all things spanish, part one

from what i understand hemingway has covered this topic pretty thoroughly, but what the hell.

there are two main distinctions when buying tickets for a bullfight: whether you prefer the cheap seats in the sun, or the better, pricer shade tickets. the third distinction, i guess, is ringside, but that is so far out of my budget it doesn´t exist to me. of course i planned to purchase the "mas barato" possible, but when i finally got to the ticket stand the best i could do was 20 euro. at 8 o´clock i climbed to a top tier of the area and squeezed into a spot that was relatively close to my assigned number (painted in what had become the makeshift stairway). from here i could see the sun shining into the eyes of those i now considered suckers. actually, it was worth the extra 13 euro. the seat was well-located on the side of the ring where most of the action took place, and not so high that i could not check out the traditional tight pants of the bullfighters.

the night went more or less like this: a maddened, gigantic bull comes trotting into the arena. three assistant toreros, let´s call them, then take turns jumping out into the arena and baiting it with bright pink capes. every so often, one of these guys lures the bull into circling him a number of times. when this happens, the crowd yells "¡ole!" more often the bull will just chase the asst. matadore, who must posess a reasonable sense of timing to excel (or survive) in the job. the ring is equipped with narrow gates through which the assistants slide, ducking behind a thick wood panel the bull jams his horns into from the other side.


now the real torero rides into the ring on a horse (a short trumpet fanfare ensures that everyone will notice.) the bull takes notice fairly quickly, and as soon as he is through chasing a pink flag, takes the opportunity to go over and ram the side of the horse, which is covered with full armor. from his vantage point, the matador takes his first blow, getting the bull at the top of the neck until he yields. a few minutes later, the real torero leaves the arena (fanfare), and the assitants take center stage again, this time for spear throwing. each will take a turn running straight toward the bull, release two sharp sticks at just the right moment, and then get the hell out of there. one might miss, but usually these spears hit the same mark on the back of the neck. these sets of matching sticks dangle over the bull´s back for the remainder of the fight. there is already a lot of blood at this point.

cue the re-entry of the torero, sans horse, with flashy outfit. he will spend five minutes or so convincing the bull to circle him, waving his red cape, feet set apart, back arched, bending through precise, fluid motions. after each encounter he turns his back on the bull, dragging the cape on the ground and looking toward the audience (especially the expensive seats) for approval. we approve. it´s not hard to see some beauty in the movements, or appreciate the closeness of the bull´s horns to the body of a man protected only by what appears to be lycra... when the crowd is satisfied- or the bull seems to be wearing out from his injuries, i´m not sure which- the matador takes a thin, sharp sword from an assistant on the edge of the ring. he charges the bull at close range, springing over the horns to plant the sword deep between the bull´s shoulder blades. incensed and hurt the bull charges at anything moving, but within a minute or two, he is at the side of the ring, folding his legs under him and giving up. this is the bit that i found unsettling. because he isn´t just left to die. he´s poked and prodded by Red Cape and his Pink Cape posse even as blood is dripping from his mouth and gushing from his back. it smears on the wood paneling. when it´s determined to be over, the torero takes a short dagger and gives the bull one last stab. now he dies quickly, falls to his side. the fighters collect the dagger, sticks and sword from the animal´s back as a team of three horses is led into the ring. the bull is attached by the horns, and the horses are whipped to a run, dragging the dead bull in a semi-circle around the ring and out through a gate. a set of men dressed like Maytag repairmen are spread around the ring now, sweeping, and one chases after the bull, pretending to sweep away its trail. the Maytag men have made only limited progress when fanfare signals the arrival of the next bull. rewind and press play.



the only notable difference in the artful slaughter of six bulls is the bravado of the fighter. one is especially flashy. he is the only one to take a walk around the perimeter of the ring after his fight to collect flowers, toss back hats that float down from the bleachers. like all the toreros, he wears bright pink stockings to his knee. (in spite of this he is clearly popular with the ladies.) ...the tradition of the fight is striking, from the outfits to the audience participation- most were prepared with white kerchiefs to wave when the dead bull is pulled away. ...i can see why animal rights activists would cringe at the idea of these "fights," but it doesn´t seem like change is likely. except for the clicking of cameras, i could have been watching a fight from 100 years ago.