Or the Bull Kills You (33 page)

Almudena. Would he ever be able to think of her without images of that night coming to mind, of her pallid face, Moreno's arm wrapped tight around her neck? To bring her up now seemed strange, almost as if it put the conversation out of kilter. He'd never talked about her with Alicia. It had been so brief there had barely been time.

‘She started a relationship with her business partner,' he said. Just as I'd ended up in bed with someone else, he thought to himself. Why hadn't he called Alicia himself over these past weeks? Sitting here with her now he realised how much he felt for her. They'd had fun, a lot of fun. There was no reason why they shouldn't carry it on for a bit, see what happened. Did every relationship have to have ‘for ever' stamped all over it, and if not be rejected? It was crazy. Yet he had to admit to himself that he'd just let things drift. It would get picked up, he'd thought to himself. A moment would come when it would feel like the right thing to do, to lift up the phone and give her a call. But the weeks had gone by and he'd done nothing. And yet still he couldn't explain why.

‘Have you met someone else?' Alicia asked.

‘No,' he said, slightly taken aback. ‘No, I haven't. Look, I'm sorry I didn't call. It's just, I—'

‘I'm leaving,' she said, breaking him off. ‘I'm leaving Valencia.'

Their eyes met and locked for a moment, then broke away.

‘Oh,' Cámara said. He reached for his wine glass and took a mouthful.

‘I've got a job on one of the nationals in Madrid,' she said. ‘Bullfights, crime. More of the same, really.'

‘But better, hopefully,' he said. ‘All this Blanco stuff, it must have caught someone's eye.'

‘The truth is I've been trying to get out for a while,' she said.

‘Your ex-husband,' he said.

‘That, and…well, that, really. After the divorce I felt I should take off and try somewhere new. It's not easy working with someone you've been so intimate with.'

‘And then there's the benefit of getting out of this city,' Cámara said with half a smile.

‘Yeah,' she said with a laugh. ‘There's that as well. It's great, Valencia. Got a lot going for it.'

‘It's just that sometimes you need something else,' he said.

‘Something like that.'

She poured some more wine into both their glasses. Cámara pulled out his cigarettes and offered her one.

‘I wish you luck,' he said. ‘I hope it goes well for you there.'

‘Thanks.'

‘Who knows,' he said. ‘I might suddenly get promoted and sent off to Madrid myself.'

She smiled.

‘It was fun,' he said. ‘I had a lot of fun.'

That was all he said, nothing more. And he didn't quite know what he expected her to say, perhaps just ‘Me too,' or something to that effect. And that would be it: she'd go off to Madrid, and he'd go back to
Homicidios
, and they'd have some fond memories of each other. And perhaps in a few months' time they might give each other a call, just to see how the other was getting on, perhaps even meet up for another drink like this if ever they could. But she didn't react like that. Not the same resigned but joyful farewell. Her eyes betrayed a completely different emotion, one much stronger than he was expecting, but which he struggled to identify.

‘There's something else I need to tell you,' she said.

He watched her closely: her bottom lip seemed to tremble.

‘I wasn't sure if I should tell you this. It's all over, all settled,' she said. ‘But I thought it only fair.'

Her head had dropped and she was staring at the table again.

‘What are you talking about?' Cámara asked as delicately as he could. There was a sudden fragility in her he felt he didn't recognise.

She paused.

‘I got pregnant,' she said at last, looking up with reddening eyes.

‘That night…' she said. ‘We didn't…You said you were…'

Cámara was motionless, as though unable to withstand the weight of his own body.

‘Don't look like that,' she said. ‘Please.'

Her eyes were brimming with tears now.

‘I…Look,' she said. ‘I just…I wasn't sure what to do, whether to tell you. Of course I had an abortion. Just last week.'

‘You…' Cámara started.

‘But you told me you were infertile, see? Said you couldn't have kids.'

‘I…'

‘So I thought you should know.'

Her eyes seemed to plead with him.

‘It's better that way. Don't you think?'

 

Cámara walked in the afternoon shadows cast by the train station as he passed back up the Calle Castellón. The pavement seemed to move of its own accord beneath his feet, sensations from his body as though in suspension. He felt as if he were floating, a bubble of limited consciousness cut off from the world around it, travelling slowly, obscurely in a place he knew that he knew, but felt removed from. People walked past him, or struggled to squeeze by, other bubbles locked in their own worlds. Were they as unseeing as he? In some part of himself he felt sure he had not always been like this, that this was exceptional – not his ordinary way of being. He tried to cling on to the thought: it was the only thing to hold on to, to prevent him from simply drifting away, getting lost on some passing breeze.

He clenched his hands, as though trying to retrieve physical sensation as an experience he could recognise, that could tell him when, where and who he was.

There had been the beginnings of a child: a promise, a potential. Now it was gone, but for a moment, a few weeks perhaps, it had existed. And it was him, and part of him. Almudena had been wrong. The doctor had been wrong. So convinced had he been that he'd never got round to doing the test. What point had there been? Just to learn what he thought he already knew? Almudena was fine, wasn't that what she'd said? So it had to be his fault. And then when the relationship ended there was even less reason to have it confirmed.

And he'd thought that deep down he didn't really care. Things had gone wrong with Almudena. What were the chances they wouldn't do so with anyone else sooner or later? Was that the best way to bring a kid into the world? Certainly his own family and childhood were useless as a training ground for parenthood. Besides, he was forty-two: a bit old, perhaps, to be thinking about starting a family. Not that there was any biological clock for him as there had been for Almudena, but he didn't want to be an old dad, complaining that he couldn't play football with his son because of a bad back. Not that he liked football anyway, but that was the kind of thing dads were expected to do, wasn't it? What could he teach any future children, anyway? Old proverbs? How to cultivate marihuana? (He'd have to learn himself from Hilario first.) How to catch murderers? He wasn't even sure he was any good at that.

And so he'd given up on the idea. Let others have kids. He wasn't cut out for them in the first place. You had to live with what you got. And all he had was a
masclet
hanging between his legs: all bang and no power.

But they'd all been wrong. He was as potent and fertile as any man, any of the other males now streaming past him as they burst out of the train station and dodged the traffic to get across the road. He felt as though some primitive side to him, some cave-inhabiting being that existed within him somewhere, was picking up an essential missing portion of itself and putting it back in place. And a sense of wholeness – one that he had been unaware of before all this had happened – returned to him. He could have children. Whether he chose to or not was another matter, and at some level Alicia's abortion stung him – that had been part of him that had been snuffed out as well. He understood it; it had been necessary, even if it did hurt. But the point was that the potential for him to have children had been returned to him. That mattered; it gave the future a different hue.

For the first time in what felt like the entire day he was aware of himself breathing again, warm air rushing in and out of his lungs. He blinked, trying to engage with his surroundings. He was standing still, facing away from the road. In front of him a circular colonnaded brick building rose up into the blue, cloudless sky: a heavy, solid presence that seemed to bellow its existence at him. He rubbed his face with his hands and then opened his eyes again. People were tutting and moaning as they pushed past his motionless form in the middle of the pavement: this wasn't a place for lingering: either you moved or got out of the way. But he continued to stare up at the bullring regardless, smiling to himself that he should find himself here once again.

He turned and started walking away.

Particular thanks go to Jesús Herrero of the
Cuerpo Nacional de Policía
and Judge Víctor Gómez for giving me invaluable insights into the complex workings of the Spanish police and judicial systems. I have tried to reflect what I learned from them as accurately as possible.

My understanding of bullfighting benefited enormously from conversations and contact with Lorena Pardo, Jesús Morcillo, the bull-rearer Antonio López, the matador Alvaro Amores, the retired bullfighter Rafael Ataide ‘Rafaelillo', Pascual Esteller, Enrique Aguilar, and other members of the
Asociación de la Prensa Taurina de Castellón
. Special thanks, however, go to Montse Arribas, who opened so many doors for me.

Much of the information on the symbolism and mythology of bullfighting came from the excellent book
El Simbolismo del Toro
by Mariate Cobaleda, with additional details from
Ritos y Juegos del Toro
, by Angel Alvarez de Miranda.

Miles and Ingrid Roddis have an encyclopaedic knowledge of Valencia and were kind enough to pass on their comments and offer much valued support. Gisela Dombek helped with a number of details, while Vicky gave much assistance at home.

Alex, Vicentín, Txarli and Tiziano of the
Grupo Chiau
filled me in on the finer points of
Fallas
and firecracker appreciation.
Muchas gracias, chicos
.

Thanks also to Mariajo Soriano and José Crespo; to Mike Ivey, for his encouragement and generosity; and to Rob, for reading an early draft and passing on much appreciated advice.

My agent, Peter Robinson, has been a stalwart throughout, supportive, generous and thoughtful, and this book owes much to him.

Thanks to Alison Samuel at Chatto & Windus, to Mary Chamberlain, for her excellent copy-editing and to Sandra Oakins for the map. Once again, it has been an enormous privilege and pleasure to work with Jenny Uglow; her contribution, not only to the book but to my own development as a writer, has been inestimable.

Lastly, thanks to Salud, for so much that cannot be expressed here.

There are several police forces in Spain. Chief Inspector Max Cámara works for the
Cuerpa Nacional de Policía
, which deals with major crimes in the larger towns and cities. The
Guardia Civil
is a rural police force, or gendarmerie, covering the countryside and smaller towns and villages, as well as carrying out border duties and sea patrols. Both the
Policía Nacional
and
Guardia Civil
report to the Interior Ministry, although the
Guardia Civil
is paramilitary and has links with the Defence Ministry.

In addition to these national forces, towns and cities tend to have a local police force – the
Policía Local
, also known as the
Policía Municipal
. This deals with smaller crimes, official engagements and traffic duties, and is under the control of each respective Town Hall. A member of the
Policía Local
may sometimes be referred to as a ‘
Municipal
'.

Alamares
Adornaments on a
traje de luces
(q.v.)

Albufera
Wetland area and beauty spot south of Valencia

Anti-taurino
Anti-bullfighting

Apoderado
A matador's manager

Banderillas
Colourful darts used in bullfighting

Barraca
A traditional thatched house in the Albufera (q.v.)

Bravo
‘Brave,' a bull with fighting spirit

Burladero
Entrance/exit into the bullring and safety barrier

Cabrón
Slang insult, ‘bastard'

Callejón
Passageway around the bullring, separating the bulls from the spectators

Capote
Large, usually pink and yellow, cape used by bullfighters

Carajillo
Coffee laced with liquor

Chapero
Slang for male prostitute

Chicuela
A bullfighting move

Chino
A small firecracker

Copla
Traditional Spanish folk song

Cremà
The mass burning of the Valencia
Falla
(q.v.) statues on the night of 19th March

Criminalistas Guardia Civil
(q.v.) crime-scene investigators

Cuadrilla
A matador's team of bullfighters and assistants

Cuerpo Nacional de Policía
Spanish National Police (Max Cámara's police force)

Un Nacional
A member of the national police

Depósito
Impounded goods depot

Embarcadero
Jetty

Estoque
Matador's sword

Fallas
The main fiesta in Valencia, held in March

Una falla
A statue made of wood and papier mâché for
Fallas,
which is burnt down on 19th March

Fallero
An active member of the
Fallas
(q.v.) fiesta

Feria
Fair, bullfighting fiesta/meeting

Fiambre
Slang for ‘corpse'

GEO Grupo Especial de Operaciones
: Elite police force (SWAT team)

Gilipollas
Slang insult, ‘prick'

Golfo
A hedonistic rogue

Grupo de Homicidios
Homicides unit

Guardia Civil
Civil Guard paramilitary police force

Un Guardia
A member of the Civil Guard

Huerta
Market gardening area around the city of Valencia

Instituto de Medicina Legal
Forensic laboratory

Juez de Guardia
Duty investigating judge

La Puerta Grande
‘The Main Gate' of a bullring

Manso
Docile, a bull with no fighting spirit

María
Slang for marihuana

Maricón
Slang for homosexual

Marrón
Slang for ‘corpse'

Masclet
A kind of firecracker

Mascletá
A firecracker display held every afternoon during
Fallas
(q.v.)

Mayoral
A herdsman

Mechero
A cigarette lighter

Médico Forense
Medical examiner

Montera
A bullfighter's hat

Muleta
Red cape used by matador

Ninot
One of the figures making up a
Falla
(q.v.) statue

Novillero
Apprentice bullfighter

Petardo
A kind of firecracker

Policía Científica
Criminalists, crime-scene investigators: part of the national police

Policía Judicial
‘Judicial' police, policemen working under the orders of an investigating judge

Policía Local/Municipal
Local police force, controlled by the Town Hall

Un Municipal
A member of the local police

Porro
A joint (marihuana, not meat)

Prensa Rosa
The gossip press

Sangría
Oh, come on, you know what sangría is

Secretaria judicial
Court clerk

Seguirilla
A kind of song, or style, in Flamenco

Sol
literally: ‘sun': the sunny, cheaper seats in a bullring

Sombra
literally: ‘shade': the shady, more expensive seats in a bullring

Tercio
‘Third,' a section of the bullfight

Tertulia
A discussion, often held by aficionados after a bullfight

Torero
A bullfighter

Toro
A bull

Los Toros
Bullfighting

Toro de lidia
A bullfighting bull

Traje de Luces
‘Suit of Lights,' a matador's outfit

Tricornio
Traditional hat worn by members of the
Guardia Civil
(q.v.)

Verónica
A bullfighting move