  Paco jumped up from the bed. “I will send everyone on their way. Gilberto is going to travel with you and me in the car. He wants to film us arriving. Miguel was at the ring earlier, and he says that everything is ready for you, and he says the bulls are in decent shape. Mamá and Sofía will be here to care for the children. Perhaps Luna should stay behind; otherwise little Giacomo and Enzo may be spoiled to death.”

  Cayetano chuckled. “I will talk to Luna.”

  Paco raised his eyebrows. “You keep surprising me, boy.”

  “Why?”

  “You and María were married for ten years, and never once were you afraid to die.”

  “Speaks for itself, doesn’t it? Luna is right for me, not María.”

  Paco nodded his head. “I’m proud of you.”

  Cayetano clutched his heart and cried out. He stumbled back and collapsed onto the bed.

  “Stop it,” Paco chastised him.

  Cayetano sat up with a smile. “I’m sorry, I thought I would die before you said those words to me.”

  “A lesser man could have kept things to himself, to appear to more masculine.”

  Cayetano’s smile faded. “I’m grateful you understand.”

  “One day, you and I might stop butting heads like angry bulls.”

  “Maybe.”

  “But not today, so get off the fucking bed and get to work!”

  Cayetano jumped off the bed and took a few long strides to the door. He and Paco went out into the hallway, and Paco headed to the living room to disperse the whole clan. Cayetano stopped in the doorway to the kids’ room to see Luna sitting on the rug with her sons among the mess of toys spread out around the huge room. He watched Luna look up with a smile. “Did I break an ancient torero code by looking at you?”

  Cayetano wandered in and sat cross-legged with the boys. “I don’t care if you did.”

  “Caya,” Enzo asked, “why do you wear pink socks when you fight the bulls?”

  “Pink is a noble colour, once only worn by the highest members of Spanish society. It’s an attractive colour, both to bulls and the ladies.” He paused when Luna laughed. “Also, I am strong enough to wear pink and still feel like a man.”

  “I like the bright blue on your suit,” Giacomo said and ran his hand over Cayetano’s leg. “I think the bulls will like it.”

  “They might, and that is the point. I need to stand out. I might seem pretty small in the middle of the ring, so I need to be bright so people can see me. I don’t want to be yellow like the sand. Besides, yellow is rotten luck in the bullring. So, for me, my favourite is blue, or sometimes red.”

  “Why can’t we come?”

  “You’re still a bit too young,” Luna said.

  “But Stefan at school…”

  “Stefan at school has nothing to lose by going. Your innocence is in my hands, and I’m taking scrupulous care of it,” Luna told her young son.

  “¿Estoy haciendo daño esa inocencia?” Cayetano asked her.

  “We know what you said,” Enzo replied.

  “Am I hurting that innocence?” Cayetano repeated.

  Luna shook her head and took a deep breath. “I don’t think so.” She paused as she listened to the noise of everyone leaving her apartment down the hallway. “Time to go?”

  Cayetano nodded. “But only if you want to come.”

  Luna looked at her happy children. “I hate leaving the boys.”

  “They are safe with Mamá and Sofía, and Darren is a phone call away. But if you want to stay home…”

  “Do you want me there?”

  “Preciosa, do you have faith in me? You know, as…”

  “Yes.”

  “Will you let me finish?”

  “I could let you, but the answer is still yes. As a fighter? Yes. As a man? Yes. As a world-class piano player? I don’t know for certain, but if you say so, then yes. I have faith.”

  Cayetano beamed. “You can always stay here and discuss the wedding with Mamá.”

  “Let’s go kill some bulls!” she yelled, to the chorus of cheers of the men down the hallway.

  8

  Valencia, España ~ Marzo de 2010

  To drive to the Plaza de Toros de Valencia, right in the centre of the city, was no easy feat on the final day of Las Fallas. Fallas statues blocked many streets, both main roads and small side alleys. Some were small statues, and some wide enough to block the whole street and as tall as the buildings around them. The elaborate, colourful fallas caused a traffic jam as people walked the streets. Everyone wanted to view the effigies of the year’s biggest issues before they burned in the night. Paella bubbled over open fires in the streets, the wood from orange trees adding to the fragrant smell of the iconic dish that swirled around the crowds. Fortunately, there was a clear path for cars to navigate the streets to the bullring. Luna drove with Gilberto in the front seat next to her, with Cayetano and Paco together in the back. Luna was aware that the camera was on while she drove, but it continued to face the back seat. She could see Cayetano’s serious expression in her rear-view you will fight this afternoon?” Gilberto asked.

  Cayetano turned from looking out the window to the small man in front of him. “When the bulls are drawn, it’s all about luck. My cousin, Miguel, is my lucky charm for that. He does the draw on my behalf. Bulls from Lora del Río are top quality, and I will happily fight them.”

  “Are there any bulls from Rebelión here today?”

  “No,” Paco said. “Rules say that Morales bulls cannot be sold for fights that run on the same day that a Beltrán will perform.”

  “Will the farm be hurt if the lobby to ban bullfighting in Catalonia goes ahead?”

  “I don’t think so,” Paco scoffed with a smile. “Leave the Catalans to themselves. If they think themselves so remarkable that they want to ditch their Spanish traditions and feel all tingly in their pants, let them. We don’t need them.”

  Luna smiled as she brought the car to a halt at a set of lights, so hundreds of pedestrians could cross. She harboured no such disdain for Catalans and their desire to be separate from Spain.

  “Every autonomous region of Spain is different,” Luna said and the camera swung in her direction, an unfortunate side effect of having an opinion. “They don’t need to change or ban anything to distinguish themselves.”

  “How does it feel, to be the foreigner of the group?” Gilberto asked. “As a New Zealander, is it hard to understand Spain?”

  “It takes a while to understand Spain,” Luna said, her eyes on the road as the car inched forward in the jam. “I have the advantage of not having a lifetime of opinions and ideals placed on me. I came in with an open mind. Spanish people love who they are and where they live. That’s great. If they want to express themselves and their region in different ways than others, it means nothing to me. Spain is a free country, outside the grip of the recession, anyway.”

  “Don’t ask José Morales his opinion that subject,” Paco said. “In fact, also don’t ask him about anything to do wit
h the transition to democracy in the seventies. José might bite off your head if you utter words like ‘autonomy’.”

  “Good to know,” Gilberto said. “It sounds as if the man could be a documentary in himself.”

  “And not one related to what my father and I do with bullfighting,” Cayetano mused. He had barely scratched the surface of the secrets of his grandfather, and he wasn’t ready for whatever the mysteries held, let alone for them to be public.

  Cayetano didn’t even flinch when he got from the car and there were groups of people there, calling his name. Fans, maybe. He hadn’t noticed. If they were detractors, the noise would have been louder. It was too late to catch his attention, his mind had become consumed by the coming task. He went into the back hallways of the bullring, filled with people going about their jobs. Paco and Luna walked behind him, with Gilberto following with wide eyes. The little man had eyes like saucers, lapping up the chance to do a story he had waited for his whole career. They found Alonso, already in his bullfighting costume, who took them through to where everyone was waiting. Every man in the Morales family was there to preside over the talents of their favourite son, nephew and cousin.

  “You can all leave me,” Cayetano said.

  “But what about getting the…” Hector began.

  “I can arrange everything myself. I have Alonso and Eduardo here as my banderilleros, so I have all the help I need.” Cayetano gestured for them all to disperse. “Go and enjoy the atmosphere. I want to wait my turn on my own.”

  “We will leave you to your capes, and anything else you want to do,” Paco said.

  “Can I stay?” Gilberto asked in a tiny voice.

  Cayetano smiled down on the man, who seemed to have become even shorter, almost hunched in the presence of the toreros, banderilleros and picadores. To little Gilberto, he had stepped inside the inner halls of a secret room of Gods, which amused Spain’s greatest bullfighter. “Sure.”

  Luna turned away with the others, but Cayetano reached out and pulled her arm. “Hey, lucky charm, where do you think you’re going without a kiss?”

  “I thought Miguel was your lucky charm.”

  “When it comes to the draw for selection of bulls. I don’t want to kiss his ugly face.”

  “I thought he was rather handsome.”

  Cayetano raised his eyebrows with a smile. “Oh, really? I don’t want to have to stick my sword through his aorta.”

  “You keep your sword to yourself.”

  “Miguel should keep his sword away from you.”

  “Okay, too many metaphors,” Luna chuckled. She glanced away and then back to Cayetano. “There is another torero over there, and he is giving me an evil stare.”

  “He’s jealous of me.” Cayetano glanced over his shoulder see Pablo Ortez Cantera. The two men shared a quick nod of hello and Cayetano turned back. “You’re a woman; you’re bad luck before a fight.”

  “Yes,” Luna muttered. “We are just the spoils of victory after the glory has been bestowed to the men.”

  “Pretty much.” Cayetano took her hand and kissed it. “I know what you’re thinking and I want you to stop worrying.”

  “You know?”

  “Yes, you’re worried my mother and sister will give your children so many treats that their little red heads will explode with sugar.”

  “Yes. I have full faith in you, and none in your mother. Now, go and try to get killed.”

  “The beasts can try, la chispa, and I won’t let them. The universe is on my side, this I know for certain. There will be no blood in the sun or the shade of the ring today. Well, not my blood.”

  “I hope not!”

  “There is a tranquil sadness in the ring. The bull is the orchestra, but I’m the conductor. I can do this. I just need your faith in me.”

  “You have my faith. I want to live a life where I believe in things and get hurt, rather than to be distrusting and never try new things. You have my faith.”

  Cayetano pulled his love against him and shared a deep, searing kiss, one that gave each of them plenty of reassurance. Luna left Cayetano behind, to pray and ready himself for the spectacle. She found Paco, and the Morales fathers and sons around the ring, standing just behind the wooden barrier of the ring itself. The bullring filled behind them, the sunny and shaded seats all full, with locals and tourists in town for Las Fallas. Luna stood to one side of the group until she heard the buzz of the chatting crowd silenced by the bugle playing the pasodoble. It was time to begin.

  “Time for the gate of fear to open,” Paco said with excitement.

  “Do you ever wish you were still a torero?” Luna asked him.

  “Every day.”

  “Luna.” She turned to see Gilberto. “Do you mind if I turn on the camera?”

  “Um, no, I guess it’s okay,” she replied. “I realise you just filmed the private moment between me and Cayetano just before, so please, continue to invade my privacy.”

  “I’ll be sure to edit out the bit about how you don’t trust your mother-in-law.”

  Luna turned and smiled to the little man. “Well played, sir. Yes, please continue to film.”

  The fighters entered the ring on the other side, to the cheers of the crowd, and soon the first bull appeared. Luna didn’t pay much attention to the first fight, which wasn’t a kill for Cayetano. After a few minutes of the angry animal running at the banderilleros and their magenta and yellow capes, the picadores on horseback, the torero came out to spear the animal.

  “Do you know what to expect today?” Gilberto asked Luna.

  “I know the details of a fight. But I have never had a vested interest in the result,” Luna confessed.

  “For Cayetano’s fights, the animal will be assessed and taunted, the picadores will weaken the bull, and the banderilleros will stab him in the neck with the sharp and coloured banderillas. Then, all eyes will be on Cayetano to make the kill. Are you worried?”

  “A matador, a torero, can understand a bull by its characteristics; the way it moves tells a lot about how it will act. I have faith in Cayetano, and I suspect everyone else here today does, too.”

  Paco smiled nearby but didn’t say anything to her.

  “You don’t feel as if Cayetano is tempting fate?”

  “After his injury, you mean? Not at all. All athletes and performers have injuries. That is no reason to give up his career. Cayetano has suffered worse. Half of Spain knows his scars and how he got them.”

  “The bull that gored Cayetano will have its bravery bred into its calves,” Paco interrupted as the crowd cheered at the action on the other side of the ring. “Cayetano, in turn, becomes better at what he does. The accident last August produced no losers.”

  “But how do you know if Cayetano is still hungry for the fight?” Gilberto asked.

  Paco waited for another round of cheering to pass. “Life has five fears – war, flood, disease, hunger and death. War is not something we fear anymore, nor is disease. Hunger is a problem I haven’t experienced since childhood. Flood, well, the rain never seems to fall. That leaves death. Death can come at any time, and everyone must fear it. As long as the risk lives, so does the desire to fight.”

  “Do you worry, Luna? Have you ever seen Cayetano perform?”

  “No, except on television or in practice.”

  “Are you scared? Nervous? Overwhelmed?”

  “Overwhelmed?” Luna asked.

  Gilberto gestured up to the crowd right behind them, to the most eager aficionados who sat in the prime seats. “Thousands of people are here to cheer on your fiancé.”

  “I know fame well enough, thanks to the popularity of my first husband,” Luna replied. “Being part of something monumental is not overwhelming. Nor does it have to give a personal sense of self-importance. I am here to enjoy the afternoon.”

  “And the fear of death?”

  “Death and I are close friends. Death stole my husband from me, and that forced me to look death in the eye that day. The sa
me thing happened when my father died in my arms many years ago, and death took my mother when I was a little girl. Death and I have come together before, and I have no fear. Life is short enough without fear getting in the way of living. Until a few months ago, I thought I would live my life as a widow. Death and I have spoken many times and are at peace.”

  Gilberto paused and stopped filming. “You’re perfect for this,” he said to Luna.

  “She is, isn’t she?” Paco agreed.

  “Can I ask you about María Medina on camera, Luna? Have you met Cayetano’s ex-wife?”

  “We have met several times. I know María, but she isn’t here, so I see no point in discussing her.”

  “María is in archive footage that we will use for the documentary.”

  “I have no problem with that.” Luna paused and thought of her distant cousin, María. The last thing Luna needed was to appear as if she disliked Cayetano’s ex-wife. Luna felt nothing at all for María, good or bad. That wasn’t easy, though, not after María got pregnant to her cameraman at work and pretended the baby was Cayetano’s. Luna had no desire to get to know María better. Luna had about as much interest in María as she did in the cigars that hung from the fingers of many aficionados in the crowd.

  The fights seemed to go by in a flash. Several bulls died, accompanied by the flashes of colour from the toreros and their assistants, and the cheers and gasps of the crowd. Cayetano’s first fight went well enough, a clean kill, but it was obvious he was just warming up for the final fight of the afternoon. The largest roar of the crowd emerged when Cayetano arrived for the sixth and final bull of the fight. By now, the sun had gone down, and under the lights, Cayetano’s suit sparkled like a thousand stars.

  Luna didn’t confess to Paco that she could feel her heart in her throat when Cayetano stood in the ring. He stood facing Luna, the bull between them. She could hear the others talking to one another, discussing the movement of his cape and how the bull followed it. The men spoke of his grave face, his exposed chest, and how his feet stayed firm on the sand. Cheers of ¡ole! permeated the air, from both the crowd and the entourages that all hung over the barrier, all eager to see something unique. It was a fascinating dance.