The Defeated (Cockfight at El Rosedal/Chusco vs. Aji Nergo)

Armando Martinez, climbed down the steps with his friend, Eza Ponze, in the El Rosedal Restaurant’s back area (in Lima, Peru) where they had a small open arena for cockfights. He sat down, about ten-feet away from the arena area, with Eza, this was his first cockfight, and his girlfriend Martha was getting sandwiches, with Eza’s wife, Maria. There were perhaps two-hundred people surrounding this little arena, the owner of the white cock (rooster) by the name of Chusco, stood silent and erect in the side isle, overlooking the arena, proud with his bird of prey, in his hands, holding him under the stomach, and caressing the back of his head.
Armando felt a mixture of unexplained excitement, and anxiety, he wasn’t sure if it was right to watch two birds, cocks, fight one another, perhaps to the death to entertain the two hundred spectators.
“Armando,” said Eza, listening to him whispering to himself, “You ok with this?”
He didn’t respond.
He’s doing some heavy thinking, Eza thought.
“Armando,” he said, and stomped his feet.
“I’m here, I’m here, just daydreaming I guess I was looking at the green floor to the arena, and the yellow strip around it.”
“You want to bet?” said a voice in back of the two.
“No thanks, we’re betting between ourselves,” said Eza.
“People bet on the cocks?” asked Armando.
“Sure what one do you want, the white one, he’s Chusco, or Aji Negro?” Eza said.
Someone over a loudspeaker said, the cockfight was going to start in five minutes to get seated. Martha and Maria were now coming back with sandwiches and coffee, making their way through a horde of knees to sit down by their mates.
Smoke was filling the room, descending down upon everyone, as another three hundred people, who were in the restaurant eating chicken, and drinking beer, standing around talking, suddenly, all up and left to join the others and watch the fight; people yelling “Chusco!” and “Aji Negro!” “Chusco!” and “Aji Negro!” There was so much noise in the arena area, Eza’s wife could only just understand her husband’s complaint somewhat, “The coffee’s weak, sour…” he said.
“What?” she responded?
“It’s awful, the coffee, it’s awful!” said Eza, making faces, putting the coffee under his seat.
“Oh, that’s the only coffee I could find.”
Another man was pushing his way through the isle in front of them, he had a box, the other cock was in it, Aji Negro, and he placed the wooded box near where the speaker of the house was, the one with the bullhorn. He was a small man, compared the Chusco’s master. From different sides they brought their fighters into the arena area. The speaker, with his red jacket left his spot, and walked out into the arena, checked both cocks out, gave his ok, then returned to his spot, in front, a little to the right side of Armando and Eza.
The youthful, and taller man, owner of Chusco, had now released his fighter, as did the shorter man release Aji Negro, and everyone leaned forward, even Armando to see the cocks as they circled one another to find the other’s weakness.
“Are they going to kill one another,” asked Martha, closing her eyes a bit, covering them with one hand, looking everywhichway through her open fingers, hoping to miss the forthcoming attacks.
“That’s why we’re here,” said Eza, “to see a good fight,” and Eza raised his hand, as did a hundred others in the arena, and yelled, “Aji Negro!” he had bet ten-soles on him with Armando, whom got “Chusco.”
“How many cockfights you been to?” asked Armando to Eza.
“Many, many…” said Eza not wanting to talk.
“This is my first one,” said Martha to Maria.
“Just this one, haw?” replied Maria.
“That’s all!” she said, then Eza, made a remark by saying what perhaps he believed to be the truth, at least for him, “It’s good for the soul, feeds your spirit, makes you more alive, stops your complaining of little things in life.”
Then she stuck out her tongue at him as he went back to see the ongoing fight between the two cocks, they were know chasing one another, ripping at each other’s necks, trying to jump on each other’s backs, digging in their claws, wherever and whenever possible, trying to take down the other, get the advantage, find the opening, rip the other part if possible. Eza leaned back in his position, looked at Armando, he looked like a stiff bull, as if he had killed his brother.
In front of Eza, people were passing down large beers, drinking out of glasses, pouring the beer as fast as they could, filling their glasses to the rim, then hurriedly went back to refocusing onto the fight, whistling, and yelling and stomping their feet, flicking cigarette ashes everywhere, whenever, on everybody next to them and around them, clapping and yelling each fighter’s name out loud.
Ten-minutes had passed, someone blew a whistle, and the man with the red jacket stepped back out into the arena—the given time period for the fight had elapsed, without a killing, one fighter was wounded, the other, Chusco, was running around the ring, like a champ, and he was the champ.
“Here,” said Eza to Armando, extending his hand outward with a ten-solo bill, “Chusco won!” He seemed a bit surprised.
Armando looked at Eza, smiled, he had heard of cockfights before, he even felt a certain national pride in them, an interest that said he should attend a fight, it was a custom, tradition, a way of life for his countrymen, and he’d remember today, he told himself, but perhaps not attend another fight. On the other hand, Eza was so excited, he went out to meet the owner, and the winner Chusco, and got to hold him, take a picture with him, and well, he felt like a kid again, at sixty-years old; as Martha, Maria, and Armando kept their distance incase the great white cock, went mad.


Written in Lima, Peru, 2-26-2009 (the actual cockfight took place, May of 2008
Dedicated to Armando and Martha (Eh)