Townsend Harris High School - Crimson Gold Yearbook (Flushing, NY)

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one to remember! What a man this Sal- vator is! I have never seen one to compare with him. How glad I am that I am able to see so wonderful a person. There is no one here in Ceuta who can compare with him. Jaime turned, looked at her. MA bull- fighter? Bah? Give me but his cloak., his costume, his sword, and lo-clothed a bull- Hghter, I am a bullfighter, can do as well, better than he, in the ring. Solita gave him a sidelong glance from beneath uplifted eyebrows. '4Really, Jaime ? The brazen call of a trumpet issued from within the arena, suddenly all was hurry and bustle outside. The throng hastened gaily through the entrance, escorts, thrusting pesetas into the hand of the renter, snatched the pairs of pillows he offered. In an amaz- ingly short time, the seats were filledg a brief moment of getting settled, and then,-eager expectancy. The band struck up the stirring march, cheers and cries from the spectators: 6'Sal- vator! Bravo Salvatorlw With a flourish, the entrance of the bullfighters was heralded- there they were! Marching evenly, the same measured dis- tance between each of them, the toreadors, the famous matador foremost among them, entered the arena first. A gallant sight they made, in their picturesque, gold braided cos- tumes, cloak over one arm, the other swing- ing free. Brave cloaks, these, and fine, orange on one side, carmine on the other- but destined to be dirtied and dragged and torn within but a few minutes. Following immediately after, rode the picadorsg riding easily, but on the sorriest nags seen in many a day, nags unfit for any use but to be gored by the bulls, and there- fore now ridden, later to be blindfolded, into the ring. With lances in stirrup cups they rodeg long lances, wood lances, with the heavy iron point and the cruel shield which forbids that point more than three inches of way into the bullis shoulder. For it is for- bidden that the picador kill the bull. That is the right of the matador, and jealously it is reserved for him. And last came the other horses-good horses, these, and handsomely plumed and belled. For these horses take revenge for their kind on the bull, it is they who drag him, dead, from the ring. page thirty-seven Q,

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young toreadors, looking joyfully forward to the fame that was to be theirs for merely having participated in the same fight with the great man, and of the beautiful senoritas. Belle of the belles of Ceuta at that time was Solita Esteban: the fickle Solita, the darkly beautiful Solita, of the lithe, slender body,of the flashing black eyes, of the blood red lips, of the raven hair. And chief among the admirers of Solita was Jaime Mendoza: Jaime the proud, ,laime the selfish, aristo- cratic, haughty, accustomed to getting what he wanted, jealous to the death of the object of his passion. Not less than the others of Ceuta did Solita delight in the Corridas de Torosg not less did she worship, did she adore, the toreadors. It was only natural, therefore, that on the great day, at the climax of the fiesta that had begun a week before, Jaime and Solita were among the first to arrive at the Plaza de Toros, nod- ding gaily to friends, smiling condescend- ingly to the poorer ones who tipped their hats in admiration of so line a couple. Like to the most gorgeous picture ever fashioned by the exquisite genius of Goya, Solita was costumed in the traditional fashion of the sport. The beautiful shawl of the Corrida, bright red, with darker crimson and black flowers worked delicately into it, was thrown jauntily about her shoulders-a red rose piquantly caressing the jet blackness of her hair, as it bobbed behind her ear. Gallantly dressed also was Jaime. Though not in uni- form, nevertheless he was by no means eclipsed by the gorgeously costumed officers who wandered about the area in front of the arena. Under his arm he carried a light sword-cane, indeed, he presented a fine pic- ture of the aristocratic young provincial Spaniard on holiday. A gloriously colorful and gay picture was this, police, in black patent-leather cocked hats and tan uniforms faced in yellow and red, patrolled the ground, rifles slung on shoulders, their officers, even more ornately attired, gold and black swords at their sides, were chatting animatedly with acquaintances. Everybody seemed to know everybody else, all was jollity. The shawls of the senoritas- indeed, even the senoras wore them-black, red, and gold predominating, completed a riotous scheme of color nowhere to be found but at a Spanish fiesta. Indeed, Jaime, exclaimed Solita, though we have witnessed many fights, this will be page thirty-six

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So marched the toreadors to the Gover- nor's box, there bowed, received his saluta- tion-and then, off to prepare for the work of the afternoon. The picadors wheeled their jades, left the ring. The toreadors ar- ranged themselves in a semi-circle about the sides of the arena. The trumpeter, in his stand at the very top of the tiers of seats, stood at attention, the mouthpiece of his in- strument to his lips. A waved arm from an attendant gave the signal. The note sounded clear and loud, only to be drowned out by a furious bellow, as the great bull dashed into the ring. Wild and panting mad he came, from the dark cave that had been his home for the past three days. Dripping saliva coated his tongue dead white, for he had been starved, too. V Around and around the great circle he galloped, his hoarse, thunderous voice pour- ing out the tale of all the woes that were his --for that is the secret of the Corrida! Run the bull! Tire the bull! Cleverly exhaust the bull! And then dispatch him-neatly, skill- fully. The enraged creature was slowing down now, the sign for the toreadors to start their work. The younger, more inexperienced boys did this, for the beast had to be fatigued to allow the great man to execute his mas- terly passes. And so they stepped out, at- tracting, enticing the enormous animal with the waving of the cape, leading him here, sending him there, striving at every moment to gain that favor of the crowd which might some day make of them another Salvatorf' Nonchalantly the great man watched them. A sudden nod of approval escaped him, as one of the younger and more reckless of the toreadors executed a particularly dangerous and well-done manoeuver. His turn was to come soon, and he would delight these people, so starved of what was really line work, with an exhibition of what great and aristocratic crowds in Madrid thronged to see at every Corrida in which he took part. And now, the picadors. Exciting, this, for those sadistic ones who delight in seeing the entrails torn from a horse. The procedure was the same as usual. The apic, his calves protected by iron shields, allowing the bull to attack him on his blindfolded horse pressed the lance into the shoulder of the animal, held on and pushed as long as he 9 page thirty-eight