4900 words


The Bullfight.

By Norman Oliver.

It was early evening when Dave Lawson arrived in Santa Lucia, a small historic settlement in the hills behind the Southern coast of Spain.

As it was late when he booked in to the town's only hotel, and there was less than an hour of daylight available, there was no time to explore. He decided he would stay an extra night in the town, meanwhile, he would spend the evening catching up on his notes, and reviewing his maps and guide books, to survey the next stage of his journey. Tomorrow, he would enjoy his customary leisurely in-depth exploration of what promised to be a small but interesting town.

As a true traveller, Dave sought close contact with the genuine, culture and ambiance of the traditional Europe. Nice, Cannes, The Costa Brava, Costa del Sol, etc. were not for him.

Dave had long ago decided that the towns along the coastal tourist strip had been spoiled. They had been converted to resorts which had forsaken their unique local native charm in favour of bland, even if, five star international standard hotels, which, except for minor changes to reflect regional architecture or dishes etc., were almost identical to resort towns the world over.

Dave had often heard the tourist strip described disparagingly by the true travellers of the world as "Costa Concrete". He considered the title was appropriate. The popular concrete jungle tourist destinations may satisfy the "Package tour tourists", but not a true adventurer such as Dave. To find the true Europe, one had to go off the well worn tourist tracks, away from the five star accommodation, inland to the small historic towns, where little had changed since mediaeval times.
For three weeks he had been making his way around the Mediterranean coast. He had gone from town to town selecting a route through country towns, inland from the coastal 'tourist strip". His journey had started on the French/Italian border. As he made his way westwards towards the Straits of Gibraltar, he had been noticing that the towns were becoming obviously less prosperous.

When he had started his journey in the hills behind Monaco, the rich soils for mile after mile had been producing the magnificent cut flowers and high quality market garden produce. However, the prosperous agricultural land had gradually been giving way to increasingly drier, less productive types of vegetation. The terrain surrounding the last few towns that he had stayed, was little more than rock covered heathland, giving very little fodder for the small flocks of goats and sheep which seemed barely able to forage enough food from the dry stony hills.

Wherever there was a small piece of land which was less steep than the surrounding hillside it had been made productive by using dry stone retaining walls to create a flat terrace, capable of being cultivated, and was densely occupied by olive trees or grape vines.

Santa Lucia and the fashionable Riviera resorts of Nice and Cannes etc., were separated not only by several hundred miles. He had been surprised to realize how far apart they were in socio-economic levels.

Santa Lucia, although a poor depressing town, with little to offer the tourist was nevertheless the centre for quite a large farming community, extending several miles along the hinterland and the coast in both directions.

The Bullring, at one end of the town, was probably the oldest structure still standing from the early days, when neighbouring warring tribes and Moors from the North of Africa, had repeatedly pillaged and destroyed the main buildings in the town.

Literature which Dave had been reading about the local history had explained that the townsfolk had rebuilt the main civic buildings after each attack, and it was this spasmodic rebuilding which was responsible for the "hotch potch" mixture of architecture which was evident in the town today.

It was an old town of mainly small stone cottages with pink tiled roofs and very narrow streets. The few streets which were paved at all, were paved with rough cobble stones from the surrounding hills. The main street however, was very much wider than the rest, and much smoother. Centuries of traffic must have worn "La Grande Avenida" smooth.

The following day, Dave awoke early and enjoyed a superb breakfast. The small hotel was certainly basic, but it was clean, and the food, specialising in regional delicacies was excellent. His bed was comfortable, and he had slept well. He was looking forward to an interesting day exploring whatever Santa Lucia had to offer. By the time he left this town, Dave was confident that he would have a few pages of notes for the book he was planning.

His room was at the front of the hotel and had a small wrought iron balcony which overlooked the main street. He had been awakened just after dawn, by the noises of a bustle of activity in the street below his window. When he looked out from his balcony, it was evident that today was to be a special day, even though it was just after sunrise, there were already crowds of workers visible in all directions, busily sweeping streets, erecting stalls, street barriers were being set up to control crowds for a procession, and bunting was being strung from balcony to balcony.

In the Plaza Mayor, in the centre of the town, he could see that a temporary band stand was almost finished. Carpenters and painters crawled around the structure like a swarm of ants. There was a distinct carnival air about the place, a hubbub of excitement which clearly indicated some special event was to take place.

Dave left the hotel to start his exploration. As he wandered around the town, absorbing the atmosphere of the place, stopping here and there to investigate market stalls and pore over the displays of wares being laid out by street vendors, it was clear to Dave, that most of the families were poor. They gave the impression that they were barely able to subsist from the small farms or their sheep and goat herds which he had seen grazing on the steep mountain side, above the town.

Dave spent the morning visiting the church, and acquainting himself with the few points of interest, such as they were, in the town. It did not take long, as it really was a very small town, and after a few hours, he was back at the hotel.

He had decided to spend some time enjoying his favourite pastime. He would prop up the bar, for a while; "get to know" the locals. The first step was always, "pump prime" the barman with a few drops of whatever loosened local tongues, and in this instance, make inquiries as to the cause of the activities.

Dave's new found friend Carlo, the barman, was also the owner of the establishment. "Mine host", was indeed delighted to welcome Dave's early return from his exploration of the town.

When Carlo had discovered very early this morning, that Dave had already left the hotel he had been most anxious that Dave did not stay out too long, as Carlo had extremely exciting information to tell him.

Dave was indeed most fortunate, to have arrived in the town at a time which coincided with the most important days of the local calendar, it was the Carnivale de Santa Lucia, an annual event which had been celebrated for more than four hundred years.

Tomorrow, Carlo reverently, and in serious tones, explained, there was to be the procession of the Holy Sacrament of Santa Lucia. Carlo, with due respect for his religion briefly explained the slow moving procession which was preceded by the local clergy and government officials, in which the model of Our Lady, seated in a huge covered throne was to be carried along the streets on the shoulders of twenty very proud (and carefully selected) young men.

Then, as soon as due respect had been dispensed, his manner changed. Like a small schoolboy with news he couldn't wait to tell, he could hardly contain his excitement. "But the procession - well that was tomorrow; today will be most exciting for 'senor"."

There were to be bullfights of course, as well as many other fine displays and traditional festivities. But even more importantly, the highlight of the whole carnivale event, Don Juan Carlos was to display his art.

Who was Don Juan Carlos?. Why, none other than the son of a local peasant family, which had left the region many years ago. Don Juan was generally claimed, (at least among the locals) as the most famous picador in the history of bullfighting.

Carlo assured Dave, that today's event was to be a display of horsemanship, the like of which he would never again have the opportunity to witness. Accordingly, as host to a 'turista", Carlo had already taken it on himself to arrange, for the benefit of Dave, the great privilege of a seat in the "Grande Dais".

These seats were specially reserved for important civic dignitaries. Since 'turistas" were few and far between in Santa Lucia, the courtesy of temporary "civic dignitary" status was bestowed on them. Also, as a further mark of respect, the hosts of the 'turistas" were expected to accompany them, and act as a guide. Dave quickly realized that the invitation which Carlo had already taken on himself to arrange, was a transparent ploy, specifically intended to provide Carlo with a highly prized seat in the "Grande Dais".

Dave immediately declined the offer, explaining that his concern for the welfare of the animals, could not possibly allow him to attend such an event. Carlo was shocked. What madness these foreigners displayed.

As he realized that the prize, which he had so fortuitously secured for himself, was quickly slipping from his grasp, he continued to explain in his most enticing manner, the fantastic displays which 'senor" would certainly enjoy.

Within a few moments, what was previously the highlight of the carnivale, the bullfights, had quickly degenerated into an insignificant appendage to the main events. Events which tourists from all over the world would flock to see, if only they knew about them. Carlo's pleading was his persuasive best.

There were to be events which were incredibly beautiful and spectacular to watch. The Sadana folk dancing, the Xiquettes, as well as the trick riding etc. And Senor would have the great good fortune to have all the traditions associated with each event explained in detail by Carlo, who was undoubtedly, the greatest tourist guide in all Spain. After all, Senor could leave before it was time to actually apply the "coup de grace" to El Toro.

It was unthinkable that 'Senor' would not seize with open arms, such a fortunate opportunity. 'Senor' would be the envy of all his neighbours when he returned to his home and related his experiences.

Eventually, after much persuading, Dave agreed to attend, on the understanding that it was for the preliminary events only.

Carlo was delighted. For an anxious few minutes, his seat amongst the dignitaries had been at risk, but his persuasive efforts had been rewarded, his seat had been secured.

It was midday, by the time Dave and Carlo left the cool of the hotel and stepped out into the blazing noon sunshine, to make their way to the Bullring. The preliminary events had been going since 11 o clock, but, Carlo assured Dave, nothing of great importance would have been missed.

The Plaza de Toros, the magnificent edifice standing at the end of "La Grand Avenida" was absolutely packed with spectators from miles around. As Dave and Carlo pushed their way through the crowd to their place of honour amongst the front row seats, Dave began to appreciate how fortunate indeed he had been. He would not have liked to have to fight for a place in this crowd.

There was not an empty space to be seen on the rough stone terraces which formed the 'seating" of the arena. The preliminary "warm up" events had been going on for some time, but they were just in time to see the important events, The Sardana displays were about to start.

Dave looked around at the sea of faces, the ladies were dressed in their "fineries" such as they were, the men, probably in their 'Sunday best" but to Dave's eyes, clothes which were indistinguishable from their normal rough work clothes. Few people in this town could boast an extensive wardrobe.

The scorching sun was beating mercilessly down onto the arena. There was not the slightest breeze to provide relief from the oppressive heat which was trapped in the bowl shaped structure.

Most of the women were fanning themselves, with very rapid fluttering of their richly embroidered lace fans held close to their face. Many were trying to shade themselves from the glaring sun with tiny parasols. The men, seeming to ignore the heat, were sweating profusely, their rough collarless "camisole" shirts were soaked with sweat at the chest, under the arms and down their backs. They were all wearing broad brimmed straw hats which shaded their face, but today, did very little to protect them from the heat.

Each family had several straw covered pitchers of the local pitarra, home made wine at their feet. The men passed the pitchers freely between them, proudly allowing neighbouring family parties to sample each others 'special recipe brew". Much nodding of approval accompanied every generous swig.

This 'sampling" seemed to be a continuous exercise, while the women chatted amongst themselves, the men appeared to Dave to be far more interested in the grog than the proceedings. They used the local traditional technique of sampling the brew, by deftly hooking two fingers through a loop in the raffia cord around the neck of the pitchers, then with a quick flick of the wrist, throwing the clay jug up and around onto a shoulder. With their head twisted sideways they took an excessively long draught.

Dave quickly came to the conclusion that the highly popular "imbibing" traditions associated with 'the Carnivale" would ensure that this annual event would be zealously maintained for many centuries to come.

Almost directly in front of Dave's seat, a temporary stage had been set up to provide a smooth floor for the dancers.

Almost as soon as they had taken their seats, The first event was announced, followed by the entry of the first dancers.

The Sardana was the traditional folk dance. Six men and six women formed a ring, holding hands at shoulder level. The dances were a complex routine of dainty, precise, short and then long steps, all danced with a solemn and dignified manner, to the quaint music of a band made up of small drums and pipe players.

The dance started with a slow tempo accompanied by haunting pipe music. When each complex 'set' of steps was performed, it's completion was indicated by a sudden silent pause in the music, accompanied by a momentary 'statue like' halt in the movements of the dancers. The next 'movement' in the routine was marked by a quickening of pace, established by the dominant sharp staccato rhythm of the small drums. Each movement progressively accelerated to an exciting very fast tempo with a crescendo of drums at the finish. There were several teams representing the surrounding villages and as each team displayed their various styles, the crowd was respectfully silent until the rousing crescendo signalled approval to commence cheering, and roaring their approval.

The sedate Sardana displays were immediately followed by exhibitions of flamenco dancing, with its characteristic change of tempo.

The calm respectful mood of the crowd engendered by the Sardana had quickly given way to the boisterous shouting of encouragement, clapping of hands and stamping of feet to the earthy, almost raunchy, sensuous rhythm of the flamenco music.

As they danced, Carlo explained the points to watch out for, the movements and sequences. "Watch the woman's poise, she is from a noble family see her back held straight, and her manner is haughty, arrogant. Look at the man, he is also from a noble family, they both display an aura of pride of their aristocratic background."

The flamencos were followed by competitions of Xiquet teams in which about ten men formed a circle, by linking arms around shoulders, then a second group of men climbed onto their shoulders, the procedure continued, each layer made with fewer men until a pyramid of six layers was formed with one man standing upright on the top, with arms outstretched like the "Christ the Redeemer" statue.

At the same time, the official contests were copied by several groups formed by a few inebriated friends, building their own unofficial pyramids in several scattered areas around the arena. This was obviously far more popular, as the crowd roared with delight, when, as soon as two or three men of the unofficial teams managed to scramble up on to the shoulders of others, they would invariably crumble into a heap of laughing youths.

Soon the various displays were finished and the stage was removed from the ring. Almost immediately, several bulls were let loose into the arena followed by clowns rolling barrels, and quickly followed by the novice bull fighters. The clowns teased the bulls, then as soon as one would come near enough, they would dive into the brightly painted barrels for safety.

The novilladas, selecting bulls apparently at random, strutted their repertoire of bravado in the face of "El Toro". Carlo quickly explained to Dave, that not only the fighters were novices, the bulls were young, well fed, and not yet aggressive, ensuring easy and safe opportunities for the novices to display their classical movements and skill. Dave had been assured that tradition decreed that no killing of the bulls was to take place, until the main event when the Grand Master Toreador was scheduled to appear.

The crowd had been well behaved during the various preliminary events, although, gradually becoming noticeably more boisterous in their cheering support for their respective teams of gymnasts and dancers etc. But now it was nearly 2.00 pm. The rowdy crowd had tolerated enough of the titillating, they were being kept waiting too long. The scorching heat and the choking dust in the arena together with the strong liquor was having an effect on what had become a bloodthirsty audience.

They were becoming increasingly impatient with the ringmaster, greeting his introduction of each new event with increasingly louder cat-calls and jeers, until suddenly Dave could detect among the jeers what was initially a barely discernible chant. Dave couldn't make out what they were saying at first, but gradually he could put together, "Don" followed by a slight pause, then "Juan", then another pause, then "Carlos".

"Don - Juan - Carlos"...."Don - Juan - Carlos".... "Don - Juan - Carlos".... the rhythmic chant became louder, and louder and louder again. Hands were being clapped together, feet and jugs were being thumped onto the floor in time to the chant. Louder and louder became the din as the chant was rapidly being taken up around the arena until every face could be seen mouthing the words.

On and on went the incessant chant until the crescendo of hundreds of voices could surely be clearly heard far beyond the furthest outskirts of the poverty stricken, dusty little town. The town was now deserted and quiet outside the arena, in stark contrast to the fever pitched excitement inside, as the crowd screamed for their hero, and their gory barbaric "pleasure".

Suddenly, as rapidly as the chant had been taken up by the spectators, the chant died away, and the great arena became silent, except for faint whispering which could be heard. Dave could barely make out the words, "El Toro", El Toro".

Dave saw a gate below him and to the right suddenly being thrown open as a huge black bull exploded into the ring scattering in all directions the attendants and the handlers. It was their job to torment the monster, to provoke it into the fiery display of bad temper they were witnessing.

This bull was a mountain of a creature, by far the biggest bull Dave had ever seen. He was leaping and twisting his enormous body into incredible contortions, tossing his massive horned head in all directions, while at the same time lashing out with his hooves trying to gore and kick any of the men who could not move fast enough to escape his fury.

As soon as the bull realized he had left the confines of his stall, he charged at high speed until he had gone half way around the arena before gradually slowing to a trot and then looking around to survey the scene, he eventually came to a stop, not far from Dave's seat. With his head bent down to the ground, he started snorting and pawing the dusty floor of the arena

For a few moments there was a hush as the crowd waited for the entry of the maestro for whom they had been screaming, then; after exactly the right few moments delay, their hero made his grand entrance. Don Juan Carlos was truly a master of 'the Grand Entrance".

He appeared as always, astride a magnificent creamy white stallion. The horse was resplendent in gleaming polished black saddle and harness highly ornamented with silver emblems. Don Juan Carlos, even more resplendent in his traditional red and gold Picador "uniform", richly embroidered tight fitting jacket, and a trousers flared open at the bottoms to reveal silver buckled riding boots. A magnificent blue cape almost hid the filigree covered silver scabbard holding the sword at his waist.

The crowd remained silent, almost in awe, as he strutted his prancing noble beast the few yards to the "Royal Box" which was occupied only by the local aristocracy. Today's guest of honour, was the elegant Contessa De Mendoza. She was seated on a large richly carved high backed scarlet and gold chair which like a throne was slightly raised and placed a little forward from the seats around her.

The "Royal Box" was located alongside the raised dais which housed the local dignitaries, so Dave now realized how truly privileged he had been to have Carlo invite him to such a sought after seating location; especially for such an auspicious occasion. Not only was he sheltered from the scorching sun, he had a perfect view of the proceedings

Don Juan Carlos with all the arrogance expected of him, executed his well practiced, over elaborate grand gesture. He threw back his cape and with a grand sweep, taking off his plumed hat he bowed to the Contessa.

This was the moment the crowd had been waiting for all day, they roared as having completed his grand introduction, he threw his hat to his aide, and drawing the sword from its scabbard, he held it aloft in the manner of a cavalry officer leading a charge.

With one hand holding the reins he expertly reared his magnificent steed high up on to its hind legs, then, while holding the animal in its rampant pose, urged it to strut forward for a few paces, then facing the adoring fans, dug the spurs into the animals flanks sending it into a gallop around the circuit of the arena towards the bull.

The bull who had been witnessing the display had by now regained his composure as he stood perfectly still in front of Dave's seat, waiting for his impending tormentor.

What a showman! Dave thought, he already had most of the crowd to it's feet, and the performance had not even started. Dave also had been forced to leap to his feet as, despite his natural revulsion at the thought of the cruelty which may be displayed, his quest 'to see how the other half lived", had allowed him to be caught up in the spectacle and the fever pitch excitement generated by the roar of the crowd.

Dave suddenly regained his seat, feeling a choking sickness as he recalled that tradition in this 'sport" meant that the next visit of Don Juan Carlos to the "Royal Box" would be to present the ear of the bull to the guest of honour.

Dave was already regretting that he had allowed his desire to broaden his knowledge, by experiencing as much as possible of foreign cultures, to lead him into this environment.

Being a spectator, implied that he condoned what was about to take place, that he condoned something that was so offensive to his anti-cruelty principles. Furthermore, he had been "fortunate enough " (was that the right word?), to have managed to get one of the front row seats which gave him a perfect view of the proceedings.

Dave's better judgment began to make his decision for him, as he realized he could not possibly witness the predictable remaining performance. He rose from his seat preparing to leave the arena, as he did so, the other front row patrons stimulated by the excitement had also risen to their feet and had stepped forward. They were all standing gripping the waist high iron rail on top of the wooden arena wall, effectively preventing him from leaving. The top of the wall was only waist high on the spectators side but more than a mans height inside the arena, allowing the spectators to look down onto the spectacle.

Don Juan Carlos had reined in his horse in front of the bull, and was now directly below Dave. Then in one more display of his excellent horsemanship, with sword held high, he again made his mount rear up high on its back legs adopting the traditional rampant pose of the right foreleg raised high above the left. Dave was entranced by the face of this magnificent horse, with flared nostrils and teeth bared, and the saliva smothered bit protruding from the side of his mouth.

Suddenly, as the weight of Don Carlos leaning far backwards in the saddle put the greatest strain on the reins, he saw the rivet which fastened the left hand rein to the shining loop of steel at the end of the bit in the horse's mouth, snapping open.

Don Juan Carlos, while holding the reins with one hand leaned far back, half turning his body to wave with his sword to the crowd, then, as the horse passed in front of him, so close that he heard the creaking leather of the harness, the rein immediately slipped through the loop and flew away from the horses" mouth

Don Juan Carlos with mouth opening but silent, and eyes suddenly widening, registering his terror, somersaulted backwards out of his saddle. Dave, and the spectators each side of him instinctively stepped back as his head hit the rail which moments before Dave had been gripping.

Dave heard a muffled CRACK !! as the back of Don Carlos's head hit the iron rail of the arena wall, snapping his neck like a carrot. His richly adorned body still clutching his sword, but now deformed, with the head and neck twisted into an unnatural angle, lay still on the sandy floor.

The rampant steed continued to act out his well rehearsed repertoire, he strutted his few paces, before appearing to realize that he was now dragging his master along the ground, there would be no sharp spurs to urge him forward into a gallop. He slowly lowered his forelegs to the ground and stood still, awaiting a command, with the body of his master still suspended by the feet in the stirrups

The roar of the crowd stopped immediately, the huge arena which up till now had reverberated with the deafening roar was now deathly silent, there was no one inside the arena near the motionless figure. "EL Toro" the terrible beast who moments before had been angrily displaying the bad temper which had been stimulated by the assistants of Don Juan Carlos, was only a few paces away from him.

There was no one who could possibly get close enough in time to stop the massive bull, whatever his bad temper might lead him to do. By now Dave was transfixed with the horror of what was about to happen almost under his feet, his hands were sweating as he again gripped the iron rail so tightly that the pain in his knuckles was becoming unbearable, forcing him to release his grip slightly.

The big bull lowered his head to the ground, and again started to snort and paw the sand but only for a few moments. Suddenly, he stopped pawing and snorting, then raising his head, slowly ambled the few paces to the silent motionless figure on the ground.

The bull sniffed at the picador's face, appearing to realize his imminent torturer had been prematurely vanquished by a power far mightier than the bull. Then, raising his head to vacantly stare at the sea of faces, obviously deeming the circumstance to be appropriate he responded to the prompting of a call of nature, with a massive bowel evacuation, and turned and walked away.

As the bull walked past, he turned his massive face towards Dave, .... He
would swear to this day, that animal was grinning.


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Copyright Ó Norman Oliver 1998

Updated September 5th 1998