in the arena

matadores are bullfighter. toros the bull. picadores are two guys on horseback with lances. banderilleros another three other guys. clown like figures that dance around in the dirt. assisting the matadores. mozo de espada is the sword servant. together they make out the team. also called the cuadrilla. a real experience. contraversial i guess. some say yes. others love it. the latter because they understand the art of bullhandling. not that i do. but would like to know more. at first i was excite. the warm sun beating down on the dirt. the sense of adrenlaline filled the air. not a atmosphere of death and blood and fear as most people think. perhaps it is the idea of the art that puts them off. have they ever been to see. real bullhandling. not the cheaper version as in the south americas. no. bullhandling with respect. with anticipation between matadore and toro. few people know that a bull that shows well is sometimes allowed to leave the arena untouched. the victor. in honour. but not yesterday. after the firts bull i was a bit disgusted. but i realised during the rest of the afternoon it was the result of a bad matadore. he made the bulls suffer in a bad way. i soon changed my mind as i started to grasp the drama unfolding before me. the crowd in the arena kept on booing and and gheering him. he was not good. he looked scared. bad movement. hoping around. not standing still. a south american bullfighter i guess. the other one was superb. skill. guile. elegance. he moved a lot less. he showed no fear. dancing with the bull. in silence the arena was paralysed by what they were seeing. not a sound as 10 000 people adored the grace wih which the matadore was playing down his partner. the harmony between the matadore and toro perfect. he played the animal right into his aura. turning his back on the bull. shaving past him. he stands inches from a wearied bull. staring each other down. the beast tired. puffing. bleading. the silence was loud in my ears. the sun hot on my face. the smell of anticipation all around. i sat forward in my chair. watching every move. trying to understand this new form of art. the dust in the arena showing its red stains of the afternoons dramas. the yellow dust scared by another day in the arena.