Rushing towards school to meet the others, I couldn’t
keep my enthusiasm in check; it was the day of the fiesta, after all. On that
day checking oneself was forbidden. On that day the caged animal within you
gets released. However crammed or twisted one’s inner flow was, on that day it
all gets flooded out into the crimson
sunset river of relief... or at least that’s what the flier said.
My over-zealous movements
thus resembled those of a humming bird being electrocuted. Jerkingly, I said
hello, first to Amy, of course, and then to all the others who were sitting at
the patio next to the pool barely catching Wifi. Amy was wearing a breezy
blue-white dress with a scoop cut and no sleeves.
‘Muy bien, gracias,’ she replied
with sparks kindling her exquisite eyes.
‘Are you
looking forward to the fiesta, mi amor?’
‘Very much, I’m
starving, I hope there’ll be some delicious burritos.’
‘Well then let
me reserve the privilege of buying you one.’
‘Granted,’ she
replied and rearranged her legs sliding the left over the right into a crossed
edifice with effortless grace. The enticing thing about women’s legs is the
smooth long curvy lined promise, as the new glowing dawn shines shyly forth the
promise of a new beautiful day.
The bus calmed it all down until we finally arrived. As soon as we got out the carnival
air hit us like a shot of fine Tequila. Drunken vibrations wafted through the
air; there already were drunkards lying prostrate in the streets and the sounds
of police sirens were shooting across the sky like blazing auroras—it was on.
I glued myself to Amy and commenced exerting all my
efforts to get us separated from the group without seeming to do so. As we were
approaching the square where the event was held, raucous music grew all around
us. And the people! Quickly, we got ourselves surrounded by myriads of
different colours/smells/voices; a group of children chasing each other with no
shoes on, a muchacho talking to a chica bella with his hands gesticulating
wildly and his shoulders rising like the tower of Babylon, a Javier Bardem-looking
cook handing a freshly spiced up burrito to a spacious American tourist with a
smile as big as a boomerang, another group of children splashing in a pool made
in the back of a truck... and then we found the ring.
Grasping the wooden bars of the ring,
eyeing the freed men wistfully, I saw a feast of glaring stupidity, sheer
ecstasy, or a sports activity. It depends where you come from, really. The only
thing that bothered me—the only thing I was afraid of—was getting Elise, a ravishing
French-Canadian who was our supervisor, into trouble. So, am I really doing
this? Why the hell not, gotta gain some proper experience somewhere! However
you feel about it, I felt myself an actor. The situation didn’t touch me until
already in the ring dancing with death. So I jumped in.
As soon as there was no barrier between myself and the
beast, I was hooked by my heart, gripped securely and snugly, and pulled
out of the depths of my Analysis Shell; I clicked in, skin and soul
overlapping. I got charged with the thrill and confidence as was the bull
charging at all the ticos that were
jeering at it or rather fleeing in front of its might. Right after the first
few steps I rooted my motions into the ground and was feeling oddly secure. It
can’t touch me, I felt invincible—right until the first direct charge.
I circled the ground around him. Then we both stopped.
Facing this Minotaur reincarnated I stood steadfast and gazed back into his
hellish eyes. He blew a warning snort, bellowed growlingly and darted out in a
wave of untamed ferocity; this monstrous wall of unbreakable force thundering
right at me, sparing no one, fearing nothing. The ground was shaking with the
bull approaching remarkably fast. In the last moment, my feeble disposition
mustered only but a swift side-step of a dancing defeat... I was scared
shitless, but safe, for now.
Above all, one has to have a firm knowledge of where
exactly the threat is, at any given moment; furthermore, one has to work with
the inertia of one’s body, keep on moving in bursting motions. In the ring
running fast is fundamental, but what really counts is one’s ability to move
quickly sideways and not be caught at the end of a 4+ meter sprint with too
great momentum to steer away to the side from the bull. Basketball paid off. So
after a few other near-hits the ring became my court and the bull a ballsy yet
clumsy opponent, rather than an enemy. Some of the ticos employed the interesting tactic of sprinting tangent to the
bull when it was standing still; they dashed out from one side of the ring,
sometimes touched it as they flew along its perplexed demonic muzzle, and raced
to the other side jumping up on the wooden bars away from the angry bull.
Sometimes the bull wasn’t furious at all and right after he shook off its rider—there was
always a volunteer who’d try to stay on top of it as long as possible—it just stood
there disinterested to all the shouting and provocation around
OH SHIT, the bloody horse! I forgot about the two vaqueros who were also in the ring (firm knowledge of where exactly the
threat is...). Vaquero numero uno threw his reata and roped the bull by its head.
The bull was jerking violently trying to yoke itself out but to no avail. Vaquero dos also succeeded in roping the
bull and they commenced to push the bull by pulling their ropes into the bull
gate. There was no human gate; if you wanted to get out you either climbed over
the circular 3-meter wooden walls which were occupied by crowds of people, or,
if you were rather unfortunate, you got lifted from the ground and carried into
a narrow shabby black hole in the stadium wall, an ambulance. I could hear the
music again.
Festivity blasting out from the speakers gave me a
waking slap. Thirstily, I gulped a lump of the free air. I was ok! I felt good.
I returned to my friends climb-jumping measuredly over the fence barrier.
‘Duuude, that was awesome!’ ‘Hey man, you’re crazy!’ ‘Weren’t you scared?!’
‘You stupid fuck!’—reactions varied.
‘I need a drink,’ said I, shaking and
terrified, feeling the life within me pulsating in a frenzied craze. I found
solace in every precious beat.
‘I’ll come,’ said Alton and Elise bared
her pearl white teeth into a sweet smile and nodded the way to the nearest bar.
Alton was a Norwegian fellow always looking for a social situation to get
embarrassed in. He had far more heart than most. He also had a lazy eye which
was in fact dead, he was half blind. Amy wasn’t to be found.
‘A beer and a shot of tequila?’ I
surveyed.
‘Does the bull shit in the ring?’ chuckled
Alton.
‘What? Oh right. And mademoiselle?’
‘Whiskey for me por favor,’ said Elise’s marble teeth playfully. ¡Que linda! We ordered the drinks and located a free
relatively dry table.
‘To what are we drinking?’ enquired Elise
raising her glass.
‘Death and shit?’ I suggested?
‘Death and shit,’ echoed Alton with a
triumphant tone and a kingly clank. Though what I really felt was a deep alarm
of how close I had been... thinking about my mother, thinking about the future,
which felt rather frail… But when you stop taking risks you are dead already.
- - Jaromír Lelek
