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The way they picked the assigned bulls was by drawing
the names of each fighter from a hat. The first name got the first and
third bulls, the second name got the second and fourth bulls, and the
third name got the fifth and sixth bulls. When the two other bullfighters
were called first they sighed heavily with relief knowing they would not
have to face the greys.
“Ademar Garza!” yelled the announcer. “You get numbers five and
six.”
Terror filled me like water floods a flower pot with dry soil and a
dying plant. The room turned
silent, and all of the cowboy hats turned to me. I looked at the men in the
room. They quickly glanced at
me then looked down at the floor as if they had been looking at a
ghost.
“Hooray!” I hollered with fake
confidence.
All the men shook their heads and walked away. The corral was deserted. I looked at Virgil. He put his arm around
me.
“I will make sure to bleed them both enough, my friend,” he said
and walked off.
“Where are you going?” I asked.
“A man needs to drink to create heroes,” he
replied.
“Who will be a hero?
You?” I asked.
“You.” I heard him say faintly.
I turned to the bulls but could not face the terrifying
greys. They were too much. As
I walked toward the exit, I brought my hand up to my upper lip and felt
the mustache. I rubbed it and thought
of what it stood for. It was my shield to hide behind. It was my mask. I should not be afraid, I
thought. For, with my
mustache I wasn’t just Ademar Garza.
I was Ademar Garza “The Bullfighter!”
I did not watch the running of the bulls, but I could hear the
horror in the young people’s voices and the cries of the other bulls as
they ran from the two terrible storms that barreled down the alleyways
of
All of us matadors stood in the stadium with our entourages of picadors,
banderilleros, and peones. We
faced the President, who stood in the main balcony of the stadium. He
declared that the fight could begin. I began leaving the fighting floor,
but the crowd began screaming in fear. I cupped my hands over my eyes to
block the sun and looked toward the entrance. The people in the sardined stands
dispersed like cockroaches in light.
I felt something had gone wrong, and when the two furies burst
through the gates I knew what I felt was true.
The other matadors looked at me.
“They’re yours, they’re yours!” they screamed and ran off with
their entourages following at their heels.
The two grey beasts charged toward the fleeing men and caught up
with them. The matadors were
hit from behind and fired like reports in the air. I watched their bodies fly high
expecting them to explode, then sink heavily through the air only to land
and be smashed by the beast.
All of the picadors charged the grey twins on their horses and
stabbed them with their spears, but the staffs broke like toothpicks on
brick. The horses, wild with
anxiety and fear, fled toward the four other bulls that had stayed,
safely, in the entrance tunnel.
“Run, Ademar! Take off
your vest and run!” my Picador, Virgil, yelled to me as his horse ran
uncontrollably to the entrance.
The gold pieces of the vest shone brilliantly in sun. I threw it off and ran. There were screams all around
me. The muscles in my legs
cooked the blood that pumped through them. Guns were going off from the
President’s balcony as his guards tried shooting the
bulls.
As I ran I thought of all the trials I had pursued. I thought about the bullfighting
committee and the jeering picadors who called me a pussy cat. I thought of my mustache, and it
gave me confidance. I stopped
and turned around. The twin
bulls galloped confidently toward me. Virgil jumped off his horse, ran
to my side, and tried to pull me away, but I told him I must face
them. I would not budge. Near my feet, on the ground was a
red and yellow flag. I bent
down and picked it up and stomped forward to the bulls. The screams in the stadium
subdued. I went to my vest
and put it on.
The bulls began to run around me in a circle. I could hear the anger fuming from
their nostrils. Their hooves
sounded like bass drums as they beat the dusty earth and kicked up a cloud
of dirt. I watched as their dark,
blurry figures ran around me.
Faster and
faster and faster they whirled around. When they stopped there was total silence except, in
the distance, I heard the faint melody of the seven ceremonial brass bands
in the audience. The trumpets
and trombones began to play La Virgin de la Macarena, the famous bullfighting ensemble. I began to flap the flag and move
my feet to the music. I waved the
cloth in every direction, attempting to mesmerize the evil
twins. A giant mass of grey
muscle pushed through the dirty air, hurled past me, and knocked me to the
ground. I stood back up and began flapping the
flag but was knocked over once more.
I was blinded by the dust. Dirt clogged my nostrils and flowed in
my lungs. I felt their
thunderous stomping, so I stood back up and flapped my flag
vigorously. In the massive
cloud of brown that surrounded me I saw two dreadful grey figures coming
at me from my left and right.
I stood between them
both, flapping my flag, as they raced to me. In the blinding dust, I yelled, “I am Ademar
Garza! The
Bullfighter!” When they got as close as possible, I pulled the flag
up and fell backward. The two
bulls crashed into each other.
There was an explosive sound like a cannon being fired that left a
ringing in my ears that I still hear today. When the dust settled they
both lay on top of one another.
The crowd cheered, and the stadium rumbled with
joy. I turned to the
president, took off my hat, and bowed. I turned to the crowd and waved my
hat in the air, but they all turned silent. With a smile, I turned back to the
president’s balcony and bowed again. I heard a loud gasp and felt
something dangling in front of my lips. My mustache had come loose! The president’s wife reached over and whispered in
his ear. Then he looked down
at me and said: The crowd erupted in laughter and chanted the name,
pussy cat, pussy cat, pussy
cat! I ran out of the
When I arrived at the address they were ecstatic
to see me and sent me to Sincerely,
Ademar Garza |