cwilleford.cockfighter-第26部分

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nough。　The　whiskers　grew　too　fast。　I　shaved　before　leaving　home　in　the　morning；　again　at　noon；　and　if　I　went　out　again　at　night；　I　had　to　scrape　my　jowls　again。　For　as　long　as　I　can　remember；　my　face　was　sore；　raw　in　fact；　and　even　after　a　fresh　shave　people　told　me　I　needed　another。　So；　I　no　longer　have　to　shave　and　I　no　longer　shave；　and　I'll　never　shave　again！〃
　　To　see　Omar　Baradinsky　now；　standing　in　my　one…and…ahalf…room　shack　near　Ocala；　wearing　a　pair　of　faded　blue　denim　bib　overalls；　a　khaki　work　shirt　with　the　sleeves　cut　off　at　the　shoulders；　scuffed；　acid…eaten；　high…topped　work　shoes；　and　that　awe…inspiring　growth　of　black　hair　covering　his　face…no　one　in　his　right　mind　would　have　taken　him　for　a　once　successful　advertising　executive　in　New　York　City。　A　closer　look　at　his　clothes；　however；　would　reveal　that　Omar's　bib　overalls　and　shirt　were　expensive　and　tailored…　which　they　were。　He　ordered　his　clothes　from　Abercrombie　&　Fitch　up　in　New　York；　and　they　would　wash　and　dry　without　needing　to　be　ironed。　In　the　beginning；　I　suspect　that　he　had　probably　started　to　wear　bib　overalls　as　a　kind　of　uniform；　to　fit　some　imaginary　role　he　had　made　up　in　the　back　of　his　mind。　But　now　they　had　bee　a　part　of　him；　and　I　couldn't　picture　Omar　wearing　anything　else。
　　But　Omar　had　been　an　advertising　man；　four　years　before。　Not　only　had　he　been　a　successful　executive　with　a　salary　of　thirty…five　thousand　dollars　a　year；　he　had　also　owned　a　twenty…unit　luxury　apartment　house　in　Brooklyn。　He　was　now　a　breeder　and　handler　of　gamecocks　in　Florida；　keeping　Claret　crosses　and　Allen　Roundheads；　and　after　four　experimental　years；　slowly　beginning　to　pull　ahead。　The　one　remaining　tie　Omar　had　with　New　York　was　his　wife。　She　visited　him　annually；　for　one　week；　when　she　passed　through　central　Florida　on　her　way　to　Miami　Beach　for　the　winter　season。　So　far；　she　had　been　unable　to　make　him　change　his　mind　and　return　to　New　York。　Omar's　wife　wasn't　the　type　to　bury　herself　on　an　isolated　Florida　chicken　farm；　so　they　were　stalemated。
　　Unlike　most　American　sportsmen；　the　cockfighting　fan　has　an　overwhelming　tendency　to　bee　an　active　participant。　There　is　no　such　thing　as　a　passive　interest　in　cockfighting。　Beginning　as　a　casual　onlooker；　a　man　soon　finds　the　action　of　two　game…cocks　battling　to　the　death　a　fascinating　spectacle。　He　either　likes　it　or　he　doesn't。　If　he　doesn't　like　it；　he　doesn't　return　to　watch　another　fight。　If　he　does　like　it；　he　accepts；　sooner　or　later；　everything　about　the　sport…the　good　with　the　bad。
　　As　the　fan　gradually　learns　to　tell　one　game　strain　from　another；　he　admires　the　vain　beauty　of　a　game　rooster。　Admiration　leads　to　the　desire　to　possess　one　of　these　beautiful　creatures　for　his　very　own；　and　pride　of　ownership　leads　to　the　pitting　of　his　pet　against　another　gamecock。　Whether　he　wins　or　loses；　once　the　fan　has　got　as　far　as　pitting；　he　is　as　hooked　as　a　ghetto　mainliner。
　　Of　course；　not　every　beginner　embraces　the　sport　like　Omar　Baradinsky…to　the　point　of　quitting　a　thirty…fivethousand　dollar…a…year　position；　and　leaving　wife；　family　and　friends　to　raise　and　fight　gamecocks　in　Florida。　The　majority　of　fans　are　content　to　participate　on　a　smaller　scale…as　a　handler；　perhaps；　or　as　an　owner　of　one　or　two　gamecocks；　or　as　a　lowly　assistant　holding　a　bird　for　a　handler　while　he　lashes　on　the　heels。　Many　spectators；　unfortunately；　are　interested　in　the　gambling　aspects　of　cockfighting　to　the　exclusion　of　everything　else。　But　even　gamblers　must　learn　a　lot　of　information　about　game　fowl　to　win　consistently。　Whether　he　wins　or　loses；　the　gambler　still　has　the　satisfaction　of　knowing　that　a　cockfight　cannot　be　fixed；　and　not　another　sport　in　the　United　States　will　give　him　as　fair　a　chance　for　his　money。
　　Omar　Baradinsky；　however；　had　gone　all　the　way；　caught　up　in　the　sport　at　the　dangerous　age　of　fifty；　the　age　when　a　man　begins　to　wonder　just　what　in　the　hell　has　he　got　out　of　his　life　so　far；　anyway？　Omar　was　still　as　bewildered　by　his　decision　to　enter　full…time　cockfighting　now　as　he　had　been　when　he　started。
　　〃I　can't　really　explain　it；　Frank；〃　he　had　told　me　one　idle　morning；　after　we　got　to　know　each　other　fairly　well；　right　after　he　had　first　moved　to　Florida。　〃I　had　done　a　better　than　average　job　on　one　of　my　smaller　advertising　accounts；　and　the　owner　invited　me　to　his　home　in　Saratoga　Springs　for　a　weekend。　Smelling　a　little　bonus　money　in　the　deal；　you　see；　something　my　firm　wouldn't　know　anything　about；　I　accepted　and　drove　to　this　fellow's　place　early　on　a　Saturday　morning。
　　〃Just　as　I　anticipated；　he　presented　me　with　a　bonus　check　for　a　thousand　clams。　And　we　sat　around　his　swimming　pool　all　afternoon…which　was　empty　by　the　way…　drinking　Scotch　and　water　and　talking　business。　Out　of　nothing；　he　asked　me　if　I'd　like　to　see　a　cockfight　that　night。
　　〃'Cockfight！'　I　said。　'They're　illegal；　aren't　they？'　'Sure；　they　are！'　he　laughed。　'But　so　was　sleeping　with　that　blonde　you　fixed　me　up　with　in　New　York。　If　you've　never　seen　a　cockfight；　I　think　you　might　get　a　kick　out　of　it。'
　　〃So　I　went　to　my　first　cockfight。　I'll　never　forget　it；　Frank。　The　sight　of　those　beautiful　roosters　fighting　to　the　death；　the　gameness；　even　when　mortally　wounded；　was　an　exciting；　unforgettable　experience。　Before　the　evening　was　over；　I　knew　that　that's　what　I　wanted　to　do　with　my　life：　breed　and　fight　game　fowl。　It　was　infantile；　crazy　maybe；　I　don't　know。　My　wife　thought　I'd　lost　my　mind　and　wouldn't　even　listen　to　my　reasons。　Probably　because　I　couldn't　give　her　any；　not　valid　reasons。　I　wanted　to　do　it　and　that　was　my　sole　reason！
　　〃I　was　fed　up　to　the　teeth　with　advertising；　and　I　had　saved　enough　money　to　quit。　I　was　only　fifty；　and　although　my　future　still　glimmered　on　Madison　Avenue；　I　didn't　really　need　any　more　money　than　I　already　had。　Still；　I　played　it　pretty　cagy　with　the　firm。　I　made　a　secret　deal　with　one　of　the　other　vice…presidents　to　feed　him　my　accounts　in　return　for　supporting　my　resignation　on　the　grounds　of　ill　health。　That　way；　I　picked　up　twenty…five　thousand　dollars　in　severance　pay。　I　sold　my　apartment　house　and　set　up　a　trust　fund　for　my　wife　to　take　care　of　her　needs　in　New　York。　Besides；　she　has　money　of　her　own。　Her　father　was　a　proctologist；　and　he　left　her　plenty　when　he　died。　And　for　the　first　time　in　my　life；　I'm　happy；　really　happy。　Funny；　isn't　it？〃
　　This　was　Omar　Baradinsky；　who　owned　a　game　farm　only　three　miles　away　from　mine。　So　far；　he　hadn't　prospered　in　his　adopted　profession；　but　he　was　breaking　even　by　selling　trios　and　stags　to　other　cockers。　His　gamecocks　usually　lost　when　he　fought　them　in　the　southern　pits。　He　must　have　been　hard　enough　to　succeed　in　the　business　world；　but　the　stubborn　streak　of　tenderness　in　his　makeup　didn't　give　him　enough　discipline　to　make　Aces　out　of　his　pit　fowl。　He　overfed　them；　and　he　didn't　work　them　hard　enough　to　last。
　　Turning　away　from　the　poem；　Omar　turned　his　huge　brown　orbs　on　me　and　jerked　a　thumb　at　the　wall。
　　〃Did　you　write　that；　Frank？〃
　　I　shook　my　head　and　pulled　out　a　chair　for　him　to　sit　down。
　　〃Then　what　about　your　new　cock；　Icky？　If　that　chicken　wasn't　bred　purely　for　color　I've　never　seen　one。〃
　　I　shrugged。　Icky　had　been　bred　for　color；　certainly；　but　from　a　pure　game　strain；　and　his　conformation　was　ideal　for　fighting。　In　a　few　days　I'd　see　whether　he　could　fight　or　not　when　I　gave　him　a　workout　with　sparring　muffs　in　my　training　pit。
　　〃Anyway；　I　like　the　looks　of　those　Mellhorn　Blacks；　and　especially　your　two　Middleton　Grays。〃
　　So　did　I。　Buford；　my　part…time　Negro　helper；　had　gone　downtown　to　the　depot　with　me　the　night　before　when　I　picked　up　my　shipment　of　Mellhorn　Blacks。　After　helping　me　put　the　dozen　cocks　away　in　their　separate　stalls　in　the　cockhouse；　he　had　driven　by　Omar's　place　and　told　him　about　them。　Omar　had　arrived　early　that　morning　for　a　look　at　the　Mellhoms　and　a　long　admiring　examination　of　Icky。　Buford　had　undoubtedly　given　Icky　a　big　buildup；　but　Omar　hadn't　been　impressed　until　he　saw　the　cock　for　himself。
　　〃Tell　me　something；　Frank；　if　you　will；〃　Omar　said；　when　he　finished　pouring　some　condensed　milk　into　his　coffee。　〃Did　you　get　an　invitation　to　the　Southern　Conference　Tourney　at　Milledgeville？〃
　　In　reply；　I　got　up　from　the　table；　rummaged　in　the　top　drawer　of　my　dresser　until　I　found　the　invitation　and　the　schedule　for　the　S。C。　pit　battles；　and　passed　them　to　Omar。　He　glanced　at　the　forms；　pulled　on　his　shaggy　beard　a　couple　of　times；　and　returned　the　papers。
　　〃I　just　don't　understand　you　people　down　here；〃　he　said。　〃It　may　be　partly　my　fault；　because　I　wrote　Senator　Foxhall　a　personal　letter　asking　for　an　invitation　and　enclosed　a　two…hundred…dollar　forfeit。　Three　days　later　I　got　the　check　back　in　the　mail　and　no　invitation。　Not　a　damned　word　of　explanation。　What　in　the　hell's　the　matter　with　me？　I've　got　more　than　fifty　birds　under　keep；　and　last　season　my　showings　hit　fifty…fifty。　Maybe　I'm　not　in　the　same　class　with　the　S。C。　regulars；　but　if　I'm　willing　to　lose　my　entry　fee　why　should　Senator　Foxhall　care？　And　here　you　are…I　saw　the　date　on　your　invitation…you　didn't　own　a　single　gamecock　when　you　got　that　invite！　I'm　not　belittling　your　ability；　Frank。　I　know　you're　a　top　cocker　and　all　that；　but　how　did　the　senator　know　you'd　be　able　to　attend？　How　did　you　receive　an　invitation　without　asking　for　one　when　I　couldn't　get　one　when　I　did？
　　〃I've　never　attended　the　Milledgevifie　meet；　and　I　want　to　go；　even　as　a　spectator。　But　after　fighting　at　all　the　other　S。C。　pits　this　season；　I'd　be　embarrassed　to　attend　the　tournament　without　an　entry。　Do　you　know　what　I　mean？〃
　　I　knew　what　he　meant；　all　right。　Omar　had　done　the　normal；　logical　thing；　and　the　turndown　had　hurt　his　feelings。　Most　of　the　U。S。　derbies　and　tourneys　get　their　entries　through　fees。　The　man　who　sends　in　a　two…　or　threehundred…dollar　forfeit　either　shows　up　or　he　loses　his　money。　A　contract　is　returned　to　him　by　mail。　When　the　list　is　filled；　no　more　entries　are　accepted。　I　didn't　really　know　why　Omar　had　been　turned　down　by　Senator　Foxhall。　It　wasn't　because　he　was　a　Pole　or　a　New　Yorker。
　　Members　of　the　cockfighting　fraternity　are　from　all　walks　of　life。