Once, while Joaquin was on a practice field, defeating other soldiers, Manolo watched from the hills above, strumming his guitar.
“Yes! Just like your father!” General Posada declared Joaquin the victor of the day.
Over at the bullfighting arena, Carlos looked for Manolo. Manolo ran in, just in time for his bullfighting lesson.
“And that’s how you finish a bull!” Carlos said, proudly admiring his own handiwork. “With a fake bull.”
Manolo was awkward and uncomfortable when he took the sword from his father. Carlos wrapped him in a matador cape, which made Manolo even more uncomfortable. He preferred to play music with his friends the Rodriguez brothers—Pablo, Pancho, and Pepe—who had formed their own mariachi band and understood Manolo’s love for music. The tallest and oldest brother, Pepe, loved eating good food almost as much as he loved playing the violin. Pancho, the middle brother, had a scruffy beard, a big belly, and enjoyed playing the trumpet. Their youngest and shortest brother, Pablo, played the tololoche, a string instrument that sounded similar to the double bass.
But Carlos didn’t like the mariachis—he thought they were a bunch of cowardly, lazy, out of shape goofballs, and he didn’t want his son to pick up their bad behavior. So he tried to keep Manolo occupied with his matador training (and away from the Rodriguez brothers) as often as he could.
As Joaquin left San Angel to go to battle, Manolo sang with the Rodriguez brothers. His tune was cut short when his father arrived. Carlos grabbed Manolo by the ear.
“I will not wait for you,” he said firmly.
“Papa, I was on my way!” Manolo tried to explain as his father dragged him through town, past several posters announcing a bullfight. The Rodriguez brothers chased along in tow.
*****
Mary Beth explained what happened next. “After years of training, Manolo’s father organized his first bullfight. And as luck would have it, it was on the day Maria returned. . . .”
Manolo and his father were preparing for the big bullfight in the matador’s chapel near the arena. Manolo’s great-grandmother had come to support her great-grandson. She sat in her wheelchair, knitting, while Carlos helped Manolo dress.
“Ay, Manolo, playing all night with those mariachis?! You want to end up like those bozos?!” Carlos slammed the door on the musical Rodriguez brothers and locked them out.
“Okay, Manny. We’ll wait outside,” Pepe said, peeking through a small window.
“I don’t think Mr. Sanchez likes us,” Pancho told his brothers.
Pablo rolled his eyes. “Ya think?”
Carlos threw one of his swords across the room. It stuck into the wood near the brothers. “Quiet, you three!”
They ducked, then ran away.
Carlos put away Manolo’s guitar. “You live under my roof? You live under my rules. You will be a matador!” He held up Manolo’s cape.
“Papa, this is my life!” Manolo objected.
Carlos swept his hands toward the walls of the chapel. All around them were paintings of Sanchez matadors: strong, fierce-looking men. At the end of a row—after Carmelo, Jorge, Luis, and Carlos—there was a poster of Manolo looking bored.
“All the Sanchezes are bullfighters!” Carlos said. “Every. Single. One of us.”
Grandma rocked in her chair. Even though she was more than one hundred years old, she was strong as rock. “I was a beast in the arena. A beast,” she said, bragging about her own bullfighting skills.
“It’s in your blood,” Carlos told Manolo. “It’s your destiny. How many times do I have to say it?”
“This is not me. This is you.” Manolo picked up his guitar, ready to leave.
Carlos blocked his way out. “My son, Joaquin may be the hero of the town, but today you will be the hero of the ring.” He raised a sword. “If for once you actually finish the bull.”
Pepe’s voice came through the window. “But he finished a bull the other day in practice!”
It was true. Manolo had faced the bull in the ring. “Venga, toro—” Suddenly, the bull was struck by lightning and fell to the ground, dead.
“That did no count,” Grandma said, knitting needles clicking.
“No. Killing the bull is wrong,” Manolo said.
Carlos sighed. “Here we go again.”
“Kids today, with their long hair and their no killing stuff.” Grandma shook her head.
“I’m out of here.” Manolo pushed past his father to the door.
“Don’t you love your family?” asked Carlos.
The question made Manolo stop. Grandma looked up. Manolo turned slowly around.
“Then go get that bull, mijo. Don’t dishonor our name,” Carlos said. “Just be a Sanchez!”
Without deciding what to do, Manolo left the chapel.
“Mijo,” Grandma said to Carlos. “He no gonna do it.”
*****
Manolo was alone in the tunnels behind the bullring when a voice called out to him.
“Hey, Manolo!”
Joaquin stepped out of the darkness, his medals gleaming in the light. “No retreat?”
Manolo gave a small smile. “No surrender!”
The two friends hugged.
“The hero of San Angel returns!” Manolo clapped Joaquin on the back.
“Ah, come on. You didn’t think I was gonna miss your first little bullfight, did you?”
“And Maria’s here too!” Manolo told him.
Joaquin beamed at the news. “Have you seen her? I can’t wait to show her these babies.” He brushed off the jingling medals on his chest.
Manolo pursed his lips. “Oh, so she’s back only to see you.”
“Come on, that’s not—” Joaquin began when Manolo’s face lifted.
“You have your medals, but I have the bullring. We’ll see which Maria prefers.” He was going to fight the bull after all.
“It’s a good thing you’re finally taking bullfighting seriously,” Joaquin said.
“You should see me in the bullring. That’s where I really do my thing now. A true Sanchez man.” Manolo puffed out his chest and stood tall.
Joaquin put his arm around his friend’s shoulder. “Those are some big shadows we live under, huh, buddy?”
Manolo had to agree. “Huge.” He sighed.
Before walking away, Joaquin touched the medal that the old man had given him all those years before. He looked at Manolo and said, “Hey, brother. May the best man win Maria.” He left Manolo in the tunnel.
Manolo stood for a moment, listening to the excitement of the crowd. Then he stepped forward into the light of the arena.
*****
Mary Beth explained to the children what happened next. “In honor of Maria’s return from Europe, the town received a rare visit from its most noble son: Joaquin, who was now a decorated hero. . . .”
*****
Everyone rose to their feet as Joaquin entered the coliseum. As he walked, his medals clanked. He soaked in the applause, tossing his cloak dramatically on the ground.
“They say Joaquin goes from town to town saving them from bandits!” said an old man in the crowd.
Joaquin whistled for his horse, then leaped on its back and rode it like a surfboard, waving at his fans. He signed autographs as the town soldiers chanted his name like teenage girls.
Above the crowds La Muerte and Xibalba watched their champions from atop the arena, hidden from the view of the townspeople. “Yes, that’s my boy!” Xibalba cheered Joaquin on.
Joaquin jumped from his horse into the stands, walking up to General Posada. “Afternoon, my general. That is a mighty mustache you have.”
The general began clapping, when suddenly, the whole stadium went silent.
Maria entered. She was all grown up now, wearing high-heeled boots that clicked as she moved toward Joaquin and her father.
Her face was covered by a fan, and her long hair flowed in the wind. Chuy, now a fully grown pig, hurried along at her side.
*****<
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Mary Beth said, “As expected, everyone in town was curious to see how the young Maria had grown. . . .”
*****
A soldier declared, “The jewel of the town has returned!”
Everyone she passed stared at her with awe.
When Maria stopped to greet two orphans, Luka and Ignacio, Sister Ana told the other nuns, “And she’s going to be helping at the orphanage.”
One girl told her friend, “And I hear she reads books, like, for fun.” She made a sour face.
“No!” her friend said in disbelief.
Ignoring everyone’s whispered comments about her, Maria reached her seat.
Joaquin greeted her with a bow. “Señorita Posada.”
Maria snapped back the fan, revealing her face. The whole crowd gasped at her beauty.
“Hola, Joaquin,” she said, smiling.
The young girl in the stands said to her friends, “Ahhh! And she’s so natural!”
An old man was so taken by her that his jaw fell open and his teeth fell out.
Above the arena, Xibalba gaped. La Muerte elbowed him hard, cracking his ribs.
“Ow! What?” He closed his mouth and looked away.
Pancho Rodriguez blew his trumpet, announcing Manolo was entering the arena. The crowd rose to welcome the next Sanchez matador.
“And they say Manolo might be the greatest Sanchez ever!” the old man said.
“Yeah! That’s my boy!” La Muerte clapped wildly. Xibalba shot her a jealous look and crossed his arms. “What?!” La Muerte said.
In the ring Manolo looked up at Maria, but she covered her mouth with her fan. “I would like to dedicate this corrida to Miss Maria Posada,” Manolo said, waving his cape in a rhythmic pattern. “Welcome home, señorita.”
Maria wouldn’t look at him—she thought that bullfighting was wrong and was disappointed in her friend.
But back in the ring Manolo didn’t know what was wrong. As the time for the bullfight approached, he tried to convince himself he was ready. At least, as ready as he would ever be.
A side gate opened in the arena, and out ran the raging bull.
This was no ordinary bull. The bull that faced Manolo was covered in skull tattoos. It was wearing spiked armor and had metal tips on its horns.
The Rodriguez brothers had followed Manolo into the ring. Now they took one look at the bull and fled for their lives.
“I’m allergic to dying!” Pepe shouted.
“Especially in the face!” Pancho covered his eyes. Pablo screamed.
“We got your back, Manny!” Pepe said as he jumped behind the ring walls.
Manolo glanced quickly at his father in the stands, then struck a pose, gripping his cape tightly. “Venga, toro! Venga!”
The bull charged.
“Venga!” Manolo gracefully whipped his cape aside as the bull passed by.
“Olé!” The crowd went wild.
“Now that’s a Sanchez!” Carlos said proudly.
Manolo waved to the crowd as they threw flower petals into the ring.
Manolo picked up a red rose from the ground and raised it to Maria. She smiled at him.
“Manolo!” Maria warned as the bull charged him again.
Tossing the rose into the air, Manolo turned an easy backflip out of harm’s way. He landed, sliding on his knees like a rock star as he caught the rose in his mouth, flamenco-dancer style.
“Olé!” the crowd shouted again.
“That’s my son!” Carlos was even more proud.
The orphans in the stands did the wave.
The bull was furious. He charged again, and this time Manolo pivoted in place, leading the bull in a circle around him. He moved his cape and the bull followed it. When the bull finally stepped back, his horns had written “Maria” in the dirt.
The crowd couldn’t hold back their excitement. “Olé! Ma-no-lo! Ma-no-lo! Ma-no-lo!”
Maria was impressed by Manolo’s gesture. Joaquin was jealous that Manolo was getting all the attention.
Manolo walked over to his father. Carlos handed him a sword. “Come on, mijo. For me. For our family. Be a Sanchez.”
Manolo took the sword and walked slowly back toward the bull. The bull lowered his head, stomping and snorting.
The crowd went silent.
Carlos gripped a piece of the arena wall so hard it cracked. Maria’s knuckles tightened around her fan.
Manolo took aim. He saw his reflection in the blade.
He also saw Maria’s reflection.
“No.” He shoved the blade into the ground. “Killing the bull is wrong!”
The bull charged. It passed within an inch of Manolo, blindfolding itself as it tore the cape from his hands. Blinded, the bull smashed into the arena wall and knocked itself completely out.
Everyone was speechless.
Carlos was disappointed.
Grandma said, “See? I told you he no do it.”
The one person who mattered shouted for Manolo. “Bravo! Bravo!” Maria called out.
The crowd booed, but Maria clapped enthusiastically.
“Hey, we don’t have to kill the bull!” Manolo tried to tell everyone.
Maria could see that this was not going to end well. “Oh no. Manolo.” General Posada pulled her away from the arena.
Manolo watched them go, knowing he’d lost her—forever.
“Adiós, Maria,” Manolo muttered as people began to throw their trash at him.
Someone tossed his guitar into the ring. It hit him in the head and he fell unconscious to the dusty ground.
*****
A short while later Carlos shouted in his ear, “Manolo. Manolo! Get up!”
Manolo opened his eyes to find the arena was now empty. Grandma stood with Carlos, who was staring disappointedly at his son. “I’m sorry, Papa,” Manolo said.
Carlos said, “Do not make it worse by apologizing! A Sanchez man never apologizes! Never!”
Grandma added, “Ever.”
“If being a bullfighter means killing the bull,” Manolo told his father, “well, then I’m no bullfighter.”
“No.” Carlos took the handles of Grandma’s wheelchair. “You are no Sanchez.” He pushed her away.
Even the bull was disappointed. He rose, shook off the dust, and walked into the tunnel without looking back.
High above Manolo, in the top seats of the arena, Xibalba and La Muerte watched.
“Victory!” Xibalba said. “That poor kid never had a chance, my dear. Good game, though.”
La Muerte wasn’t giving up. “It’s not over.” She gestured to the bullring below.
Manolo picked up a rose from the ground. He tucked it into the top of his guitar like a microphone and began to play. It was a song about Maria and how much he adored her.
He didn’t see Maria enter the stands, but La Muerte did. She smiled.
Maria looked on in awe as Manolo sang and played beautifully from his heart. When the song was finished, Maria let loose a heavy breath. “Ay, Manolo.” She took a step forward, but her father called her name. She ran off knowing that Manolo never saw her.
Xibalba was confused. “What just happened?!”
La Muerte put a hand over her chest and said, “Ha! You don’t know women, my love.”
Mary Beth told the children at the museum, “That night, General Posada threw a grand party to welcome Maria back. But, you see, he had bigger plans. . . .”
*****
Maria sat at a table surrounded by all the high-ranking officers in the military, including Joaquin.
The soldiers toasted, “To Joaquin!”
And General Posada made a speech. “A great hero! Too bad you’re just in town for a few days. If only there were something that would make you stay, like a special girl? Ey, Maria?”
“Papa!” Maria didn’t like where this was headed.
General Posada grinned. “What?! What did I say?”
“Oh, my father.” She laughed nervously, turning to Joaquin and
teasing, “It’s so wonderful to see you again, Joaquin. Look at that mustache!”
Joaquin jiggled his mustache, and his medals jingled together.
“And all those medals! What’s this one for?” Maria reached forward to touch Xibalba’s magic medal.
Joaquin jumped away. “What?! Nothing! Ah . . . why don’t you tell me a little more about Europe?”
Maria pulled back her hand. “Ay, I loved it! Such beautiful music. And art. And books! It was wonderful.”
Joaquin responded, saying, “Books, art, wonderfulness. You sound like you’ve learned so much, Maria. I’m sure one day you are going to make a man very, very, very happy. And I hope that man’s mustache, or his medals, make you very happy.”
Maria raised her eyebrows. “Oh, is that so?”
Joaquin sat up a little taller. “Well, yes. Behind every man with an amazing mustache is a beautiful woman.”
“Oh yes. And I’ll cook and clean for him and be at his beck and call.” Her words were sarcastic, but Joaquin didn’t notice.
“Uh-huh. That sounds so good. And you sound . . .” He stared at her, losing track of what he was saying. “You’re just so pretty.”
Maria tilted her head. “Are you kidding me?”
General Posada spewed his drink over the soldiers nearby. “Oh boy.” He could see where this was headed.
“Is that how you see a woman?” Maria asked Joaquin.
Joaquin wasn’t sure what had gone wrong. “Um . . .”
Maria’s voice grew tight. “We are only here to make men happy?”
The soldiers nodded their heads in agreement. Joaquin was flustered at how this had gone wrong. “So, I don’t know.”
“I believe I have lost my appetite,” said Maria. As she rose, the soldiers at the table stood with her. “No, please, stay seated.” She waved them off. “Now, if you’ll just excuse me, I must go check on Chuy. That’s my pig. I need to spend time with someone civilized. Buenas noches.” She left the room in a huff.
When she was gone, a soldier whispered to Joaquin, “You’ve picked yourself a feisty one!”
Joaquin was in a terrible mood. Without even looking at the man, Joaquin punched him hard. “Good one, Joaquin! Very witty,” the soldier said. General Posada shook his head at the turn of events.
The Book of Life Movie Novelization Page 3