Chapter 8 Chapter Six

Chapter 6 Jiama and Bullfighting Section 20 Jiama and Bullfighting (1) (1) The day of departure is almost approaching.One day, returning from a small village on the outskirts of Granada, looking for a hotel wearily, I suddenly saw a poster on the wall.His eyes were blinded by the bright light, and his heart jumped suddenly: Bullfighting! ... I was so excited that I couldn't help it.Unexpectedly, the sad wish was accepted, and we are not always the ones who deserve to be unlucky.Originally, I came here in winter and left at the beginning of April, in order to be able to catch up with the bullfighting season and catch up with the excitement of Semana Santa.Who knew that when we arrived in Spain, we discovered that Holy Week in various places did not start until after we returned home. When we arrived at the beginning of the year, it was the middle of winter, and the fiery season of bullfighting had just passed.

We can only lament our fate, give up on the blessings of Holy Week, brush off the charm of bullfighting, step by step, and embark on our own path of search.Unexpectedly, at the end of the year and the end of the year, the news suddenly changed again: there is a bullfight, which is the last one in the country this year-waiting for us to enter the venue with tickets! I just don't know how to pass the time before that day.Haha, toro!Haha, bullfighting! ...I told everyone I met that I was going to see a bullfight, and I was very happy to share it with others.Everyone congratulated us except Baal with the short black beard we met in the cave.Baal said coldly, "Toro!?...that's very barbaric!" He was born to kill people.Who will pay him any attention?I forgot about him for a moment, and studied the knowledge of the bullring.I even took a special trip to the bullring to buy tickets, looked at the venue through the iron fence, and studied all the seats on the sunny side and the shady side.

(2) There are two types of seats in the bullring: sol (sun) and sombra (shade).Because the bullfight that starts in the afternoon must expose half of the seats to the sun and keep the other half in the shade, the prices of the two types of tickets are different. Tickets in the Sol area are of course cheap, so the word has become a synonym for the lower class.The sombra is noble, secluded, comfortable and sheltered by society.There seems to be a novel or review titled "Soly Sombra" (Soly Sombra), with a double meaning, about a writer's first humble beginnings, his success and his rise to the upper class, and the rust there.

We want to buy the cheapest ticket for sol to go on stage.I am very interested in joining the sol class in Spain, but we have also fully calculated the threat of the poisonous sun and the best positions that sol prices can cover.So, we ran to the bullring two hours early. The door was open, and the chores were busy with something.The opportunity was rare, and we slipped in with some Spaniards.An old gentleman who looked like a retired bullfighter was walking alone.We hurried over, trying to sharpen our common sense about bullfighting.With a bell voice, and with a two-word phrase, he convinced us in an instant.He probably judged that he was the most beautiful man in this century, so he exuded the arrogance of about ten movie male stars, and completely disdain to answer us.

Crazy style!I can't help but admire.So we stopped bothering him and left him in the middle of the bullring.Walking around, I felt my feet, the feeling of stepping on the battlefield.There is also a matador novel called "Blood and Sand" (Sangrey Arena), and the "sand" refers to this place. After entering the arena from the high upper area, we immediately climbed down to the railing at the junction with the lower area, and then crossed the stands horizontally, and arrived at the junction of the upper stage and the lower stage, the scorching sun and the shade.Looking around, there were not many spectators, and the dividing line between sunlight and shade almost passed through our seats.It's not showing up now; I have a feeling in my heart that a shantytown boy finally sneaked into his dream venue with a sol ticket.I let out a long breath, sat down, and watched the environment carefully.

The bullring in Granada is a red brick building in the Modejar style.The simple and rough style of this red brick arch is still favored today, and it is the leader of Spanish style architecture.Needless to say, Granada, as the source of style, is certainly no exception.I admire those brick arches.It was just after four o'clock in the afternoon, and the sun dazzled through the red tiles and hit us head-on.Across the dark semicircle of shade on the opposite side, the distant snowtops of Sierra Nevada could be seen. On the admission ticket in his hand was a handsome young man, covered in gold embroidery, overlooking the snow-capped mountains.Explanatory text introduction: This is a Granada native, just a novice bullfighter, probably not yet known on the battlefield, named Al Fandi.

(3) I am most worried about describing beauty and pictures, because they are not something that words can do.However, it is impossible to sneak an audio and video file in the middle of the prose, please readers click on it by themselves?In this Al-Andalus booklet, I was forced several times to describe, to speak impatiently, to paint and to sing.But this time, they are faced with rushing live cattle and brutal assassination—what to do. The old way, I can only try to write simple.Not for the sake of writing less and making fewer mistakes; it is because that would allow an early escape from the dreadful restlessness—

The door slammed open.When it was too late, a black and shiny bull rushed out like an arrow straight and lightning fast, towards the swordsman who was holding a pink capa and was waiting for it.The sharp horns of the ox pointed straight at the trap-like piece of coffee, and slammed into it desperately. That gaudy pink cloth awning happened to draw an elegant big arc at the moment when it was pierced by the horns.The bull was like a gust of wind, but it darted past empty and didn't knock down Al Fandy, who was on Kaba's side. Oh ~ ~ 唻! The man next to him yelled loudly.I glanced sideways and saw him wild and excited.Ao Li!Guess this guy is either a truck driver or a retired cop.

In the first round, El Fandy won a full house. The neighbor sitting next to him said in a hoarse voice: "Not bad, very good!" It seems that because this is a trainee matador, he is more lenient and relaxed.In order to be able to understand, we began to disturb this neighbor. "Sir, what do those people in the purple and black clothes and those around them do?" "They?! They are nothing! Just... small things." The full-bodied bull was in high spirits, with his beautiful head held high, and he rushed forward again at lightning speed.With a flick of the deceitful pink coffee, it flew into the air again.When he was in a hurry, the bull almost fell down, and his hooves drew a cloud of soil mist sharply.Oh ~ ~ 唻!The applause of the whole audience rose into the air with the impact, braking, and staggering of the cow, Ao!The applause was like thunder.

After three offenses, the Bulls' spirit was flattened.It cheered up again, and bumped against the pink cloth flag a few times, but it probably felt that the horns it protruded were like steel knives entering the water, like arrows shooting into the air, and suddenly disappeared. was resolved. I watched it with gusto.The neighbor was sometimes meticulous and sometimes impatient to tell us some bullfighting rules.Tell us that the bullfighting cloak is called capa, tell us that the swordsman is called matador, and the fat man on horseback who is about to appear is called picador (spearman).But it seems that he is not familiar with Al Fandi, an apprentice matador who is performing smartly on the field.

In the dance of the swallow-shaped big coffee, the bull's fury seems to have calmed down a lot after several ineffective attacks.At this moment, a bugle sounded, and a fat armored horse wearing a cowhide sheath appeared. Chapter 6 Jiama and Bullfighting Section 21 Jiama and Bullfighting (2) (4) I stared at the sturdy cowhide armor.As soon as it came out, I had a hunch.For some reason, a sense of uneasiness slowly rose in my heart.It was a pair of leather cylinders, a low wall of leather.A round, low-slung thick leather hood covered the whole body of the thick-legged heavy horse up to the ankles.The first time I saw it, I thought a bull couldn't hit it.The horns would bounce back, at most with a bang, I thought. Immediately riding a fat man, wearing a flat round cap, holding a spear. "Picador!" The thick fellow sitting next to me turned his face and pointed at me. "Pigadole!" I answered aloud, showing that I understood. A few "little things" in purple and black lured the bull to the front of the armored horse. The black bull noticed that a large cylinder moving slowly dared to block the way—so it started the most critical stab in its life. The horn slammed against the leather apron, and there was a muffled thud. The armored horse just swayed slightly, and the force that could destroy a house was dispelled.At the same moment Pigador's spear pierced the bull's back.The bull took half a step back and then pushed it desperately. Its horns were in vain pressing against the soft thick leather cover. Blood was streaming down the back of the bull, but it was not clear, only the pitch-black hide was dripping with blood.The fat man stood up in the stirrups and thrust down with his spear.Pound hard. The cow retreated a few steps in a daze, why didn't this monster fall down?It summoned up its brute force and rushed up again.The bull's horns slammed against the leather wall again, and the armored horse still swayed slightly.And the spear took advantage of the situation and pierced into the spine again. I concluded that the point of the spear pierced not the flesh but the spine, and I could see that the bull was in extreme pain. Pigador stood on the stirrups, and he seemed to feel infinite pleasure. He pointed his spear at the back of the bull and pounded it vigorously. The Bulls were desperate.But it has no way out, whether it is for pain relief or for revenge, it can only fight to the death to break through this evil leather wall.Use the horns to push, push, and drill, not to let go of the hard and soft enemies, and use all the weight and strength of the whole body. The thick leather cover of the armored horse, with its cushioning performance, neutralizes the bull's attack and dignity.I felt strangely injustice in my heart, and my emotions were quietly boiling. (5) But the extent of the bleeding could not be seen, because the blood was not red on the pitch-black back.The audience can only see the dripping of the bull's back, without the red color that disturbs them. Brightly colored tidbits stick to the flower darts.Without using the "little thing", Al Fandy raised his double darts high, his body like a bow, he jumped up with all his might, and stabbed them down.He is vigorous and elegant when the bull is charging, trying to show his masculine beauty.None of his darts were shot, and none of them missed, which won bursts of thunderous cheers. The wounded bull seems to be laying down his life for the gentleman.It stayed with Al Fandy in what I guess was a severe pain in the spine, and made him tie six flower darts in all. After Pigador's "stabbing back", the proud bull has withered.Finally the flower dart was finished, it stood in place and began to pant rapidly.The six blood-soaked flower darts, the cow's abdominal cavity, and even the bull's genitals all convulsed violently as they gasped. But El Fandy brought a crimson capa, and the neighbor turned around again, and he stared at me: mureda.I paid no attention to him, the last moment came.The swordsman held a thin sword in one hand, while the bull panted violently opposite. Then, using the dark red mureda, the last stanza, which constantly shows the graceful posture of the human being, is just the way of the crucifixion before Jesus reached the barren mountain for the bull.The man is constantly posing, acting, exaggerating his bravery, while the bull staggers, barely stumbles and rushes.Taking advantage of the gaps when people are coquettish to the audience, they gasp for breath, and their belly twitches violently like a broken bellows. I searched hard for memories of the Mongolian grasslands, trying to find something similar.But the grassland cannot be used as a reference; there is no such encounter with the cattle there.The bull is panting, he's done, I think. The bullfighter deliberately puts the sword behind his back, so that his body is a little closer to the sharp horns of the bull's head.Why do you have to be brave at this moment, its spine is broken... I feel miserable.I realize I should be polite, but I just stare, bewildered. Finally, the curved sword pierced the back of the bull, and the bloody bull fell down! The audience burst into thunderous cheers, but tears almost welled up in my eyes.The anger broke through the limit in my heart, and I finally couldn't bear it anymore.The little things drove the horses to drag the carcasses of the dead cows.The dead cow raised its two sharp horns strangely, and the sand was dragged out of a deep ditch under its heavy body.To the man next to me who jumped up and yelled, and to the spectators who were happily shouting in the audience, I silently said: Shame! ... (6) The second cow rushed out. I noticed that I became indifferent.The cow is still beautiful, and its body is still wrapped in brocade.The action of the matador is still agile and beautiful.However, after three rounds, the armored horse slowly appeared again. In front of the thick armor, the running bull puts its own spine.Although a thick sharp object was pierced into its back, it could only use its horns to push it blankly.Maybe it didn't hurt the spine?How can it be concluded that the spine must have been stabbed?I don't know why I dwell on this idea.But the cow—it buried its head in the big leather cover, and let the cowardly fat man stand on the horse wantonly, poking and pounding. Leaving that square inch of land, Niu obviously lost his mental strength.In the following time, it just rushed back and forth reluctantly, accompanying the swordsman to perform his full set of bravery and fitness. The only difference is that when it finally accepted the execution of the curved sword, the matador couldn't get in it again and again.The audience booed.But the sword just couldn't stab.After several repetitions, the killing was finally completed. Finally the mountain crumbled and the exhausted bull fell down.The anger in my heart could no longer be suppressed, and I rushed out of the encirclement all at once.The deafening cheers isolated me, but I knew I couldn't praise the competition enough.Enduring the burning revulsion, I shouted not to my neighbor, but to my companion: "If Eji from Inner Mongolia saw it, she would cry!..." Chapter 6 Jiama and Bullfighting Section 22 Jiama and Bullfighting (3) (7) El Fandy carried the big pink capa, walked to the center, facing the cattle entrance, spread out the swallow-shaped pink cloth awning to block herself, and knelt firmly on both knees.There was a moment of silence. The door snapped open. Another pitch-black bull rushed out! Perhaps I should also do justice to the courage and beauty of the matador.It must be said that El Fandy, whom we met that day, was exceptional; Al Fondy did a sideways somersault just moments before the bull hit him - the large capa unfurling twirled and a huge pink fan flashed through the air.The bull galloped by at that moment, and Al Fandy stood up at that moment! This is truly breathtaking!No matter how much I have doubts about bullfighting, I must say that the sideways roll I have seen - no matter the dangerous kneeling position, the lightning rollover, or the big pink fan, is unforgettable forever. It's dead. Later I learned one of the most applauded moves, called "Veronica" - the bullfighter stays still, and when the bull rushes, he swings the cloth tent and rotates, and the cloth wraps around the person , while the cow brushed the cloth and rushed past. When Jesus was walking on the road of crucifixion, it is said that the female disciple Veronica used a cloth to wipe the blood and sweat from his face.This is where the name comes from.El Fondi also performed this trick, but Veronica is not worth mentioning compared to the "red fan" he made when he knelt to meet the bulls. In the past few years, Beijing TV station has been rebroadcasting bullfighting programs inconspicuously.I often watch it at night for a while, enduring the crappy commentary.One day, I overheard the commentator saying: "Just like Spanish fans should not know Raul, if you like Spanish bullfighting, you must know Alfandi"-I was stunned for a moment, maybe he was talking about that Apprentice Matador?Then I stared at the TV, but the broadcast was aimed at something else. Perhaps, the trainee matadors of that year are now famous all over Spain?That day he fought six bulls alone—maybe that day was his "regularization" ceremony?This is of course within reason.How many times have I watched TV, but I have never seen anyone who can perform a red fan. Perhaps that day, in the sol stands in Granada, what we saw was the best bullfighter in contemporary Spain.Al Fandy was alone that day, and at the end of the game, white handkerchiefs danced like pear blossoms in the stands.I don't think I need to check it online: his skills and aesthetics surpass anyone who has ever appeared on TV. (8) Later, I specifically went to see the Bullfighting Museum in Cordoba.My purpose, is to see the spears on display.Because I have always wanted to know how the cow's spine was injured after Jia Mashi stabbed it. I also checked all the bullfighting works of the great painter Goya.Because I accidentally saw one of his oil paintings (Suertedevaras) in Madrid.There is something strange about his picture: it is precisely a picture of an invincible bull and Pigador in a state of distress.I want to find similar feelings to mine among the Spaniards. Did Goya have a certain critical attitude towards bullfighting? But neither survey found support.The Bullfighting Museum is full of bull heads, like a bull martyr memorial.Then there are black and white photographs of famous matadors.I met a valiant old man again, his demeanor was the same as that of the old retired swordsman that day: he seemed to be immersed in the performance, and he never forgot his masculine demeanor with every move and gesture.He was as usual proud and rude, impatient with our questions.I quickly gave up on talking to him and didn't try to get him to meet my words. I only carefully drew the spearhead: It was a square piece of steel, and the tip of the spear was not a thin, easy-to-break point, but a square obtuse angle.That is to say: not a stab, but a big gash in the back of the bull.Then, when the fat man pounded down, he was pounding the back of the cow with a blunt-pointed iron rod.My suspicion is likely that the spine was probably smashed. Goya's bullfighting paintings also escaped my wishful thinking.Looking at his countless labors, I can only smile wryly. How could there be such an illusion? He is a complete admirer of bullfighting.He has more than forty encaustic paintings, and an unknown number of oil paintings, depicting bullfights tirelessly. The spear depicted in Goya's painting looks different.For example, he painted "Cid Bullfighting": the famous warrior Cid used a pointed spear, which penetrated the belly of the bull, exposing the pointed head. It was pretty bloodthirsty, too, but it was all fair.Because horses were not armored, cattle were not just driven to the slaughter.It also has the potential to attack and win. So Goya's best work is Suertedevaras (The Luck of the Gun).It was the days of Fairplay without horses, and all was fair.On the screen, the cow has already killed a horse, and another has been disemboweled.Pigador on the horse is trembling, and a group of "little things" outlined with thick brushstrokes are crowding behind him.The black cow stood in a daze, looking at the ridiculous human.I guess Goya may have had a thought in his mind, the idea that the bull is the real winner.The oil painting is about 4 meters in size, which is somewhat unusual among Goya's bullfighting paintings.It is unquestionably a masterpiece, evoking freedom of thought. Chapter 6 Jiama and Bullfighting Section 23 Jiama and Bullfighting (4) (9) The dead body of the fourth cow was also dragged out.In the jubilant field, I am lonely and nervous.I dare not expose my position, and I don't want to be so silent.So I yelled destructively in Mongolian: "Hain!" It's a wrestling ring term, who knows what it translates to.I remember in Ujumqin, when the referee was unfair, the onlookers threw the wine bottle, jumped up and shouted: Hain! The fifth bull rushed into the arena, his steps more nimble than a horse. It takes more than 20 minutes for a cow, and it only takes more than two hours to watch a bullfight.Armored horses and blunt square-headed spears are the guarantee of time.Including the physical strength of the bull, everything has been accurately calculated. The bloody cow rushed forward with all its strength.The matador gave a "Veronica", the bull staggered heavily, staggered and fell to his knees. I jumped up and yelled in Kazakh: "Jaman!..." The word means "bad".I am indeed incoherent, and in the face of such entertainment I feel that I have no more words of my own.Fortunately, freedom of speech is a bigger rule. In this venue, they can applaud, and I can also yell. Perhaps it is idleness to find fault with a custom of ancient origin, the games of human valor.Antiquity comes from fighting and bloodshed, and I don't advocate being sissy about ancient times.But in evolution, human beings become dishonest, beast fighting becomes killing, and wars are often one-sided elimination.The injustice in my chest made me unable to agree, and I lacked words when I protested.I feel like I'm drowning, I can only grab the straw of the alien, and shout in despair: Hain! Jaman! In Tangier, Morocco, we asked a Moroccan about it.He shook his head repeatedly and said: No, Islam does not allow cruelty to animals like that! ... But when I searched the information carefully, I found that there is no record about Muslims' opposition to bullfighting. It never occurred to me that a pleasant observation has become a depressing thing. (10) An impressively fit bull with black satin all over his body broke away from the galloping pace of a colt and rushed straight over.A sign lit up on the sidelines read: Weighs 628 kilograms. At this moment, I can't see the pink Kaba, nor the golden embroidered swordsman.I know this is the last cow, and it is the last moment of the cow's life.The pink and gold embroidery flashed, and the black bull rushed past. At the end of the charge, it stopped and turned back lightly.Its bravery and austerity, its demeanor, surprised me, a former herdsman. There is a hint of dexterity in its figure, a lightness that does not belong to a cow, but to a youth.This concealed lightness, together with the black shoulders, square hips, penis, and its rapid galloping and jumping, make people suddenly realize that beauty is expressed by a dying bull through no other means. of! I am grateful to this sixth ox, as if it wants to give me a perfect memory. I didn't see Pigador, but only an armored city.At the last moment, the afternoon sun shines directly on Sol's auditorium, causing everything to move in light and shadow.Then I saw the dripping black, the gorgeous flower darts, and the crimson flying. Its pure black color, its aggressiveness, and its head and horns raised my head and horns, all of which made me realize that what we grazed in the Mongolian grasslands were at most just cows.What I was witnessing at this moment was true aristocracy.Thinking about it so deeply, I didn't realize that my heart was getting drunk, and I felt like a taming bull leaving a bullock cart on the green grass—that was the feeling of sublimation. Finally the cow finally fell down. The stands were swept by the storm.The white handkerchiefs that suddenly appeared all over the place were densely shaken vigorously on the heads of the crowd.The carcass of the bull was dragged out of the arena by the handyman who arrived, and the sharp horns on the bull's head stood tall—until the end, the bull kept its tangled posture. The rest of the matter has been blurred.It seemed that El Fandy got two bull ears, and the ecstatic audience carried him to the parade.I just remember watching the cow without saying a word or blinking.It leans over and holds its head high. On the road being dragged, the battlefield is like a carpet under its seat.I gazed at the pair of towering horns until it disappeared beyond the doorway.