It would have, he said, “The Prado looking like some big American college building with sprinklers watering the grass in the bright Madrid summer morning...
“It would have had the change when you leave the green country behind at Alsasua; it would have had Burgos far across the plain and eating the cheese later up in the room; it would have had the boy taking the wicker-bound jugs of wine on the train as samples; his first trip to Madrid and opening them in enthusiasm and they all got drunk, including the pair of Guardia Civil; it should make clear the change in the country as you come down out of the mountains and into Valencia in the dusk on the train... It should have the smell of burnt powder and the smoke and the flash and the noise of the traca going off through the green leaves of the trees... and the mounted head of the bull Gitanillo had killed.”
That was Hemingway after watching a few bullfights. Heaven knows his exhilaration had he seen the English matador James Anderson deliver the moment of truth to Brad Haddin in the old Plaza de Toros otherwise known as Trent Bridge. That would surely have been grounds for a number of wicker-bound jugs of the good wine.
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