The Infinite Matrix | Michael Swanwick & Francisco Goya | The Sleep Of

Reason 40

12.05.02

the sleep of reason

by Michael Swanwick

with illustrations by

Francisco JosÉ de Goya y Lucientes

Click image to enlarge

Digital image © copyright

Davison Art Center,

Wesleyan University

DAC permission required

for any other use.

40. [Plate 77]

The Picadors' Club

Say what you will about being a matador, it's a blue-collar profession.

One sweats, to begin with. Also, the job is performed afoot, rather than

mounted. There's a great deal of danger involved, and that too is a

hallmark of the laboring class. Finally, there's the slaughter of the

bull at the end. One might as well be a common butcher!

No, no, matadors are scarce better than those alley-running louts in

Pamplona.

The picador, on the other hand, is a profession for aristocrats. One

rides high above the danger on a noble steed. One jabs at the great

animal with a long lance, drawing blood, and if the brute turns nasty,

why, one's friends are there to distract him and one's horse to take the

brunt of his anger. Finally, one does not slaughter — one

antagonizes! One provokes! One enrages! It is exactly what the ruling

class does best.

As may well be imagined, the Picadors' Club is the most exclusive

organization in all Madrid. Here gather the cream of society to relive

past triumphs, argue the merits of various lance-making firms, and

deplore the sad state to which the younger generation has brought their

noble calling.

Occasionally, on a Saturday night when drink has been flowing and

emotions run high, there will be an argument over technique, and then

there is no recourse but to bring out the carpet bull.

The carpet bull is a primitive sausage of wool upholstered with an old

rug with horns to one end, and handles underneath. A manservant operates

it, charging and feinting, in imitation of a real bull.

Meanwhile, two picadors, mounted upon the shoulders of friends, will

demonstrate their prowess as of old, and dazzle the onlookers with skill

such as has not been seen in the public arena for decades.

It is the most genteel and refined entertainment to be found anywhere in

Spain.

One gets old, of course. Just last Saturday, Don Ricardo carelessly ran

his spear through the eye and into the brain of his valet, killing the

poor bugger instantly.

It was bad form, but Don Ricardo, being half-blind and afflicted with the

palsy, had to be forgiven. He wasn't even aware at first that the tragedy

had occurred. When he was told, great was his horror and chagrin. His

face turned pale and his eyes bugged out. "Oh, bloody hell!" he cried.

"Not again?"

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This is the 40th of 80 stories by Michael Swanwick written to accompany

Francisco Goya's Los Caprichos. For a listing of the most recently

available stories, go to The Sleep of Reason.

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