Manolete. And no one set the name of the bull that was dealing with

Odia was born weird. A foreshadowing of death? No one knows what speed the foreshadows travel… a fog over the houses, the streets and the fields. A shy sun that was gaining strength as the noon, time of the shorter shadow, was gaining its luminous and frank place. Linares: The men occupied the chairs of the bodegas, or were right in the bars eating snails. Mantilha women walked along the Paseo Virgen of Linarejos towards the blessing given by the Iglesia Father of Santa Maria La Mayor. Death, this indecent lady of the gadhan expected, sinister, hidden, at five o'clock in the afternoon. «A Las Five of La La Tarde/Era Las Five EN Punto de la afternoon/Un Niño Trajo La Blanca Sábana/A Las Five La Afternoon/UNA Following of Cal Ya Prevent/Las Five La Afternoon/Lo Demás was Muerte y Sólo Muerte/Las Five La Afternoon,” wrote Garcia Lorca on Llanto by Ignacio Sánchez Mejas Granadino, in Manzanares, on August 11, 1934. This time it was also August, the 29th of 1947. And death did not need to wait so much.

The poster was luxury. Six-Seis of D. Eduardo Miura, to Rafael Vega de Los Reyes, Manolete and Luiz Miguel Dominguin. The last one was dealing with. «It was not a style against another style; not a school against another school; It was life in its perfect evolution; The passage of the firm hands of the firm hands of the one who illuminated the world of bullfighting to the young and ardent hands of another who intended to be a new lighthouse, ”said Leopoldo Nunes.
They strange applause on the gang ride. Ricardo García López, better known as 'K-hito', writer, chronicler, caricaturist, man of Generación del 27, a group of intellectuals who devoted their lives to praising the work of Luis de Góngora, who invented the pseudonym ajapor to self-title 'El Historieta of Española' Hirohito, also a killer, and the first to call Manleta 'El Monstruo', was there. And he said from the top of his wisdom: «The presidential scarf is already on the dark velvet color. At the same time that a knight dressed in Andalusa travels the arena, the gangs advance a step so that the swords would place the entrance of the door. From my place I only see Manolete. While waiting for the ride of the rider, which intends to make some filigronas, the monster listens to the first applause of the afternoon. Sol rays hit the embroidery of their pink fact and gold. The bullfighters come out. to the right of the president, Gitanillo de Triana (Rafael) of Carmesim and Gold; to the Luiz Miguel de Verde and Gold Center; to the left Manolete ». The colors of the party. A heat of melting cathedrals. And the red and the black, as Stendhal would say, but more soon.

The people shout by Manolete who leaves the trench to thank bringing their mates with them. Brothers in death that will be only one. The benches are full, there are people even hanging from the flag sticks. No one wants to lose a pinch it is. The first Miura gets superb around the square. Gitanillo cover bullfighting. Bridigi Perea, 'El Boni', bandarheiro makes a bad cover bid and is knocked down by the bull looking for him on the ground with cornade ganns. It gets up shaking the dust. It is the first glimpse of blood on the calm afternoon. Manolete faces the second Miura. It has the name of pimpi. But it is a reserved animal. Manuel resorts to Adornos, touches his horn, caresses his Testuz, applies a short thrust. It's still your afternoon …

'El Toro who has the malelet'
«Manolo Manolete, Andalou, Marin Breton/Manolo Manolete, Torero in usual Rouge et or/Manolo, you promote aux remparts tes remords/aux arènes, you enters, tu enioînes ton d'amour et de mort, then sang Vanessa Paradis. The fifth Miura comes out of the curros. Its name is Islero and weighs 250 pounds. It is mistreated by the PIERS and Ramón Bandarillas. Displays a defeated air but his eyes boil, the black iris through the red risks of the corneas, Manolete makes a trial passes and imposing derechazos. Then he was profiled for a few distance from his beast, wrapped the crutch and was dragging his left foot as he walked toward him. Death, Sibilina, had been filled. The bull holds him from the third of his right leg, raises him a span above the sand, throws his enemy upside down. Manolete takes his hand to the wound. It is pale as the ghost that will not be. Assistants carry it to the ward stepping on blood and bloodstairs.

The ward of the square is the scene of the drama. Alvaro Domecq rushes to offer when they announce that transfusion is fundamental. Bleeding is so abundant that it generates confusion among doctors. DR. Luiz Jimenez Guinea, the most famous surgeon of the bullfighters. It is an armed police handle that turns out to be compatible. Manolete opens his blurred eyes and asks:

• My mother?
  Neither sun nor shadow. Full darkness.
  After the first intervention goes to the Provincial Hospital. The hours took place. The dr. Luiz Guinea was slow to arrive. But it was not his fault.
  Dona Maria das Angustias, Manuel's mother, was in San Sebastian with her daughter Tereza and two granddaughters. Received dubious phone calls. Everyone was afraid of giving him the news. Suspicious, he got into a car and headed for Linares.
  Manolete fights for life. It is thirsty. Asks for mineral water. They bring him unhappy and he plays with a faded voice:
• Poison?
  Prefers a Monde. Even at last times the marks lock their wars.
  It's three past three in the morning of the 29th. It's still lucid enough to question:
• Did the bull died of the thrust?
  Confirmed. A weak smile. The last.
  The dr. Taman and DR. Guinea trace the definitive diagnosis: The bull rod had entered the lower angle of the scarp triangle, or femoral trigon, in the supero-anterior zone of the human thigh. The tear is two inches from top to bottom and from the inside out. Destroyed muscle fibers, ruptures the vein vein, surrounding the femoral artery in a length of five centimeters. There was another tear of about fifteen centimeters. One more transfusion. The fifth, as the fifth was Islero. Nothing could save handle.
• I don't feel my right leg!
• I don't feel his left leg, he blew into a murmur.
• Don Luis, non Veo… It's five o'clock in the morning in point. From there it was just silence…