colored ribbon; the banderilleros’ job is to implant them innthe morillo, thus weakening the muscle still further andncausing the bull to drop his head even lower. Also, thenbanderillas are used to correct unwelcome tendencies in thenbull’s use of his horn. The speed with which the placementnof the banderillas, in pairs, is accomplished is so great, andnthe audacity of the maneuver so much more so, as to numbnthe uncomprehending mind to everything but the unimaginablenfact of it. As the bull, cited by a banderillero, chargesnhim across the sand, a second banderillero intercepts thencharge at an obtuse angle and, placing his feet closentogether, rises on his toes to thrust the banderillas home,none on each side of the morillo as high up as the banderilleroncan place them. Three times the black bull charged, andnthree times the shade — no more — of a banderillero flewnathwart the animal’s path and, reaching over the horns,nplaced the sticks in the wet red back with a brisk click of itsnslippered heels. “Cervesa! Cervesa!” the vendors cried fromnthe puertas. Beer is sold in paper cups rather than in bottiesnor cans, which are outlawed lest they be tossed at thenmatadores. When the three pairs of banderillas had beennset, the bull stood in his bright streaming blood, gailynberibboned. Then Ramos walked calmly over to the barreranwhere he took up the muleta and, facing upward to thenpresident’s box, asked for permission to kill the black bull.nThe muleta is a stick with a spike at one end and a handlenat the other, over which a piece of red cloth is draped. By thenmuleta, the matador guides the bull to his final weakness,nthen directs his head to that dropped position in which thenvital spot between the bull’s shoulders is exposed to thensword thrust. The black bull did not appear to require a lotnof work with the muleta before Ramos, waiting with thenmuleta in one hand, received with the other hand the killingnsword from one of his banderilleros. His back was toward usnas he sighted along the sword to its down-curving point, andnI could see that the bullfighter’s traditional queue, or pigtail,nwas an artificial pin-on.nRamos did not kill cleanly but had to thrust several times,ngoing in over the horns at each attempt. In the first couple ofnattempts, the sword went in only part way and was expellednby the muscular pressure of the bull’s breathing. At the last,nit penetrated to the hilt. The black bull went down on hisnknees, stuck his muzzle in the sand, and rolled onto his backnwith his four legs in the air. The puntillero ran in andndelivered a stroke with the puntilla, or dagger, to the back ofnthe head just behind the horns. Then a team of blinkerednmules wearing yellow-and-red head plumes was driven intonthe ring and the carcass was hitched to them and draggednout through the exit directly opposite the door by which thenbull had entered the arena. When they had gone, the mannwith the rake came back and raked over all the blood and thenlong drag marks. The president did not bother to awardnMariano Ramos an ear.n”Whatever you say,” Jim warned me, “don’t ever refer tonbullfighting as a sport. Aficionados will be very offended.”nWhen the second bull, Arruza’s first, came into the ringnhe jumped the barrera and ran through the callejon beforencrossing back through the gate, while the radio broadcastersnvaulted clear and the spectators in the barreras reared backnon the tendidos. From his first appearance, everyone in thenring seemed scared of this bull, including Arruza. As hen24/CHRONICLESnnnwent under the cape in the first veronica, he demonstrated anpeculiar hooking movement with his horn that Jim said wasnunpredictable and therefore extremely dangerous. Arruzanwas plainly taking care with the bull, but he placed his ownnbanderillas, lightiy and brilliantiy. He placed two pairs ofnthem, but with the muleta too he was cautious, and althoughnthe crowd was not enthusiastic about him, they did not seemnready to blame him either. Ernest Hemingway wrote:n”Bullfighting is the only art in which the artist is in danger ofndeath and in which the degree of brilliance in the performernis left to the fighter’s honor.”nWhen Silveti entered the ring his fans, holding a largenblue-and-white banner—ADELANTE SILVETI —brokeninto loud cheers and shouts of applause. In fact, “El Tigre denGuanajuato,” abetted by a good bull, delivered the first realnperformance of the afternoon. And Silveti was a performernto his fingertips. In his final veronicas he disdained even tonlook at the bull, and when he did face him he would glare,nshowing his teeth as he cited him — “Eh — Eh” — andnfinally jerking his head back to toss his hat. When it was timenfor him to kill, he got in close and killed with a single stroke,nreceiving as he did so a strike on the right leg from the horn.nIt looked bad for him at first, but there was no blood andnSilveti, still keeping his disdainful manner, limped across thenring to the barrera where, from beneath the president’s box,nhe watched the bull in his death throes. The presidentnawarded him both ears, and Silveti circumambulated thenring proceeded by two men carrying a banner warning thatnanyone caught throwing anything into the ring would benarrested; he was bombarded by cheers, and also by womennthrowing their shoes and hats. “You’d be amazed,” Jim said,n”the things women sometimes manage to get off themselvesnin public and throw to the matador. That was maybe not thengreatest fight you could ever see, but i;t”was on a par withnwhat you’d see every day in Madrid or/Pamplona or MexiconCity.”nBy the fourth fight, in which Ramos met his second bull,nI had observed that, contrary to tradition or bullfightnlore or both, these bulls this afternoon were not takingnquerencias but fighting all over the ring instead. I observednalso the incredible calm and patience of the horses, standingntheir ground stolidly under the great leaning weight of thenbulls as the picadors thrust with their lances and turnednthem in the morillo. Ramos’s second bull caught the horsenwith its protected right side against the barrera and hookednhis head under its belly from the unprotected left. “Don’tnlook!” the American cried to his daughter beside me, whonhad finished her lollipop and was drinking a soft drink innbored detachment. As the horse went down the picadorncame out of the saddle and rolled fast against the barrera,nwhich he managed to leap over as the horse, weighed downnby its equipage, struggled to its feet unhurt.nIn spite of the excitement, Ramos’s had not been annotable fight, but it was more than compensated for bynArruza with his second bull. With this bull, Arruza wasnmaking an obvious bid to rival Silveti in drama, as well as innartistry. In his finely executed cape work, he dropped on hisnknees and patted the bull’s nose as he turned him — a cheapntrick, perhaps, on the order of kissing the bull or taking thenpoint of the horn in your mouth as bullfighters have beenn