Chương Chương 46 · Chapter XLVI

The Cockpit

To keep holy the afternoon of the Sabbath one generally goes to

the cockpit in the Philippines, just as to the bull-fights in

Spain. Cockfighting, a passion introduced into the country and

exploited for a century past, is one of the vices of the people, more

widely spread than opium-smoking among the Chinese. There the poor

man goes to risk all that he has, desirous of getting rich without

work. There the rich man goes to amuse himself, using the money that

remains to him from his feasts and his masses of thanksgiving. The

fortune that he gambles is his own, the cock is raised with much

more care perhaps than his son and successor in the cockpit, so we

have nothing to say against it. Since the government permits it and

even in a way recommends it, by providing that the spectacle may take

place only in the _public plazas_, on _holidays_ (in order that all

may see it and be encouraged by the example?), _from the high mass

until nightfall (eight_ hours), let us proceed thither to seek out

some of our acquaintances.

The cockpit of San Diego does not differ from those to be found in

other towns, except in some details. It consists of three parts,

the first of which, the entrance, is a large rectangle some twenty

meters long by fourteen wide. On one side is the gateway, generally

tended by an old woman whose business it is to collect the _sa pintu_,

or admission fee. Of this contribution, which every one pays, the

government receives a part, amounting to some hundreds of thousands of

pesos a year. It is said that with this money, with which vice pays

its license, magnificent schoolhouses are erected, bridges and roads

are constructed, prizes for encouraging agriculture and commerce are

distributed: blessed be the vice that produces such good results! In

this first enclosure are the vendors of buyos, cigars, sweetmeats,

and foodstuffs. There swarm the boys in company with their fathers

or uncles, who carefully initiate them into the secrets of life.

This enclosure communicates with another of somewhat larger

dimensions,--a kind of foyer where the public gathers while waiting

for the combats. There are the greater part of the fighting-cocks tied

with cords which are fastened to the ground by means of a piece of

bone or hard wood; there are assembled the gamblers, the devotees,

those skilled in tying on the gaffs, there they make agreements,

they deliberate, they beg for loans, they curse, they swear, they

laugh boisterously. That one fondles his chicken, rubbing his hand

over its brilliant plumage, this one examines and counts the scales

on its legs, they recount the exploits of the champions.

There you will see many with mournful faces carrying by the feet

corpses picked of their feathers; the creature that was the favorite

for months, petted and cared for day and night, on which were founded

such flattering hopes, is now nothing more than a carcass to be

sold for a peseta or to be stewed with ginger and eaten that very

night. _Sic transit gloria mundi!_ The loser returns to the home

where his anxious wife and ragged children await him, without his

money or his chicken. Of all that golden dream, of all those vigils

during months from the dawn of day to the setting of the sun, of all

those fatigues and labors, there results only a peseta, the ashes

left from so much smoke.

In this foyer even the least intelligent takes part in the discussion,

while the man of most hasty judgment conscientiously investigates

the matter, weighs, examines, extends the wings, feels the muscles of

the cocks. Some go very well-dressed, surrounded and followed by the

partisans of their champions; others who are dirty and bear the imprint

of vice on their squalid features anxiously follow the movements of

the rich to note the bets, since the purse may become empty but the

passion never satiated. No countenance here but is animated--not

here is to be found the indolent, apathetic, silent Filipino--all

is movement, passion, eagerness. It may be, one would say, that they

have that thirst which is quickened by the water of the swamp.

From this place one passes into the arena, which is known as the

_Rueda_, the wheel. The ground here, surrounded by bamboo-stakes, is

usually higher than that in the two other divisions. In the back part,

reaching almost to the roof, are tiers of seats for the spectators,

or gamblers, since these are the same. During the fights these seats

are filled with men and boys who shout, clamor, sweat, quarrel,

and blaspheme--fortunately, hardly any women get in this far. In the

_Rueda_ are the men of importance, the rich, the famous bettors, the

contractor, the referee. On the perfectly leveled ground the cocks

fight, and from there Destiny apportions to the families smiles or

tears, feast or famine.

At the time of entering we see the gobernadorcillo, Capitan Pablo,

Capitan Basilio, and Lucas, the man with the sear on his face who

felt so deeply the death of his brother.

Capitan Basilio approaches one of the townsmen and asks, "Do you know

which cock Capitan Tiago is going to bring?"

"I don't know, sir. This morning two came, one of them the _lásak_

that whipped the Consul's _talisain_." [127]

"Do you think that my _bulik_ is a match for it?"

"I should say so! I'll bet my house and my camisa on it!"

At that moment Capitan Tiago arrives, dressed like the heavy gamblers,

in a camisa of Canton linen, woolen pantaloons, and a wide straw

hat. Behind him come two servants carrying the _lásak_ and a white

cock of enormous size.

"Sinang tells me that Maria is improving all the time," says Capitan

Basilio.

"She has no more fever but is still very weak."

"Did you lose last night?"

"A little. I hear that you won. I'm going to see if I can't get

even here."

"Do you want to fight the _lásak?_" asks Capitan Basilio, looking at

the cock and taking it from the servant. "That depends--if there's

a bet."

"How much will you put up?"

"I won't gamble for less than two."

"Have you seen my _bulik?_" inquires Capitan Basilio, calling to a

man who is carrying a small game-cock.

Capitan Tiago examines it and after feeling its weight and studying

its scales returns it with the question, "How much will you put up?"

"Whatever you will."

"Two, and five hundred?"

"Three?"

"Three!"

"For the next fight after this!"

The chorus of curious bystanders and the gamblers spread the news

that two celebrated cocks will fight, each of which has a history

and a well-earned reputation. All wish to see and examine the two

celebrities, opinions are offered, prophecies are made.

Meanwhile, the murmur of the voices grows, the confusion increases,

the _Rueda_ is broken into, the seats are filled. The skilled

attendants carry the two cocks into the arena, a white and a red,

already armed but with the gaffs still sheathed. Cries are heard,

"On the white!" "On the white!" while some other voice answers,

"On the red!" The odds are on the white, he is the favorite; the red

is the "outsider," the _dejado_.

Members of the Civil Guard move about in the crowd. They are not

dressed in the uniform of that meritorious corps, but neither are

they in civilian costume. Trousers of _guingón_ with a red stripe,

a camisa stained blue from the faded blouse, and a service-cap, make

up their costume, in keeping with their deportment; they make bets

and keep watch, they raise disturbances and talk of keeping the peace.

While the spectators are yelling, waving their hands, flourishing and

clinking pieces of silver; while they search in their pockets for the

last coin, or, in the lack of such, try to pledge their word, promising

to sell the carabao or the next crop, two boys, brothers apparently,

follow the bettors with wistful eyes, loiter about, murmur timid words

to which no one listens, become more and more gloomy and gaze at one

another ill-humoredly and dejectedly. Lucas watches them covertly,

smiles malignantly, jingles his silver, passes close to them, and

gazing into the _Rueda_, cries out:

"Fifty, fifty to twenty on the white!"

The two brothers exchange glances.

"I told you," muttered the elder, "that you shouldn't have put up all

the money. If you had listened to me we should now have something to

bet on the red."

The younger timidly approached Lucas and touched him on the arm.

"Oh, it's you!" exclaimed the latter, turning around with feigned

surprise. "Does your brother accept my proposition or do you want

to bet?"

"How can we bet when we've lost everything?"

"Then you accept?"

"He doesn't want to! If you would lend us something, now that you

say you know us--"

Lucas scratched his head, pulled at his camisa, and replied, "Yes,

I know you. You are Tarsilo and Bruno, both young and strong. I know

that your brave father died as a result of the hundred lashes a day

those soldiers gave him. I know that you don't think of revenging him."

"Don't meddle in our affairs!" broke in Tarsilo, the elder. "That might

lead to trouble. If it were not that we have a sister, we should have

been hanged long ago."

"Hanged? They only hang a coward, one who has no money or

influence. And at all events the mountains are near."

"A hundred to twenty on the white!" cried a passer-by.

"Lend us four pesos, three, two," begged the younger.

"We'll soon pay them back double. The fight is going to commence."

Lucas again scratched his head. "Tush! This money isn't mine. Don

Crisostomo has given it to me for those who are willing to serve

him. But I see that you're not like your father--he was really

brave--let him who is not so not seek amusement!" So saying, he drew

away from them a little.

"Let's take him up, what's the difference?" said Bruno. "It's the same

to be shot as to be hanged. We poor folks are good for nothing else."

"You're right--but think of our sister!"

Meanwhile, the ring has been cleared and the combat is about to

begin. The voices die away as the two starters, with the expert who

fastens the gaffs, are left alone in the center. At a signal from

the referee, the expert unsheathes the gaffs and the fine blades

glitter threateningly.

Sadly and silently the two brothers draw nearer to the ring until their

foreheads are pressed against the railing. A man approaches them and

calls into their ears, "_Pare_, [128] a hundred to ten on the white!"

Tarsilo stares at him in a foolish way and responds to Bruno's nudge

with a grunt.

The starters hold the cocks with skilful delicacy, taking care not

to wound themselves. A solemn silence reigns; the spectators seem

to be changed into hideous wax figures. They present one cock to

the other, holding his head down so that the other may peck at it

and thus irritate him. Then the other is given a like opportunity,

for in every duel there must be fair play, whether it is a question

of Parisian cocks or Filipino cocks. Afterwards, they hold them up

in sight of each other, close together, so that each of the enraged

little creatures may see who it is that has pulled out a feather,

and with whom he must fight. Their neck-feathers bristle up as they

gaze at each other fixedly with flashes of anger darting from their

little round eyes. Now the moment has come; the attendants place them

on the ground a short distance apart and leave them a clear field.

Slowly they advance, their footfalls are, audible on the hard

ground. No one in the crowd speaks, no one breathes. Raising and

lowering their heads as if to gauge one another with a look, the two

cocks utter sounds of defiance and contempt. Each sees the bright

blade throwing out its cold, bluish reflections. The danger animates

them and they rush directly toward each other, but a pace apart they

check themselves with fixed gaze and bristling plumage. At that moment

their little heads are filled with a rush of blood, their anger flashes

forth, and they hurl themselves together with instinctive valor. They

strike beak to beak, breast to breast, gaff to gaff, wing to wing, but

the blows are skilfully parried, only a few feathers fall. Again they

size each other up: suddenly the white rises on his wings, brandishing

the deadly knife, but the red has bent his legs and lowered his head,

so the white smites only the empty air.. Then on touching the ground

the white, fearing a blow from behind, turns quickly to face his

adversary. The red attacks him furiously, but he defends himself

calmly--not undeservedly is he the favorite of the spectators, all

of whom tremulously and anxiously follow the fortunes of the fight,

only here and there an involuntary cry being heard.

The ground becomes strewn with red and white feathers dyed in blood,

but the contest is not for the first blood; the Filipino, carrying out

the laws dictated by his government, wishes it to be to the death or

until one or the other turns tail and runs. Blood covers the ground,

the blows are more numerous, but victory still hangs in the balance. At

last, with a supreme effort, the white throws himself forward for

a final stroke, fastens his gaff in the wing of the red and catches

it between the bones. But the white himself has been wounded in the

breast and both are weak and feeble from loss of blood. Breathless,

their strength spent, caught one against the other, they remain

motionless until the white, with blood pouring from his beak, falls,

kicking his death-throes. The red remains at his side with his wing

caught, then slowly doubles up his legs and gently closes his eyes.

Then the referee, in accordance with the rule prescribed by the

government, declares the red the winner. A savage yell greets

the decision, a yell that is heard over the whole town, even and

prolonged. He who hears this from afar then knows that the winner is

the one against which the odds were placed, or the joy would not be

so lasting. The same happens with the nations: when a small one gains

a victory over a large one, it is sung and recounted from age to age.

"You see now!" said Bruno dejectedly to his brother, "if you had

listened to me we should now have a hundred pesos. You're the cause

of our being penniless."

Tarsilo did not answer, but gazed about him as if looking for some one.

"There he is, talking to Pedro," added Bruno. "He's giving him money,

lots of money!"

True it was that Lucas was counting silver coins into the hand of

Sisa's husband. The two then exchanged some words in secret and

separated, apparently satisfied.

"Pedro must have agreed. That's what it is to be decided," sighed

Bruno.

Tarsilo remained gloomy and thoughtful, wiping away with the cuff of

his camisa the perspiration that ran down his forehead.

"Brother," said Bruno, "I'm going to accept, if you don't decide. The

_law_ [129] continues, the _lásak_ must win and we ought not

to lose any chance. I want to bet on the next fight. What's the

difference? We'll revenge our father."

"Wait!" said Tarsilo, as he gazed at him fixedly, eye to eye, while

both turned pale. "I'll go with you, you're right. We'll revenge our

father." Still, he hesitated, and again wiped away the perspiration.

"What's stopping you?" asked Bruno impatiently.

"Do you know what fight comes next? Is it worth while?"

"If you think that way, no! Haven't you heard? The _bulik_ of Capitan

Basilio's against Capitan Tiago's _lásak_. According to the _law_

the _lásak_ must win."

"Ah, the _lásak_! I'd bet on it, too. But let's be sure first."

Bruno made a sign of impatience, but followed his brother, who

examined the cock, studied it, meditated and reflected, asked some

questions. The poor fellow was in doubt. Bruno gazed at him with

nervous anger.

"But don't you see that wide scale he has by the side of his

spur? Don't you see those feet? What more do you want? Look at those

legs, spread out his wings! And this split scale above this wide one,

and this double one?"

Tarsilo did not hear him, but went on examining the cock. The clinking

of gold and silver came to his ears. "Now let's look at the _bulik_,"

he said in a thick voice.

Bruno stamped on the ground and gnashed his teeth, but obeyed. They

approached another group where a cock was being prepared for the

ring. A gaff was selected, red silk thread for tying it on was waxed

and rubbed thoroughly. Tarsilo took in the creature with a gloomily

impressive gaze, as if he were not looking at the bird so much as at

something in the future. He rubbed his hand across his forehead and

said to his brother in a stifled voice, "Are you ready?"

"I? Long ago! Without looking at them!"

"But, our poor sister--"

"_Abá!_ Haven't they told you that Don Crisostomo is the leader? Didn't

you see him walking with the Captain-General? What risk do we run?"

"And if we get killed?"

"What's the difference? Our father was flogged to death!"

"You're right!"

The brothers now sought for Lucas in the different groups. As soon

as they saw him Tarsilo stopped. "No! Let's get out of here! We're

going to ruin ourselves!" he exclaimed.

"Go on if you want to! I'm going to accept!"

"Bruno!"

Unfortunately, a man approached them, saying, "Are you betting? I'm

for the _bulik!_" The brothers did not answer.

"I'll give odds!"

"How much?" asked Bruno.

The man began to count out his pesos. Bruno watched him breathlessly.

"I have two hundred. Fifty to forty!"

"No," said Bruno resolutely. "Put--"

"All right! Fifty to thirty!"

"Double it if you want to."

"All right. The _bulik_ belongs to my protector and I've just won. A

hundred to sixty!"

"Taken! Wait till I get the money."

"But I'll hold the stakes," said the other, not confiding much in

Bruno's looks.

"It's all the same to me," answered the latter, trusting to his

fists. Then turning to his brother he added, "Even if you do keep out,

I'm going in."

Tarsilo reflected: he loved his brother and liked the sport, and,

unable to desert him, he murmured, "Let it go."

They made their way to Lucas, who, on seeing them approach, smiled.

"Sir!" called Tarsilo.

"What's up?"

"How much will you give us?" asked the two brothers together.

"I've already told you. If you will undertake to get others for the

purpose of making a surprise-attack on the barracks, I'll give each

of you thirty pesos and ten pesos for each companion you bring. If

all goes well, each one will receive a hundred pesos and you double

that amount. Don Crisostomo is rich."

"Accepted!" exclaimed Bruno. "Let's have the money."

"I knew you were brave, as your father was! Come, so that those

fellows who killed him may not overhear us," said Lucas, indicating

the civil-guards.

Taking them into a corner, he explained to them while he was counting

out the money, "Tomorrow Don Crisostomo will get back with the

arms. Day after tomorrow, about eight o'clock at night, go to the

cemetery and I'll let you know the final arrangements. You have time

to look for companions."

After they had left him the two brothers seemed to have changed

parts--Tarsilo was calm, while Bruno was uneasy.