The Thrill of the Fight : As a <i> matadora,</i> Aracelli Gonzalez is not only taking on the bulls. She is challenging hundreds of years of male-dominated tradition.

When Aracelli Gonzalez first felt the touch of a bull’s horn on her lower abdomen, she thought nothing of it. Not when the crowd in the Guadalajara bull ring screamed in anticipation and the bull began to charge again.

Not even when the bull’s horn tore through her skin and drew blood, further exciting the crowd--the haves comfortably ensconced in their shaded seats, the have-nots holding their palms to the sky in denial of the sun.

At that moment, novice matadora Gonzalez, 20, ignored the pain of her wound and thrust her long steel sword into the mass of nerves on top of the animal’s neck.

That afternoon a year ago, Gonzalez limped away exhausted and hungry but relatively unhurt. She had just killed her first bull. Her reward for the day’s work: $10,000--and a sheared pair of bull’s ears that are now glued to a plaque perched above her parents’ fireplace in Huntington Park.

“Every bullfighter is wounded at one time or another; you just get on with the fight,” Gonzalez says later, reclining on a sofa during a rare visit home.

Born and raised in the United States, Gonzalez is pursuing her dreams in the land of her ancestors: Mexico. One of only a handful of women to challenge this bastion of machismo, Gonzalez fights bulls--and hundreds of years of history and tradition.

And while breaking down gender barriers, Gonzalez must gracefully dodge another prickly spot in highly nationalist character: as an American--a norteamericana , more specifically--she has gained access to a proud trade never considered game for export.

“I don’t know what it is that keeps the bullfighter alive after she’s been hit,” says Gonzalez, who anxiously studies videotape footage of her four public bouts. “It might just be adrenaline or the simple thrill of the entire fight. Maybe it’s the fact that you just want to get out of the whole thing alive and that means not falling when a bull hits you. It means killing the bull and staying alive.”

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Since her father, Vicente, took her to see her first bullfight 1 1/2 years ago in Guadalajara, she’s been hooked.

“I knew immediately it was what I wanted to do,” says Gonzalez, who stands a stately 5-feet-9 with the composure of the slim figures who grace velvet wall hangings in Mexican restaurants from Michigan to Michoacan.

After witnessing that first fight, Gonzalez dropped her university studies in Guadalajara, where she had begun course work toward a degree in psychology.

Now she is writing herself into the history of a blood sport imported from Spain along with the horses Cortez used to conquer the Aztec empire.

Following a trajectory from charra --as Mexican cowgirls are known--to beauty pageant queen to aspiring bullfighter, Gonzalez joined the Union de Matadores, or bullfighter’s union, at the end of 1993. Upon being admitted to the union, she was put in contact with some of Mexico’s best bull suppliers, who matched her with small, quick bulls to begin her training in Guadalajara.

“Even the tiny ones are so full of anger,” says Gonzalez. “It has to do with their nature--bulls are the angriest animals, and it shows.”

Of course, part of the spectacle of a bullfight is to instill a frenzied anger in the bulls; that’s the job of the picadores, men on horseback armed with lances who prod the bull in various directions.

As practiced today in countries as diverse as Mexico, France, Colombia, Peru, Portugal and Spain, bullfighting is the ceremonious baiting of bulls according to a formalized sequence of moves designed to display the skill and bravery of the bullfighter. The power and valor of the bull are also put on display, aficionados are quick to say.

While some countries have converted to “bloodless bullfighting,” in which the bulls are not killed, in Mexico bullfights remain a fight to the death.

In their homelands, top bullfighters are revered with a sort of celebrity hard to imagine in the United States, like a cross between film idols and star athletes. Their doings fill fan-zines and juicy gossip sheets. The best bullfighters often amass fortunes and continue killing bulls until middle age affects their abilities.

All bullfighters, however, suffer frequent injuries. And for a few, death waits in the bullring.

As a union member, Gonzalez receives benefits such as health insurance and--if necessary--guaranteed treatment at some of the country’s best hospitals.

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“There’s no question that it’s pioneering for a woman of her background to move into one of the last domains of male power,” says Alan Klein, an anthropologist at Northeastern University in Boston who has written extensively on issues dealing with gender, sports and nationality in the United States, Mexico and the Caribbean.

“Both as a Chicana and an American, the lack of resistance to her entry into the bullfighting fraternity is impressive,” he says.

“When going to Mexico, Americans of Mexican descent are often accused of ‘selling out’ and becoming too American. On top of all this, she appears to be a very ambitious woman in a society still very much dominated by men.”

Klein says one reason Gonzalez has been able to gain access to bullfighting may be because machismo is on the decline in Mexico. Research shows more married women are working, he says, a situation that gives them more economic and personal freedom.

Also contributing to her success is support from her family. The youngest of six children, Gonzalez always preferred the countryside to the city, says her mother, Rosa Maria Gonzalez.

“Almost as soon as she was able to ride a horse, she was anxious to compete in rodeos,” she says about her daughter. “Pretty soon she was inseparable from her horses. During summer vacation, Aracelli went straight to our ranch near Fresno and didn’t come back until school started in the fall.”

As a teen-ager, Gonzalez began to compete in Mexican rodeos throughout California, often walking away bruised but honored with trophies and awards.

Her flair for pageantry soon led her to enter local beauty competitions, where she polished her poise and became more comfortable performing before thousands of eyes. Soon, however, she discovered that neither rodeos nor pageants were challenging enough. She wanted to work and live among animals.

“For a while I thought about becoming a vet,” says Gonzalez.

After seeing her first bullfight, she knew exactly what she wanted to do. To the dismay of nearly everyone in her family, Gonzalez’s father, who oversees production at a Los Angeles glass company, was overjoyed.

“He’s always loved the bulls; he was behind her from Day One,” says Rosa Maria Gonzalez.

Gonzalez believes bullfighting is in her genes.

“Rumor has it in my family that my grandfather back in Mexico wanted to be a matador when he was young. But he came from a good family that pressured him a lot; they wanted him to become a doctor. So he did that, and began caring for people. But I think that’s where my desire comes from,” she says.

The rest of her family was not so enthusiastic.

“Sometimes I feel I’d prefer to see her married,” says her mother. “But like everyone else in this family, I’ve resigned myself to Aracelli’s choice. Now I try to help her any way I can.”

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Now that Gonzalez has made her choice, she’s discovered the lifestyle that accompanies it.

Contrary to the glamour surrounding bullfighters inside the ring and in the glossy magazines that discuss their latest scandals, a bullfighter’s life is often quite ascetic, she says.

“Since I started training a year ago, I’ve tried to stick to a healthy regimen, like all the best bullfighters do.”

She also eats only two meals a day, the main one in the afternoon, as is the custom in Mexico. Although not a vegetarian, she rarely eats meat.

“It doesn’t mean I’m squeamish,” she says. “It’s the key to an active, healthy diet. When I go to Mexico City to begin training with an expert (this month), I’ll also have to start going to the gym to work out.”

In the meantime, she is learning the differences between the country where she was raised and the country of her ancestors, where her fortunes now lie. Since she looks very Mexican and grew up in a home where Spanish was spoken, she says Mexicans often claim her as one of their own.

First impressions don’t always last, though.

“When they find out I’m not a citizen down there, they tease me and call me ‘gringa.’ I hate that, since that word sounds so awful.”

All of the cultural differences aside, Gonzalez says she’s having the time of her life doing exactly what she wants to do. The drama surrounding her newfound passion, as well the thrill of each kill, will keep her in her parents’ homeland.

In time, she hopes to move from novillera , or novice, to full-blown matadora , or bullfighter. That’s when the success begins, she says. Then she will be able to travel to other countries with strong bullfighting traditions.

For now, though, she concentrates on the work at hand, and contemplates exactly what’s needed to succeed.

“Luck means so much when it comes to bullfighting. All of the hard work and training won’t pay off unless you have luck on your side. Every bullfighter knows that, since every bullfighter has come close to death.”