THE FIGHTING COCK

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXXIII, Issue 22402, 24 April 1936, Page 9

THE FIGHTING COCK

Bl' H. A. MANHOOD

The Canterbury 8011, by Aaron Cox. A snug little place half-way up a fcobbled bill behind the quays and fish market, and the name suited it, the painted words glowing handsome as a gold watchchain across its front. Old, too creaking old, and fairly itching ■vrith beetles under the varnish, leanpg on one elbow as it -were, crab-eyed, tiab-stone roofed, and bottle-chimneyed with » good half-acre of cellars, as my father had once assured me. Jt was in the largest of these cellars that cock-fights were rumoured to take place, and you didn't doubt the story after'one look at Aaron, for ho was very like a/fighting cock himself, sleekly smart and perky, with a sharp, humorous nose and thin, quick hands, both face and hands being abundantly freckled as if he had slept once among fishing nets and been marked by the knotsHe always wore a deceptively soitjooking speckled cloth and a fresh white linon shirt without a collar, ruling the roost with an elbowing truculence, his young, handsome wife quiet in subjection, though fretful-lipped, the exact parting in her steel-black hair reminding me of the head of a screw bo that 1 imagined Aaron screwing her everlastingly back into place with a monster driver. I used to call there every Saturday to buy eggs for my mother. Aaron's brother kept fowls somewhere out on the marshes, breeding the fighting cocks under simple cover. A pull at the bell wire of the side door, and Aaron would come hopping, always Aaron, as jf he were expecting good news. "Eggs? Why, certainly, m'son. How many? Come in a minute." And I'd follow him across the booming wooden floor into a back parlour dark and sweet as a pickled plum, and he'd count out the eggs from a large basket into my small one, selecting the biggest, for my father had once saved his licence ana he wasn't the man to forget. There was always a slate beside the basket with, the score and market price chalked on it, and Aaron would drop a penny or so every time, pocketing the coins jocularly, jingling them before taking a big arrowroot biscuit from a varnished kilderkin and tossing it with an air of apprehension as if a guinea were at stake. "Heads or tails?" I always called heads in my shyness and confusion and Aaron woula examine the biscuit carefully. "Heads it isl You win. Take care of the eggs/' Once he filled the basket with eggs no bigger than marbles, staring ainazedly when I exclaimed. "Good Godl 'tis your sight has gone bad, m'boyl" But I pointed out that the basket looked the same size and so did my thumbnail when compared with the eggs. Grimly I fought his banter, ingisting on the smallness of the eggs, and at last he grinned. "Quite right, m'son. If ye see a thine and believe 'tis so, stick to it. Don't let anybody twist your mind for vou. Those eggs are small all right, feet you don'tknow what kind of egg they are, though." "No, but I'll find out if you'll give me one." He gave me half-a-dozen, and when, the next week, I told him they were either the first or last eggs of a hen's laving season he snapped a finger and added a shilling to the customary biscuit. "That's the style, boy. When yom want to find out something never stop Until; you have foand it out." There was my chance to ask him about his. cellars and the cockfights, but the shilling had unbalanced me and my tongue Kinked at the last moment. But', later, I made the most of opportunity. Entering the parlour for the eggs I saw on tue scrubbed table an open box loose-lined with red velvet, and in it were four sets of bright steel spurs with neat leather collars sewn to them, two pairs of little leather gloves and a twist of waxed thread. The spurs looked oddly like the talons torn from an eagle with rags of flesh stil hanging, looked, like the soul of murder, 60 wickedly shaped and ishining were they. "What are they for?" "Those?" Aaron smiled, pleased with my innocence, that he should be the one to put a first, right knowledge into my head, handling the spurs delicately: "Guess you're old enough to hold the truth, keep a secret. They're cock spurs. ... fix 'em so," he fitted a spur to his finger, wrapped the leather round and,wound an imaginary thread, "And the hirds fight." "To kill?" " Aye, that's the idea and they do it !ike heroes." " I'd like to see a fight." ."You would? Well, so yon shall. But it's secret, mind, even from your father." , " When?" . • " Next Saturday morning, eleven o'clock sharp- Shake hands on it. You }*ust ring the bell as usual, and then loof the dbor twice hard as you know how, and I shall know who 'tis. It'll be good fighting, my Needlesmith against m'lord Kinnybrook's Stormchaser, and a dozen other warmish bouts. Big money, no quarter. Pretty I Prettiest thing in the world. Remember that, son. Women are no good to you." I passed his wife in the passage on way out. Her lip was bleeding where she had bitten it overhard in her mortification. She started, angrily, blaming me for rousing such words in lAaron. Outside, in the street, I had a good look at the door, saw where it had been kicked a thousand times before. 1 imagined accidents which might prevent me from arriving at the Canterbury Bell by eleven o'clock, storms; illness, the loss of keys and the breakdown of clocks. I thought I had safeguarded against them all by prayer and charms, but luck avoided me. In those days the boots and shoes of the household were repaired by a journeyman cobbler who came at regular internals, working in the disused brew-house ,n a.corner of the yard . His name was Will Wouldhave, uncommon and unforgettable as he'd boast, a name honoured the world oyer, for had not a Wouldhave first planned the self-righting lifeboat!' T never knew exactly or cared very much since the cobbler could not explain the principle for use in my own wooden boats. A sour. shabby-minded old man. but a rood cobbler, carryinc bis tools from place to place in huge, quarto pockets. Ms iron foot under one arm and a of leather under the other. On that Saturday morning he arrived long before I was awake and tty two pairs of boots, always those ®}Ost badly in need of repair, were given to him with tha rest. Waking to the dulled sound of hammering, 1 Quickly guessed the cause and saw pleasire boxqd and nailed, opportunity ruined, for I could hardly go to the Bell in soft-soled carpet suppers. T shouldn't be able to kick the door in the right wav even. Half-dressed, I feverishly begged my Wother to ask that my boots be repaired first, before the others. The morning was fine—the clouds were like %. reflection of apple blossom —and T mdn't want to potter indoors. All the week T'd been off colour to go out flow, immediately, would put me right again. Besides. Aaron Cox had asked very speciallv that T get there before elerpn o'clock that, day. Mv mother smiled at mt urgency, bombed back my forelock with her fingers and went to see Wouldhave. But Jt seemed that he had no leather stout enough for' mv hoots. In a minute he'd Bp to the tanners for some, start work right away. Slowly he went, slow as H 'noonday -shadow* <and jI tßhoutecll •$».

A SHORT STORY

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him to hurry, but he only scowled and muttered windily. Very methodically he soaked leather in a pan of water, hammering at it, shaping it roughly, paring the inner sole smooth to receive it. Next he nailed tlio new, oak-sweet leather, head and tail and all round the edge, sucking up a handful of tacks from his palm, his tongue regularly thrusting one forward between his rusty lips in readiness. A final shaping and glass-papering and the nailing of a toe-plate and I thought all was done. But, no, there was still the heel to do. At last ho laid the two boots side by side and 1 pounced upon them, but he hadn't yet finished. " 1 do my work thoroughly," he grunted maliciously. May God catch you bending soon, 1 fumed, watching as he lit a little burner. Unhurriedly he melted and rubbed hcclball on the new leather, wasting time on unnecessary perfection. Again ho laid the boots, together and, afraid that there might still be something else to do to them, I snatched them this time and bolted into the house, pulling them on, demanding a basket from my mother. Guessing a reason for my anxiety my mother yet did not question, only watched me race away with a dry little smile as if she were remembering young hurries of her own. Galloping noisily, whacking the air with the basket, 1 swore foolishly, blaming Wouldhave, ill-wishing him with all my heart. A brewer's dray slowed at a corner to allow a dapper little gentleman and his llorid manservant to pass. The drayman saluted and grunted informatively to the boy beside him, but not till later did 1 realise that here was Lord Kinnvbrook. As the dray moved on I grabbed the tailboard, hanging on, recovering breath, until a bouncing barrel jarred my fingers. Running again, cornering at speed round a lamp-post, I skated down the cobbled hill towards the Canterbury Bell. But my belly gulped dismally at sight of the wide-open side door. Aaron, grey and sad, all perkiness gone, was talking to John Flixon, the undertaker, in the dimness of the passage. " I'm grateful to you, Johnny." " Don't worry." The undertaker patted the red velvet bag under his arm: " I'll tuck him in with that maid of O'Regan's who died yesterday. A nice grave for both." Aaron nodded. He might have been arranging his own funeral. I could feel a broken heart grating on its string. "So long, Johnny." He saw me, heard me bewilderedly: "Too late?" Understanding alter a minute he took the embroidered bag from the undertaker, put his hand into it and drew out a dead beautiful bird, red and black, marvelloutsly neat and compact even in its limpness. Death had strangely robbed the clipped feathers of their gloss. The head rolled, and I saw the punctured skull, a bloody ooze drying on it like a tiny garland of flowers.. "Careful, Aaron," the undertaker warned, but Aaron quieted him kindly. "The boy's all right." "Needlesmith?" * Aaron nodded, bagging the bird again, giving it to the undertaker. "So long, Johnny." I stood glumly, more miserable than I could ever remember being before, not merely disappointed but sick in my veins. A steel spur was working among my thoughts, whistling cold, sketching death. Aaron turned heavily away into the back parlour, drinking neat spirit gulpingly, slumping into a chair..; Anxiously I followed: "How did it happen? I'm sorry I'm late." "Just as well, son, just as well.' Ho scrubbed at his eyes with his hands and spat clumsily: "It wasn't pretty." I could feel the liquor blazing in him, forcing words. "It wasn't the money, mind,' he said suddenly: "You understand? It wasn't the money. Money's never worth sweating about. I can't understand it. There'll never be another bird like him. "Darned if ][ can understand it. Sort of thing it"B hard to believe. No sense to it. All that pluck and guts wiped out, wasted. A real masterpiece, that's what he was, made for fighting, every bone of him. . . he just couldn't help it, every breath helped hiß fire. You could see him pondering on it all, working it out. "When I breasted him in a mirror 1 could feel fight; rising in him bo that he darned near burst my hands, trying to show me what he could do. It was prettv good to watch him sparring with the gloves, all pride and skill, stroke on stroke so quick you couldn't follow except by the effect on the other bird. "When we'd got a big show coming off I'd talk to him about it, and he'd feel my excitement and strut and crackle his wings, sure of himself, more sure than anything else I've ever seen. I'd feed him special stuff—eggs, rhubarb and the finest barley and butter —and he'd glow with it, knowing what it was all for. To 6ee him fighting was like seeing hell spitting, just as sure as that. Ground him in the pit and he'd stand quivering, like steel in harness, looking things over, all clean and handsome and his eye black and steady. "And then he'd hop to it. It was like a splash of red-hot metal when they dashed together. Wings crackling and slashing and darting faster than your eyes could swallow it. A proper scorching and splintering, and then old Needlesmith would spark back a bit, watching. He never wasted time, and there was never any need to hold a count over any bird he struck, for they never got up again. They just drooped and flopped and died. "And old Needlesmith strutted at the top of his pride, his head balanced like a snake's, the fighting sweat gone and his mind and feathers all shining. He didn't know what pain or grief was: he'd just strop his beak on my hand when 1 sucked his wounds and bathed 'em in salt. "But this time he was Hat, no spring in him at all. Ho tried his best, but the Shawl-neck got there first. I sort of depended on him;, he was about the only truly dependable thing I've known, not like women, or men even, no nonsense or twisty thoughts. "He was rare and perfect. Can't understand why he failed; can't understand it. Oh, hang, what's the use?" Aaron drank again. I felt a bit sick, full of unexpected knowedge. Reaching suddenly into his pocket Aaron slapped the little velvet-lined case into my hand. "Here, boy, you take 'em. 1 shan't want 'em again." I looked at the spurs, not knowing what to say. Aaron waved me away. I remembered my basket. My mother would expect eggs even though the world had cracked for Aaron. "Eggs? By joves, that's funny!" He laughed bitterly. "Eggs?" He jerked a thumb toward the passage where his wife bustled, smiling crookedly: "She'll give 'em to you." I backed away, gave my basket sulkily to her. How many? I told her grudgingly and she counted them out, not the largest, and the price was high. I gave her the money and she locked it away in a new leather purse, opening the door briskly for me. No more arrowroot biscuits or proudness. "Good-bye," 1 called to Aaron, but he didn't hear me. The woman wanted me gone and she hurried me with her knee, sharply. No sooner was I down the step than the door slammed triumphantly. I wanted to spit but my mouth was dry. She was like cold, wet poison, that woman, jealous like them all. All day I remembered her and at last, suddenly, I knew quite surely why Needlfitsmibh -JiailecU