Short Fiction By
Ron Baynes
It is certainly in the natural order of the universe that everything comes to an end. Still, now that it is over, I miss it all, the excitement of the fiesta de los toros which made fire burn in the blood, the ring of trumpets, the swirling of the muletas,the march of the matadors in their suits of lights, the picadors and the banderillos--the curve of the razor sharp swords in their embossed leather sheaths. It is rightly said that the best corridas are those in which the opponents, bull and man, are evenly matched, not in strength, because the bull is always stronger, but in the possession of cojones—a contest of the bravest and the best.
The corrida for which I am remembered was with such an opponent, born and bred in Andalusia and so noble in appearance that the aficionados, from the boxes to the barreras, rose in respect and applauded his entrance.
The first of the three tercicos began with the charge at the picadors, followed by a simple classic veronica. When done bravely and without tricks the veronica is like a dance, the cape held by the lower corners and swirling around so that man and bull circle each other. The second tercico passed quickly, the bandilleros, placing their dowels correctly, if unimaginatively.
We came then to the third tercico, the moment of truth. The faenas done, I confronted my opponent in the manner called “natural” in which at one point, the matador exposes his back to the bull. The crowd was ecstatic. It was time now for the kill. Instead of running toward my opponent, I stood motionless, encouraging him to come to me—a technique known as recebir. Then, cleanly with truth and purity of line as he came within range, I impaled him with my left horn through the upper part of his suit of lights and tossed him toward the sky. He was dead before he fell.
Usually in such cases, it is the destiny of the bull to die immediately in the slaughterhouse. But the crown this afternoon would not permit it. So now I live in a pasture in Anadalusia with the siring of new fighting bulls my task, with vacas around me at all times, with “oles” of my day of glory ringing in my ears.
I have heard recently that there is talk of sending me to Pamplona for the running of the bulls. It seems that in all the years of the running, only 20 of these unskilled amateurs have been killed and it is thought that it would add excitement if I were to participate.
I would like that.
Copyright 2005
Ron Baynes
Editor's Note: In July 2010 lawmakers in Catalonia, Spain, the country's oldest and most famous site of bullfighting outlawed the "sport", effective in 2012. The capitol of this northeastern region is Barcelona.
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