The Social Cancer, by José Rizal - Home

CHAPTER XLVI 214
"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.