2. It was a great bullfight in Seville, Spain,
in a way. Rosa and I were excited about
being introduced to the young good
looking matador, he must had been no
older than twenty-one.
3. A young couple was sitting about ten-feet away
from us in the arena, Americans like us. The bull
had gored the young matador; he had caught the
blind spot with his eye when the young matador
swung his cape in front of his horns, and for a
second couldn't see those long thick horns, and
gored him in his armpit, throwing him clear in
the air above him. Rosa looked my way caught
my attention, and shrugged her shoulders to
show her discontent.
4. To my understanding there had not been a goring in a
long while here, it was 1997. The second matador
was called in, to replace the wounded one, while he
was being taken out on a stretcher: both being about
the same height, weight, built, and age. Both
matadors were slack in their approach, and careless,
a lack of skills it appeared, it took the second
matador six times sticking the sword into the back
extended hump of the bull, before it dropped to its
knees, he had missed the mark every time. The bull
was a young, skinny bull, weak to start out with, but
he wasn't careless, and he had courage.
