Or the Bull Kills You Read Online Free

achievements was read out. Blanco was only thirty-four years old and at the height of his career. A year before he had come out of early retirement, many claimed in order to counter the sharp decline in bullfighting’s popularity across the country. Since his dramatic comeback performance in his favourite venue, Valencia, bullrings around the country were beginning to fill again, with people talking of a Golden Age and of Blanco as a new Manolete to lead bullfighting into the twenty-first century.
    Cámara pulled hard on his joint, filling his tiny living room with smoke as a shield against the barrage of journalistic clichés. The screen cut to an ‘expert’ on bullfighting, a man with grey hair and rectangular glasses with bright red frames, who struggled to keep his composure as the microphone was thrust under his chin. His name – Santiago Rodríguez – flashed at the bottom.
    â€˜Blanco was known for his…classical, fearless style of bullfighting, always insisting on traditional rituals and customs. He was the only matador on the circuit who insisted on visiting the chapel both before and after each fight. He was gored several times during his career, most famously in Seville back in 2002, when it seemed for a while we might have lost him for ever. And indeed he stayed out of the bullring for four years after that. But his comeback was the event of last season. Not everyone was happy to see his return – he had his detractors in the bullfighting world, as all matadors do. But this is a grave, grave loss, one which we will be reeling from for years to come.’
    The screen was filled with a photograph of a man wearing a trilby hat, a closely cropped grey beard wrapped around his chin like felt, and a cigar stuck firmly into the side of his mouth. The newsreader’s voice blared through the speakers.
    â€˜There’s been no statement yet from Blanco’s apoderado, Juanma Ruiz Pastor. Blanco’s relationship with Señor Ruiz Pastor had been in the headlines recently after reports of a rift between the bullfighter and his manager. There is no…And we’re going over live now to the Valencia bullring .
    The image cut to show a woman standing in front of the arches of the Coliseum-like building, a huddle of microphones and mobile phones pressed up to her mouth. The harsh white television lights reflected off a tired face, but Cámara immediately recognised her from the Bar Los Toros. The words ‘ Alicia Beneyto – journalist and friend of Jorge Blanco ’ were ticker-taped across the bottom of the screen.
    â€˜As you can imagine, this has been the most terrible evening. Bullfighting has lost the greatest matador of this generation, and perhaps the greatest of all time. And I say that with all due respect. Bullfighting was on its knees in this country before Blanco reappeared, and there were many who were happy to see it there, perhaps even help it in its decline. But Blanco turned it around single-handedly. Bullrings are full once again. Blanco showed the way; now it is up to others, the younger generation, to take up his mantle and lead bullfighting into the future. Bullfighting is here to stay. It is the national fiesta of this country. They cannot make it go away. Bullfighting has never been more popular, but it has never been so fragile. This is the worst night of our lives.’
    For a second the camera stayed on her as a dozen questions were fired at once. Cámara wondered if she had been crying: heavy make-up dulled the skin around her eyes.
    The joint squeezed between his fingers had almost gone out, and the slight tremble that had developed in his hands after seeing the corpse had begun to subside. He glanced into his box as he brought the lighter towards his mouth to fire it up again. His supplies were running out: he’d have to ring Hilario back home in Albacete to see if there was any left, and make sure he’d sowed some more seeds