The Sun Also Rises - Ernest Hemingway [56]
After they went out of sight a great roar came from the bull-ring. It kept on. Then finally the pop of the rocket that meant the bulls had gotten through the people in the ring and into the corrals. I went back in the room and got into bed. I had been standing on the stone balcony in bare feet. I knew our crowd must have all been out at the bull-ring. Back in bed, I went to sleep.
Cohn woke me when he came in. He started to undress and went over and closed the window because the people on the balcony of the house just across the street were looking in.
"Did you see the show?" I asked.
"Yes. We were all there."
"Anybody get hurt?"
"One of the bulls got into the crowd in the ring and tossed six or eight people."
"How did Brett like it?"
"It was all so sudden there wasn't any time for it to bother anybody."
"I wish I'd been up."
"We didn't know where you were. We went to your room but it was locked."
"Where did you stay up?"
"We danced at some club."
"I got sleepy," I said.
"My gosh! I'm sleepy now," Cohn said. "Doesn't this thing ever stop?"
"Not for a week."
Bill opened the door and put his head in.
"Where were you, Jake?"
"I saw them go through from the balcony. How was it?"
"Grand."
"Where you going?"
"To sleep."
No one was up before noon. We ate at tables set out under the arcade. The town was full of people. We had to wait for a table. After lunch we went over to the Irufla. It had filled up, and as the time for the bull-fight came it got fuller, and the tables were crowded closer. There was a close, crowded hum that came every day before the bull-fight. The café did not make this same noise at any other time, no matter how crowded it was. This hum went on, and we were in it and a part of it.
I had taken six seats for all the fights. Three of them were barreras, the first row at the ring-side, and three were sobrepuertos, seats with wooden backs, half-way up the amphitheatre. Mike thought Brett had best sit high up for her first time, and Cohn wanted to sit with them. Bill and I were going to sit in the barreras, and I gave the extra ticket to a waiter to sell. Bill said something to Cohn about what to do and how to look so he would not mind the horses. Bill had seen one season of bull-fights.
"I'm not worried about how I'll stand it. I'm only afraid I may be bored," Cohn said.
"You think so?"
"Don't look at the horses, after the bull hits them," I said to Brett. "Watch the charge and see the picador try and keep the bull off, but then don't look again until the horse is dead if it's been hit."
"I'm a little nervy about it," Brett said. "I'm worried whether I'll be able to go through with it all right."
"You'll be all right. There's nothing but that horse part that will bother you, and they're only in for a few minutes with each bull. Just don't watch when it's bad."
"She'll be all right," Mike said. "I'll look after her."
"I don't think you'll be bored," Bill said.
"I'm going over to the hotel to get the glasses and the wineskin," I said. "See you back here. Don't get cock-eyed."
"I'll come along," Bill said. Brett smiled at us.
We walked around through the arcade to avoid the heat of the square.
"That Cohn gets me," Bill said. "He's got this Jewish superiority so strong that he thinks the only emotion he'll get out of the fight will be being bored."
"We'll watch him with the glasses," I said.
"Oh, to hell with him!"
"He spends a lot of time there."
"I want him to stay there."
In the hotel on the stairs we met Montoya.
"Come on," said Montoya. "Do you want to meet Pedro Romero?"
"Fine,"