The Sun Also Rises - Ernest Hemingway [48]
The bull saw them and charged. A man shouted from behind one of the boxes and slapped his hat against the planks, and the bull, before he reached the steer, turned, gathered himself and charged where the man had been, trying to reach him behind the planks with a half-dozen quick, searching drives with the right horn.
"My God, isn't he beautiful?" Brett said. We were looking right down on him.
"Look how he knows how to use his horns," I said. "He's got a left and a right just like a boxer."
"Not really?"
"You watch."
"It goes too fast."
"Wait. There'll be another one in a minute."
They had backed up another cage into the entrance. In the far corner a man, from behind one of the plank shelters, attracted the bull, and while the bull was facing away the gate was pulled up and a second bull came out into the corral.
He charged straight for the steers and two men ran out from behind the planks and shouted, to turn him. He did not change his direction and the men shouted: "Hah! Hah! Toro!" and waved their arms; the two steers turned sideways to take the shock, and the bull drove into one of the steers.
"Don't look," I said to Brett. She was watching, fascinated.
"Fine," I said. "If it doesn't buck you."
"I saw it," she said. "I saw him shift from his left to his right horn."
"Damn good!"
The steer was down now, his neck stretched out, his head twisted, he lay the way he had fallen. Suddenly the bull left off and made for the other steer which had been standing at the far end, his head swinging, watching it all. The steer ran awkwardly and the bull caught him, hooked him lightly in the flank, and then turned away and looked up at the crowd on the walls, his crest of muscle rising. The steer came up to him and made as though to nose at him and the bull hooked perfunctorily. The next time he nosed at the steer and then the two of them trotted over to the other bull.
When the next bull came out, all three, the two bulls and the steer, stood together, their heads side by side, their horns against the newcomer. In a few minutes the steer picked the new bull up, quieted him down, and made him one of the herd. When the last two bulls had been unloaded the herd were all together.
The steer who had been gored had gotten to his feet and stood against the stone wall. None of the bulls came near him, and he did not attempt to join the herd.
We climbed down from the wall with the crowd, and had a last look at the bulls through the loopholes in the wall of the corral. They were all quiet now, their heads down. We got a carriage outside and rode up to the café. Mike and Bill came in half an hour later. They had stopped on the way for several drinks.
We were sitting in the café.
"That's an extraordinary business," Brett said.
"Will those last ones fight as well as the first?" Robert Cohn asked. "They seemed to quiet down awfully fast."
"They all know each other," I said. "They're only dangerous when they're alone, or only two or three of them together."
"What do you mean, dangerous?" Bill said. "They all looked dangerous to me."
"They only want to kill when they're alone. Of course, if you went in there you'd probably detach one of them from the herd, and he'd be dangerous."
"That's too complicated," Bill said. "Don't you ever detach me from the herd, Mike."
"I say," Mike said, "they were fine bulls, weren't they? Did you see their horns?"
"Did I not," said Brett. "I had no idea what they were like."
"Did you see the one hit that steer?" Mike asked. "That was extraordinary."
"It's no life being a steer," Robert Cohn said.
"Don't you think so?" Mike said. "I would have thought you'd loved being a steer, Robert."
"What do you mean, Mike?"
"They lead such a quiet life. They never