"Mack Reynolds - Tomorrow Might Be Different" - читать интересную книгу автора (Reynolds Mack)

two or three Manoletinas.

A few spectators who appreciated what was going on dissolved into loud oles and after a perfect kill,
going in over the horns, Manola was awarded two ears and a tail. He paraded the ring, holding them up
for the crowd's approval. The Spanish cheered and so did the few foreigners present who had a working
knowledge of the fiesta brava. Monola's peones followed after him, tossing back the hats, the women's
fans, the leather wine bottles, that were showered down in way of Spanish applause. The Russkies
cheered too, waved their bottles at Manola as he went by, and snapped desperately with their 3-D
cameras.

Catherina frowned at Mike who had been beating his hands together and making with the oles as
fervently as any. She said, "How can you applaud such primitive bull-baiting?"

Mike knocked it off and said mildly, "Well, it was possibly the best bull fight I've seen in three years.
Manola Segura is of the old school. You don't see them much any more. The newcomers don't take the
risks. Their pay is sky high and they want to live to spend it."

"Uncultured," Catherina said disapprovingly.

The bugle sounded and Carlos Arruza's first bull came exploding from the toril doors.

"A calf!" Nick Galushko muttered from behind them.

Mike said over his shoulder, "That's a three-year-oldbor taurus ibericus , Mr. Galushko. Specially
bred for fighting for a thousand years and more. The Spanish consider them the most dangerous animal in
the world."

"Ha! You should see our range cattle in the Kazakh People's Republic. Then you would see bulls."

"Well," Mike said agreeably, "I'm sure you have some king-size bulls in Siberia all right."

The peones were running Arruza's animal for him, making the burladero shelters in the nick of time.

Mike shot to his feet suddenly. "Holy smokes," he snapped. "What's he doing?"

The oversized Russkie who had sat next to Catherina on the bus, was climbing over the barrera, down
into the ring, a bottle of champagne in one hand, a wide, idiotic grin on his face, his shaved head bearing
a sheen of sweat in the Spanish sun.

One of the Spaniards seated to Mike's right gasped, "Anespontdneo ."

The Russian Cossack reeled across the ring in the direction of the bull who seemed somewhat taken
aback by this new invasion.

Mike shot an agonized look in the direction of the barrera where the matadors and their assistants were
sheltered. No aid seemed to be forthcoming from that direction. "Can't somebody do something!" he
yelled. It was all he needed, to have one of his charges gored to death while on vacation in Torremolinos.

Nick Galushko was laughing hugely. "Sit down, sit down. Have another drink. Vovo's all right. He's a
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