Full resolution (JPEG) - On this page / på denna sida - XII. The Bullfight
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276 DAYS IN THE SUN
It is the same circus; it is the same motley crowd of
persons, at first glance like a huge wreath of pansies in
a great pasteboard box.
The third act has just begun; the fourteen thousand
faces are fixed motionlessly on one and the same point.
Down below is the focus of all their glances, a slender
page toying with a blade in his hand. His shoes and
stockings are of silk; his knee-breeches and his tight-
fitting doublet are embroidered in gold; from the back
of his head sticks out a little rebellious whorl of hair.
Opposite him stands a great black bull, head lowered,
delving into the sand of the arena with his hoofs. The
bull lowers his horns and the page aims at the bull
with the tip of his sword, and so they stand motionless
for a long time. The whole scene would be as peace-
ful and quiet as a living tableau if it were not for the
dead horses lying at one side, their chests gored and
their bellies ripped.
Suddenly, the bull makes a lunge. He moves like
lightning and the page’s sword flies through the air,
landing somewhere among the onlookers in the upper
seats; the page himself runs lightly over the sand of
the arena, while the spectators whistle and hiss. After
the page has gone a few steps, he throws himself flat
on the ground, face-downward, and weeps; but the bull
runs across the arena to a dead horse and moistens his
horns in the horse’s intestines. His head covered with
blood, he begins a desperate man-hunt on the swift
chulos; the page, however, continues to lie, face-down-
ward, still weeping, until the spectators cease their
hisses and a few of them shout encouraging words to
him. Then he jumps to his feet like a rubber ball; they
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