Europe > Spain > Madrid > Madrid > Articles > The Spanish Bull Fights

When we arrived in Barcelona, a city determinedly progressive and liberal, my wife and I had no thought of obtaining useful information about corridas or novilladas (bullfights). We expected perhaps some sneers and disdainful looks in response to our questions on the subject. Only minutes after beginning our afternoon walk down La Ramblas, however, we spotted a bloody, violent, and obscene poster tacked to a lamppost.

The picture was of a young man kneeling on all fours, dressed only in what appeared to be his underwear, banderillas sticking from his back as he vomited blood. The poster advertised an anti-corrida protest to be held within the hour. We had inadvertently walked into the very spirit of the city. Clearly, Barcelona was opinionated, and didn’t mind sharing that opinion from the bell of a mega-phone.

The protest’s rally point was at the south end of La Ramblas very near to where Christopher Columbus stands pointing, paradoxically, east. The crowd was comprised at first of the sort many would expect at such an event; sandaled young men with ponytails and t-shirts, young women nervous in appearance and feverish with cause. Many of the group wore shirts proclaiming their preference for vegetarianism. It was not long, however, before what appeared to be the protest’s organizers arrived and began to unload their paraphernalia.

We were amazed at the sheer amount of literature, pamphlets, posters, stickers, flags, and banners. The pamphlets were clear enough: corrida (torture), tradiciones…¿Para Quien?, Toros Si-¡Toreros No! The organization P.A.C.M.A. (Partido Antitaurino Contra Maltrato Animal or the Anti-Bullfight Organization Against Animal Mistreatment) appeared to have the majority of the protestors’ attentions and, indeed, was handing out the most literature. But when we asked whether they were the organizers we were told “No,” a response that became very common during the afternoon no matter of whom it was asked. Probably the most startling standard was unfurled while we asked questions of the group.

An oversized banner depicted a bull exhausted and bloody from banderillas with the word ¡Mírame! Look at me! fanned across the top. This very same image is used all over Spain on billboards near plazas where the corridas are held.

After looking for someone who seemed in charge, we located a smiling young woman handing out pamphlets who was eager to speak with us. Her name was Isabel González and she stated that she has been associated with P.A.C.M.A. for a little over three years, and in that time, had been involved in several contra-tauromachia campaigns. In addition, she explained that she and others had staged protests in other towns throughout northern Spain, but were received not warmly by the residents. In fact she claimed they had been treated, “like we were the bulls.” González energetically explained that bull fighting, “es verguenza nacional”, is a national disgrace, coincidently the rote tag line on most of P.A.C.M.A.’s leaflets as well as numerous books and articles on the horrors of the dictators Franco and Pinochet. (This was a comparison I ran across frequently, i.e. the duplicitous association of corridas with the atrocities of notorious Latino dictators.) Ms. González continued to explain that she is, “unhappy that my national culture and heritage are defined by the corrida.” Further, she stated that, “¡es increíble!”, that the fights are allowed to continue in a city where the majority of the populace reject the idea and do not attend the ferias (celebrations) when they are staged. She pointed to the poll numbers from P.A.C.M.A.’s handouts as support for her conclusions. Indeed, almost all the philosophy espoused that afternoon seemed to have been gleaned from the same source.

The two main points that concerned the protesters most were the notions that both the Catholic Church and the Spanish government not only condone the corridas but are also complicit in their production and patronage. In fact, the EU does support the raising of the Toros de Lidia in the same way they direct funds to any farming or ranching enterprise. The prevailing thought among the protesters was that the monies were somehow furtively invested and the true amounts skewed in the official budgets. For anyone interested, the Catalan government has its numbers posted at www.boe.es.

The belief that the Catholic Church is involved in the corridas seems to be derived from the laissez faire attitude of church officials. Pope Pius V with a decree entitled De salute gregis dominici (Latin for Concerning the welfare of the Master’s flock) issued in 1567 (the P.A.C.M.A. leaflet has the date as 1957) admonishes those who would attend the fights and in fact states that, “estos espectáculos más propios de demonios que de personas”, those spectacles are more appropriate for demons than people. In fact, the missive even goes so far as to deny “ecclesiastical grave to the participants who would die in the enclosure for bullfighting” [sic]. The bula itself, entitled, ‘Excommunicatio ad Perpetuam,’ is as grave as the subject it decries. Pope Pius V, evidently appalled at the scenes he had witnessed in Italy, decided to pass his opinion on to the rest of his congregation. Item #1 in the bula states that the, “hateful use of the duel introduced by the devil to obtain with the [sic] bloody death of the body the ruin also of the soul, has been prohibited by decree of the (first) council of Trent.” In item #9 however, both the Church and P.A.C.M.A. have found their complaint. The item declares that, “We want that the present writing becomes public in the customary form in our Apostolic Chancellery.” Evidently Felipe II, Spain’s king at the time, ignored the bula and the festivities continued.

More recently, in 1920, Vatican Secretary of State Cardinal Gasparri wrote, “The Church continues to condemn in high voice, since made by the sanctity of Pius V, these bloody and shameful spectacles.” Contemporary church doctrine also seems to overlook the medieval bull. Ms. González and several of the others expressed a sense of hopelessness when discussing what they saw as the Church’s involvement or sinister lack of it. The P.A.C.M.A. document states that the Church is,”cómplice con su silencio o su participación activa, admitiendo se celebren torturas de toros en nombre de VÌrgines y santos,” complicit with its silence or active participation, admittedly celebrating the tortures of bulls in the name of the Virgin and saints. A few of the protestors said they had seen church officials attending the corridas and some even stated that they thought the Church was funneling money to the bull ranches in an effort to maintain the spectacles. For what purpose, no one seemed to know. When I asked Ms. González whether she had seen any person from the Church attend a corrida, she said that she had not since she herself had never attended one.

Such hyperbolic ideas and statements are, however, by no means exceptional. One website, authored by Lorenzo Peña, attempting his own bit of didactic doctrine proclaims, “In fact, no torture humans have invented against other humans or against non-humans surpasses the point of ruthlessness of bullfighting.” When I read this I at first wondered if Sr. Peña had watched the news lately. He continued the circular thinking for several pages, even going so far as to promulgate both sides of an argument just in case his logic were to catch up to him. He writes, “Most Spaniards dislike the fiesta,” and then only a few lines afterwards writes, “Admittedly, only a few Spaniards champion its (the corridas) prohibition.” Lastly, Sr. Peña, writes that famine in Africa, the death penalty in America, and ecological disasters around the world are not, “as pressing a cause as this one.” Again, I was left wondering what Sr. Peña had been doing with his time.

Once the protesters had reached a number that was difficult to maintain in one area of La Ramblas, they began to better organize and prepare for their march. The signs were raised and the squeal of the bullhorn being powered up energized the group and brought even more looks from the tourists.

We initially followed the march from behind, having been told that we should speak with a lawyer named Ana Mula. We thought that Ms. Mula must be one of the march’s organizers but again, when we located her, she replied that she was only a participant like the others. She was however, just as eager as Ms. González had been to point out the atrocities that the Spanish government, in her opinion, was using her taxes to perpetuate. Ms. Mula stated that, “Here in Spain, shamefully, there are a lot of legal activities that the public authority allows and they are contributing to limit the harmony necessary to coexist between humans.” When asked exactly what “activities” she referred to, Ms. Mula looked disdainfully at me and replied, “the corridas of course.” Further, she said that legislation calling for the abolition of corridas has been introduced into the Catalonian parliament and that the bill would come up for a vote this autumn.

We continued to march with the manifestació amid chants of, “¡No es cultura, es tortura!” and “Toros Sí! ¡Toreros No!” Ms. Mula continued, “Certain shows like the anachronistic corridas are maintained by the public authorities because they think it is necessary [for tourism revenues] and we hope in Catalunya (that) it will be prohibited soon.” The protest soon reached the end of La Ramblas and its members looked a little bewildered congregating and standing at the edge of a very busy intersection. I asked Ms. Mula where the march was heading and if it had an end point. I had assumed that the crowd was marching to a rallying point where speeches would be made, pictures taken and the flyers distributed. She told me that the protest’s aim was simply to march through town and to be seen by as many people as possible. By then the local news had shown up and begun to film the episode. The police had also taken notice, presumably due to the congestion created by such a large group trying to cross the intersection. They directed traffic so that the marchers could reach the other side. Ms. Mula pointed to the police as an indication of the “authority” she had been referring to. “You see”, she said, “they are even here.” When I asked if the police presence was in fact only facilitating their efforts she replied, “Only because they have to. They also direct traffic at the plazas.” (meaning for the corridas). There were a few times during our walk together that I was given the distinct impression that she thought the government was behind the corridas in a rather surreptitious way. Pointing to the Parliament building she mentioned how that was where the voice of the people is ignored. She implied that the police were bound to behave however they were told by the “authority,” the bull ranchers were tantamount to feudal land barons whose only concern was their own prosperity, and all of this right under the Church’s upturned nose and closed eyes.

As the protest continued to meander through Barcelona my wife and I began to wonder just how far it would reach. Most of the people to whom they had handed their leaflets looked at them incredulously or expressed some sort of amusement. Some simply left them to the ground like so many flyers that are distributed all over major European cities. After about twenty minutes we saw some of the protesters peel off from the main body and abandon the walk. Thinking the time was right to do the same, I asked Ms. Mula if there was any final comment she would like to make. She took some time to think and answered, “There are other activities evidently penalized and prohibited [by the Spanish government] and we see daily how the law is applied, but we need to fight them. What is very lamentable is that they [the corridas] are legalized and allowed by the authorities.” Her response had put some distance between ourselves and the main group of protesters. We thanked her and she hurried off to catch up.

Any attempt to fully explain the iconography of the bull in literature, history, and society would be a Herculean undertaking. The bull has, for several millennia, represented all that man finds virile, powerful, sexual, fantastic, and cosmic. On almost every continent throughout history the bull has been an integral part of societies. Since it is almost impossible to decide where to begin the most appropriate place would be with the, “oldest book in the world,” Gilgamesh.

Gilgamesh is the story of the king of Uruk in Iraq who, like so many heroes, is a demi-god. The story dates to about 2000 BC and survives on 12 clay tablets written in cuneiform, a Sumerian language that looks for all the world like bird footprints in the sand. Gilgamesh and his partner Enkidu encounter Ishtar, the goddess of love and beauty and the daughter of the sky-god Anu. Ishtar initiates sexual advances towards Gilgamesh, even asking him to marry her. He rejects her proposition reminding Ishtar of the merciless ways she has treated her other lovers. Ishtar runs to her father and demands the Bull of Heaven to use as revenge for Gilgamesh’s insolence. The request is granted and Ishtar sends the bull to attack not only Gilgamesh but Uruk as well. Naturally, Gilgamesh makes short shrift of the bull: Endiku stalked and hunted down the Bull of Heaven.

He grasped it by the thick of its tail and held onto it with both hands, while Gilgamesh like an expert butcher, boldly and surely approached the Bull of heaven. Between the nape, the horns he thrust his sword. After they had killed the Bull of Heaven, they ripped out its heart and presented it to Shamash.

The idea of a celestial bull is common in ancient literature whether the animal is malevolent or not, as evidenced in Egyptian mythology.

Apis was the manifestation of the Egyptian god Ptah, the creator of the universe and later associated with Osiris, brother of Isis and the god of embalming and cemeteries. The Apis bull cult was extremely prominent among the Egyptians at Memphis. Indeed, the worship of the bull centered around the idea that the god had, through a lightning flash, entered the bull’s body and for that reason was revered, worshipped, and given a special place in the temple. The bull was thought to represent the Ka, or the life-force/spirit, of Ptah. Indeed, the word Ka is the ancient Egyptian word for bull. Coincidently, when the Apis bull’s character came to represent Osiris rather than Ptah the bull at that point became a sort of living god of death.

The Apis bull was identified by some extraordinary markings which were born of divine action: the black bull had a white diamond shape between the eyes and horns, the image of an eagle on its back, a tail with twice the number of hairs, and the iconic image of a scarab under its tongue. Additionally, the bull was represented in art as having the sun disk upon its horns, the same sort of iconographic divinity marker as the halo to Christian art. This bull would then live out its life in the temple, where it would be consulted for prophesies (a question would be asked and if the bull ate the food offering the omen was favorable and if it chose not to eat, unfavorable). Upon the bull’s death there would have been the ceremonial embalming and then the tireless wait for the next incarnation. When a new bull was discovered a requisite seven-day holiday would occur. However, Memphis was by no means the only part of Egypt where the bull was revered.

Heliopolis was the Egyptian center of the worship of the sun god Re-Atum (or Atum-Ra) and the bulls associated with this deity were referred to as Mnevis (or Mnewer). Like the Apis bull the Mnevis bull was thought to manifest the Ka of Re-Atum, the sun god, and also enjoyed the same divine status as that of the Apis.

To complete this trinity, the Egyptians also worshipped Bakha (or, Bakh/Bukhis) the manifestation of the war god Menthu. This bull differed from the others in that it should be white with a black face and above all feral. As a representation of the war god the bull’s natural inclination towards violence was crucial. Certainly, it is this aspect of the bull’s character that we know so well through our own literature.

To speak of bulls in the Bible is to barely speak of them at all. They are always beasts of burden or sacrifices. They possess none of the savagery or divinity that other cultures and mythologies attribute to them. There are 155 references to the bull (excluding the word bullock) in the whole of the Bible’s canon. Of these, only four are in the New Testament and all four reference the Old Testament. The other 151 almost exclusively portray the bull as an animal for sacrifice, as a “sin offering”. By overpowering the ferocity of the bull, by taming or killing its virility the ancient Hebrews could, they supposed, conquer their own violent tendencies and misdeeds. To them the bull was not a symbol of divinity but rather an animal used for consecration, cleansing, and atonement; an avenue towards the divine certainly, but not a tangible representation of it. Priests used the bull’s blood to sanctify their altars, to offer sacrifices by pouring the blood on the altars or the ground, burning the fat and offal as ambrosia (An often confused term. Ambrosia is, most literally the smoke from the burning of animal fat and flesh on the altars. The idea being that the gods had no need for food but could enjoy the smoke of the searing fat.)

An example of both these components is found throughout the Torah including several examples in Leviticus, such as the following: “Then Moses slaughtered it (the bull) and taking some of its blood with his finger he put it on the horns around the altar, thus purifying the altar. He also made atonement for the altar by pouring out the blood at its base when he consecrated it. Taking all the fat that was over the inner organs, as well as the lobe of the liver and the two kidneys with their fat, Moses burned them on the altar.” The marvelous idea that even the altar should have horns is evidenced not only in Hebrew history but Greek and Cretan as well.

The palace of Minos at Knossos is as much an incredible a story as it is an architectural wonder. Discovered by British archeologist Arthur Evans in 1900, the palace at Knossos was found to have nearly twelve hundred rooms including warehouses, hallways, and storage areas all interconnected to the rooms for those living in the palace; a true labyrinth.

The story of Theseus and the Minotaur is well known to most students. The king of Crete, Minos, allows his son Androgeus to travel to Greece to participate in the Olympic games. Androgeus is killed, perhaps accidently, while in Greece and Minos exacts his revenge on Athens by defeating them in battle. Afterwards the Athenians are liable for tribute to Knossos and the tax is, according to mythology, seven Athenian girls and boys every seven to nine years to be used as food for the minotaur, the half-man, half-bull monster, enclosed somewhere inside the labyrinth. The Minotaur is said to have been the “son” of Minos’s wife Pasiphae and Minos’s prize bull, which he refused to sacrifice to Poseidon as he promised he would after his victory over the Athenians. The punishment Poseidon exacted on Minos was to have his wife fall in love with the bull. She employs Daedalus the inventor to build a hollow, wooden cow for her to enjoy the bull’s company and thereafter the Minotaur is produced. A more realistic story is that the Athenians did in fact lose some naval battle, became indebted to Minos, sent hostages as tribute and those hostages were used in human sacrifices. Minotaur, indeed, is simply the name Minos, a name taken by every king of Knossos (in the same way Popes use the same names) and taur- or bull. So, Minotaur means simply, Bull-King. Some scholars have speculated that the king would wear a bull’s headdress during religious ceremonies and may have dispatched the victims for sacrifice.

The famous “bull-leaping” fresco is even thought by some to be not a depiction of acrobats playing with bulls but a scene much more macabre as H.G.Wunderlich writes in The Secret of Crete, “…it becomes evident that human sacrifice is being carried out by the savage bull itself. The girl at the raging beast’s horn is not swinging over the horns, but dangling helplessly from them.” In any event, the fresco is near impossible to fully translate since the pieces were found lying on the ground by Evans and a close inspection makes clear that the majority of the painting is a reconstruction. Nevertheless, a ceremony as savage as the bull is certainly represented by a phenomenon that spread as far as the Celts and Spain. Wunderlich writes that, “a ‘debased’ form of this cult can be seen to this day in the arenas of the Iberian peninsula.”

Additionally, the bull is a very integral part of Minoan architecture. Almost as common as the double-ax fixtures in most of the palatial rooms, the so-called “horns of consecration” are just as recognizable at Knossos. Similar to the horns of the altars mentioned in the Bible the “horns of consecration” are an interesting monument at Knossos.

The enormous horns are fixed, outside at the end of what is thought to be the palace apartment. Most probably used during some religious ceremony, they hold a mountainous space to the east so that the rising sun can appear between the horns. Some have speculated that this is simply an oversized altar and the spot where some of the ritual sacrifices took place. Sadly, as with so much of the study of the ancient world, it is mostly conjecture. However, it is certain that, just as in Egypt, there was a bull cult at Crete. Judging by some frescoes from Egyptian tombs, the two civilizations may have even had contact with each other.

Theseus does not provide the only link between bull cult of Crete and mainland Greece. The mythology of Zeus contains elements of bull iconography as well. Zeus is forever connected to Crete by the story of his birth. Having been hidden from his father Kronos, who was trying to ward off a nasty omen, eating his own children, he was taken to Crete by his mother Rhea. The omen of course, that one of Kronos’s children would usurp his authority, comes true. Zeus, having killed his father, is forever the dominant “sky god”. By connecting Zeus to Crete and the bull cult Zeus’s image was permanently enhanced both mystically and even a bit ferociously. In fact, it is the anthropomorphized Zeus in the form of the bull that kidnaps and ravages Europa.

Not unlikely, he ships her, on his bull-back, to Crete to hide her from his wife and sister Hera (who herself is often described as “ox-eyed”). But there existed, in the ancient world, another bull cult that reaches far closer to our own time than these Bronze-age stories. The cult of Mithras was as important and extensive as the cult of Isis during the “golden-age” of Rome and almost as dominant as the Christian sect that eventually overpowered and replaced it.

Mithras was an Indo-Iranian god of light/sun and like so many of the other “sky-gods” was thought to have been born autogenetically. In this case he is born (coincidently on December 25th, the old winter solstice) from rock and the “cosmic egg” with the signs of the zodiac surrounding his head all, in essence, being born with him.

Very basically, Mithras finds and slaughters the primæval bull, the symbol of the heavens, carrier of all things beneficial to human kind. The incredible allure of this cult owes much to the idea that Mithras, like Orpheus, Jesus, Noah, Dionysius, Osiris and Perseus is a benevolent deity that has mankind’s best interest at heart. The sacrifice of the bull is altruistically beneficial because the bull, like Mithras himself, is a deity offering no violence or malevolence to humans but its sacrifice will allow for those things, which will most aid humans, to manifest. The sacrifice of the bull releases its life-force; from the body comes plants, herbs, vegetation useful as sustenance, from the blood comes the grape vine and lastly from the bull’s semen come animals useful as food or utility. As such Mithras is the creator and protector of the universe. He has, again, through a dedicated sense of benevolence, brought all that is necessary for human existence. In addition Mithras is almost always depicted, in what is termed the tauroctony, as being on the instant of sacrificing the bull assisted by the snake, dog and scorpion, themselves astrological signs signifying the end of the Age of Taurus.

So, at once the bull is not only the stolid keeper of the universe but is also, coupled with the agent Mithras, the sacrifice necessary for its birth and maintenance. It has, for the moment, lost most of its rage and violence but simultaneously kept its virility and power.

Arriving in Madrid was a great relief after the crowds of Barcelona. There had been a fashion convention in Barcelona as well as the Celebración de la Familia in near-by Valencia which was attended by the Pope. There was not a room to be had in the city.

Arriving in the post-modern Iberian Airlines wing of the airport was exceptional as we were almost alone while waiting for our luggage. We stood passively by the baggage belts, in an enormous warehouse of a room, accompanied only by a small group of Japanese tourists who were taking some time away from the convention in Barcelona.

While I waited, my wife identified the hotel I had booked as being on a rail line that was under construction (we could not get there easily) in the north part of the city and quickly found a room for the same price, with breakfast, near the Plaza Mayor. Not only was the hotel a better deal all the way round but, the best part was that they had a shuttle service from the airport. We now had to haul our bags (our children as we had come to refer to them because of the burden of having to constantly attend to them) only to the taxi station outside and someone else would take them over.

We stole a late-morning nap before beginning the process of plotting and navigating a route to buy tickets for the corrida on Sunday. I had read on a few Spanish web sites, 6toros6 being one of the best, that tickets could be had from any number of sites around Madrid and other cities (we had tried in Barcelona to buy tickets to the corrida in Madrid but were told, twice, that the “machine” was down). We plotted a route to the Plaza de Toros which, in Madrid, is called Las Ventas and discovered that the subway line which ran from our part of town terminated at a stop called Ventas. Because it was Friday we were trying to hurry to beat the commuters and arrived at Las Ventas around two in the afternoon.

Anyone who travels to Rome for the first time will always remember how, when they reached the Coliseo subway stop, the Coliseum appeared to them the moment they emerged from the rail station. The structure immediately becomes a part of your life, surfacing enormous and extraordinary, involving itself into your entire field of vision. If you have a coffee at the restaurant just outside the subway entrance you can witness any number of near fatal pedestrian accidents as the tourists gape at the arena in front of them while they try to cross the street. Luckily, the subway stop at Las Ventas lets you off directly on the property.

The building itself, while nowhere near the icon that the Coliseum has become, is still very impressive. The entire Plaza is comprised of red brick in true Mudejar style (the Moorish architectural style that is so prominent in the Andalusian area of Spain) with the requisite tile work and studded with porcelain crests of Spain’s provinces, which are visible from the outside on the third tier. What struck me most immediately was that there was an obvious lack of people around the arena complex. As we walked closer it became evident that there were several people inside working but outside there was no one. I suspect the heat, coupled with siesta, was responsible. Clearly my wife and I were the tourists.

We crossed the pavement towards the Puerta Grande (Great Door) and saw that there were two ticket windows next to the main entrance. We discovered that Sunday’s bullfight was a novillada not a corrida as the website ticketstoros.com had stated. A novillada showcases bulls that are up to one year younger and slightly lighter than the bulls in the corridas. Additionally, the matadors are somewhat less experienced, having become true matadors within the last couple of years. Nevertheless, as had been our luck in Barcelona stumbling upon the Manifestació contra la Tauromáquia we now had an opportunity to witness an event that we had, until that time, never heard of.

When we asked for tickets to the novillada the young man at the ticket window asked if we meant the El Recorte de Toros that was being held that night. Since we had no idea what he meant, we asked what exactly a recorte was. He pulled himself up a little in the manner of someone who is about to explain something that he has explained many times before. A recorte is, he said, a relatively new sports event (we were told about 10 years old) where young men “play” with the Toros de Lidia, the very same breed of bulls as are used for the corridas and novilladas only these bulls would be, for some physical reason (poor vision, crooked horns) unacceptable for the bullfights. In fact, the recorte dates back to the 18th century and there are even a few Goya illustrations depicting this event. However, both my wife and I had a difficult time imagining what this sport might look like. Yet, glad that we had again found something we hadn’t expected, we bought tickets to both the recorte and the novillada on Sunday.

The recorte began, it seemed to me, a little late- 22:00 hrs. or 10:00p.m. Nevertheless, my wife and I took the opportunity to walk the immediate neighborhood surrounding the Plaza. This area, called the Barrio Guindalera, was even quieter than the area where our hotel was. It seemed as though everywhere we walked we were the only tourists. The fact that my wife is a native Spanish speaker only served to make my alienation more acute, although the feeling was not an unwelcome one. There is a certain freedom in being the peculiar one-it seems to alleviate some inherent social responsibilities. Everywhere we were enthusiastically welcomed and spoken to almost as if we were children; things were presented and explained to impress, suggestions made and directions given as if being made and given to visiting relatives. I rarely feel as comfortable in my own neighborhood. We bypassed a restaurant, neatly tiled with mosaics of bulls and bull- fights, near the Plaza because it was a little over priced. Instead we found a small courtyard of restaurants a few blocks deeper in and sat under several trees while having our Coca light, and perrito caliente, a hot dog that came covered in pickled carrots and a pepper relish. When I told the waiter that I wanted a beer he miraculously understood and stated, “una grande!” (a large one!), not as a question but a prescient statement of acknowledgement. We proclaimed our first day in Madrid, to that point, a success.

The word recorte is defined in my Spanish-English dictionary as, “Recorte. m. clipping; cutting; outline; Mex. gossip, slander.” In the appendix of Ernest Hemingway’s masterful book, Death In The Afternoon, he defines recorte as, “any pass with the cape in which it is snatched away from the bull or turned sharply from him; or quick movement by the man which cuts the bull’s charge; turning the bull on himself sharply with the consequent twist on his legs and spinal column.” We walked back to the Plaza considering what, exactly, this might involve since we had been told that the recortadores (the 25 young men who would be competing in el recorte) used no muletas, no capes or, indeed, any instruments at all.

As we approached the Plaza we noticed much more activity outside than before. While we had been eating, a few vendors had set up shop on the Plaza’s grounds selling water, sodas, t-shirts, flags, beer, and several types of bagged nuts. The area had taken on a festival atmosphere. I have to admit that, even though I had no idea what we were about to witness, I was very excited. Our previous, and first, attempt at such a show had been in Seville in March of 2004. My wife and I had taken a few students to Spain and the corrida season was just beginning. Sadly, the bombings at the Atocha station in Madrid had brought the canceling of all fiestas for the first week of the season. Now, we were entering Las Ventas, the most famous Plaza de Toros in the world, expectant and anxious.

El Recorte de Toros is a sparsely attended event. Las Ventas can accommodate 23,000 but there were only a few thousand in their seats. Since the seating was “festival seating” we wandered around the aisles looking for an open space. The crowd was comprised, it seemed, of mostly younger Spanish people. We chose a couple of seats at the barrera, the barrier wall separating the arena from the seats. Surrounded here by several people, some with their children, we took the opportunity to ask a few questions. El Recorte is, we were told, a competition between young men who, four to five at a time, enter the bullring with one Toro de Lidia and attempt to elude the charges that the bull invariably makes at them while simultaneously staying as close to the bull as possible. The competition is a point-based system in which a recorte (making the charging bull cut his advance in his attempt to gore the recortador) is scored on a scale of 0-10 and an attempt to jump over the bull, a salto, (yes, a couple of these young men did actually leap over a charging bull-the Minoan fresco prominent in my mind’s eye) scored on a scale from 0-8.

Personally, I had the thought that the leaping portion should be based on a scale of 0-1; either the bull’s horns have been cleared or, tragically, they have not. At the show’s end the top three recortadores advance to the Gran Final to be held July 22 at Las Ventas. We asked a young Spanish woman, feeding ham and bread to her son, whether she attended the bullfights as well. With a look we had not seen since Barcelona she said that she did not. “Son muy cruel!” she remarked, they are very cruel. “Here,” she indicated the arena and presumably the recorte, “the bull is not killed.” The many young men around us all nodded and agreed that this was true sport and not the torture that the novillada or corrida involved.

The recortadores entered the arena with the fanfare of a rock concert. From the far gate fireworks began exploding and amid a shower of sparks and smoke the twenty-five participants entered the ring.

They were introduced one by one by an announcer standing inside the seating area holding a clipboard. After this ceremony the contestants entered the callejón, the area between the barrera and the seats, to stretch and, if not in the first group to compete, to watch and assist the others. Five from the group of recortadores entered the ring, and continued stretching, I presumed, to alleviate their nervousness. An older man, dressed traditionally in what could be termed a torero tuxedo, brought an oversized placard into the ring. The sign registered the bull’s name, weight and the ranch where he was raised.

A few moments later, from the toril, the bull’s entrance gate, came the bull, monstrous, terrifying and slinging spit and mucous from its nose and mouth. My wife noticed that the bull, when it had charged to the arena’s center, the medios, was urinating as it glared at the white-shirted men around the barreras. One of the group of recortadores signaled to the others that he would advance on the bull. Walking towards the medios he began clapping his hands and waving his arms. Of course, the bull noticed him right away. When the bull dug his hoof into the sand the young man stopped walking but continued to clap his hands. The bull’s charge was tremendous in that he, clearly, had only one thought and that was to kill the person near him. As the animal approached the recordator raised his arms, turned his back to the bull’s advance and arched his back in such a way that the bull’s horns skimmed the back of his shirt. The announcer shouted, “¡Magnifico!” and the crowd cheered. Evidently points had been scored, but only the judges sitting along the barrera on the far side of the arena knew how many.

This spectacle repeated itself many times over the course of a couple of hours, each group of recortadores trying to outlast and out-perform the other. At one point one brought out a small stool and, having captured the bull’s attention, sat down when the animal began its charge. He remained seated as long as he could. In any event, he stayed seated long enough for many people around us to gasp when he finally stood and pulled himself and the stool from the bull’s attack.

The announcer yelled, “¡Si Señor!” as he had with so many of the other turns and cuts. Similarly to an actual novillada or corrida there were six bulls presented that night; I noticed that each one had had its horns blunted.

The evening ended with trophy presentations but no more fireworks. Each contestant was awarded a bull’s head trophy and the top three were awarded trophies much larger than the rest. The announcement was made for the Gran Final in a few weeks and everyone stood to go. We left the arena and walked the corridor behind the seats for several sections until we reached the back end of the Plaza. There we found the slaughter room.

The crowd of people standing and looking into an enclosed space caught our attention. A large, steel-plated room lighted with a strange blue glow had the bull’s carcasses suspended from hooks. One was being skinned as we watched. On the floor in the back, the six heads of the bulls which had so recently been terrorizing the recortadores were laid out in a single line, one already skinned, its white skin and perfectly round eyes the focal point of the whole ghoulish scene. Our young woman in the stands was correct-they did not kill the bull in the ring; they waited until he was used. I was not allowed to take a picture.

We walked away and around the back of the Plaza and noticed one of the recortadores sitting on a bench alone. His head was hanging low and he was holding and inspecting his smaller bull’s head trophy. Clearly, he had not been one of the chosen for the Final. My wife suggested that he might make a good candidate for some questions. I thought maybe he had had enough for one day and we left for our hotel.

The next morning we headed back to the Plaza. Our intent was to take pictures and maybe find someone to ask questions of. We found that on Saturday Las Ventas has tours that begin around 9:00 a.m. and end at noon. Each tour lasts about 30 minutes and there were two young women who were taking turns leading the small groups around the arena. This is a good way to get inside the arena when it is empty, walk on the sand, and get a look behind the callejón.

If this doesn’t interest you, I would not recommend the tour. The two women conducting the tour were pleasant but not very informed. Almost all the information offered was fundamental and inane. In fact, most of the questions were answered with, “No se. lo Siento”, I don’t know. Sorry. We did however run into an older Spanish woman in the gift shop (a room about the size of a standard bedroom) who excitedly told us that she never misses an event in the Plaza. She said that since she was a child she had been coming to Las Ventas. She wanted to know if we had been to a corrida before, where were our seats for Sunday’s show, did we know that there was a female torero now (Christina Sanchez)? We were told that the novilladas and corridas are routinely attended by mostly Spaniards (surprising since we had been told in Barcelona that most Spaniards did not attend) and that of these it is an older crowd. We asked if she had seen the recorte from Friday night. She smiled and said that those shows are for the young people.

Early every morning that there is a bullfight in a Plaza de Toros there is a Sorteo and then an Apartado that takes place at noon. The sorteo is the “sorting” of the bulls by lot to determine which bull will be fought in which order. Nowadays, this event is closed to the public, at least in Madrid. The apartado is another sorting but differs in that the bulls are shown to the public and then placed in their respective stalls in the order that they are to be fought as was determined by the sorteo. We arrived at the Plaza around 11:30 and walked around back, close to the slaughter room, and stood in line with approximately twenty other people. While we waited, the three toreros who were to fight that night also arrived and stood talking with the older men, nervously shifting their eyes and feet.

A little after noon we were allowed in the side door, and after walking up a flight of stairs, came to a metal walkway over the pens and stalls containing the bulls. In addition to the Toros de Lidia there are also bulls (usually castrated) called los cabestros whose purpose is to pacify and lead the other bulls around the yard.

They are referred to as toros mansos, gentle bulls, and if you happen to watch the famous running of the bulls from Pamplona during the first week of July you might catch sight of these as they are run also but are usually slower and therefore behind the excited herd.

During the apartado we stood on a sort of catwalk above the pens into which the bulls were led one or two at a time. This display area, a pen about 20x20 feet covered in hay, had a series of three metal doors through which a Plaza employee would herd the bulls to be fought by pushing the door open with a large handle from above the pen. The bulls would instinctively push through the open door. It was in this way that the Toros de Lidia were stalled in the order that they would enter the ring later that night. It was also during this stage of the apartado that we met a young man named David Casas Ramos, a reporter for Canal 1 television who was covering the story for his station.

Mr. Casas gave us a great deal of his time and stayed patiently with us while we pelted him with questions: Where did these bulls come from? Andalucia. They arrived by truck last night. Who pays the novilleros (the toreros who would fight later)? The Impressario of the Plaza. The Impressario is elected by the town every five years and is responsible for scheduling all of the Plaza’s events from bullfights to concerts. How much do they make per fight? The minimum could be as much as 3,000 euro. Sometimes a Novillero (a younger fighter with not as much experience) will have to pay to fight in the larger arenas in order to achieve a certain level of recognition but here at Las Ventas they never have to pay.

Are the toreros fighting tonight, because they’re performing at Las Ventas, better fighters than most? Yes. Even though this will be their first time in Las Ventas these guys are very good and putting everything into tonight. If something important happens they will be able to fight again at other Plazas because the Impressarios of other Plazas will want to hire them. But if nothing happens, for them, it will be the end of their careers because they don’t have much money, they don’t have anything-they’re betting everything on one card. What occurs in Madrid is very important.

How much do these bulls cost? The price depends on where they’re from. The best prices are for bulls from the ranch of Victorino Martin. They are the most known in Spain. Each of Martin’s bulls sells for at least 30,000 euros. How much is the Spanish government involved, financially, with the bullfights? The ranchers have a subsidy that is an assistance but not only for the bulls but everyone involved with ranching. Even then though the assistance is small.

Does the Catholic Church support the corridas financially? No, of course not. They don’t have anything to do with it. What happens to the dead bulls? They are bought by shops and restaurants. To have a Toro Bravo is considered a delicacy. People like to know that the bull is from Las Ventas. The good thing is that the meat is very natural. Toro Bravo is very well maintained, carefully selected and is fed only natural things. We assumed that we had taken enough of David’s time and thanked him. He asked as we were parting whether we had tried Rabo de Toro a la Cordobesa. I asked what that was and he explained that it is a meal made from the bull’s tail, again considered to be a delicacy. My wife made a face. I think I laughed. Nevertheless we promised to try it if we found it.

When we arrived that night back at the Plaza the festival atmosphere that had existed on Friday had increased exponentially. Thousands of people milled around the grounds instead of the hundred or so we had seen before. There were many more vendors and the accompanying racket was almost entertaining. I tried to take notice as to how many of those outside were foreigners. While I did note a few dozen Americans and British it seemed to me that the vast majority were Spanish and, as our woman at the gift shop had stated, it was mostly an older crowd.

When we entered through the Puerta Grande, men renting the famous cushions immediately met us. It is customary to throw these at the matadors who do not perform well and we were tempted to rent a couple since the price is only a few cents but decided that since we were at a novillada and the toreros relative novices, they probably had enough worries. An usher, wearing a blue Plaza vest and hat led us to our seats at the barrera in section seven, tendido siete (there are twelve total). He told us these were the best seats, closest to the arena with a view of the president’s box at the top tier just to our left. Behind us sat a small group of American tourists who were accompanied by a young Spanish man explaining all the intricacies and nuance of the novillada.

Beside us was an older Panamanian man and his wife. We asked if they had been to many fights and they said that they had but that those in Madrid were their favorites. He told us that as a younger man in Panama he had had torero aspirations of his own. Having joined a Taurino Club (which exist in several countries still, including many in the United States) and gone through several weeks of training he thought he was ready. However, when the moment came for him to face his first, mature bull he threw the muleta, the heavy cape with which the toreros attract and cut the bulls, at the animal then ran and jumped over the barrera. “That was my only bullfight!” he laughed, “A victory for the bull.”

The paseo, the elaborate entrance of the bullfighters, began almost exactly at the time stamped on the ticket- 21:00 hrs. First the aguacils, the “bailiffs”, rode out to the arena’s center, dressed in black and purple late nineteenth century costumes, and supposedly received the president’s permission to carry on--although I never witnessed the president motion towards anyone.

Then, the bullfighters emerged from a gate on the other side of the arena near the toril, their entrance announced by the four piece band seated several rows above. The band’s signal was nothing more than a couple of beats from the bass drum and a short blast of the trumpet. For myself, the simplicity was authentic. The matadors, side by side, walked across the arena slowly and deliberately, the oldest and more experienced, a Madrid native named Javier Benjumea. closest to the president’s box. Next to him, by rank of experience, Antonio Joao Ferreira from Portugal, the only one listed as having experienced a cornada, a horn wound. On the other side came Joselito Adame, a Mexican all of 17 years old who was listed as a “niño prodigio del toreo”.

Following these three were their banderilleros, three for each matador, and then the six picadors on their horses, two for each. The whole entourage fanned across the arena, raised their hats, their monteras, to the crowd and then faced the president’s box and bowed. While the group progressed to the barreras the same tuxedoed man from Friday night entered the ring with the bull’s information on the placard: weight-494 kilos, born 11-02, from the ranch of Corbacho Grande.

Benjumea, being the more experienced was to take the first bull. After a few minutes of the toreros warming up, he and his three banderilleros took up positions near the arena’s center. With another short trumpet blast the toril’s gate was opened and the bull charged to the ring’s center and began to swing his head frantically back and forth looking for some idea about just what was going on. I noticed that the bull was already spurred with a small barb in its morillo (the lump of muscle between the bull’s shoulders.

The banderillos’ and picadors’ efforts are actually attempts to injure and weaken this muscle grouping so that the bull will lower his head for the matador’s sword, which had a short blue and white tag sailing from it. We learned later that it is termed a divisa, a marker of the ranch where the bull was raised.

For whatever reason, the bull ignored the three toreros in the arena and headed straight for one of the other banderilleros standing directly in front of us who had about half of his figure showing from behind the wall. He easily got back into the callejón area but the bull’s charge continued, at full speed, into the area of the wall where he had just been. Wood splintered on its impact, the barrera shook, the banderillero gave a nervous laugh and said to the bull, “Ok toro, Ok.” My wife jumped a little; the bull was close enough for us to smell him.

The animal continued to crush its horns into the barrera. Two banderilleros kept behind the wall staring at the bull. They resembled the old Kilroy was here cartoon, both hands hanging onto the top of the fence and faces peeking over. Benjumea’s banderilleros, having closed in on the bull, began shaking their capas and finally attracted the attention of the animal.

They lured him back to the center through a series of suertes and after a few passes the trumpet sounded again, signaling the end of this stage of the contest. From a gate near the toril two picadores entered on horses blindfolded and bound with the peto (the mattress covering the horse’s flanks to protect them from the bull’s horns). The picadores took up polarized positions on either side of the arena in order to be ready to work in whichever area the bull decided to run towards. Curiously, throughout the whole night, all six bulls charged the horse nearest to us, leaving six picadores paid well for little effort.

The bull charged the picador instinctively and savagely, sinking his horns into the side of the peto trying to overturn both horse and rider. (It became easy to understand why Doña Casilda Saenz de Heredia, the “English-born” wife of Primo de Rivera had demanded, in 1929, that some sort of protection be afforded to the horses-otherwise they would continually be killed.) The picador speared the bull with the pica, a lance 2 meters long with a short steel point, directly behind the morillo and the bull again lunged into the horse’s flank and continued to push until man and horse were sandwiched against the wood of the barrera.

Typically, the picador should pic the bull twice at most, perhaps three or four times if the matador has some sense that he needs the bull especially worn down before the killing, but this is an occurrence that usually brings much jeering from the crowd.

This first bull of the night received three but only because he was so close to overturning the horse; the picador had to get him away. And still, the wife of our Panamanian friend began to scream, “NO! NO!” in the most ferocious way I have ever heard. The banderilleros closed in to retrieve the bull away from the picador with their capes and drew him back out towards the ring’s center. The trumpet and drum sounded a second time and the picadores left the arena; the first stage, the suerte de varas, concluded.

While the toreros kept the bull busy with the cape outside the first ring and near to where it had almost dismounted the picador, a lone banderillero walked to the center of the arena holding two red and white banderillas. The toreros slowly dropped the cape work and the banderillero began to shout, “Toro!” The bull turned, blood covering one shoulder and leg. He was reluctant to charge, so the banderillero took two hard, clomping steps towards him. This was all that was needed. The bull charged with all the energy that it could muster while the banderillero took himself up to a straight and rigid form; slowly raising the banderillas over his head, points out. It seemed the bull’s advance was pushing the banderillas upwards.

Stepping from one foot the banderillero swung himself to one side and sunk both sticks into the space just behind the morillo as the bull rushed by, swinging its head left in an attempt to gore the man. The crowd cheered enthusiastically while one of the men behind us yelled out, “Perfect placement!” which was not exactly true, they should have been directly into the morillo. The bull stopped short, turned and stood still, the banderillas hanging to either side. The banderillero strode back to the barrera, doffed his hat to the crowd and another banderillero walked slowly out to the center. In all, three pair of banderillas were placed and the bull, by the end of the second round, was winded, bloody, and hung his tongue from his mouth as if mocking the men.

I watched Javier Benjumea pour a jug of water over the muleta before he advanced to the ring’s center in an effort to quell the effects of the wind that had picked up as the sun left the arena floor. This is done to keep the cape from fluttering up or to the side as the bull is charging. If the cape were to fly upwards as the bull passed, the horns would follow it into the matador’s side, or worse, the armpit where the horn can create a moribund mobile from a torero.

The matador advanced out towards the bull, which was still standing where it had been after the last set of banderillas. He proceeded to pass the bull, still with enough energy and strength to make the crowd wince and jump with each turn. He held the muleta with both hands, a technique known as a veronica, named for the icon of St. Veronica who is usually portrayed as such holding the cloth that she used to wash Jesus’ face.

These passes were clean and well executed, the best of the night. Several times Benjumea brought the bull to its knees in the cut, bringing the head of the animal close around his hips and directly behind. To the bull’s credit, he maintained himself throughout, never flagging in his attempts to get at the matador, although blanketed with blood around his neck and shoulders, the banderillas clacking together with each charge and turn.

After a couple of minutes, the bull had passed from the parado stage, Spanish for listless or motionless, to the last stage referred to as aplomado, heavy as lead. It is during this final stage that the killing of the bull should occur.

Benjumea began by walking to the barrera where one of his banderilleros exchanged swords with him, taking the straight one from him and replacing it with one of equal length but slightly curved about two-thirds of the way down. The matador returned to the bull, stopping near the head of the resting animal about 5 yards in front. He ran the bull through about three more veronicas and afterwards pulled himself up very straight and holding the muleta in his left hand directed the sword to the bull’s forehead as if aiming a rifle. Even though Benjumea had the bull’s attention it did not move. Clearly, it was exhausted.

The matador turned sideways and took one broad step towards the bull. Again,the bull stayed still, eyeing the rising muleta. Benjumea drove the sword into the bull’s shoulders. He was past it in a moment yelling a single, unintelligible word. The matador stood beside the bull, his hands on his hips. The bull, with only the red handle of the sword showing among the banderillas remained still seemingly unaware of what had just transpired. Benjumea’s banderilleros came from the barrera and, surrounding the bull’s face at a short distance, began waving their capes all together. The bull swayed, trying to focus on all three at one time, and fell to its side in the sand. Benjumea raised his arms in triumph.

The old man behind me yelled, “Perfect placement!” once again. One of the banderilleros produced a puntilla from his vest, a dagger that is shaped more like an ice pick than a knife, and kneeling beside the animal’s head, stabbed into the base of the bull’s neck severing the spinal column. The bull went rigid immediately and the mule-drawn cart came to drag the body away. (I was reminded of how in the ancient world, in the Roman Empire’s larger arenas, the bodies of the dead humans were dragged from the sand by someone costumed as the god Hermes, both the messenger god and the guide to the Underworld for the recently deceased). The audience, which had been cheering since the sword went in, began waving their white handkerchiefs, an indication to the president to award Bejumea one of the bull’s ears, or orejas

The president obviously did not reflect the sentiment and instead awarded the matador and his banderilleros a vuelta al ruedo, a victory lap around the arena.

I wish that I could write that the next matador, Antonio Ferreira, had conducted as good a faena as Benjumea had with his first bull. When the trumpet sounded announcing the second bull’s entrance Ferreira and his banderilleros performed cape passes that were accomplished. It was clear that they were all experienced toreros. The picador stage became more exciting than the first when the bull got his horns completely under the horse and lifted horse and man off the ground, throwing them both into the wood wall of the barrera. Somehow, the picador stayed on his mount and gave the bull a second, prolonged pic that caused the Panamanian’s wife to again cry out, “NO!”

During the second stage Ferreira brought out the Mexican Adame to place the third pair of banderillas. Adame, holding his two banderillas garlanded with the red, white and green colors of Mexico’s flag, took his stance at the arena’s center, demanded the bull’s charge and appeared to deliver them well. However, as the bull cut and returned, one of the banderillas was evident on the ground, the other hanging anemically from the middle of the animal’s back. It too, soon fell to the ground. Because there must be at least six banderillas in the bull before the matador may begin the faena, Adame had to try again and then a third time in order to succeed.

Able to begin the third stage, Ferreira gave quite a performance turning and cutting the bull. His work with the muleta was actually very good. The decline came when he began the killing. He sighted the bull just as he should but when he tried to place the sword, he hit bone and the sword flew to the ground. As he tried to pick the weapon up the bull charged and it was the matador who was driven back. A man sitting near us yelled out, “¡te estas cagando tio!” You’re shitting yourself! In all, Ferreira attempted the pase de la muerte three times before he was successful in getting the sword where he needed. Incredibly, the old man behind us again shouted out, “Perfect placement!”

The trumpet had sounded twice before this, each blast an admonition that time was running out. On the third try, after the sword was in, the bull, exhausted, stood still long enough for the banderilleros to come out and, with their capes, swoon the animal to its feet. The puntillero (the banderillero with the puntilla) hurried to the bull and severed the spinal cord as quickly as he could. It was obvious that the whole thing had taken too long and there was not even the suggestion of a white handkerchief in the crowd.

Adame’s first bull was a little better than Ferreira’s. The picador stage was accomplished with the bull receiving only one pic, well placed, and no hysterics from the crowd. Adame and his banderilleros successfully placed four pair of banderillas, most of them directly in the morillo. It was not until the third stage that he experienced any trouble.

During one of the muleta passes the bull hooked the cape and tossed it high into the air. When it fell, the bull trampled the cape, hooked it a second time and tore it to three shreds. Adame was compelled to leave the arena for a moment to retrieve another. The Panamanian man remarked that, for a matador, nothing could be more humiliating.

Adame, armed with a new muleta, brought the bull to the pase de la muerte and succeeded in getting the bull to run through the cape while he went in with the crooked sword. The blade protruded from the bull’s shoulders about six inches but the force of the bull’s charge had pushed the sword deep enough to, evidently, sever the aorta. The bull stopped short, swayed a little, then let some blood flow from its mouth. It was on its side before the banderilleros arrived to finish the work.

Of the night’s remaining three bulls, two were worthy of note. The fourth bull, Benjumea’s second, was run through all three stages quickly and without any incident. The only regret was that Benjumea had to try twice to get the sword in.

Ferreira’s second bull proved more troublesome. In an apparent effort to redeem himself, Ferreira passed the bull, prior to the picadors, from a kneeling position.[PIC33] This he did successfully, bending backwards as the bull passed, his back parallel to the ground and only inches from it. He passed the animal almost alone during the beginning stage, his banderilleros standing near but taking little action.

The picadors came to the arena for the second stage and the bull charged the horse, making a somewhat weak attempt at the flank. After the first pic the bull retreated to the area of the barrera where he had been when the horse arrived. The bull had taken up a querencia, a favorite or comfortable spot where it feels safe and is reluctant to leave. The banderilleros tried every trick they could to get the bull away from the wall.

Nothing worked. For nearly ten minutes, the bull stubbornly resisted all commands to charge. A man near my wife shouted out, “¡Limpialo!”, Clean it up! In the end, the president gave the command for the bull to be changed and after a couple of minutes the toros mansos arrived through the toril and the bull obsequiously obeyed and trotted out among them as they were herded back out.

A reserve bull, a sobrero, was brought in to replace the former one. This bull, from a different ranch judging by the divisa in its shoulders, was run through the same three stages. The faena however, was to prove again, somewhat disastrous.

Ferreira’s muleta work was, as before, done well but when the time for placing the sword came he only got a little less than half into the morillo. The bull, nowhere as incapacitated as he should have been, was had to be passed again and the rule is that the sword used the first time must be used to finish the job.

The matador was going to have to retrieve the weapon from the bull’s shoulders. Ferreira tried unsuccessfully twice to get his sword back. The banderilleros tried to capture the bull’s attention so that the matador could get the sword, but every time that Ferreira reached across the monstrous shoulders the bull would throw its horns up trying to present the matador with another cornada. Someone shouted out, “¡Vete a la mierda!” roughly, go to hell!

On the third try he had it and soon was sighting the bull. At the moment that the bull began to follow the cape with its eyes Ferreira went in with the sword. He did not wait for the bull to charge. The bull stood defiantly still even though the sword had disappeared into its back. Ferreira’s banderilleros raced in to, literally, put the bull down.

Thankfully Ferreira’s night was almost over. I wondered whether he would work in Las Ventas again. Certainly he could travel the circuit in Spain for the remainder of the season based on his evening here. He would just have to be careful what he said concerning his performance.

The sixth and last bull of the night belonged to Joselito Adame. As a sort of homage to the other two more experienced matadors, Adame brought both Benjumea and Ferreira out as banderilleros, the three of them, in turns, standing in the arena’s center attempting to place their banderillas.

In all, four pair of banderillas were stuck in the bull, the best pair being placed by one of Adame’s banderilleros. With all eight, brightly colored banderillas in him the bull took on the festive quality that is sought after in the Spanish provinces when the bull is sometimes showered in tiny darts, or some packaging is placed on the horns and then set alight, or the Jallikattu in India where a prize is strapped to the horns and the bull’s body is covered in flowers and pastel cloth. In this form, his skin shining with blood and his back garnished with banderillas, the bull entered the faena with Adame. Eager to give both a good showing with the last bull and a more exact ending to the night, Adame passed the bull with extravagant veronicas.

When the bull had been brought to aplomado Adame ostentatiously brought the muleta up to the bull’s face, confident that this bull would not steal it this time, and sighted the animal with flare, raising the curved sword until it pointed at the sky and lowering it slowly to the bull’s eyes.

The bull, apparently spurred by the movement, charged Adame before he seemed ready, however, he passed the bull with the muleta in his left hand and sank the sword into the side of the bull’s morillo.

The bull instantly ceased its charge and stood motionless while blood fell freely from its mouth into the sand. Adame approached the stands near us and raised one arm with a fist looking very much like a picture of some Central American dictator. “Viva Mexico”, the Panamanian man muttered as though unimpressed with the effort.

I noticed as he turned that he had grown a coleta, the traditional “tail” of hair that so many (although not all) matadors nowadays have replaced with an artificial, plastic bulb of hair, this being a throwback to the cauda [Latin for tail] that the gladiators wore as an outward sign of their servitude.

When the bull had been dragged out, the three matadors had another bow together and the entire torero train left the arena en masse. Everyone rose to leave immediately, as if this was what was expected. My wife and I followed suit and quickly walked to the slaughter room again, hoping, maliciously, to catch sight of the carcasses. We reached the area soon but found the steel door of the room pulled down. Through the windows at the top we could just make out the figure of a man pulling the skin off one of the bulls hanging from a hook.

Before leaving for the Plaza that night we had decided that maybe we should eat first. We did not know whether we would be able to eat after seeing a bullfight. Wanting to try the bull’s tail, the Rabo de Toro that Mr. Casas had mentioned during the apartado, my wife and I walked to a restaurant near the hotel. Again, fate seemed to follow us. The waiter inside told us that his restaurant did not serve the dish but that another, La Taurina, just down the street, served the best in town. He said that he should know since he worked there for several years before.

We found La Taurina easily enough. The interior was tiled mostly white with detailed depictions of the bullfight painted on the tiles around the walls. Additionally, the walls held several bull’s heads, stuffed and mounted with small, bronze plaques under each detailing the name, ranch and date of death.

The bar ran the length of the restaurant and seated at it were a few regulars reading the paper and waiting for the World Cup final to start. My wife asked the waiter, a Lebanese immigrant with perfect Spanish, if they served Rabo de Toro. “¡Claro!” he replied, of course! After he seated us he asked how many we wanted. We would share one, my wife told him, and he was off downstairs to place the order. We drank our Coca light and beer while listening to Shakira sing from Berlin just prior to the Cup Final.

The waiter returned after only a few minutes, carrying a huge plate in one hand, a red basket of bread in the other. The meal was extraordinary. Three large pieces of “rabo” were centered in a rich, demi-glace garnished with blood red, stewed bell peppers and potatoes. The meat was as tender as I have ever had, the sauce was outstanding. It was all out of this world.

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