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Carol Perkins: The Bullfight It was on a once-in-a-lifetime trip to Mexico that she saw the awful truth of the often romanticized "sport." The barbarity of the event had the writer cheering for the bull. She's just wired that way. She says. Next earlier Carol Perkins essay, Right now in a minute By Carol Perkins The Bullfight The senors and senoritas, adorned in their bright reds and oranges and yellows, filed into the arena for the afternoon, bringing with them their grandmothers, grandfathers, and children. At one time there was a law that an eighteen-year-old was banned from attending, but there was such an uproar by parents that the law was rescinded. This was, indeed, a family affair, and one not to be missed for sports-minded members of the community. That might not be exactly the right word to describe this event. It wasn't really a sport, in my opinion, but a slaughter. My "I always wanted to go to a bullfight," soon turned into one of the worst nightmares of my life. It was a chance to tour Mexico with one who could speak the language Backing up a little, I must explain what I was doing in Mexico City, and why I was attending this event. Harold Chambers, who taught Spanish at MCHS and was my co-worker, often took a group of Spanish students to Mexico during Spring Break. He would invite other teachers to go-at their own expense, of course. I saw this as a once-in-a-lifetime chance to tour Mexico with someone who could speak the language. Even at that, some of the locals would "take you" if they could. Not knowing about their money could cause you to pay $5 for a cone of ice cream. That would be me. On our agenda was a bullfight. Yes, a real bullfight and for some reason I was so excited. All the movies I had seen set in Mexico depicted matadors fighting raging bulls and risking their lives. I had also heard savage tales of what occurred at bullfights behind the scenes, but until I was there, they were only tales. I came to know the truth. We found our seats in the massive arena, which reminded me of the ruins of the Colosseum, where chariots once raced. The seats were low stone ledges, one right after another. Sitting for very long would have been uncomfortable. I wouldn't have to worry about that. The afternoon began with the amateurs and warm-up acts, all in preparation for the grand finale. The baby bulls were teased and tormented and chased. By the time the matadors-in-training finished with them, they were ready for slaughter. That is wrong; they were already slaughtered. They just weren't dead. I tried to count the rows of seats, the people, look at the sky, and hum a tune to keep from focusing on what was below. I didn't want to look, but couldn't keep from looking. The more blood, the more the crowds cheered Finally, the grand event began with a flourish. The largest bull of the day charged into the arena and stalked the crowd. The fans went wild. The chase began by the matadors-in-waiting. With the advantage of having a horse under them, they chased that poor bull all over the arena, stabbing him each time he was cornered. The more blood, the louder the crowd. Swords hung from the bull like limbs from a tree. Just when the bull was ready to wave a white flag, in waltzes the matador, flipping his cape from side to side. One would have thought the second coming was near. He bowed to the left, to the right, picked up a sword and waved his red cape at the bull. The bull was on one side of the arena and the matador on the other. With nothing left in him but his pride, the bull limped toward the matador, and the matador arrogantly threw a sword into his back. It was sticking straight up and out of him, swaying as he walked. That was enough for me. Suddenly, I felt faint. Sick. Weak. Nervous. If I didn't escape from this brutal scene, I was going to be very ill. Like a bullet, I jumped up and began to descend. "Where are you going? " I faintly heard behind me. My head was spinning. "I've got to get out of here." That's just what I did. I wanted to be anywhere but there I found a place to sit in the outer arena and listened to each roar, each applause, and each shout. That meant the matador had stabbed the bull again. I wanted to be anywhere but there. For the next hour or so, the matador teased the poor bull while I waited for the end. The end meant he would kill the bull that had been brutally wounded before he arrived. What kind of victory was that? Who couldn't be a brave soul against an animal with three legs in the grave? Frankly, I was cheering for the bull. It is a fact that for centuries, bullfighting has been a pastime for those in Spain and Mexico. Do I understand the passion for this activity-no. However, I can't understand the need to put two roosters in a circle and watch them kill each other either. I am just wired that way. About the author: Carol (Sullivan) Perkins is a lifelong resident of Edmonton, KY, in Metcalfe County where she taught high school English at Metcalfe County High School until her recent retirement. She is a now a freelance writer. is married to Guy Perkins and they have two children: Carla Green (Mark) of Brentwood, TN and Jon Perkins (Beth) of Austin, TX and six grandchildren. Her latest book, Let's Talk About, is a collection of over 70 of her works, and she is presently working on the second book in this series. Carol's ties to Adair County go back to Breeding where her grandfather, Rufus Reece, and her grandmother Bettie Strange, began their married life and later moved to Metcalfe County. You may contact Carol at cperkins@scrtc.com or write at P.O. Box 134 Edmonton. If you would like a copy of her book, you can order through email. Watch for her next story next Sunday. IF YOU'VE ENJOYED READING CAROL PERKINS' STORIES on ColumbiaMagazine.com, you'll love her book, "Let's Talk About It. . . ." The books are $15 plus $4 for shipping. Send check or cash or money order to Carol Perkins, P.O. Box 134, Edmonton, KY 42129 They can be bought at the Herald Office in Edmonton, KY, or Terri's Fine Jewelry in Glasgow, KY. This story was posted on 2009-10-11 10:54:50
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Have comments or corrections for this story? Use our contact form and let us know. More articles from topic Carol Perkins:
Carol Perkins: Right Now in a Minute Carol Perkins: The Harvest Carol Perkins: Worry Wart Carol Perkins: What Page? Carol Perkins: Ma and Pa Kettle Carol Perkins: Shall we gather at the river Carol Perkins: Back to school is such grand time Carol Perkins: A teacher speaks out on groupings, testing Carol Perkins: Put that phone away! Carol Perkins: The Shoe View even more articles in topic Carol Perkins |
 
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