CHAPTER XXVII
THE COCK FIGHT.
In order to keep the Sabbath holy in the Philippines the peoplegenerally go to the cock fight, just as in Spain they go to thebull fight. Cock fighting, a passion introduced into the country andexploited for a century, is one of the vices of the people, more deeplyrooted than the opium vice among the Chinese. The poor go there torisk what little they have, desirous of making money without working;the rich go there to amuse themselves, using the money which theyhave left over from their feasts and thanksgiving masses. The cock iseducated with great care, with more care, perhaps, than the son whois to succeed his father in the cock-pit. The Government permits itand almost recommends it, for it decrees that the fight shall onlybe held in the public plazas and on holidays from after high masstill dark--eight hours.
The San Diego cock-pit does not differ from others which are found inall the towns. It consists of three parts: The first, or entrance,is a large rectangle, some twenty meters in length and fourteen inbreadth. On one side is the door, generally guarded by a woman whocollects the entrance fee. From the contribution which each onemakes the Government receives a part, some hundred thousands ofpesos each year. They say that with this money, which gives licenseto the vice, magnificent schools are raised, bridges and roadwaysconstructed, and rewards offered for the encouragement of agricultureand commerce. Blessed be the vice which produces such good results! Inthis first precinct are the vendors of betel nut, cigars and tobacco,delicacies and refreshments. There the small boys, who accompany theirfathers or uncles, are carefully initiated into the secrets of life.
This precinct communicates with another of slightly larger dimensions,a sort of vestibule, where the people gather before the fight. There,one sees most of the cocks, tied by a cord to a bone driven into theground like a nail; there, are the bettors, the lovers of the sport,the man skilled in fastening the gaffs or spurs to the cock's legs;there, bargains are made, the situation discussed, money borrowed,and people curse, swear and laugh boisterously. In one place, someone is caressing his game cock, passing his hand over his brilliantplumage; in another, a man examines and counts the number of scaleson the rooster's legs, for that, they say, is a sign of valor. Thebattles of the heroes are related. There, too, you will see many adisappointed owner, with a sour face carrying out by the legs, a deadrooster, stripped of its plumage--the animal which was a favoritefor months, petted, cared for day and night, and on which flatteringhopes had been founded: now, nothing more than a dead fowl, to besold for a peseta, stewed in ginger and eaten that very night. Sictransit gloria mundi! The loser returns to his fire-side, where ananxious wife and ragged children await him, without his little capital,without his rooster. From all that gilded dream, from all the care ofmonths, from daybreak to sunset, from all those labors and fatigue,from all that, results a peseta, the ashes left from so much smoke.
In this foyer, or vestibule, the most ignorant discuss the comingcontests; the most trifling, examine conscientiously the bird, weighit, contemplate it, extend its wings, feel of its muscles. Some ofthe people are very well dressed, and are followed and surrounded bythe backers of their game cocks. Others, dirty, with the seal of viceimprinted on their squalid faces, anxiously follow the movements ofthe rich and watch their betting, for the pocketbook can be emptiedand the passion still be unsatisfied. There you see no face that isnot animated, no indolent Filipino; none apathetic, none silent. Allis movement, passion, eagerness.
From this place, one passes into the arena or rueda, as it iscalled. The floor, inclosed by bamboos, is generally elevated higherthan the floor of the other two parts of the cock-pit. Running upfrom the floor and almost touching the roof, are rows of seats forthe spectators or gamblers--they come to be the same. During thecombat these seats are filled with men and children who cry, shout,perspire, quarrel, and blaspheme. Fortunately, scarcely any women visitthe cock-pit. In the rueda are the prominent men, the rich class,the bettors, the bookmaker, and the referee. The cocks fight on theground, which is beaten down perfectly smooth, and there Destinydistributes to families laughter or tears, feasts or hunger.
As we enter, we can see the gobernadorcillo, Captain Pablo, CaptainBasilio, and Lucas, the man with the scar on his face who was sodisconsolate over the death of his brother.
Captain Basilio approaches one of those present and asks him:
"Do you know what cock Captain Tiago is going to bring?"
"I do not know, Senor. This morning two arrived, one of them the lasak(black sprinkled with white) which whipped the Consul's talisain(red, sprinkled with black)."
"Do you think that my bulik (black, red and white), can beat him?"
"Yes, I surely do. I'll stake my house and shirt on him!"
At that moment Captain Tiago arrived. He was dressed, like the biggamblers, in a camisa of Canton linen, woolen pantaloons, and apanama-straw hat. Behind him came two servants, carrying the lasakand a white cock of colossal proportions.
"Sinang tells me that Maria Clara is improving steadily," saidCaptain Basilio.
"She no longer has any fever, but she is still weak."
"Did you lose last night?"
"A little. I heard that you won.... I am going to see if I can winback my money."
"Do you want to fight your lasak?" asked Captain Basilio, looking atthe rooster.
"That depends on whether there is any money up."
"How much will you stake?"
"I don't play less than two thousand."
"Have you seen my bulik?" asked Captain Basilio, and then called aman to bring a small rooster.
Captain Tiago examined it, and after weighing it in his hand, andexamining its scales, he handed it back.
"What do you put up?" he asked.
"Whatever you say."
"Two thousand five hundred?"
"Make it three?"
"Three."
"Let her go!"
The circle of curious people and gamblers learn that the two celebratedcocks are to be fought. Both the roosters have made a history forthemselves; both have a reputation. All want to see and examine thetwo celebrities. Opinions are expressed, and prophecies made.
In the meantime the voices grow louder, the confusion is augmented, therueda fills up and a rush is made for the seats. The soltadores bringtwo cocks to the ring for a preliminary contest. One of the roostersis blanco (white), the other rojo (red). They are already spurred, butthe gaffs are not yet unsheathed. Cries of "Al blanco! al blanco!" areheard. Some one else shouts, "Al rojo!" The blanco is the favorite.
Civil Guards circulate among the crowd. They are not wearingthe uniform of their body, nor do they wear the costume of thenative. Pantaloons of guingon with a red fringe, a blue-spotted blouseshirt, and the cuartel cap--you have here their disguise, in harmonywith their deportment; watching and betting, making disturbance andtalking of maintaining the peace.
While the shouting is going on and men are jingling money in theirhands; while the people are going down in their pockets for the lastcuarto, or, if that is wanting, pledging their word, promising tosell their carabao, or their next harvest, two young men, apparentlybrothers, follow the gamblers with envious eyes. They approach, timidlymurmur words which nobody catches, and each time become more and moremelancholy, and look at each other with disgust and indignation. Lucasobserves them, smiles malignantly, rattles some silver pesos, passesnear to the two brothers, and looks toward the rueda, shouting:
"I am betting fifty, fifty against twenty on the white!"
The two brothers exchanged looks.
"I told you," murmured the older, "not to bet all your money. If youhad obeyed me, we would have it now to put on the red."
The younger one approached Lucas timidly and touched him on the arm.
"Is it you?" exclaimed the latter turning around and feigningsurprise. "Does your brother accept my proposition or did you cometo bet?"
"How can we bet when we have lost all?"
"Then you accept?"
&
nbsp; "He does not want to! If you could lend us something: you have alreadysaid that you knew us...."
Lucas scratched his head, pulled down his camisa and replied:
"Yes, I know you. You are Tarsilo and Bruno, both young and strong. Iknow that your brave father died from the result of the hundredlashes which the soldiers gave him. I know that you do not think ofavenging him."
"You need not meddle in our history," interrupted Tarsilo, theolder. "That is a disgrace. If we did not have a sister, we wouldhave been hanged long ago."
"Hanged? They only hang cowards, or some one who has no money orprotection. Certainly the mountains are near."
"A hundred against twenty on the blanco," cried one as he passedthe group.
"Loan us four pesos ... three ... two," begged the youngerbrother. "Presently I will return it to you doubled. The fight isgoing to begin."
Lucas scratched his head again.
"Tst! This money is not mine. Don Crisostomo has given it to me forthose who want to serve him. But I see that you are not like yourfather. He was really courageous."
And, saying this, he went away from them, although not far.
"Let us accept. What does it matter?" said Bruno to his brother. "Itamounts to the same thing whether you are hanged or shot down. Wepoor serve for nothing else."
"You are right, but think of our sister."
In the meantime, the circle around the ring had been dispersed; thefight was going to commence. The voices began to die away, and thetwo soltadores and the skilled gaff fitter, were alone in the middleof the rueda. At a signal from the referee, the sheaths were removedfrom the razor-like knives on the cocks' legs, and the fine bladesglistened in a menacing way.
The two brothers, gloomy and silent, approached the ring and, restingtheir faces against the bamboo railing, watched the preparations. A manapproached them and said in their ears: "Hundred to ten on the blanco!"
Tarsilo looked at him stupidly. Bruno elbowed his brother, whoresponded with a grunt.
The soltadores handle the roosters with masterly skill, takinggreat care not to wound them. A deep silence reigns throughout thepit. You would think that those present, with the exception of the twosoltadores, were horrible wax figures. The two roosters are broughtclose together and allowed to pick at each other and thus becomeirritated. Then they allow them to look at each other, so that thepoor little birds may know who has plucked out their feathers, andwith whom they should fight. The feathers around the neck stand up;they look at each other fixedly; flashes of wrath escape from theirlittle, round eyes. The moment has come. The birds are placed on theground in the ring at a certain distance from each other.
The cocks advance slowly. Their little steps are heard upon the hardfloor. Nobody speaks; nobody breathes. Lowering and raising theirheads, as if measuring each other with a look, the two roosters muttersounds, perhaps of threat or contempt. They have perceived the shiningblades. Danger animates them, and they turn toward each other decided,but they stop at a short distance, and, as they look at each other,they bow their heads and again raise their feathers on end. Withtheir natural valor, they rush at each other impetuously; they strikebeak against beak; breast against breast, blade against blade, andwing against wing. The blows have been stopped with dexterity andskill, and only a few feathers have fallen. They again measure eachother! Suddenly the blanco turns and, raising himself in the air,flashes his death-dealing knife, but the rojo has already doubled uphis legs, ducked his head and the blanco has only cut the air. Then,on touching the ground, to avoid being wounded from behind, he turnsquickly and faces the other. The red attacks him with fury, but hedefends himself with coolness. Not without reason was he the favoriteof the crowd. All, trembling and anxious, follow the movements ofthe battle, now this one and now that one giving an involuntaryshout. The ground is being covered with red and white feathers,tinged with blood. But the duel does not go to the one who draws firstblood. The Filipino here follows the laws laid down by the Government,which say that the cock which is killed or flees loses the fight. Theblood now wets the ground; the blows are repeated, but the victoryis still undecided. Finally, making a supreme effort, the blancothrows himself forward to give a last blow; he drives his knife intothe wing of the rojo and buries it among the bones. But the blancohas been wounded in the breast, and both, weak from loss of blood,and panting, fastened together, remain immovable until the blancofalls, bleeds through his neck, kicks violently and is in the agonyof death. The rojo, pinned by his wing, is held to the other's side;and little by little he doubles up his legs and slowly closes his eyes.
Then the referee, in accordance with the regulations prescribed bythe Government, declares the rojo the winner. A wild and prolongedoutcry greets the decision, an outcry which is heard throughoutthe town. He, who, from afar, hears the cry, understands that thedejado has beaten the favorite, for otherwise the outcry would nothave lasted so long. So it happens among nations: when a small nationsucceeds in gaining a victory over a greater one, the song and storyof it last through centuries.
"Do you see?" said Bruno, with indignation, to his brother, "if youhad taken my advice to-day, we would have had one hundred pesos. Onyour account we are without a cuarto."
Tarsilo did not reply, but, with wide-open eyes, looked around himas if in search of some one.
"There he is talking with Pedro," added Bruno. "He is giving himmoney--what a lot of money!"
Tarsilo remained silent and thoughtful. With the arm of his camisa,he wiped away the sweat which formed in drops on his forehead.
"Brother," said Bruno, "I am decided, even if you are not. The lasakought to win and we ought not to lose the opportunity. I want to bet onthe next fight. What does it matter? Thus, we will avenge our father."
"Wait!" said Tarsilo to him, and looked him in the eyes. Both werepale. "I am with you. You are right. We will avenge our father."
He stopped, however, and again wiped away the perspiration.
"Why do you stop?" asked Bruno impatiently.
"Do you know what fight is the next one? Is it worth the trouble?"
"What! Haven't you heard? Captain Tiago's lasak against CaptainBasilio's bulik. According to the run of luck, the lasak ought to win."
"Ah! The lasak. I would bet ... but let us make sure first."
Bruno made a gesture of impatience, but followed his brother. Thelatter looked the rooster over carefully, thought about it, debatedwith himself and asked a few questions. The unfortunate fellow wasin doubt. Bruno was nervous and looked at him angrily.
"Why, don't you see that wide scale which he has there near thespur? Do you see those feet? What more do you want? Look at thoselegs. Stretch out his wings. And that broken scale on top of thatwide one, and that double one?"
Tarsilo did not hear him, he kept on examining the cock. The rattleof silver coins reached his ears.
"Let us see the bulik now," said he, in a choking voice.
Bruno stamped the ground with his feet, grated his teeth, but obeyedhis brother.
They approached the other group. There they were arming the cock,they were selecting gaffs for him, and the expert, in fitting themto the rooster's legs, was preparing a piece of red silk. He waxedit and rubbed it over his knee a number of times.
Tarsilo gazed at the bird with a sombre air. It seemed that he wasnot looking at the cock, but at something in the future. He passedhis hand over his forehead.
"Are you ready?" he asked his brother, his voice scarcely perceptible.
"I? Long ago. Without having to see them."
"It is our poor sister----"
"Bah! Didn't they tell you that the leader is Don Crisostomo? Haveyou not seen him walking with the Governor General? What danger willwe run?"
"And if we are killed?"
"What does it matter? Our father died from being whipped to death."
"You are right."
Both brothers sought Lucas in the crowd.
As soon as they caught sight of him, Tarsilo stopped.
"No! Let us go away from here! We are going to lose," he exclaimed.
"Go if you wish. I am going to accept."
"Bruno!"
Unfortunately, a man approached them and said:
"Are you betting? I am backing the bulik."
The two brothers did not reply.
"I'll give you odds."
"How much?" asked Bruno.
The man counted out four peso pieces. Bruno looked at him, breathless.
"I have two hundred. Fifty to forty."
"No," said Bruno promptly. "Make it ..."
"All right! fifty to thirty."
"Double it if you wish!"
"Well! The bulik is my winning color and I have just won. Hundredagainst sixty!"
"That's a go! Wait till I go and get my money."
"But I will be the stake-holder," said the other, in whom the mannerof Bruno inspired little confidence.
"It's all the same to me!" responded the latter, trusting in thestrength of his fists.
And, turning to his brother, he said:
"Go away, if you wish; I'm going to stay."
Then Tarsilo reflected. He loved his brother and the game. He couldnot leave him alone, and he murmured. "Let it be so!"
They approached Lucas. The latter saw them coming and smiled.
"Eh! there!" said Tarsilo.
"What is it?"
"How much do you give?" asked the two brothers.
"I have already told you. If you want to find some others to helpus surprise the cuartel, I will give you thirty pesos apiece, andten pesos for each companion you get. If all comes out well, eachwill receive one hundred pesos and you two, double that amount. DonCrisostomo is rich."
"Accepted," exclaimed Bruno. "Hand over the money."
"I knew well that you were brave, like your father. Come! Don'tlet them hear us or they will kill us," said Lucas, pointing to theCivil Guards.
And taking them into a corner, he told them, as he counted out themoney to them:
"To-morrow Don Crisostomo will arrive and bring arms. Day afterto-morrow, about eight o'clock at night, come to the cemetery. Iwill tell you about the final arrangements. You have time to findsome other companions."
They took leave of each other. Now the two brothers seemed to havechanged their roles. Tarsilo was calm; Bruno, pale.