The Moment of Truth by Damian McNicholl

Author:Damian McNicholl
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Pegasus Books
Published: 2017-09-01T04:00:00+00:00

Above the toril gate, a sign announcing my bull’s statistics in white chalk stated his name was El Resplandor. A ribbon attached to the muscular hump at the base of his neck was red and blue, the colors of the breeding ranch where he came from. The ranch’s brand resembled the mathematical pi and the number 13 had also been scorched into his left hindquarter. Chestnut in color and around eight hundred pounds, with enormous shoulders, the bull was every bit as splendid as his name suggested. He had a handsome face and was well-armed with long horns that glittered like virgin snow.

There was no word from the infirmary about Raymundo and the sting of the second apprentice’s disapproval was still raw. Steeling myself into focus, I pushed the uncertainty and self-doubt out of my mind and scrutinized the bull’s movements and speed as I watched Luís test him with preliminary passes to gauge his defects, a job that all banderilleros do for matadors during the fight.

“It’s like silk,” Maestro said after Luís finished. “I knew it would be a brave bull when I saw it at the sorteo. This is your best one of the two.” He tapped my shoulder twice. “Now, show the audience what we can do.”

Everyone left the ring, melting into the shadows of the sturdy wooden shields in front of the entrance to the callejón, the space behind the shields so narrow that an outraged bull could never enter.

The crowd fell silent as I slipped into the arena. In all the scenarios I’d envisioned about my first public appearance, I hadn’t imagined such a silence. I couldn’t tell if it was because I was a woman, or if the people were still thinking about Raymundo, or if it was a combination of both.

As Maestro said, the bull brimmed with courage. He had no defects I could spot. He charged straight and didn’t hook with his horns to the right or left. As I executed my first pass, a veronica, I couldn’t believe such a powerful animal could be fooled into thinking a piece of magenta silk was the target of his fury. Only a bulletlike sound and a dollop of his hot saliva on my face as he whooshed past my body told me it was true.

Raymundo’s face cut through my concentration after every charge and I had to push him out of my mind to prepare for the next pass. After the mounted picadors had driven their varas into the bull’s shoulder to tire him and the banderilleros had inserted the colorful barbed sticks in his back to further weaken him, the trumpet sounded for the final act to begin.

“You have fifteen minutes, or they’ll sound the warning,” Maestro reminded me, as I reentered the ring. “Five minutes to dominate and kill. Do not fail.”

The hair on the bull’s shoulder was crimson now. Blood also streaked down his front leg. As I walked across the sand toward my bull, I revisited my earlier decision about the bull’s dedication.

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