low the first seating row and his head andrnhorns were far enough into the seats tornmake him almost a spectator himself.rnFlailing, he dropped down into the calkjonrnand ran clockwise until he reachedrnthe next opening into the ring, where hernmet up again with the men who hadrnvaulted over the harrera just ahead ofrnhim. When things had quieted down arnbit I looked over to Senorita Romerornagain. She was standing straight now behindrnthe red painted fence as she preparedrnto enter the ring and take the bullrnaway from the men, and she looked coolrnand relaxed as if she were arriving at arnchic Mexico City grille to meet a girlfriendrnfor lunch after a morning spentrnhaving her hair coifed and her nailsrndone.rnMarbella Romero did not do a bad jobrnwith her first bull. She looked good inrnthe ring except when, approaching thernanimal, she imitated the matador’srnshowy strut which does not look so wellrnwhen performed bv a woman butrnappears, in fact, a little ridiculous. Sherndid not really have the figure either forrna torero, being short in stature and withrntoo womanly a build. But the crowd,rnloving her, ignored her mistakes, applaudingrnwildly and shouting “Guera!rnGuera!” (“guera,” in a peculiarly Mexicanrnidiomatic usage, means “fair” orrn”blonde”), while the female controversialistrnhigh up in the arena who duringrnGutierrez’s and Romero’s performancesrnhad been yelling “Arriba torol Arribarntorol” (“Up with the bull!”) fell silentrnnow. While making her veronicasrnRomero was bumped by the horn, and itrnappeared as she stood against the barrerarnmassaging her leg that she would be imablernto conclude the fight. But she returnedrnto it gamely and almost at oncernthe bull caught her, knocked her down,rnand went after her with his horns whilernhis wide hoofs trampled the sand. Marbellarnlay on her stomach with the forwardrnpart of her body propped on her elbowsrnas she tried to rise; her mouth wasrnpartly open and her eyes looked enormous.rnThe crowd, shocked by the imminentrnprospect of seeing a womanrngored to death, made a low, unheard ofrnsound. The cuadrilla drew the bull offrnwith the capes, and the girl sprang to retrievernher sword. Then she turned, coveredrnwith blood, to face the bull again.rn”She’s hurt,” I exclaimed.rn”That’s the bull’s blood, not hers,” Jimrnsaid. “She’s okay.”rnMarbella Romero killed her bull, butrnshe was compelled, after several attemptsrnto go in over the horns, to kill with arnthrust behind the poll to the brain. Shernhad the crowd’s fullest sympathy anywayrnand exploited it fully, making a circuit ofrnthe ring while people threw things downrnand applauded. Romero limped badlyrnand her beautifiil suit was covered withrnblood and sand, but she looked proud ofrnherself and very happy.rn”In El Paso, it’s illegal for that youngrnlady to buy a pack of cigarettes,” JimrnRauen remarked.rn”Or a glass of beer.”rn”She could get a legal abortionrnthough.”rn”If they didn’t have her in jail for crueltyrnto animals.”rn”Along with her parents doing tenrnyears for child abuse. Or would it bernchild neglect?”rn”Anyway, it makes you proud to be anrnAmerican.”rnThe bullfight critic for Norte de Ciudadrn]udrez wrote later on that eveningrnthat the audience for the novilladornshould have stayed home, but we didn’trnagree with him. Bullfighters, like baseballrnplayers and opera singers, have tornstart somewhere.rnThroughout northern Mexico—alongrnthe U.S.-Mexico border in particularbullfightingrnhas made a comeback in recentrnyears. Yet for big city newspapers onrnthe American side of the border, withrntheir lavish arts and entertainment sectionsrncovering cultural and multiculturalrnevents including border book fairs, chilirncookoffs and Big Enchilada festivals,rnChicana poetry readings, mariachi concerts,rnranch heritage barbecues, and appearancesrnby Dr. Henry Kissinger, therncorrida is a non-event. Even in NewrnMexico, aficionados are regarded as notso-rnharmless eccentrics of a fype who rentrnsnuff movies on Saturday nights and harborrna secret wish to rescue gladiatorialrncombat from the mists of ancient history.rnThe bullfight, imagined as a celebrationrnof and indulgence in gratuitous violence,rnis a fearsome thing for what remainsrnof the Anglo-American publicrnwhich, without actually saying so, abhorsrnit as the quintessential emblem of Latinrnbloodthirst.rnStereotypes regarding Latin violencernand crueltv, like all stereotpes, conformrnessentially with known facts. The “lawlessrnroads” —and cities —of Mexico todayrnare more violent than they have beenrnat any time since Graham Greene visitedrnthe country in the 1930’s. But banditry.rndrug wars, political assassinations, governmentrnmassacres, and murder are notrnbranches on the same vine from whichrnthe corrida grew, the bullfight beingrnabout control and order, not chaos. Andrnit is chaos, not violence as such, that isrnheaded our way from Latin America,rnborne along as dangerous refuse on arnflood tide of effectively uncontrolled immigration.rnFor the United States, wherernmulticulturalism has become officialrndogma, importing the corrida to thernAmerican Southwest would be the logicalrnand proper thing—as much as acceptingrnlimitless numbers of “Hispanics”rnis illogical and improper. “Cultural enrichment”rnis not the same thing as mobrnimmigration, but it is not at odds withrnrestriction, either. Civilization would bernbullfight ferias throughout the Southwesternrnstates, which could be protectedrnnonetheless from the threat of culturalrnviolence in its many forms: poverty, dependency,rnpolitical instability, ineptitude,rnand corruption. Instead, Americanrnpoliticians enthusiastically admit a millionrndisruptive foreigners a year with thernunderstanding that they will wear theirrnNikes to football games, not bullfights,rnand eat only hamburgers made from humanelyrnbutchered beeves.rnOn a recent flight from Chicago to ElrnPaso on American Airlines’ ImmigrantrnExpress, I sat listening to the conversationrnof two “Hispanics” in the seats behindrnme. The woman was a native of ElrnPaso, where she was returning after a visitrnwith relatives in the Chicago area. Thernman had been born and raised in Juarez,rnmoved to the United States where he becamerna naturalized citizen, and landed arnjob as a professor of something or other atrnthe University of Iowa. Having lost arngrandparent over the weekend, he wasrnon his way home to Juarez to attend thernfLmeral.rn”You know,” the woman said, “thernway filings are headed, we’ll be the majorityrnby the year 2050.”rn”Yes,” he agreed. “It’s going to be ourrncountry before we know it.”rnPerhaps so, but if the three of usrnshould happen to be alive 52 years fromrnnow, they won’t like it any better than Irnwill because we’ll have the worst of bothrnworlds then. I almost turned around inrnmy seat to give them the bad news, andrndecided to forget it. It didn’t really seemrnworthwhile spoiling their day. “^rn0ff »f>f’iftc…rn. 8 ( » « – 8 7 7 – 5 4 S 9rn50/CHRONICLESrnrnrn