«That’s it. All for fun. Fun, you understand.» «You’re not an aficionado?»
«Me? What are bulls? Animals. Brute animals.» He stood up and put his hand on the small of his back. «Right through the back. A cornada right through the back. For fun-you understand.» He shook his head and walked away, carrying the coffee-pots. Two men were going by in the
street. The waiter shouted to them. They were grave-looking. One shook his head. «Muerto!» he called.
The waiter nodded his head. The two men went on. They were on some errand. The waiter came over to my table.
«You hear? Muerto. Dead. He’s dead. With a horn through him. All for morning fun. Es muy flamenco.»
«It’s bad.»
«Not for me,» the waiter said. «No fun in that for me.»
Later in the day we learned that the man who was killed was named Vicente Girones, and came from near Tafalla. The next day in the paper we read that he was twenty-eight years old, and had a farm, a wife, and two children. He had continued to come to the fiesta each year after he was married. The next day his wife came in from Tafalla to be with the body, and the day after there was a service in the chapel of San Fermin, and the coffin was carried to the railway-station by members of the dancing and drinking society of Tafalla. The drums marched ahead, and there was music on the fifes, and behind the men who carried the coffin walked the wife and two children.. . . Behind them marched all the members of the dancing and drinking societies of Pamplona, Estella, Tafalla, and Sanguesa who could stay over for the funeral. The coffin was loaded into the baggage-car of the train, and the widow and the two children rode, sitting, all three together, in an open third-class railwaycarriage. The train started with a jerk, and then ran smoothly, going down grade around the edge of the plateau and out into the fields of grain that blew in the wind on the plain on the way to Tafalla.
The bull who killed Vicente Girones was named Bocanegra, was Number 118 of the bull-breeding establishment of Sanchez Taberno, and was killed by Pedro Romero as the third bull of that same afternoon. His ear was cut by popular acclamation and given to Pedro Romero, who, in turn, gave it to Brett, who wrapped it in a handkerchief belonging to myself, and left both ear and handkerchief, along with a number of Muratti cigarette-stubs, shoved far back in the drawer of the bed-table that stood beside her bed in the Hotel Montoya, in Pamplona.
Back in the hotel, the night watchman was sitting on a bench inside the door. He had been there all night and was very sleepy. He stood up as I came in. Three of the waitresses came in at the same time. They had been to the morning show at the bull-ring. They went upstairs laughing. I followed them up-stairs and went into my room. I took off my shoes and lay down on the bed. The window was open onto the balcony and the sunlight was bright in the room. I did not feel sleepy. It must have been half past three o’clock when I had gone to bed and the bands had waked me at six. My jaw was sore on both sides. I felt it with my thumb and fingers. That damn Cohn. He should have hit somebody the first time he was insulted, and then gone away. He was so sure that Brett loved him. He was going to stay, and true love would conquer all. Some one knocked on the door.
«Come in.»
It was Bill and Mike. They sat down on the bed. «Some encierro,» Bill said. «Some encierro.»
«I say, weren’t you there?» Mike asked. «Ring for some beer, Bill.»
«What a morning!» Bill said. He mopped off his face. «My God! what a morning! And here’s old Jake. Old Jake, the human punching-bag.»
«What happened inside?»
«Good God!» Bill said, «what happened, Mike?»
«There were these bulls coming in,» Mike said. «Just ahead of them was the crowd, and some chap tripped and brought the whole lot of them down.»
«And the bulls all came in right over them,» Bill said. «I heard them yell.»
«That was Edna,» Bill said.
«Chaps kept coming out and waving their shirts.»
«One bull went along the barrera and hooked everybody over.» «They took about twenty chaps to the infirmary,» Mike said.
«What a morning!» Bill said. «The damn police kept arresting chaps that wanted to go and commit suicide with the bulls.»
«The steers took them in, in the end,» Mike said. «It took about an hour.»
«It was really about a quarter of an houi» Mike objected.
«Oh, go to hell,» Bill said. «You’ve been in the war. It was two hours and a half for me.» «Where’s that beer?» Mike asked.
«What did you do with the lovely Edna?»
«We took her home just now. She’s gone to bed.» «How did she like it?»
«Fine. We told her it was just like that every morning.» «She was impressed,» Mike said.
«She wanted us to go down in the ring, too,» Bill said. «She likes action.» «I said it wouldn’t be fair to my creditors,» Mike said.
«What a morning,» Bill said. «And what a night!» «How’s your jaw, Jake?» Mike asked.
«Sore,» I said. Bill laughed.
«Why didn’t you hit him with a chair?»
«You can talk,» Mike said. «He’d have knocked you out, too. I never saw him hit me. I rather think I saw him just before, and then quite suddenly I was sitting down in the street, and Jake was lying under a table.»
«Where did he go afterward?» I asked.
«Here she is,» Mike said. «Here’s the beautiful lady with the beer.»
The chambermaid put the tray with the beer-bottles and glasses down on the table. «Now bring up three more bottles,» Mike said.
«Where did Cohn go after he hit me?» I asked Bill.
«Don’t you know about that?» Mike was opening a beer-bottle. He poured the beer into one of the glasses, holding the glass close to the bottle.
«Really?» Bill asked.
«Why he went in and found Brett and the bull-fighter chap in the bull-fighter’s room, and then he massacred the poor, bloody bull-fighter.»
«No.» «Yes.»
«What a night!» Bill said.
«He nearly killed the poor, bloody bull-fighter. Then Cohn wanted to take Brett away. Wanted to make an honest woman of her, I imagine. Damned touching scene.»
He took a long drink of the beer. «He is an ass.»
«What happened?»
«Brett gave him what for. She told him off. I think she was rather good.» «I’ll bet she was,» Bill said.
«Then Cohn broke down and cried, and wanted to shake hands with the bull-fighter fellow. He wanted to shake hands with Brett, too.»
«I know. He shook hands with me.»
«Did he? Well, they weren’t having any of it. The bull-fighter fellow was rather good. He didn’t say much, but he kept getting up and getting knocked down again. Cohn couldn’t knock him out. It must have been damned funny.»
«Where did you hear all this?» «Brett. I saw her this morning.» «What happened finally?»
«It seems the bull-fighter fellow was sitting on the bed. He’d been knocked down about fifteen times, and he wanted to fight some more. Brett held him and wouldn’t let him get up. He was weak, but Brett couldn’t hold him, and he got up. Then Cohn said he wouldn’t hit him again. Said he couldn’t do it. Said it would be wicked. So the bull-fighter chap sort of rather staggered over to him. Cohn went back against the wall.
«’So you won’t hit me?’
«’No,’ said Cohn. ‘I’d be ashamed to.’
«So the bull-fighter fellow hit him just as hard as he could in the face, and then satdown on the floor. He couldn’t get up, Brett said. Cohn wanted to pick him up and carry him to the bed. He said if Cohn helped him he’d kill him, and he’d kill him anyway this morning if Cohn wasn’t out of town. Cohn was crying, and Brett had told him off, and he wanted to shake hands. I’ve told you that before.»
«Tell the rest,» Bill said.
«It seems the bull-fighter chap was sitting on the floor. He was waiting to get strength enough to get up and hit Cohn again. Brett wasn’t having any shaking hands, and Cohn was crying and telling her how much he loved her, and she was telling him not to be a ruddy ass. Then Cohn leaned down to shake hands with the bull-fighter fellow. No hard feelings, you know. All for forgiveness. And the bull-fighter chap hit him in the face again.»
«That’s quite a kid,» Bill said.
«He ruined Cohn,» Mike said. «You know I don’t think Cohn will ever want to knock people about again.»
«When did you see Brett?»
«This morning. She came in to get some things. She’s looking after this Romero lad.» He poured out another bottle of beer.
«Brett’s rather cut up. But she loves looking after people. That’s how we came to go off together. She was looking after me.»
«I know,» I said.
«I’m rather drunk,» Mike said. «I think I’ll stay rather drunk. This is all awfully amusing, but it’s not too pleasant. It’s not too pleasant for me.»
He drank off the beer.
«I gave Brett what for, you know. I said if she would go about with Jews and bull-fighters and such people, she must expect trouble.» He leaned forward. «I say, Jake, do you mind if I drink that bottle of yours? She’ll bring you another one.»
«Please,» I said. «I wasn’t drinking it, anyway.»
Mike started to open the bottle. «Would you mind opening it?»
