He was not at all embarrassed. He talked of his work as something altogether apart from himself. There was nothing conceited or braggartly about him.
“I like it very much that you like my work,” he said. “But you haven’t seen it yet. Tomorrow, if I get a good bull, I will try and show it to you.”
When he said this he smiled, anxious that neither the bullfight critic nor I would think he was boasting.
“I am anxious to see it,” the critic said. “I would like to be convinced.”
“He doesn’t like my work much.” Romero turned to me. He was serious.
The critic explained that he liked it very much, but that so far it had been incomplete.
“Wait till tomorrow, if a good one comes out.”
“Have you seen the bulls for tomorrow?” the critic asked me.
“Yes. I saw them unloaded.”
Pedro Romero leaned forward.
“What did you think of them?”
“Very nice,” I said. “About twenty-six arrobas . Very short horns. Haven’t you seen them?”
“Oh, yes,” said Romero.
“They won’t weigh twenty-six arrobas ,” said the critic.
“No,” said Romero.
“They’ve got bananas for horns,” the critic said.