In the coliseum, the bull stares down hundreds of men. He's a half-ton killer, black, head white like a skull, horns curled. Bred for the fight. There's violence in his DNA. The bull scans the crowd in the ring, alert to any challenge. The crowd watches for the animal's slightest of movements. When the hundreds of men flee, they move in tandem, like a school of fish dodging a shark. The blazing tropical sun beats down on us all.
From the crowd steps a man. Catalino Bravo wears the face of a clown, white paint over his black skin, a nose daubed red. Something's crazed in his eyes. An entirely sane man would not yell at an enraged 600-pound bull that stands 30 feet in front of him.
"Hey! Hey! Hey!"
The 25,000 or so spectators cheer Bravo. In the stands, one of the band's drummers is lost in his solo. The drums beat faster and faster.
"Hey! Hey! Hey!"
The bull settles his gaze on Bravo and stomps the ground, shooting dust into the air. Bravo takes two steps forward, two steps back, revving his body. Rapt, the audience watches. The drums pound in a frenzy, and Bravo again shouts "Hey! Hey! Hey!"
The bull charges. The audience cheers, the audience screams. Quickly crossing himself, Bravo sprints straight at those horns. Now everything happens faster than the brain can process. Why is this man running at the charging bull? How can he survive? What the fuck is going on?
The audience is on its feet, hollering. The drum solo keeps going, faster, madder. The man and the bull charge each other, erasing metres in a second.
At the last moment, when it seems inevitable that Bravo will be gored, everyone holds their breath. Inches from those murderous horns, Bravo launches himself into the air, soaring over the bull. The bull steamrolls forward, and Bravo lands in the dirt in a roll and jumps to his feet.
This story is from the April/May 2024 edition of Rolling Stone UK.
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This story is from the April/May 2024 edition of Rolling Stone UK.
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