Without Mercy
“It was unbearably hot even on the shady side at four o’clock in the afternoon as Dillon waited at the barrera. As the President led the procession on, the band started to play “The Virgin of Macarena,” that most poignant of paso dobles, that promised only death down there in the ring; death in the afternoon, Hemingway had called it. The toreros tossed off their capes, works of art in themselves, to friends in the crowd, who draped them over the barrera, then the toreros were handed the plain fighting capes and made a few practice swings, the horses of the picadors stirring uneasily. There was a long moment, a signal from the President, and as a bugle sounded, the red door on the far side, the Gate of Fear, burst open. The bull came through from the darkness, a runaway train that skidded to a halt as the crowd roared. Peons moved out to try him, capes ready, the scene looking like the most dangerous thing on earth, but Dillon knew no fear. He vaulted over the barrera down into the arena.
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