A wild colt entered the arena, along with a few herdsmen dressed in the style of cowboys from overseas. I was immediately annoyed by their clothing. The colt started to wander confusedly through the field. A herdsman rushed up behind it. His task was to mount the horse from behind on the run and to remain mounted despite the animal’s fits of rage. But the colt, having noticed the man, stopped and allowed him to approach. Then the herdsman, perhaps unsettled by the presence of so many people, made a leap and wound up nearly astride the colt’s neck. It was the way to mount a wooden horse, and yet horse and rider fell to the earth. The other herdsmen ran to help. The colt didn’t want to stand up; it held the man prisoner, pressing its belly on his legs. The audience began to shout. The colt eventually decided to get on its feet again and, very calmly, allowed itself to be led out of the field.

‘He won’t be tamed,’ shouted a spectator. ‘He’s a lamb.’

The crowd erupted into noisy laughter. I too laughed with relish.

A bull entered the green clearing. A herdsman confronted it at once, trying to grasp it by the horns and bring it down. The audience was hushed. The bull seemed more alert than the colt. In fact, the roles were quickly reversed – it seemed as if the bull had been assigned the task of knocking down the man. The animal began to behave with a kind of strange craftiness: it enacted a long series of feints like a football player who wants to pass an opponent. It finally charged the man, driving him to take to his heels. Yet it was a charge full of caution, without hostility, as if the bull had wanted to mock the enemy’s gruff attitude, and the spectators immediately realized that the herdsman had not suffered any harm. Once again the other herdsmen ran to help their mate. Then the bull began running merrily after those poor devils. It headed for the hedges and, after completing two laps around the field, dashed in the direction of the river. The herdsmen, now in despair, also vanished beyond the hedge amid the uproar of the audience.

The crowd was yelling and cursing. In the end, aware that there would be no other attractions, they began to disperse.

‘Swindlers,’ they shouted.

‘It’s a scandal.’

‘What robbery!’

‘Down with the Maremmani!’

‘We want our money back.’

I shouted along with the others. Someone landed several blows on the booth where the tickets for the stands had been sold. I threw a stone at the wooden tables: I wanted to see everything destroyed. At the exit my mates surrounded me.

‘We were looking for you,’ said one.

‘You were hiding, weren’t you?’

‘Your paisans were just great. All of you should reimburse the spectators for the price of the ticket.’

‘He too is a Maremmano,’ said the goalie, pointing me out to people nearby.