Morante on tour (VI): Roca Rey declares war (and loses)

** This summer, El Confidencial is publishing a series of chronicles that describe, from north to south, from east to west, the magical and triumphant season of José Antonio Morante de la Puebla . In this sixth installment, we move on to El Puerto .

Roca Rey let himself be killed. And this isn't just a catchphrase from bullfighting slang, but rather the plan for a suicidal faena that aimed to dethrone Morante after the two had clashed in a quaint alleyway argument. Things had been heated for a long time because the Morante delegation accuses the Peruvian delegation of having vetoed the maestro from La Puebla in Santander. And it's true that Roca has denied any involvement in the sabotage, but the exculpatory version doesn't convince Morante. And it does explain the flammable situation of the duel organized in El Puerto de Santa María (Cádiz). So flammable that Morante was irritated by Roca's untimely pass with calserinas. And Roca, far from being intimidated, challenged the maestro with his verbal backhand: "Smoke a cigar slowly." A heated exchange of gestures and opinions then ensued. And Roca Rey made the decision to sacrifice himself in the task of the afternoon's fifth bull. It was neither artistic nor visually impressive, but the incredible pressure of the final passes and the boldness of the approach demonstrated that the condor was displaying its claws, its ferocity, and its stature.

The Peruvian's resolve was suffering from a certain frustration, especially because Morante, in a state of grace and at his peak, downplays any hint of antagonism or competition. He has more courage than anyone. He fights better than anyone. And he overwhelms any attempt at emulation. His performances—Apollonian or Dionysian—leave the afternoon feeling empty and predispose spectators to a depression of sensitivity when it comes to appreciating the merits of others. Roca Rey (two ears) and Daniel Crespo (another two) were carried out on shoulders in El Puerto de Santa María on another "No Tickets Allowed" day, but Morante was the center of gravity of the evening, the architect of the most emotional and substantial episodes.

Bullfighting tradition is accustomed to classifying matadors as "artistic bullfighters" or "courageous bullfighters." Morante refutes this misunderstanding and cliché by establishing himself as the absolute reference in both categories. Morante's courage is frightening, and his aesthetic conception is moving. So much so, that his performance with the Cuvillo soap-maker, fought first—two ears—served as a contrast to the poise and decisiveness with which he resolved the difficulties posed by the fourth bull. The maestro could easily have cut a trophy, but the insensitivity of the president discriminated against the plebiscitary will of the spectators and gave rise to a subversive gesture from Morante himself.

Competition and rivalry suit the festival. It even makes sense to evoke the chronicles of "Bloody Summer," which Hemingway wrote in 1959 to document the rivalry between Luis Miguel and Antonio Ordóñez , among other reasons because Roca's arrogance seems very "Sunday-like" and because Ordóñez's majesty is part of Morante's idiosyncrasy.

Contrasting styles, incendiary personalities, fans clashing in the stands, schismatic journalists. The Fiesta owes Roca Rey the credit for having become the generational link for the young fans who fill the bullrings in recent years . He represents the figure of the hero. And his own Lima ancestry transcends the stereotype of the fascist, Spanish bullfighter. His cosmopolitan dimension is beneficial to the cause, without forgetting the enormous propaganda impact of Tardes de soledad . Albert Serra's film has revived the reputation of bullfighting in its countercultural and subversive nuances. Roca Rey has rescued the Fiesta from its depression, but all his accrued merits now mean he can't challenge Morante's primacy.

And not for circumstantial reasons, but because the monster of La Puebla represents and characterizes an unattainable and incomparable bullfighting , whatever period of history we intend to scrutinize.

Roca's desperation perhaps consists or consists in the fact that, even if he tried, he can't be Morante's rival. Hemingway's intoxicated prose stylized the perfect antagonism between Ordóñez and Luis Miguel as a competition between equals. Nadal was Federer's "agon," as Frazer was Ali's. And as Belmonte was Joselito's. The difference is that Morante has embraced Guerra's totalitarian hegemony: "First me, then 'nobody', and after 'nobody'... Fuentes."

Morante has done what seemed impossible: displace the Peruvian artist as a mass phenomenon, "stealing" the idolatry of the young and also capturing the devotion of the old. And he has achieved this at the most artistically inspired moment of his career. He is no longer just the prince of aesthetics; he is the hero who leans forward as if the goring were part of his signature.

The stands at El Puerto embraced the two liturgies: the roar and the silence, the storm and the breeze, the vertigo and the reverie. And in that invisible pulse, there is a double gratitude. To Roca, for having kept the flag of bullfighting high in the years of inclement weather. To Morante, for allowing us the unrepeatable opportunity to witness History , thus, with a capital H, like one sees a comet or attends a coronation. And like someone who accepts that Moranteism is an unbearable and unsustainable religion. Unbearable because exposure to his bullfighting produces pain and incorrigible Stendhelian effects. Unsustainable because the source of fertility cannot flow eternally.

Those of us who crossed paths in the corridors and stands of the bullring this Saturday knew it like a secret password. Fans from Seville, Madrid, France, and Mexico. Old and camouflaged bullfighters. Veterans and newcomers, as the Madrid anthem says. Converts and heretics. You can't miss Morante anymore. Roca has barely turned 28.