Renato followed me to the United States a year after I got here. But before his visa was complete he flew to Tijuana and I flew to San Diego from San Francisco and crossed the border into Tijuana. He was there on the other side waiting. He looked so thin. The year of waiting to join me had taken a rough toll.
There was a naval ship in port that day, and I made the crossing engulfed in a wave of sailors on leave. There weren’t many sights to see in Tijuana except an upcoming bullfight. I won’t say the spectacle was worthwhile. The animal seemed so small, so bewildered. When the bandilleras went in I winced for the bull, which died in due time at the sword end of a seemingly clumsy matador.
And now I am signing petitions to banish bullfighting (good luck!) and a multitude of other cruel practices involving helpless animals. Don’t tell me it’s the culture; I am tired of that excuse.