To Panama and back

by Henry T. Byford

The music ceased, the alcalde nodded, the bugle-call sounded, the matador pirouetted and smiled, and the green and glittering banderilleros lined up beside the doors of the bull pen. One of the doors was thrown open and the audience waited in suspense. Suddenly out ran a well-formed animal into the light and looked around and blinked in astonishment. His name was “El Fantasma de la Esquina” (The Phantom of the Corner).

The five banderilleros began to flutter about in front of him and flaunt red cloaks at him. This he apparently resented, but did not seem to know which cloak to hook at. Finally he charged at one, and then at another, but paid no attention to the grass-colored banderilleros. Before long one of the latter stepped up and gracefully stuck two ornamental barbed darts into his shoulders. This made the audience cheer and caused “Fantasma de la Esquina” to run about and jump and kick like a calf until the darts fell off. He was then pursued and teased again. But his moral nature was superior to that of his pursuers, for when they spanked him on one side he jumped around and presented the other. He only tried to defend himself against the cloaks, the only things whose evil intentions he seemed to suspect.

“No sirve,” cried the crowd. (No good.)

And so thought the alcalde. The bull was unworthy of death. He didn’t know a red cloak from a green banderillero.

“To his pen, to his pen,” they cried. The alcalde nodded, and the amiable bull was driven back, and was a phantasm of the past.

Another bugle-call and another well-fed bull, “El Anarquista,” ventured out. As he emerged from the door a couple of the barbed darts with gay ribbons on them were stuck into his shoulders. Like the “Fantasma” he bounded and kicked and stuck up and crooked his tail until the darts fell off, at which he seemed greatly pleased, and quieted down for a rest. However, the red cloaks kept bothering him, so he made a short charge at one of them and then ran to one side out of their way. But the cloaks got after him like mosquitoes, so he charged another one and then trotted about aimlessly, as if reasoning that to keep running was the best way to keep from being stung. A couple of darts were again hooked into his shoulders, making him show his capers again until they were shaken off. “El Anarquista” was also sentenced to live and was shooed back to his pen. There was nothing in his name.

The third bull, “El Novillero,” the Greenhorn of the Arena, received a dart in his shoulders as he came out, and bounded to the center of the arena as if looking for trouble. He kicked at the sky and snorted at the ground and charged vigorously at the red cloaks, and sent banderilleros scurrying behind the screens and one of them over the back fence. He also charged one of the screens, producing an exhilarating, reverberating sound as his horns struck it, and winning the applause of the populace. This full charge upon the screen was by far the most exciting thing that had happened.

After receiving some more darts in his shoulders he charged again and ran straight after one of the banderilleros who, however, outran him and thus reached the screen and was safe. This is the first time any of the bulls had really gone after a man. He was the first one whose intelligence was anything like a match for that of his antagonists. But even this bull did not want to hurt any one. His attitude was, “Let me alone or I’ll hook you. Keep your distance or I’ll chase you.”

To me this fellow seemed, taking him for all in all, brave enough to die for the benefit of Panamaniac sport, but the alcalde thought not and the banderilleros tried to drive him back. But he would not go. He was afraid to turn his short tail toward them long enough to go through the door for fear they would stick a pin into him. So, after many futile efforts to drive him they let all of the other bulls into the arena, “El Fantasma,” “El Anarquista,” “El Bisturi” (Lancet) and “El Relampago” (Lightning). “El Novillero,” the cautious, got into the midst of them and they were all driven back into the pen as a herd. It was perfectly disenchanting.

Another bugle call for another bull. After some hesitation “El Bisturi” ran out and received two darts, but he jumped and kicked cow-fashion until he finally also shook them off. Either hides were tough that day or barbs were dull, for not a dart had remained sticking. Then the routine teasing began. He shook his horns at the cloaks and charged them once or twice; then ran away and was kept running all over the arena, frightened and confused at the number of cloaks waving at him from all sides. “El Bisturi” was the greatest runner of them all.