Part 28 (2/2)
The San Diego c.o.c.k-pit does not differ from others which are found in all the towns. It consists of three parts: The first, or entrance, is a large rectangle, some twenty meters in length and fourteen in breadth. On one side is the door, generally guarded by a woman who collects the entrance fee. From the contribution which each one makes the Government receives a part, some hundred thousands of pesos each year. They say that with this money, which gives license to the vice, magnificent schools are raised, bridges and roadways constructed, and rewards offered for the encouragement of agriculture and commerce. Blessed be the vice which produces such good results! In this first precinct are the vendors of betel nut, cigars and tobacco, delicacies and refreshments. There the small boys, who accompany their fathers 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 c.o.c.ks, tied by a cord to a bone driven into the ground like a nail; there, are the bettors, the lovers of the sport, the man skilled in fastening the gaffs or spurs to the c.o.c.k's legs; there, bargains are made, the situation discussed, money borrowed, and people curse, swear and laugh boisterously. In one place, some one is caressing his game c.o.c.k, pa.s.sing his hand over his brilliant plumage; in another, a man examines and counts the number of scales on the rooster's legs, for that, they say, is a sign of valor. The battles of the heroes are related. There, too, you will see many a disappointed owner, with a sour face carrying out by the legs, a dead rooster, stripped of its plumage--the animal which was a favorite for months, petted, cared for day and night, and on which flattering hopes had been founded: now, nothing more than a dead fowl, to be sold for a peseta, stewed in ginger and eaten that very night. Sic transit gloria mundi! The loser returns to his fire-side, where an anxious wife and ragged children await him, without his little capital, without his rooster. From all that gilded dream, from all the care of months, 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 coming contests; the most trifling, examine conscientiously the bird, weigh it, contemplate it, extend its wings, feel of its muscles. Some of the people are very well dressed, and are followed and surrounded by the backers of their game c.o.c.ks. Others, dirty, with the seal of vice imprinted on their squalid faces, anxiously follow the movements of the rich and watch their betting, for the pocketbook can be emptied and the pa.s.sion still be unsatisfied. There you see no face that is not animated, no indolent Filipino; none apathetic, none silent. All is movement, pa.s.sion, eagerness.
From this place, one pa.s.ses into the arena or rueda, as it is called. The floor, inclosed by bamboos, is generally elevated higher than the floor of the other two parts of the c.o.c.k-pit. Running up from the floor and almost touching the roof, are rows of seats for the spectators or gamblers--they come to be the same. During the combat these seats are filled with men and children who cry, shout, perspire, quarrel, and blaspheme. Fortunately, scarcely any women visit the c.o.c.k-pit. In the rueda are the prominent men, the rich cla.s.s, the bettors, the bookmaker, and the referee. The c.o.c.ks fight on the ground, which is beaten down perfectly smooth, and there Destiny distributes to families laughter or tears, feasts or hunger.
As we enter, we can see the gobernadorcillo, Captain Pablo, Captain Basilio, and Lucas, the man with the scar on his face who was so disconsolate over the death of his brother.
Captain Basilio approaches one of those present and asks him:
”Do you know what c.o.c.k 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 s.h.i.+rt on him!”
At that moment Captain Tiago arrived. He was dressed, like the big gamblers, in a camisa of Canton linen, woolen pantaloons, and a panama-straw hat. Behind him came two servants, carrying the lasak and a white c.o.c.k of colossal proportions.
”Sinang tells me that Maria Clara is improving steadily,” said Captain 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 win back my money.”
”Do you want to fight your lasak?” asked Captain Basilio, looking at the 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 a man to bring a small rooster.
Captain Tiago examined it, and after weighing it in his hand, and examining its scales, he handed it back.
”What do you put up?” he asked.
”Whatever you say.”
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