When I returned from riding at midday, it was to find Pani’s car
waiting for me, and the information that four times people had called
to take me to the “Haripeyo” that was taking place at the bull ring
since 11 o’clock. I hurriedly changed my clothes, cursing fate, that
I had not been told of this in time. Arrived there I was welcomed by
Pani, and Malbran. There were quite a lot of people, but I didn’t
know who they were. I regretted not having had the chance of asking
my friends. In the ring there were about a dozen men on horseback,
and one of them I recognized as my friend Guadalupe. He looked
extremely picturesque in his leather clothes and huge brimmed white
hat embroidered in gold. The game seemed to be to chase a wild horse
and lassoo it. Dick was wildly excited. He shouted: “That’s good!” at
the top of his voice when the pony was violently thrown to the ground.
It may have been a wild horse, but a tame horse fed on oats is wilder.
This animal looked unkempt, moth-eaten, and dazed, I suppose from
fright. It must be a rotten game for the horse, to be tripped up when
he’s galloping full speed. They would lassoo his front legs together
and then his back legs so that the animal lay on the ground helpless,
then a man would straddle it, and the horse would rise to his feet with
the man on his back. They did the same with a bull, having previously
pursued it, caught it by the tail, given the tail a twist round the
man’s leg, which just threw the galloping bull with a thud to the
ground. Almost the best feat was performed by a rider who pursued the
wild horse, caught it by the mane and jumped from his own horse on the
back of the wild one, as they galloped side by side. They are wonderful
riders these Mexicans. They can sit anything and cannot be shaken off!
But I would like to see them on a powerful big horse with an English
saddle.
Dick and I spent the afternoon in the garden of the American Embassy.
There is a little round clear blue-tiled pond full of goldfish, and
Dick paddled and played and was completely happy. I asked Mr. Summerlin
for news, as I get nothing to read but the MEXICAN POST.
But he was full of mystery and told me nothing about anything. When
people get a suspicion that one may be writing, they became terribly
secretive. I remember a time when I used to hear state secrets, and
people used to talk about things in front of me as if I were perfectly
idiotic and negligible.
Today I asked Mr. Summerlin: “Is recognition any nearer...?” He
shrugged his shoulders in true diplomatic fashion--it told me nothing.
That he was very busy and finally called away on urgent matters, was
all I learnt. We might be on the eve of war for all I know! The people
one meets are supremely indifferent to everything. The newspapers
record certain rebellions in various parts, no one even reads them.
Even the Tampico Oil ‘hold up’ is now a thing of the past, the papers
hardly mention it at all, nor the oil wells that are on fire; it is as
if the Mexican nation was so blasé with excitements that nothing any
longer can stir their interest.