Blood in the Sand (pt.2)

After a few minutes another cheer goes up.  It is the main man, Pablo.  He is out and making rounds on his horse.  He makes the horse trot sideways as he rounds the ring and waves at the crowd.  The people love him.  The old lady in front of me has her camera out and his snapping a load of pictures.  After he does the rounds and a few tricks, he goes to the opposite side of the ring and sits, poised attentively staring at the entrance from where the bull will come charging.  The crowd cheers and another bull is in the ring.  Like the previous, he makes his rounds, charging various toreros.  As he rounds my way, he charges a few of the fighters behind the wall.  He stops and stares the fighters down.  He lowers his head and starts ramming the wall.  The crowd goes nuts.  Perhaps its revenge, it is payback time for what those lousy fighters had just done.

Trapped

Pablo in action

It is interesting to watch this fighter on horseback; after all, he is the world’s best Rejoneador.  He does almost all of the fight himself, from the lance, to the banderillas, to the final stab; all done from atop of his horse.  He’s suave. The horse is trained to perfection. Often times throughout the fight Pablo rides with no hands, steering the horse with his legs or by yelling commands.  It is something to see, and whenever he has a chance Pablo likes to show off, and do some stunts purely for the ‘wow’ factor.  Pablo charges the bull and the bull charges back.  They go at each other head on and at the last moment the horse is pulled aside and the brush past one another.  The crowd loves this   and Pablo raises his hand to massive cheers.  It’s not always fun and games, as sometimes the bull forces Pablo to make a quick decision, causing his horse to jump and gallop sideways and after breaking away from the confrontation, run to the opposite side of the ring.  This gives both the fighter and bull a chance to rethink the situation.  Pablo and the bull charge one another a bit before one of his assistant hand him a long lance.  He raises it overhead to massive cheering, like some great warrior.  He parades the horse around the ring, waiting for the right moment.  The bull is watching intently as he circles.  Almost in unison, they both go full speed at one another and Pablo raises the long spear above as he rushes toward the bull, as he thrusts it down you can hear the sound of steel into meat.  The crowd cheers.  His lance has a white banner at the tip, and he trails it along so the bull chases it.  He is using this instead of a cape. The dance between man, horse and bull goes round and round and Pablo does all he can to tire the bull. The bull makes his move and sends Pablo and his horse leaping sideways again.  His hat flies off and the crowd screams with delight.  Pablo leans out almost perfectly vertical and pats the bull on his head, a gentle but obvious taunt. His brazen stunt ignites the crowd. Everyone is in a rabid chatter about what they have just witnessed.  Now I understand the fascination of watching a very intense and intimate fight.  Both Pablo and the bull are adrenalized, and it is time for one them to spill his life out onto the dirt for all to see.  Pablo takes his turns with his banderillas and then the final plunge.  He wins, the bull falls and the crowd is ecstatic.

The first fight was traumatic.  Pablo’s was real showmanship and some genuinely tense moments.  He definitely raised everyone’s spirits and the energy level.  It will be hard to top a guy on a gallant horse.  The clean-up crew is in the ring hauling out the dead bull, spreading out the dirt and then the sign guy shows up. I am scanning the floor wildly because my camera just broke. I forget about the fights for a moment and get absorbed in finding the part that has fallen off my camera.  How can this happen?  It's a Nikon!  He holds his sign up so the crowd can see what’s next. He disappears below me and a few seconds later the cheers ignite again as a new bull is running rampant in the ring.

Almost immediately the bull’s horns grab one of the torero’s capes and he leaps over the wall.  The bull drags the cape into the center of the ring and repeated shoves his horns into the cape and into the dirt. ‘Toro, Toro, Toro” the crowd is chanting.  Some are already on their feet!  For the third fight things are already off to a wild start.  The bull charges each fighter, sending them up and over the wall followed by huge cheers from the crowd.  This particular bull does the one thing that sends everyone over the edge. With all the toreros hiding behind the wall and a lone cape in the ring, the bull sets his sights and starts kicking up dust with his hoofs.  It’s like all the stories you’ve heard. It is thrilling to see this.  At least for this very moment, the bull is in full control and no one is willing to tempt him.  The crowd keeps chanting ‘Toro, Toro” and applause breaks out around the whole ring.  When the matador finally makes his way into the center of the ring, both the bull and the audience are keenly focused on any movement across the sand.

 

This matador is on his feet, no horse to gallop away on.  This is the type of matador you want to see, a true professional.  Though not as graceful as the ronjeador, he still commands the utmost respect.  The interplay between he and the bull is obviously more intimate and truly at ground level.  There are some hair raising moments as he is charged and has to dodge the horns, swirling his cape and becoming engulfed in a cloud of dust.  Things move slightly off center to the left of the ring.  Man and bull are now truly face to face.  The two are trying one another’s skill and patience.  As they are swirling in their dueling dance, each close call and scrape gets a loud “Ole!”  They come one after another, in a constant scream form the crowd.  It’s hard to tell who is getting the cheers, the matador or the bull.  Both are doing their best and both are splendid.  The bull trips up and his front legs give.  He falls to his knees.  The matador walks away and gives the bull time to regain his footing.  Staring at one another, the matador closes in and slowly goes to one knee.  They are both panting and looking one another in the eye.  The matador stands and turns his back and walks away.  Everyone goes to their feet and cheers.  When he regains his strength, the bull charges across the ring at the matador and everyone cheers again.

Taking aim for the last stab...

...the final blow and the bull falls

The 'finisher'

I am struck at the dazzling array of color and blood. It is thrilling when the bulls stand majestically and catch their breath; the glistening crimson flow across their muscles, topped with the brightly colored banderillas is quite a sight.  In those intimate moments when the bull and fighter are side by side, and brush by one another, the fighters’ bright capes take on a totally different look when they are flowing through the air now streaked with blood.  It is magnificence with a cost.

This matador did a good job and the crowd is letting him know by the loudness of their cheers. It’s non-stop.  He is worn and sweaty, and walks a victory round around the ring with a few of his toreros.  Someone throws a hat into the ring and the matador halts his step and catches it. They audience goes wild and he rears back, takes aim and sends the hat flying back into the stands.  As he rounds the arena, people are throwing souvenirs, hats, scarves and anything they can get their hands on into the ring.  He stops, waves and throws them back to make them even more frantic.

The matador with an audience member's hat.

I turn back to check on Tonya.  She is distraught and has not been able to cast her gaze into the ring.  She has been trying to sneak peaks through the screen on my camera.  I ask if she is OK, and she says that she is not doing well, but she is sticking it out.  I turn to the annoying boyfriend and look at his girlfriend, “How are you?  You OK?”  She shakes her sweaty head and gives two thumbs up.  I look back to Tonya and pat her on her back.

“Oooh, he’s a big one” I hear a voice say followed by a cheer.  ‘Buena Suerta’ is 490 kilos and is charging into the ring with wild abandon.  He chases all of the toreros out and he too, locks in on a few and starts banging the wall they are hiding behind.  He backs off, and then darts across to try jabbing some other fighters.  This bull is big and mean and not putting up with anyone’s nonsense.  You can sense it from the way he moves and his stature that he is a real badass.  Every torero that tries to make his way into the ring is immediately sent running back.  The crowd loves it but the fighters don’t.  No one can get near him.  The bull is holding his ground without any problems.  Tension is high.  No one can really get close enough to do anything, so they call out the Picador.  The crowd moans its disapproval that man and bull have yet to face off.  The picador comes out with his spear raised.  Not only does the crowd disapprove, but the bull does too.  As the picador is taking aim the bull charges, the picador misses and the bull hits the horse broadside.  The picador is thrown off the horse and all the women gasp.  The crowd screams with fear.  All of the toreros have been kept at bay and no one can get to help the downed picador.  The bull chases him off, then locks in on the horse that is wallowing in the dirt, trying to get back on its feet.  The bull charges full on and starts goring the horse.  It is relentless and jabs and jabs and jabs.  It retreats then head down and in for another stab.  The horse is kicking wildly but the bull has found its weak spot, beneath its padded protection.  All of the toreros have jumped into the ring and are trying frantically to get the bull’s attention.  He doesn’t stop, he keeps stabbing.  The sand is getting muddied with blood from the horse.  Women are screaming and the crowd is on its feet.  A torero grabs the bull’s tail and tries to pull him, but to no avail.  The bull turns and chases him, and back into the horse.  “It’s horrible!  This is horrible!” the women are screaming in front of me. “Get him off! Help the horse!  Get the horse!” people are screaming.  “Help him!”

The picador gets charged...

He is knocked off the and bull goes for the horse

The bull is goring the horse repeatedly. Note torero pulling his tail

...still attacking the horse

The picador remounts his wounded horse.

With all of the fighters in the ring, the bull is finally distracted form the horse.  There is no movement from the horse and many of the women are screaming. Everyone imagines that it is too late and the horse is dead.  Several men jump the wall and get into the ring to help the horse.  There is chaos all around and everyone is stunned from what they’ve just witnessed “This is not normal, this never happens” someone says.  “This is crazy” I hear the annoying boyfriend say out loud.  The crowd starts a different kind of sound as the picador appears.  He comes over the wall and all I hear is “Noooooo!”  I don’t understand what is going on, I can’t see what is happening.  I look to the bull and the fighters, but nothing.  It is a total stand-off.  I look back to the horse and they have gotten the horse to stand, the picador approaches his horse and the crowd gets louder and more defiant, “NOOOOOOO!”  The picador mounts his horse and raises his spear.  The woman in front of mean screams, “Oh my God!  The poor horse is bleeding to death; his legs are covered in blood!  Don’t do it!”  The picador is determined to take revenge on the bull.  His horse is unsteady.  Beneath its armor you can see blood running down its hind legs.  There is blood all in the sand where it was laying getting the bull’s horns repeated stab into its underbelly and hind quarters.  The horse cannot walk a straight line and is stumbling.  ‘He’s going to die!  He’s going to die!  The horse is dying!” someone is screaming.  The crowd is completely confused and is screaming at the picador “Booooo!”  The picador is visibly shaken and upset, and leads his weakened horse out of the ring.  It is too much for some.  Several people are so upset they are leaving.  The woman in front of me is pushing her friend away who is trying to calm her down, “I’m leaving.  I cannot stand this. Its horrible!” she is yelling at her friend almost in tears.  There is disruption all through the crowd and I have lost focus of what is going on in the ring.  People are stepping over people to leave.  I feel a tap on my shoulder and Tonya looks sick.  She is shaking her head and saying out loud “I’m leaving-I can’t see this” I tell her to wait a moment and gather my cameras.  The annoying boyfriend grabs my arm, “She is not doing well. You going to go with her?”  I shake my head to affirm his guess.  The woman in front of me grabs me and asks, “Is she OK?  This is horrible, just horrible.  Its not supposed to be like this, two horses in one night” I lean over and tell her we are going.  As I step down from the seats there are many more that have been shaken by the scene and are leaving or at least turning their backs and trying to get away from the chaos.

Leaving the ring, a view behind the scenes

We walk down the ramp the way we came in and there is a lot of commotion outside.  We walk passed the loading gates and there are the big horses that drag the bulls out.  There is blood everywhere and a guy is trying to hose it all down.  There is something going on further ahead of the horses but I can’t see what it is, but it has people hurrying about behind the scenes.  Tonya won’t stop; she’s several steps ahead of me shaking her head. I am limping, almost hopping to catch up with her.  She cannot get out of the area fast enough.  When I get by her side she looks at me with glassy eyes and fear, shaking her head “I shouldn’t have gone…” she said, “I shouldn’t have gone”

Me?  I still can’t make up my mind.  Death is not a fun thing to watch.

Blood in the Sand (pt.1)

This is my first bullfight.  I am thrilled. The odd thing which seems to be an underlying theme through the whole affair is that it falls on Good Friday.  The question on everyone’s lips is, “Can you kill a bull on Good Friday?”  I don’t know I am not Catholic.  As far as I can tell though, there is no biblical law against bullfighting on Good Friday.  For me, this is a big day.

The fight is not until 8pm, and we are to meet some new ‘friends’ at a small cantina which is famous for seafood.  I hate seafood.  I agree to go under the condition that I eat a big late lunch and just sit there and smile when we meet our new friends.  There are more important things at hand though, like making sure I get film, charge my cameras and unpack some boxes in the house.

House chores first, and my first duty is to undo a table lop from the legs.  I ask Tonya to lend a hand and we flip the table and start to dismantle it.  The seasoned handyman that I am, I had forgotten to think about my feet below the table top.  As I am reaching over the table standing upright on its side, I undo the screws holding the top.  As the last screw is coming loose I hear a loud bang and an incredible pain across both feet, straight across all my toes.  It takes a second or two to realize just what this pain is; the table top has fallen right on top of my toes.  I look at Tonya, drop my screwdriver, wedge my feet from beneath the table top and plop down to the ground.  Not saying a word, I pull my shoes and socks off expecting blood and guts.  “Are you OK?” Tonya says from behind the table.  I am wiggling my toes to make sure all is ok, and she asks ‘What happened?  Did that just fall on your toes?”  My silence and her seeing me on the floor answered her question.  “Let me see your feet.  Are they bleeding?  Are your toes OK?” she asks as I raise my foot to show her.  My big toe looks like a plum with blood beneath the nail. It’s gross, but not as gross as I expected. What the hell-I have a bullfight to go to.  It’s Pablo Hermoso de Mendoza, the greatest Rejoneador (bullfighter on horseback), and now I have throbbing, bruised and battered toes.  Is this God’s way of saying ‘No bullfights on Good Friday!’?

I limp away to the den and prop my throbbing feet up.  Tonya comes in with some ice and says that is it for my house duties today.  I put my busted toes up and stare at them and hope they don’t let me down this evening.

Our appointed time rolls around to go meet our new friends at the seafood joint. I have gotten my cameras together and grabbed my camera bag and we start our evening.  Out the front door I ask if we should walk or take a cab.  “Look!  There is a cab coming up the street” Tonya says as she points down the street.  As he gets closer we see that he has a passenger.  He rolls passed and we look at one another, “I guess we’re walking then” I say as I hobble alongside Tonya.  Our journey is across the town center and all uphill.  With a bruised and throbbing bulbous big toe, it is no fun. I feel like peg leg or something slowly making my way up the cobblestoned streets. 

We see our friends in the corner and they wave at us as we walk in.  The hellos are exchanged and we sit down.  They are already eating, and Tonya orders up some food.  We order a round of drinks and start the drivel of what everyone did today. “I dropped a table top on my feet!” I said. 

We met our new pals a few nights ago and we both agree that the boyfriend is kind of a jerk.  He’s come here to be a screen writer and he has a small blue stoned stud in his left ear.  When he talks, he kind of talks out of the side of his mouth and it is usually rubbish; like some sort of philosophy or New Age crap. He informs us that he’s giving a three part talk of the three major stages of Yoga.  Good thing he can’t read my mind, because I would have just told him he’s full of sh*t. He likes to inform everyone that he’s a practicing Hindu. Whatever.  The girlfriend is sweet.  If it were not for her, we wouldn’t be sitting with this guy now.  I have no idea why, but as Tonya is eating her food she asks if I want some. It’s pointless because she knows I hate seafood.  The talk bounces back and forth as plates come and go and we wind down the clock until fight time.  As it nears 8pm, the boyfriend and I are arguing over slavery in American history versus Mexican history. He’s one of these lefty-types who think America is the blight on the world and I disagree.  I call him out on some of his misinformation about the great Mexican culture and notice that his girlfriend is hanging her head and Tonya keeps wiping her face with a napkin.  She’s sweating and very uncomfortable.  I do not want this to blow up, so I agree with some nonsense he’s spouting off and find a way to change the subject.  After all, it is 8pm and I do not want to be late to my first bullfight.  We pay up, get up and get out.  As we stand in the street his girlfriend is taking some snaps of the surroundings and I make some small talk to ease things over.  Thankfully, the bullring is not far away and it is downhill.

We bought ‘cheap seats’, or as the girl at the ticket place politely informed Tonya, we bought tickets that are for “the lower class”.  Our friend told us that the ring is so small that any seat is a good seat.  As we walk into the ‘lower class’ section and up the ramp I see the whole ring. It is small. It looks great and I am excited.  We make our way up to our seats, which is really just a series of concrete rings.  The high priced seats are the same, just closer and bent rebar is the only thing which separates each seat.  I get my cameras together as a lady sits down in front of us with her friends and I over hear them talking. This is the second oldest bullring in the whole of Mexico. Nice to know.  I am seeing the ultimate horseback bullfighter in the second oldest bullring in the country.   Still, I wish I could have seen a fight in the biggest ring in the country in Mexico City. 

The house band.

I turn behind me to talk to the annoying boyfriend.  I ask him questions about the fights and some trivial bits.  He says the matadors have 15 minutes to kill a bull, and each one takes on two bulls. I don’t say it, but that seems like a lot of bulls in an hour an a half. “There will be six bulls killed tonight” he says proudly.  Nothing has even happened and Tonya is already nervous.  She has been to a bullfight before but when she was a kid.  She doesn’t know if she can stomach it.  The people around her reassure her that everything will be fine and to just concentrate on the horseback rider. “He’s marvelous!” the lady says in front of us.  She turns and says she has seen him several times, “And he’s so handsome. He’s gorgeous” Everyone in town has said this guy is something to see; even people back in Mexico City speak of the fame of this fighter.  I feel privileged, even if I am sitting on concrete with a throbbing toe and a nutty Hindu from the Midwest.  A band starts playing across the ring and everyone starts cheering.  I suppose it is almost show time.   I have no idea what is about to unfold in front of me but I have been looking forward to this night since I fist arrived in Mexico.

The Matadors (or Toreros) parade out as does the bullfight queen. I suppose she is the bullfight queen because she is adorned in a special costume and the only woman in the ring.  They come out and the crowd roars.  They‘re waving and slowly make their way around the whole ring so the crowd can get a good look.  These are the toreros, the guys who will face the bulls tonight. The ‘matador’ is the master fighter, or the main one who will kill the bull.  After they parade around, the queen goes away and the chosen toreros take their places around the ring.

The Bullfight Queen and Toreros

Sign guy

A guy walks out in the middle of the ring with a sign.  He looks kind of sloppy…at least in the sense that he wears no special costume or anything that separates him from anyone of the crowd.  He holds the sign up.  It shows the bull’s name, his number and his weight.  The first bull is named ‘Pasion’, and he weighs a hefty 480 kilos.  Our seats are above and a bit off centered of the main entrance into the ring, so we can’t see the bulls coming.  A cheer goes up and then a bull is seen running into the ring.  He runs around the ring, charging at the scattered matadors who are spread out around the ring.  If he chooses a certain man and charges him, the crowd cheers with delight.

I am immediately struck with a sort of uneasiness watching this newly released bull.  He runs around the ring confused. He is disoriented. He runs aimlessly then stops and takes in all that is around him.  In a strange way, I feel sad for this confused creature.  There are bright costumed figures all around him, many more watching from above, and he has no clue what is about to happen.  Everyone is yelling and he doesn’t know what to do.  A random fighter steps out and waves his cape to get the bull’s attention. He just stands and stares.  Sometimes this works, other times it doesn’t.  It doesn’t take too long before the seasoned participants realize this bull is going to be a bit ‘difficult’.  He won’t charge. He won’t run.  This is my first fight, so I can’t tell if he is scared, stubborn or really sly.  Different fighters step out and wave their capes.  He looks at them but doesn’t budge.  A fighter gets brave and walks closer to the bull.  He reacts and it draws a cheer.  The bull runs a short while then stops.  I watch his head and I can see him scanning the ring, looking at almost every spot where a fighter is standing.  “This is not good” says the annoying boyfriend from behind me. “He won’t charge. He won’t fight.  This is not going to be good” His sentiments are starting to be echoed by those surrounding us.  Even the lady in front of me says that they should get a different bull, because this one will not fight.  The men in the ring get more assertive and try to get closer to the bull to draw him out and get him going.  It is their job to start wearing him out so that the featured Matador can do his job, but they are making a sloppy show of it.  The beer has emboldened the crowd and they start taunting the men in the ring, yelling insults.

Placing the banderillas

The Picador comes in to the displeasure of the crowd

After a few minutes a Picador comes out into the ring.  He rides a horse that is covered in protective padding and will take his ‘pica’ or spear, and stab it into the back of the bull’s neck to start the weakening process.  This picador seems anxious, as he is out and at the bull in no time.  The crowd hisses with disapproval.  The picador doesn’t mind.  He stabs the bull and the crowd boos.  He goes again and stabs the bull in his side, which elicits a huge disapproval form the crowd.  The bull is wounded and disoriented.  He’s obviously angry and makes for the picador.  In the blink of an eye, the bull is at the horse and trying to gore it.  The rider has fallen off and the crowd is screaming.  The horse falls and the bull is at it with its horns in full force.  The women in front of me are frightened, and are saying that they have rarely seen this.  Toreros run into the ring and rescue the horse by distracting the bull.  It is unsettling for all.  This bull is not making it easy for the fighters, and the crowd is upset because he has been unfairly wounded.  He wonders the ring in a daze, and pools of blood stand where he stops to gaze around the ring. A torero comes to confront him and the bull charges, taking the cape from the fighter.  The crowd cheers, “Toro, Toro, Toro”.  I too, feel a bit excited that the animal is getting back at the fighters.  He makes his way around the ring and a group of three toreros converge on him.  He’s very confused, tries to charge and stumbles and falls into the dirt.  The crowd lets out a gasp, they are obvious upset that the bull is having such a hard time and many patrons are yelling that this is an unfair fight.  People around me are saying this is not right, and they should kill him quickly and not make him suffer.  The crowd almost goes silent, with a subtle muttering floating above head. This is not enjoyable and it is not the way a fight should start.  The bull stumbles around and without much of a fight; he is taken down with a stab.  It was quiet enough to actually hear the sound of the sword punching in behind the bulls shoulder.  There is no cheer, but just a layer of mumbling of disapprovals.  The matador raises his hands in victory and the crowd boos.

I am confused.  I thought these events were full of pageantry, majesty and showmanship.  This is off to a rough start, like it is hackneyed amateurs and a cruel game.  The bull falls and the toreros surround him.  Another torero in blue comes out with a knife of some sort, he walks to the bull that is lying in the dirt, and he takes one last stab into the bulls back (into the heart).  He walks away with no glory.  This has been a messy affair.  The crowd is disgusted with the first torero and it all ends in shambles.  As the slain bull lays on the side of the ring with blood pooling around it, the concession men suddenly appear and yelling begins for ‘beer, wine, tequila, snacks’ and others are waving cushions, calendars and other souvenirs.

Dead bull aside, it's time for snacks!

The whole thing was messy and disappointing. I feel very uneasy and somewhat sick.  There is no respect for this bloodied bull in the dirt. He’s gone, done away with, and now its time for beer.  I can’t believe that after this very disheartening affair that the huge animal just lies dying on the side of the ring and everyone is back to business.  Tonya has gotten up and turned her back to the whole affair.  She would remain this way for the remainder of the event.  The women in front of me shake their heads and the annoying boyfriend says this was “not good”.  Some men run out into the ring and prep to bull to be hauled off.  Two more men in big sombreros come out with two giant black horses.  They go to the bull and tie him to a small triangular wedge of wood, and before I realize it, they drag the sweaty, muscle-bound corpse disgracefully out of the ring.

Removing the bull

What next?  What am I suppose to feel?  Where was the majesty, the elegance the pageantry?  I turn to the boyfriend and say, “That was crap!  I have never been to one of these before, but those guys were hackneyed amateurs.  What was that?”

I stare at my feet and my cameras.  There is dust all over my camera bag now.  I have no idea what to think, all I know is that there is an empty feeling in my gut. I feel sick…but from deep, deep inside. I feel dirty, like I have just seen something you are not supposed to see.  I feel like this whole night is tarnished already.  I turn back to Tonya and see if she is OK.  She shrugs her shoulders.


(...continued )