Trump the Lion, or Trump the Lyin’?

No one has ever said that Donald Trump doesn’t know a good story when he hears one.

Trump is a master of narrative. Not always true narrative, and not always rational narrative. But the man knows dramatic narrative.

The former president lived through one of the most harrowing episodes in American history, and, thank God, survived it. And for his nomination acceptance speech at the Republican National Convention on Thursday night, he recounted it — to maximum primal and dark effect — before a spellbound audience in a subdued tone with a messianic vibe, as Melania, in a bright red suit, and other family members looked on from a V.I.P. box. (Barron, who was very upset by what happened to his father, according to Trump aides, was nowhere to be seen.)

“I’m not supposed to be here tonight,” Trump told the crowd at Fiserv Forum, after walking out on a stage with a campy giant “TRUMP” in blazing white lights and a display of the White House portico.

“Yes, you are!” the MAGA crowd roared back at him.

“Thank you, but I’m not,” he said. “I stand before you in this arena only by the grace of Almighty God.”

He then unfurled the story of “that terrible evening,” a story he said was “too painful to tell” more than once, that began as he was looking at an immigration chart at a sunset rally in Butler, Pa.

“In order to see the chart,” he said, “I started to turn to the right, and was ready to begin a further turn, which I’m lucky I didn’t, when I heard a loud whizzing sound and felt something hit me, really hard, on my right ear. I said to myself, ‘Wow, what was that? It can only be a bullet,’ and moved my right hand to my ear, brought it down. My hand was covered with blood, just absolutely blood all over the place.”