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How in God’s name?
He held his breath, his heart almost stopped beating.
She was about to be killed.
But at the last possible second, she whipped to the side, her blood red cape fluttering behind her. The bull burst through the barrier of the veil and seemed surprised when it came away with nothing. A cheer went up from the crowd and as Bull looked around the arena, he noticed that not everyone was applauding.
“That was the Quiebro move, she turned sideways at the last moment to let the beast pass in the hollow of her back,” Jose muttered. There was no doubt of his great love for the sport, for the old man spoke of what was going on in almost reverent terms. “Full of passion and mythos, there is nothing like this. More than just a battle of wills, this is sublimated lovemaking.”
“I think I’d prefer a little different type of lovemaking,” Bull mumbled tersely. He vowed in his heart if he ever got his hands on this woman again, he’d let her know what he thought of this foolishness. Swallowing hard, Bull’s heart still pounded as he watched her work. Her every movement was poetic, a seemingly sacred dance of life and death. Despite his reservations, he couldn’t deny one thing. The woman was good at what she did – very, very good.
“Ole! Toro!” Isabella cried as the bull passed by so close she could almost hear his heart pounding in time with her own. The hoof beats on the ground called to her, the flecks of gold sand landing on her boots were like tiny whispers. She got so lost in the beauty of the sounds, only the roar of the crowd awakened her before the bull came charging back.
In moments like this, she felt so close to her father. She could share his love for the unearthly beauty of the battle and the power of facing a foe most would run from. “Come, toro. I will not harm you, let’s show these people how we can dance.” She flashed the cape, bidding him to return. “That’s it. Submit to me.” She reached out and ran a hand over his neck as he galloped by. The animal huffed and pawed, whirling around for a second charge. Isabella moved the cape in a graceful Veronica arc over the bull’s back and down in front of its face. Its horns lifted the bright serge, throwing it in the air like the sail of a boat. She knew to keep one part of the cape closer to the animal than to herself. To the bull, the cape was part of her, he would charge what was nearest, so she could keep her body safe and out of reach of the sharp horns.
“Good God, this is insane,” Bull muttered. “She doesn’t even try to get out of the way.”
“La Diosa knows what she is doing.” Jose threw his fist in the air. “Ole! The beast moves with such majesty!”
Bull was sweating, watching the girl perform this deadly ballet. “I think the girl is the one who has her moves down.” Once more the animal charged and once more she sidestepped at the last minute. “Has she ever been…hurt?”
Jose scoffed. “A scratch here and there is all I’ve ever heard tell. The matadors all abstain from drinking or drugs so their blood will clot faster.”
The old man’s admission was little comfort to Bull. “Since she doesn’t kill the bull, how does it end?”
“Watch. La Diosa has her own special guardian angel.”
As much as he would’ve liked to, Bull couldn’t look away. “Shit, she laid the cape down.” To the gasp of the crowd, this time La Diosa didn’t wait on the bull, she went to him. Not running. Not charging. Just a slow, graceful walk toward the heaving animal, her hand outstretched in supplication. Bull couldn’t hear what she said, but the low, dulcet tones of her voice would’ve had him doing whatever she bade.
Isabella offered up a prayer. This was the test. Everything that had come before was merely a preamble to this moment. “Come, Toro. I will not hurt you. From this day forward, you will live away from the bullring. You will not be called upon to sacrifice yourself. Place your head in my hand and let’s leave this arena together.”
The bull shuffled on its feet.
Bull could read the uncertainty in the animal’s movements.
This was no pet, no tame creature. This bull was as wild or wilder than any he’d ever climbed upon. And he’d been on their back, not looking them in the eye. He knew that in one pivotal moment, the bull could charge, gore the woman and toss her into the air like a ragdoll.
Still, she persisted – moving steadily forward, placing her life in the hands of fate, to whatever benevolence the deity could offer.
“Please, God,” he prayed.
“Por favor, Dios,” she prayed.
As if in a dream, Benedict Carson Redford, saw the unexpected. To all extents and purposes, he witnessed a miracle. As the crowd stood to its feet, La Diosa laid her hand on the bull’s head and he watched it bow in what could be nothing less than submission. She caressed the massive forehead, then processed to move down the bull’s side, trailing her fingers along the black, sweaty hide. In an amazing move, Bull would never recommend to anyone, she walked behind the beast and around to the other side. He could see her lips moving beneath her mask and he knew he’d give a thousand dollars to know what she whispered to her former foe.
As she returned to the front of the animal, trumpets began to blow and she did another amazing and foolhardy act. La Diosa turned her back to the animal and raised her arm in triumph.
The crowd went wild.
Only then was she joined on the field by the assistants and the lucky bull was herded back to the pen, his life saved. He would live and fight no more.
La Diosa made her exit from the ring, showered by roses being thrown by her many admirers. Bull had no rose to throw, but he sure as hell intended to find her if he could.
“Sir, it was a pleasure.” He turned to shake Jose Mercedes’ hand. To Bull’s surprise, the man was gone and there was no sign of him anywhere. It was as if he’d simply vanished.
“Oh, well.” He couldn’t worry about that now, he had to go meet a goddess.
…“Gracias, Senor.” Isabella signed another program, shaking the short, rotund man’s hand as he gushed about her performance.
