“Should we leave?” Cayetano asked, his voice as angry as his sword needed to be later in the night.
“Sí, is everything all right?” Paco asked as he stood up. Luna noticed all eyes on Cayetano.
“Fine, fine, Papá,” Cayetano barked with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Someone go and get everything I need. No talking.”
“We are meeting Gilberto at Las Ventas,” Hector said as everyone got up from their positions around the room. “He needs to do a lot of filming tonight.”
“Whatever,” Cayetano said. “Who’s driving me?”
“I’ll drive,” Paco said. “Luna, do you want to come with us?”
“Luna isn’t coming,” Cayetano explained. “She needs to stay home with the boys while they’re ill.”
“We can look after the boys,” Inés said, and gestured to her mother, who nodded. “Luna, you should go, it’s Cayetano’s big night tonight.”
“No, she is staying behind and not distracting me with her little problems.”
Luna froze on the spot as all eyes fell on her.
“What did you do?” José said with a sigh. “Why are you so much trouble?”
“Let’s go, shall we? I’m sure Luna hasn’t done anything. We just need to do this properly, as men, free of the distractions of pretty girls,” Paco said.
Luna stood alone as one by one, the entire family trailed out of the apartment with Cayetano towering over all of them. He didn’t even look back at Luna as the front door shut behind the Morales men.
“Is everything all right?” Inés asked and gestured for Luna to sit with her.
“I should go back to the children.”
“Nonsense,” Consuela said in her sweet gentle tone. “Please. Sit for one moment.”
Luna sat down on the very end of the black leather couch and clasped her hands on her lap. In truth, she wanted to cry.
“You need to remember one thing,” Inés began. “Cayetano is like his father in many ways. When Paco was younger and about to go to a fight, he would be aggressive, very masculine. It caused us to bang heads plenty of times. That’s why I stay home, even now. It’s easier to let the men do what needs to be done.”
“I’m sure that sounds very old fashioned to you, Luna,” Consuela added. “But here we are, women caught up in the most masculine of Spanish pastimes.”
“I can do no right,” Luna replied.
“It was different for me when I got married,” Inés said. “My parents pushed me to marry Paco…”
“You were pregnant, and your father was devastated,” Consuela interrupted.
“I wanted to marry Paco, I really did. I was 15, he was 30. He had seen the world, had a bit of experience, in every respect. I was a child. Mamá, you were young when you married, too.”
“Yes, I was 21 when I married, almost too old to be marrying in those days. I lived with my parents in Madrid until then, in a strict Catholic household. I was as naive as could be.”
“You, Luna, are the opposite of us. You’re 34 years old; you have been married, had children, had a life. You have opinions, and comfort zones, and likes and dislikes. Cayetano will be 41 in a few weeks and is just the same as you. You have to fit big personalities into married life. It’s not going to be easy like your first marriages when you were both young.”
“I just told Cayetano that I would give in and move to Madrid.”
“That’s brilliant news! You are very welcome here, of course. You will be happy in Madrid, and Sofía will be pleased to have you here.”
“I told him I need to go back to Valencia for Escondrijo. I can’t let that go.”
“Of course not.”
“Is the grave conversation still coming between you?” Consuela asked. “I don’t know why my José is so mad about that. He says I must not even think about it, but I know you have fought with José about the situation. I am sorry on his behalf.”
“Papá can be very strong when he wants something,” Inés added.
“But you should have seen him with his little girl,” Consuela said. “Hard on his sons, but soft with his daughter.”
“None of this matters right now,” Luna sighed. “I hate going over the same things again and again. I will go and sit with my boys.”
“Your boys are fast asleep,” Inés said and took Luna’s hand. “Get on the Metro and go to Las Ventas.”
“Won’t that just make Cayetano angrier at me?”
“We may look placid, but both my daughter and I have caused our own fair share of trouble in the family in our time,” Consuela said. “Go and stand at the barrier with the men. There’s no mistaking how much Cayetano likes it when you watch him.”
“Really?”
“Yes! I had four children, and Inés had two. We can watch your boys with all we know. They will probably sleep like angels. Go and show those Beltrán Morales men that you are a tough woman and tell Cayetano to dampen his attitude. He needs to be reminded he is human and not a God. The cheering fans inflate this ego, so go and remind Caya of who he is to you.”
“When I told him that I was going have the bodies of Escondrijo taken way and reburied, he looked ready to push me off a cliff!”
Inés laughed. “That’s our Caya for you. He should have focused on you moving to Madrid.”
“I didn’t want to leave Valencia,” Consuela said. “But José got a promotion from Franco after the flood of ‘57, and that was it. José was desperate to leave Valencia behind for good.”
“I’m the opposite of José. I’m doing it because someone needs to make the move, and I don’t feel as if I have a choice,” Luna said.
“Go to Las Ventas and tell Caya that,” Inés said. “He is soft; putty in your hands.”
29
Madrid, España ~ Mayo de 2010
The world filled with white noise. Cayetano couldn’t steady his breathing; his chest rose and fell, and each rapid, shallow breath was highlighted to the crowd by his sequins that glittered under the lights. The sound of his racing heart overpowered his concentration. The crowd jeered and booed; they had become a mass of exasperation. He glanced at his hand, shaking with the blood pumping through his fingers, white from his tight grip. Blood ran along his skin and over his bulging veins, reminding him of his mistakes. The bull stood before him, groaning with each dribbling laboured breath. Three times he had plunged the sword in, to kill the animal. The first wouldn’t go in at all, the second time he hit bone, and it rebounded back. The third time had been a pathetic attempt to silence the booing crowd. Seconds had passed while he paused, but he saw his whole career slipping through his fingers. He looked over the bull at his family, Paco and José both with their heads in their hands against the barrier. Alonso and Eduardo stood in their traje de luces, pink capes and knives in hand, ready to step in and finish off the bull on their cousin’s behalf. Hector and Miguel with Pedro, Jaime and Luis had all moved back from the wooden barrier, all looking worried. Luna stood there, to the side of his family, despite his request for her to stay away. She stood with her hands on the end of the barrier, tears streaming down her face. Luna looked as ashamed of the performance as Cayetano felt. She looked afraid; she understood that the beast was the crowd, not the animal.
Cayetano focused back on the bull before him. Its glazed eyes begged for death. Its thick slobber-covered tongue hung to one side as its body vibrated with every breath. Cayetano swallowed hard, feeling cold sweat on his neck. His suit stuck to his skin, caked in blood as the dying animal ran itself against him during sloppy passes of the cape.
With a weak and unsteady hand, Cayetano stepped forward on his toes and plunged the sword into the bull’s neck yet again. Despite the obscured view from dripping blood matting the bull’s hair, Cayetano felt the split second he found the sweet spot. The sword went straight down with the aid of Cayetano’s weight, cleanly getting inside and severing the bull’s artery. To find the exact spot was a skill acquired over hundreds of kills, thousands of hours of training. If only
he had found it the first time, not the fourth time.
The heavy bull took one step to the right and collapsed, dead at last. The crowd continued to heckle Cayetano’s poor performance, and tears sprang to his eyes. Instead of standing tall, his arms in the air as cheers from his home crowd surrounded him, he sank down on one knee before the bull and fought the desire to cry. Through his blurred eyesight, he could see Alonso and Eduardo come towards him and they pulled him to his feet, the crowd finding the heartache of their favourite son most hilarious. The beast had spoken, they had wanted a spectacle with a clean kill, and the aficionado and cheap seats alike were disappointed.
Cayetano left the ring, desperate to block out the laughter of the crowd, but once under cover of privacy, all that remained was the disapproval and disgrace from his own family. He sunk into a cold seat away from prying eyes. Moments later, as people crowded around, friends, strangers, Paco appeared and placed one hand of his shoulder. Cayetano looked up at his father, ready for a barrage of anger.
“We need to leave,” Paco said to his tearful son.
Cayetano pulled himself from his seat, and saw Luna through the crowd, standing back from everyone. She looked so small among the men who roamed the back halls of a bullring. Her ice-blue eyes were puffy from tears, in need of reassurance. Cayetano didn’t have any for her.
“You,” he said and wiped his nose on the back of his hand. Everyone followed his pointed finger to Luna, who stepped through the Morales family members.
“Why are you here?” Cayetano growled at her. “I told you to stay home.”
“I… I came to… to…”
“What? Ruin this for me? I was superb and ready until you ruined my preparation,” Cayetano yelled at her, unaware Gilberto filmed the entire scene. “Now you’re here, standing at the barrier, looking at me as if I’m the biggest failure that ever stood in the sand!”
“I’m not,” Luna replied, her voice weak. Cayetano noted how upset she looked, but he was so hot-blooded that he didn’t want to hear what she had to say.
“You’re like a curse, like a burden!” he cried. “This is my home, where I belong. People come to this ring to see me at my best, me, the greatest of my generation. Instead, they get a fool, cursed by a woman who doesn’t know her place!”
“Caya,” Miguel began and placed a hand on his cousin’s shoulder.
Cayetano spun around and punched Miguel in the nose. The tall dark man stumbled back and fell against his father Pedro, who stopped him falling on the concrete floor. Everyone else took a step back, not willing to be the next victim of Cayetano’s unexpected and uncharacteristic rage.
Cayetano shook his strong hand; his knuckles sore from the punch, his soft palm imprinted with the shape of his sword. Luna stood firm, the only one who didn’t back away from him, the only one not afraid of the furious torero. She looked up at him but didn’t say a single word. Cayetano looked her right in her eyes, but her steely gaze didn’t flinch, and regret began to sink into him. All the pain she had suffered made her strong enough to stand up to any situation. Now, Luna took the bulk of the blame for something that wasn’t her fault. Maybe it was. Until Luna appeared, Cayetano had never faltered, never been injured. Now, in less than a year, he had suffered two awful displays.
Paco grabbed his son and yanked his jacket, to pull him away from Luna. The whole group followed with obedience, even Miguel with blood on his face. Miguel knew he deserved that, not just for his words, but for his behaviour at Escondrijo weeks ago.
Cayetano stumbled along, pulled by his father and grandfather, his family shuffling along behind the hulk of anger. They passed where the dead bulls had been dragged from the ring. They lay on the concrete, bleeding into a nearby drain as they waited their turn to be cut up for their parts. Cayetano walked past the bull that had been so hard to kill; now it lay nothing more than a useless piece of flesh, and Cayetano wanted to trade places. At least death had dignity in a bullring. Living, not so much. They didn’t have to pass the public, and Cayetano got into his Mercedes, the leather cold. He still wore his dirty suit of lights, the stench of blood and failure all over him. José sat in the front seat, Paco behind the wheel. Paco banged his foot on the accelerator and the efficient vehicle swung out of its space and headed for the road. People would be streaming out of the ring and across the street into bars, bars like those where Cayetano and Luna first met. They would accommodate fans to talk about the Beltrán demise.
Luna. Cayetano looked up, to see his extended family standing by their cars, along with a bewildered looking Gilberto. Luna wasn’t there. They had just driven off, and she had been left at the ring. She had arrived after Cayetano had left to pray and prepare for the fight. He only saw Luna when he noticed her standing behind the barrier for the first of the six fights of the night. Cayetano sat in his seat and looked up from his dirty hands on his bloodied lap. Madrid looked worn down, just like the face of his father in the rear vision mirror. He wobbled in his seat with every bump or corner in the road, unable to even sit up like a man. Cayetano had never been so humiliated. At least when he had taken a horn to the thigh, he had been carried out of the ring by people who cared for him, and the crowd stood in shock and worry. Now they laughed in his face. He was a puppet, paraded out to entertain, and the strings hadn’t pulled him correctly today.
The moment Inés and Consuela saw Cayetano wander into the living room, he could see the worry on their faces. They never watched on TV, instead leaving the finer details a mystery. But as he saw them, his mother stepped forward and gave him a hug, blood be damned.
“My baby, Caya, what happened?”
As Cayetano shook his head in silence, Inés glanced to Paco who also shook his head. She could see Paco felt disappointed in his son, but also concerned, which was far more troubling.
“Go and change,” José ordered his grandson.
“Is Luna with the boys?” Cayetano mumbled.
“She isn’t here, she left to watch you, my boy,” Consuela replied.
“She was there, all right,” José said to his wife. “Luna got there and distracted our boy from performing. Tonight’s failure falls on Luna’s shoulders, not Caya’s.”
“That not fair, Papá,” Inés said. “Luna left here terribly upset. She went to Las Ventas to support you, Caya, despite the fact she didn’t want to leave her sick children here. She was upset that she had bothered you before the fight and thought she needed to be at the ring. Luna was at the ring in Valencia a few months ago, and she didn’t distract you at all. Luna’s presence can’t be blamed.”
“So it all my fault instead,” Cayetano said. “Everything is my fault. Everyone has their hands out for money, but ready to point the finger when things go wrong.”
“If you want to yell and scream about your bad night, do it with us,” Inés said with a gentle rub of Cayetano’s arm. “We understand.”
“Of course you do. It’s because I pay for everything.”
“Don’t speak to your mother like that,” Paco snapped.
“Whatever, Papá.”
The conversation paused; the sound of a key in the front door permeated the argument. They turned to see Luna appear a moment later, looking cold and lonely.
“Have you not hurt the boy enough today?” José fired at her.
“My children are here, my sick sons. Where else would I go?” she shot back. “The weak run away from arguments. I’m not one of them.” Luna pushed past the lot of them and headed for her children. Consuela went after her, eager to soothe the tired woman.
“I don’t want to go home unless I know you aren’t going to take an average night out on Luna,” Inés told her son.
“Average night?” Cayetano scoffed. “Try the worst I’ve ever had.”
“You’ve had some less than impressive ones in the past,” Paco said.
“Yeah, when I was half my age, a boy. Not now, not when every aficionado in the country has his eyes on me.”
“You’ll get past
this,” José said.
“Why would I want to carry on with performing?”
“We should go,” Paco said with a look to his wife. They all knew there was no point in arguing with Cayetano when he fell into a bad mood.
Consuela appeared from the hallway. She shuffled over and put a hand on her grandson’s cheek. He smiled just a fraction in response. “That poor girl is as broken as you sound right now,” she said. “Go and stand in the doorway. Go and watch her sit there with her feverish sons. It will soothe all your aches.”
“Gracias, Mamí. Pero estoy demasiado enojada.”
“I know you’re angry. Be careful who you get angry with, Caya.”
“Go and sleep, my darling,” Inés said. “Tomorrow you can all come to our place and Luna can try on her wedding dress. It has sat in Paco’s office for a week, waiting for her.”
Cayetano shook his head with wide eyes. “That’s the last thing I want to think about, the wedding is like a weight on me.”
“Let the women worry about the wedding,” Paco said. “We need to just get you out to Rebelión. Back to training, back to peace and quiet for your next fight in Salamanca next week.”
“Déjeme solo.”
They all turned and obeyed; they gathered their things and left the apartment in silence. Cayetano stormed past the children’s bedroom without peeking in, and went to the bathroom. He angrily stripped his suit off and attempted to shower off the anger and humiliation.
He crept back past the bedroom, but still didn’t go to see them. Instead, he went to his own room and got dressed, his wet towel thrown at the wall in frustration. Cayetano knew he shouldn’t yell at Luna; it had taken a sheer amount of guts to turn up here after what he said to her at the bullring. Cayetano went down the hallway and opened the door to the children’s bedroom in silence. He saw Giacomo facing him, his face lit by the faint light of the lamp. The poor boy had red cheeks, his little pink lips pursed and dry. On the other bed, Luna was smoothing the blanket over Enzo, whose little red eyebrows folded into a frown. He looked as flushed as his brother. They looked so helpless, but Luna had still left them, against her better judgment because she felt obliged to be at the massacre of the bullring.
Secrets of Spain Trilogy Page 69