Felix Carpio said apologetically, “I am sorry this is not a better fight, Sister. You should see the great ones. I have seen Manolete and el Córdobes and Ordóñez. They made bullfighting a spectacle never to be forgotten.”
“I have read about them,” Megan said.
Felix asked, “Have you ever heard the wonderful story about Manolete?”
“Which story?”
“At one time, the story goes, Manolete was just another bullfighter, no better and no worse than a hundred others. He was engaged to a beautiful young girl, but one day when Manolete was in the ring, a bull gored him in the groin and the doctor patched him up and told him that he would no longer be able to have children. Manolete loved his fiancee so much that he didn’t tell her, because he was afraid she wouldn’t marry him. They married and a few months later she proudly told Manolete that she was going to have a baby. Well, of course he knew that it wasn’t his baby, and he left her. The heartbroken girl killed herself. Manolete reacted like a madman. He had no more desire to live, so he went into the bullring and did things that no matador had ever done before. He kept risking his life, hoping to be killed, and he became the greatest matador in the world. Two years later he fell in love again and married a young lady. A few months after the wedding she came to him and proudly announced that she was going to have his baby. And that’s when Manolete discovered that the doctor had been wrong.”
Megan said, “How awful.”
Jaime laughed aloud. “That’s an interesting story. I wonder if there is any truth to it.”
“I would like to think so,” Felix said.
Amparo was listening, her face impassive. She had watched Jaime’s growing interest in the nun with resentment. The sister had better watch her step.
Aproned food vendors were moving up and down the aisles calling out their wares. One of them approached the row where Jaime and the others were seated.
“Empañadas,” he called out. “Empañadas caliente.”
Jaime raised a hand. “Aquí.”
The vendor skillfully tossed a wrapped package across the crowd into Jaime’s hands. Jaime handed ten pesetas to the man next to him to be passed to the vendor. Megan watched as Jaime lowered the wrapped empañada to his lap and carefully opened it. Inside the wrapping was a piece of paper. He read it, then read it again, and Megan saw his jaw tighten.
Jaime slipped the paper into his pocket. “We’re leaving,” he said curtly. “One at a time.” He turned to Amparo. “You first. We’ll meet at the gate.”
Wordlessly, Amparo got up and made her way across to the aisle.
Jaime then nodded to Felix, and Felix rose and followed Amparo.
“What is happening?” Megan asked. “Is something wrong?”
“We’re leaving for Logroño.” He rose. “Watch me, Sister. If I’m not stopped, go to the gate.”
Megan watched, tense, as Jaime made his way to the aisle and started toward the exit. No one seemed to pay any attention to him. When Jaime had disappeared from sight, Megan rose and started to leave. There was a roar from the crowd and she turned to look back at the bullring. A young matador was lying on the ground being gored by the savage bull. Blood was pouring onto the sand. Megan closed her eyes and offered up a silent prayer: Oh, blessed Jesus, have mercy on this man. He shall not die, but he shall live. The Lord has chastened him sorely, but he has not given him over to death. Amen. She opened her eyes, turned, and hurried out.
Jaime, Amparo, and Felix were waiting for her at the entrance.
“Let’s move,” Jaime said.
They started walking.
“What’s wrong?” Felix asked Jaime.
“The soldiers shot Tomás,” he said tersely. “He’s dead. And the police have Rubio. He was stabbed in a bar fight.”
Megan crossed herself. “What’s happened to Sister Teresa and Sister Lucia?” she asked anxiously.
“I don’t know about Sister Teresa. Sister Lucia has also been detained by the police.” Jaime turned to the others. “We have to hurry.” He looked at his watch. “The bank should be busy.”