The Cockfight, Lima, Peru
On the night of my
birthday, October 7, the plane descended over Lima. The spread of the lights below me went for
miles; it was like looking at a twenty-mile power plant all lit up like a
Christmas tree; Lima can be dazzling from the air.
As we descended the lights came
narrower—making everything more condensed against the dark background of the
sky.
Chick Evans closed his window slightly,
leaving enough open to see some of the lights, then put his shoes back on,
buttoned his belt around his waist, then opening up the shutter slightly, he
seen the lit cross on the cliff out by Miraflores, it was just visible as the
moonlight help him pin-point it.
Mr. Evans was in the fall of his life, a
little tired from all the traveling he had done, and seemingly wanted to get to
his home in San Juan Miraflores. He was a freelance writer, who had several
novels to his credit some, which had done well, and others not so well. He was also noted for being a writer one
might call, from: “The Road less Traveled,” as the papers called him, quoting
Robert Frost.
He had met the previous president of
Peru some years back while in the Amazon area at a hotel in Iquitos, and was
friends with the Mayor of Miraflores, along with a Senator from Lima K.F.
Matter of fact, he was to have lunch with the Senator if time permitted.
The Senator had called him, asking if he
could stop by his office upon arrival within the city, and possibly consider a
story assignment. In addition to the politicians Mr. Evans knew, he also was a
friend with a few popular T.V. celebrities, one being of a spiritual
nature. Although his name was not a
household word, it was recognized in the larger cities of Peru; and two of his
seven books were translated into Spanish.
For the most part, Mr. Evans was a
vicarious and happy man, self-confident most of the time, with good direction,
and could at times be opinionated. He
was an American War veteran, from the Vietnam era; with a doctorate degree from
the National University of Central Peru.
Mr. Evans always felt life was fair,
inasmuch as if you ask for it, and got it, why complain. And he got what he
asked for most of the time, to include no wife, children, dogs or cats. He had
the biggest house on the block in St. Paul, Minnesota, and on his block in Juan
Miraflores, in Lima. He was
contemplating retiring, he had saved quite a lot of money for the occasion, and
this was on his mind.
“Thank you misses,” he said
as he disembarked the plane to the grown level of the airport in Lima,
Peru.
The stewardesses were pretty, young and
too wild looking for him, but he admired their youth and beauty, matter of
fact, he liked the Peruvian look, their bronze Spanish Inca coloring; having
thought that, he told himself he needed to simply get home and rest, jetlag was
setting in.
He had been covering a boxing match in
Buenos Aires, Argentina, a championship fight between Marcelo Dominguez vs.
Fabio Moli; Dominguez being the Champion of South America, and Moli being the
Champion of Argentina. Moli appeared to
Evens as being close to seven feet tall. He had sat in the second row of
chairs, close to the ring—both being heavy weights; it was bound to be a good
fight. Dominguez played a little of the
Ali-shuffle, and played the ropes a lot, trying to get Moli tired, and so the
skillful Dominguez did just that: Moli’s huge arms missing Dominguez’s head by
inches a dozen times. Now Evans was in
the process of recording the fight for a short story.
After the fight, Evans approached the
ring where Dominguez was, and rightfully getting his congratulations his
victorious applause which surrounded him.
Evans caught his eye, and shook his fist in a victory cry about five
feet away from him, as Dominguez gave Evans a cheerful smile, thus, greeting
him back in a like manner. One of the
onlookers knew the Novelist, Mr. Evans, and quickly took a picture of them both
expressing that moment.
Evens told himself he needed to rush
home and get ready for a dinner with a friend of his at the “Rosa
Nautica.” He enjoyed the food there,
especially the fish and duck; the restaurant was situated on wooden platform
that went out into the ocean. The waves
would hit the restaurant as you ate, making for a most spellbinding experience,
tranquilizing the mind.
The new president had been
in office for a while now, had visited the United States and president
Bush. Matter of fact, he was welcomed
with open arms instead of kept waiting like the previous presidents often did
to the South American dignitary; a repulsive and disrespectful act Evans
thought of his great countrymen.
President Toledo at times had a lot of controversy about him, and some
of the people were having second thoughts about his capabilities, that is, him
having more Inca blood than Spanish, helped him get elected, rather than
sincerity for his countrymen; Evans thought that was a good asset, his
girlfriend being half Inca; otherwise known as a Mestizo [Inca with Spanish
blood].
Abimael Guzman’s group known as “Sendero Luminoso,”
were still in the mountainous area of Ayacucho, while he himself was behind
bars; notwithstanding, Lopez, had taken over as the leader, and was trying to
get recruits, and restructure the army they once had. Lopez was one of Guzman’s lieutenants.
The phone rang at Evans’
house, he picked it up, and it was the Senator was on the other line.
“Sit down Evens,” he said whirly, “I have
something to tell you.”
“What’s up Senator?” Evans asked him politely.
“I’m not sure”, he hesitated, then went on
to say: “I can’t meet you for dinner.”
“Do you need to let me know something
Senator,” Evans said.
“What the hell,” he said with a cracked
voice, “I might just as well tell you. A while back I made a deal with the
‘MRTA’ group, the main man, and I don’t want to tell you his name, because I
don’t want you involved. But anyway, he
helped me secure my post as Senator, and I promised him something in return.
Well, things have changed since Fujimori was President, and I did not fulfill
my promise. Actually the group sold my
promise to the “Sendero Luminoso”, that is to Guzman’s lieutenants one by the
name of Lopez. I could buy my way out of
the promise for five million, but who has that kind of money. And after the tragedy
of 9/11 in the United States, I cannot get the passports and the positions they
wanted in our government. They want to make a show of me. You know, show the others what they do to
people that do not keep their word. I am
not leaving this room Evans. I’m just
tired and want to lay down here in this hotel, and die.”
“What hotel are you at,” asked
Evans. He looked at the clock; it said
7:15 p.m.
“Jose Antonio,” said the Senator,
adding, “there are two cars
with terrorists in them, out by my hotel; I see them from the 9th
floor here. They are waiting for me to
come out, but I’m not going out, they will have to come up and get me,” said
the Senator, checking the two men in suites with his binoculars standing by
their Cadillac’s.
“Hell with dinner Senator, just tell me
what hotel you are at?” asked Evans again.
“The Americana; that’s just the way it
works Evans, nothing you can do.”
“I’ll take a chance, I’m coming down to
see you, and since they don’t know me, they don’t have any reason to hurt me,
see you in a few minutes.”
“Got anything to drink over there?”
asked the Senator.
“I’ll bring down some Scotch,’ said
Evans.
“You’re a good man Evans, thanks.”
“Mr. Evans”, said a
voice as he started to walk up the steps to the hotel and visit the Senator
with the bottle of Scotch in his right hand.
He turned about to look, two men were standing several feet from him,
said one of the two:
“The city’s full of do-gooders like you
Mr. Evens, if you’re smart you’ll have the Senator come down and join us for a
ride. Matter of fact if he doesn’t we
just may go visit his family, let him know that.”
“Tell Mr. Lopez from me,” said Evens, “I
hear he’s a betting man, and what would he bet for the Senator’s life?”
The fat man started laughing.
“O.K.,
Mr. Evans, I’ll call Lopez, but now you’re in the middle of this; it
might be wiser if you just move on while you can.” He looked at Evans like a
shark looking at a small fish ready to be eaten. Evans moved over to the side of the stairway,
as the fat man pulled out his cell phone and made a quick call to his boss.
Then said the fat man, somewhat
surprised: “Hay, you got a deal!”
Evans didn’t make a move, knowing the
deal would not be as easy as it sounded.
“What do you say?” asked the fat man.
“Thanks, but I’m sure there is more to
it.” Again the fat man laughed, poked
his buddy in the ribs, “Smart guy,” he said; Evens impatiently waiting for the
punch line.
“Here it is,” said the fat man, “you’re
a betting man like you said, and so is my boss, as you said, he is going to bet with you, do you want to take the bet
or not?”
“Tell me the bet,” questioned Evens.
“I’ll tell you, but if you refuse to do
it, the Senator is dead meat, and you’ll have to live with that, of course, he
is dead meat if you don’t make the bet anyhow. And if you say anything, you’re
dead meat, entendido?”
Said the fat man, adding: “See gringo,
you’re not so smart; I may get to cut your throat”
“Yes I understand, I entendido,”
said Evans “now what is the bet?”
“You and I, and Miss Rodrigo in the car,
the boss’s girlfriend,” said the fat man, “and my friend here, slim,” a tall
silent lean man, with a poker face, “will all go to this restaurant in old
Lima; there will be cockfights tonight a total of six, we will bet on
them.”
“I think I know which one you’re talking
about,” replied Evans, having been there several times and betting.
“Good, you know what I’m talking about
then. Anyway, you got to win three out
of six to save the Senator’s life. But
if you lose, the Senator has to commit suicide. If he doesn’t you are a dead
man, and so is he, and his family. On the other hand, if you win he wins, you
are both free to go your way. Now if the Senator does not want to go along with
this, we will simply wait for the final hour and quietly kill him, one way or
the other.”
Evans knocked on room
912, the Senator’s room.
“Yes,” a voice from behind the door
said.
“Senator it’s me Evans.”
“Are you alone?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, wait.”
Several latches behind the door were
being unlocked.
“Come in, I’ve been watching the car
with the woman in it from the window here my binoculars, I see the two fellows
followed you into the hotel.”
“Well, I’m not sure, but I tried to cut
a deal with the boss man; incidentally,
your room is bugged.”
“I guessed as much,” said the Senator,
since you took so long in coming, “I am a dead man, right?”
“No not quite,” said Evans, “I made a
deal it’s the only one you’re going to get, and I’m not sure even if I want to
go through with it.”
“What kind of deal, any kind is better
than none,” replied the Senator.
“And they are only going to make this
deal, no other deal,” said Evans.
“Well, get it out, tell me,” said the
Senator.
“I suppose once into power it becomes
addictive, that’s how you got yourself into this nightmare…” said Evens.
“You talk too damn much,” said the
Senator shaking life a leaf on a branch in the wind, “…get on with it, what’s
the deal.”
“Well, they want me to go to a
cock-fight tonight, matter-of-fact, in a few minutes. I got to bet on six of the fights, and if I
win three, you’re a free man, and if I do not, you got to commit suicide. I guess it’s better they feel if you kill
yourself than they do it. Plus, they
told me they had to make an example out of you. If we lose the bet, and you
don’t commit suicide, I’m a dead man, and so are you and so is your
family.”
“I’ll go along with it,” said the
Senator.
“Listen, I’m a dead man, and so is your
family, if you don’t follow through,” said Evens.
“At fifty-seven year old, I’ve lived a
good and a long life, I’d like to live longer, but I don’t want to have to run
or worry about it every minute. I’m tired; success has its judgments along the
road.”
Having said all he cared to say, the
Senator went back to his bed to lie down, looking out the window, dimming the
lights.
“Go now, they‘re waiting for you by the
car.”
“Bright Gringo,” said the
fat man at the restaurant, as they were sitting down waiting for the cockfight
to start.
“There is the man with the money in his
hand if you want to make a side bet goes ahead” said the fat man to Evens,
laughing.
“Why the hell don’t you get a beer for
yourself, you make me nervous,” said Slim to the fat man, who was nervous
simply for showing his face in a public place, a wanted man.
“Don’t want one; just want to get this
over with.”
The lights dimmed, and two men come down
the center isle to the small arena with a wild cock in their hands. The men
walked inside caged in area, holding the cocks tight against their chests and
combing their necks with their hands.
The men were now in the coop, walking
around, allowing the cocks to get the scent of the enemy. Then they put knifes on their feet that would
allow them to cut up each other as they fought.
“You want to bet,” said the Peruvian
banker [who took the bets], holding a handful of money. The fat man said, “Yes, why not, a side bet!”
“How much?” said the banker.
“A straight bet double my money;
fifty-soles!” about $15.00, handing him the bill.
“Bien!” said
the banker, and took the fifty-sole bill.
One
cock was taller than the other, stronger looking, and more body full, muscle
toned, huskier. But Evans picked out the
smaller one. The Fat man was unsure why,
but said nothing. Evans felt the smaller
one was leaner and told both Slim and the Fat man, it was his choice, feeling
in the long run, the lighter weight cock could out maneuver the heavier
one. Plus, the big one would slow down
quicker, and had to reach more to get to an offensive.
As the fight started, the lean one just
kept walking in circles. Neither one
making any big moves, then had the big one jumped on the other picking at its
eyes and head, while cutting at the legs and wings of the lean one? Somehow the lean one rolled itself around the
big one, under the big one’s feathers and got back up on its feet and shoved
its weight onto the big one’s neck. The big one trying to get away to get a
rest couldn’t move, as the lean one on top was already resting.
Then out of the blue, blood started
coming from the constant picking at the big one’s neck by the lean one; then
the eyes again. And then the big one
laid dead, a few impulsive movements, but he couldn’t move.
“So you got one out of six, you still
got two more to go,” said the fat man, smirking at the gringo.
Evans didn’t say anything, he knew no
matter what, success or just trying to get ahead in life there is always one
jerk wanting to put you down, put you in place, when you were already down—evil
begets evil.
The
fat man lost his bet with the banker the second time around, he had put up
another fifty-sole bill, and the second of six fights had ended. Again it seemed the cocks were
mismatched, one being taller and heavier than the other, and again Evans bet on
the lean one, and again won the bet, and the fat man got more agitated than he
had been.
And then the third fight started. The Fat man watched with intensity, it was fierce, and both were lean and fast.
And at times all they did was circle one
another, and one of the men had to go in and push the cocks to towards one
another to fight. The crowd was getting
angry, and the birds were looking everywhere as if they were lost. This fight took so long many got up and got a
beer, but at the end, Evans’ cock lost; and so did the fat man’s side bet.
The fifth fight started, but this time
the tall cock was lean, and the smaller one was lean.
“Which one do you want…” asked the fat
man?
“The tall one,” commented Evans, and the
fight started. And the smaller one
jumped on top of the big one like a shark.
“No, no I changed my mind, the small
one,” said Evans. The fat man looked, shook his head, as if to say—okay; and
then said:
“Okay Evans, but no more changing your
mind, you got the small one.” And within the next two minutes the fight
changed, and the tall one overpowered the small one. Evans lost, and the fat man won for the first
time, one-hundred soles: he was jubilant.
“This is the last one Evans, you got to win
or it is curtains for the Senator, and possibly you.”
The fight started, and the cocks were
pretty well matched, both husky looking, not fast, rather slow. But when they started fighting they’d fight
for a quick moment, and both got tired it seemed, and walk in circles
again. And again the owners of the birds
had to go inside the cage and provoke then to continue the fight. It was as though they did not want to
entertain the guests. And then as the man walked outside of the cage, they
started back fighting. Evans’ cock
lost. All three looked at one
another. The fat man was a little surprised,
mouth open, trying to clearing his windpipe having eaten a chicken
sandwich. Evans signed a big sigh.
Notes: written: 1-18-2003 Published in the
book, “Death on Demand,” © 2003 (Reedited
for republication, October, 2012). Parts
of the story are based on fact, the rest fiction, such as the boxing match,
etc. The author was in Argentina for that match; as he was for the cockfight,
etc. When the author wrote the Story, President Toledo was president of Peru at
the time. In 1999, the author actually stayed at the ‘Jose Antonio Hotel.’
(1300-words have been cut from the story)
