iQui

Lithe and lightfoot under the bright summer sun, the matador waited impatiently while the banderillas were planted. Then, with a series of spectacular redondos, slow, cape-twirling passes that prolonged the moment of peril, he prepared his bull for the kill. From the high-banked tiers of the arena at Malaga, Spaniards cracked out their drumfire oles. "Si!" his fans shouted at Luis Miguel Dominguin, "tu, el primero [yes, you're the best]!"

Minutes later, Dominguin's No. 1 rival was out on the sand displaying his own classic style with sword and cape. Young Antonio Ordonez, 27, moved his bull closer and closer with dangerous, kneeling rodillazos. Finally the animal was slowed to a befuddled walk, drawn to the muleta as though hypnotized. Up in the stands, Ordonez' aficionados shouted: "Si, tu el primero!"

Thus last week the two greatest matadors of their day brought back to bullfighting the hot-blooded competitive art that can sometimes elevate a ritualized sport into moving drama. Just two weeks before, each man had been nicked by the bulls' wicked horns; now they were back, aflame with desire to star, meticulously careless as ever of the danger that moved beside them on the bloodstained sands.

It is a struggle that holds all Spain enthralled as it watches the two: haughty, handsome Luis Dominguin, 33, the sometime international playboy whose cool style can crackle with showmanship, and boyish Antonio Ordonez, whose classic passes flare with the brilliance that fires aficionados into ecstasy. Each is a millionaire, but each cares more for his craft than cash. And each is fond of holding up a forefinger, smiling faintly and declaring: "Yo, el primero."

To settle the matter mano a mano (hand to hand), Dominguin returned to the ring after three years of retirement to put his younger rival in his place. A longstanding and well pressagented public "feud" seemed to make the men enemies, although they are actually brothers-in-law and close personal friends. But feud or no, the fighting has been magnificent. Ordonez, with his sweeping circulares, has been turning bulls into nosing calves. More than once, Dominguin has gone to his knees and performed his showstopper, el telefono: leaning casually on the bull's head as he talks into a horn.

By week's end Dominguin led Ordonez for the year in the sport's anatomical trophy ratings, 61 ears to 48. (At Malaga, between them, the two matadors collected ten ears, four tails and three hoofs.) There is only a persistent memory that mars the duels for aficionados; in 1947, it was Dominguin, then 21, who taunted the peerless Manolete out of retirement, forced him to such daring that he was finally killed by a giant Miura bull. Watching the two matadors, still aching from their half-healed wounds, many a Spaniard wonders if Dominguin or Ordonez will yet risk too much in defense of art and honor.

This file is automatically generated by a robot program, so reader's discretion is required.