Bravery in the Arena

“It’s hard to understand.” She said as she touched me arm. “He was a brave bull.” I had just witnessed the end of a bullfight. My eyes welled up with tears as I gasped and grabbed my husband’s knee. The woman beside me, Marcella, had been explaining the entire ritual to me, taking me deeper into understanding something that I was very scared to look at.

Bullfighting is a brutal sport and deeply tied to Spanish tradition. I was afraid to go, yet intrigued by something held so reverently by a culture I love. I didn’t want to judge something I didn’t understand nor had ever experienced.

I am re-reading The Sun Also Rises on this trip to try to get a better feel for the sport and Spain. Plus, Ernest Hemingway is one of my favorite authors. Hemingway was brought up in conversation with the couple we sat next to, the man was a writer, covering the experience of bullfights. We found our common ground, two writers who loved Hemingway, yet we wrote about very different topics.

As the procession began, all the key players of the fight: matadors, banderilleros and picadors, came out into the arena. They held their heads high with pride as they made their way to the President’s box to tip their hats before the fighting began. The matadors were dressed in beautiful suits, traje de luces, that sparkled in the arena lights. They were the most proud, for they were the true opponent of the bull.

A brass band, up in the stands, played as everyone took their places around the arena. Bright magenta and gold capotes were being flung about by the banderilleros, practicing before the bull came charging in. As the horses left the arena, everything became hushed as all eyes turned towards the open gate, waiting for the bull to enter.

Charging through the gate, a young bull appeared. He moved towards the the banderilleros and matador as they attempted to tire him out. It was a beautiful dance with the brightly colored capotes swishing back and forth next to the ornate costumes and the muscular body of the bull.

“They must keep their body straight so the bull only sees the capote.” Marcella explained as I watched the dance. She was sure to explain every element to me as I must have had a bewildered look on my face.

The trumpets sounded once more and the picadors entered the arena. “The horses are wrapped in padding so the bull does not hurt them and the man is wearing a metal boot.” She pointed out as I thought I was hearing a cowbell. They took their positions on opposite sides of the arena and the capotes were used to lure the bull closer to the picador. You could hear him calling out to the bull. “Toro! Toro!”

And then in a swift motion, the bull charged and a spear was placed deep into his shoulder. I shuddered. The bull was angry and charged the horse, causing it to fall over. I gasped and grabbed for Nate’s arm. He looked surprised and we just stared at each other. Marcella leaned in “The horse is alright, he is protected with two linings. “

Somehow, that made me feel better yet, I wondered if the horse really was alright. After they got the horse back up, the trumpet sounded again and the picadors left the arena.

The next act, act 2/3, was very dramatic. Each banderilleros have two darts in their hands and they taunt the bull towards them, standing on tip-toes, arms outstretched until the bull runs towards them as they jump up, placing the darts in the bulls back, then running for cover as the matador distracts with his capote. This happens three times for a total of six darts.

Marcella pointed out when the bull and matador were being brave. There were a few times she said “He is scared of the bull, you can see his bravery isn’t strong. He’s too far away from the bull and the bull will know he is in charge now.”

The entire ritual was a display of bravery and the arena was the stage.

Then, the final act happens where the bull and matador face off. “The bull is the most important part of the fight. This is a good bull. He is brave so the matador must also be brave. We are watching two warrior spirits. This is very special.” Marcella explained as I watched the matador move around with his red cape, muleta.

He got closer and closer to the bull until they were inches apart. It was beautiful. The graceful movement of the matador with his muleta and the powerful energy of the bull charging as close as possible, never missing the cape.

They were in sync and I couldn’t look away.

“This is the act of death. The matador must end the suffering of the bull to set his soul free.” Marcella leaned in once more touching my arm. I was afraid to see it, but I didn’t look away. The dance went on for about 10 minutes and it was beautiful. The bull charged, the matador moved only his muleta and spine, keeping his feet firmly planted. Every part was graceful and colorful.

I could see their warrior spirits facing off.

Then, the part I feared most happened and a sword was shoved in between the shoulder blades of the bull as he charged one last time. The bull dropped, my eyes filled with tears. “We must be silent to allow the bull’s spirit to pass” she whispered.

Then in a moment of silence, we all watched the bull take its last breath before a team came out to drag his body out of the arena.

This happened six times. Each time, I got upset when the death occurred, yet the entire show was intriguing and beautiful.

Marcella was right, it is hard to understand. I am not from Spain and this is not my tradition. I am grateful for her presence during this experience. I feel like she was a spirit guide, delivered to the seat next to me to guide me through this difficult experience.

Cultural differences can be a hot button issue, especially when they involve the rights of a living being. I learned that although, I feel bullfighting to be brutal, I can appreciate why many feel it to be an amazing sport. I can see why Hemingway was obsessed. It really does grab your attention and tug at your emotions. There are emotional highs and lows during the whole fight. Cortisol levels are heightened. I can see how it can be attractive and addicting to watch.

The part I can most appreciate is the reverence for the soul and naming the true spirit of a being. The bull’s spirit is brave. The matador’s spirit is also brave. They are the one’s in the arena, facing their fears. I may not agree with how it is displayed but, there is an important element to recognizing the spirit of all living things.

I am glad we went to the bullfight. I am not sure if I will ever go again and I am so grateful for Marcella’s presence, leading me through understanding a part of her culture in such a patient and kind way. Spain is intoxicating and I’ll never forget the night I watched bravery displayed in an arena.