cwilleford.cockfighter-第8部分

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ron　smoking　stands　pleted　the　furnishings。
　　I　was　attracted　to　the　framed　photographs　on　the　walls。　Each　photo　was　framed　in　a　cheap　glass…covered　black　frame；　the　type　sold　in　dime　stores。　Most　of　the　glossy　photos　were　of　gamecocks；　but　there　were　several　photos　of　Ed　Middleton　and　his　cronies。　An　old　cover　page　of　The　Southern　Cockfighter；　with　a　four…color　drawing　of　Ed　Middleton's　famous　cock　Freddy；　held　the　place　of　honor　above　the　desk。　Freddy　had　won　nineteen　fights　and　had　died　in　his　coop　ten　years　before。　Anywhere　chicken　talk　is　held；　Freddy's　name　es　up　sooner　or　later。
　　Mr。　Middleton　reentered　the　room；　carrying　sheets；　a　blanket　and　a　pillow　under　his　right　arm；　and　a　portable　television　set　in　his　left　hand。　He　tossed　the　bedcovers　on　the　couch；　placed　the　portable　set　on　the　seat　of　the　red　straight…backed　chair；　and　plugged　the　cord　into　the　wall　socket。
　　〃I　told　Martha　you　wouldn't　need　a　blanket；　but　you　know　how　women　are。〃
　　I　nodded。　I　knew　how　women　were。　I　began　to　make　up　the　lumpy　couch　with　the　sheets。
　　〃To　give　you　something　to　do；　I　brought　in　the　TV。　It　isn't　much　good　but　you　can　get　Orlando；　anyway。　I'd　stay　up　and　keep　you　pany　for　a　while；　but　I'm　pretty　tired。　This　has　been　a　long　day　for　an　old　man。〃
　　I　soon　had　the　couch　made　up；　but　Mr。　Middleton　lingered　in　the　room。　He　studied　a　photograph　of　a　framed　cock　on　the　wall；　and　beckoned　to　me　as　I　started　to　sit　down。
　　〃e　here；　Frank。　Take　a　look　at　this　cock。　It's　a　phenomenon　in　breeding　and　you'll　never　see　another　like　it。　A　bird　called　Bright　Boy；　one　of　the　most　courageous　birds　I　ever　owned。　Yet　it　was　bred　from　a　father　and　a　daughter。　By　all　the　rules；　a　cock　bred　that　way　usually　runs　every　time；　but　this　beauty　never　did。　He　was　killed　in　his　second　fight　in　a　drag　pitting。　Sorry　now　I　didn't　keep　him　for　a　brood　cock　to　see　what　would　have　happened。　I　suppose　there　are　similar　cases；　but　this　is　the　only　one　I　really　know　is　true。　Did　you　ever　hear　of　a　real　fighter　bred　of　father　and　daughter？〃
　　I　shook　my　head。　If　true；　and　I　doubted　Ed's　story；　this　was　an　unusual　case。　When　it　es　to　cocks　of　the　same　blood；　those　bred　from　mother　and　son　have　the　biggest　heart　for　fighting　to　the　death。　Somebody　had　probably　switched　an　egg　on　old　Ed。
　　〃Every　time　a　man　thinks　he's　got　the　answers　on　cockbreeding；　something　like　this　happens　to　teach　him　something　new。　I'm　going　to　be　pretty　well　lost　without　my　chickens；　Frank；　but　I've　got　a　lot　of　stuff　stored　away　in　that　trunk；　old　game…strain　records　and　so　on。　Maybe　I　could　write　a　useful　book　on　breeding。〃　He　shook　his　head　sadly。　〃I　don't　know。　I　suppose　I'll　find　something　to　do　with　my　time。〃
　　To　get　rid　of　him；　I　clapped　him　on　the　shoulder；　sat　down；　and　unbuckled　my　jodhpur　boots。
　　I　was　growing　weary　of　always　being　on　the　receiving　end　of　personal　confidences　and　long　sad　stories。　The　man　who　is　unable　to　talk　back　is　at　the　mercy　of　these　people。　He　is　like　an　inexperienced　priest　who　listens　tolerantly　to　the　first　simple　confessions　of　impure　thoughts；　and　then　listens　with　increasing　horror　as　the　sins　mount；　one　outdoing　the　other　until　he　is　shocked　into　dumbness。　And；　of　course；　the　sinner　takes　advantage　of　a　man's　credulousness；　loading　ever　greater　sins　upon　him　to　see　how　far　he　can　really　go　now　that　he　has　found　a　trapped　listener　who　is　unable　to　stop　him。　My　ears　had　been　battered　by　the　outpourings　of　troubles；　tribulations；　aspirations；　and　the　affairs　of　broken　hearts　for　two　years　and　seven　months。　Only　by　being　rude　enough　to　leave　the　scene　had　I　evaded　some　of　my　confessors。
　　But　Ed　Middleton　was　wise　enough　to　take　the　hint。
　　〃Good　night；　Frank；〃　he　said　finally；　〃I'll　see　you　in　the　morning；〃　and　the　door　closed　behind　him。
　　After　taking　a　needed　shower　I　switched　on　the　little　television　set　and　sat　on　the　couch　to　watch　the　gray；　shimmering　images。　There　was　a　lot　of　snow；　and　jagged　bars　of　black　appeared　much　too　often。　In　less　than　five　minutes　I　was　forced　to　turn　it　off。　I'm　not　overly　fond　of　television　anyway。　Traveling　around　so　much　I　have　never　formed　the　habit　of　watching　it。　And　I've　never　owned　a　set。
　　I　was　impressed　by　this　pleasant　room　of　Ed　Middleton's。　It　was　a　man's　room；　and　if　he　really　wanted　to　write　a　book　about　cock…breeding；　it　was　certainly　quiet　enough。　I　doubted；　however；　that　he　would　ever　write　one。　What　Ed　Middleton　did　with　his　remaining　years　was　no　concern　of　mine；　and　yet　I　found　myself　worried　about　him。　He　had　been　fighting　game　fowl　and　refereering　pit　matches　for　thirty…odd　years。　Without　any　birds　to　fool　around　with；　what　could　he　possibly　do　with　his　time？　I　felt　sorry　for　the　old　man。
　　He　had　a　nice　home；　his　wife　was　a　wonderful　woman；　and　the　Citrus　Syndicate　took　care　of　his　orange　groves。　He　had　turned　over　the　operation　of　his　groves　to　the　Central　Citrus　Syndicate　some　years　back。　In　return；　they　paid　him　a　good　percentage　on　the　crop　each　year；　and　now　he　didn't　have　to　do　anything　with　his　trees　except　to　watch　them　grow。　By　giving　up　cockfighting　he　was　giving　up　his　entire　existence；　and；　like　most　elderly　men　who　retire；　he　probably　wouldn't　live　very　long…with　nothing　to　do。　Martha　was　wrong；　dead　wrong；　in　forcing　Ed　to　give　up　his　game　chickens。
　　Mary　Elizabeth's　opposition　to　the　sport　was　the　major　reason　we　had　never　gotten　married。　Why　can't　the　American　woman　accept　a　man　for　what　he　is　instead　of　trying　to　make　him　over　into　the　idealized　image　of　her　father　on　someone　else？
　　There　was　no　use　worrying　about　Ed　Middleton。　I　had　problems　of　my　own　that　were　more　pressing。　But　with　a　little　pushing　from　me；　my　problems　would　somehow　take　care　of　themselves。　All　I　knew　was　that　I　had　to　do　what　I　knew　best　how　to　do。　Nothing　else　mattered。
　　I　switched　off　the　light　and；　despite　the　lumpiness　of　the　beat…up　old　couch；　fell　asleep　within　minutes。
　　
　　
　　
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　　It　seemed　as　if　I　had　only　been　asleep　for　about　five　minutes　when　the　lights　were　switched　on　and　Ed　Middleton　yelled　at　me　to　get　up。
　　〃Are　you　going　to　sleep　all　day？〃　he　shouted　gruffly。　〃I've　been　up　for　more　than　an　hour　already。　e　on　out　to　the　kitchen　when　you　get　dressed。　I've　got　a　pot　of　coffee　on。〃
　　Reluctantly；　I　sat　up；　kicked　off　the　sheet；　and　swung　my　feet　to　the　floor。　The　door　banged　shut　and　I　looked　at　my　wristwatch。　Five　thirty。　It　was　pretty　late　to　be　sleeping。　No　wonder　Ed　had　hollered　at　me。　I　stumbled　into　the　bathroom。　After　a　quick　shave　I　dug　some　clean　white　socks　out　of　my　suitcase；　and　put　on　the　same　clothes　I　had　worn　the　day　before。　I　joined　Ed　in　the　kitchen；　and　sat　at　the　breakfast　nook。
　　〃We　can　eat　breakfast　later；　Frank；〃　he　said；　pouring　two　cups　of　coffee。　〃Coffee'll　hold　us　for　a　while。　I　want　to　show　you　something　first。〃
　　I　drank　the　coffee　black；　and　it　was　thick　enough　to　slice　with　my　knife。
　　〃You　want　a　glass　of　orange　juice？〃
　　I　held　up　a　hand　to　show　that　coffee　was　enough　for　now。
　　Ed　refilled　my　cup；　set　the　pot　back　on　the　stove；　and　paced　up　and　down　on　the　shiny　terrazzo　floor。　He　wore　an　old　pair　of　blue　bib　overalls　and　an　expensive；　embroidered　short…sleeved　sport　shirt。　The　bottoms　of　the　overalls　were　tucked　into　a　pair　of　ten…inch；　well…oiled　engineer　boots。　His　great　paunch　stretched　the　middle　of　the　overalls　tight；　but　the　bib　on　his　chest　flapped　loosely　as　he　walked。
　　The　second　cup　of　coffee　seemed　hotter　than　the　first；　and　I　was　forced　to　sip　it　slowly。　Ed　snapped　his　fingers　impatiently；　pushed　open　the　back　door；　and　said　over　his　shoulder；　〃e　on；　Frank。　We　can　have　breakfast　later；　like　I　told　you　already。〃
　　I　gulped　down　the　remainder　of　the　coffee　and　followed　him　outside　to　the　patio。　The　sun　was　just　rising；　and　the　upper　rim　could　be　seen　through　the　trees。　The　tops　of　the　orange　trees　across　the　pond　were　dipped　in　molten；　golden…green　fire。　The　oranges　on　the　darker　green　lower　limbs　of　the　trees　looked　as　if　they　had　been　painted　on。　A　mist　rose　from　the　tiny　lake　like　steam　rising　from　a　pot　of　water　just　before　it　begins　to　boil。　Ed　Middleton　sat　down　in　the　center　of　the　little　skiff　tied　to　the　concrete　pier；　and　fitted　the　oars　into　the　locks。　I　sat　forward　in　the　prow。
　　〃Untie　the　line；　Frank；　and　let's　cast　off。〃
　　Mr。　Middleton　rowed　across　the　lake…all　forty　yards　of　it。　It　would　have　been　less　trouble　to　take　the　path　that　circled　the　pond；　but　if　he　wanted　to　use　the　skiff；　it　didn't　make　any　difference　to　me。
　　When　we　reached　the　other　side　of　the　pond；　I　jumped　out；　held　the　skiff　steady　for　Mr。　Middleton；　and　then　both　of　us　pulled　the　boat　onto　dry　land。　There　was　a　narrow　path　through　the　grove；　and　I　trailed　the　old　man　for　about　five　hundred　yards　until　we　reached　his　chicken　walks。　There　was　a　flat；　well…hidden　clearing　in　the　grove；　and　about　a　dozen　coop　walks；　each　separated　by　approximately　twenty　yards。　The　walks　were　eight　feet　tall；　about　ten　feet　wide　by　thirty　feet　in　length；　with　the　tops　and　sides　covered　with　chicken　wire。　The　baseboards　were　two　feet　high；　and　painted　with　old　motor　oil　to　keep　down　the　mite　population。
　　Seeing　the　empty　walks　reminded　me　of　my　own　farm　in　Ocala；　although　I　had　a　better　setup　for　coop…walked　birds　than　Ed　Middleton。　At　one　time；　many　years　before；　long　before　he　had　converted　his　land　to　orange　trees；　he　had　had　the　ideal　setup　for　a　country…walked　rooster。　A　pond；　gently　rolling　terrain；　and　enough　trees　for　the　chickens　to　choose　their　own　limbs　for　roosting。　We　walked　down　the　row　of　walks　to　the　end　coop。　As　the　rooster　crowed；　Ed　turned　around　with　a　proud　expression　and　pointed　to　the　cock。
　　If　there　is　anything　more　beautiful　than　the　sight　of　a　purebred　gamecock　in　the　light　of　early　morning　I　do　not　know　what　it　is。　This　fighting　cock　of　Ed's　was　the　most　brilliantly　colored　chicken　I　had　ever　seen；　and　I've　seen　hundreds　upon　hundreds　of　chickens。
　　Middleton　had　devoted　sixteen　years　and　countless　generations　of　game　fowl　to　developing　the　famous　Middleton　Gray；　and　there　were　traces　of　the　Gray　in　the　cock's　shawl　and　broad；　flat　chest。　But　the　cock　was　a　hybrid　of　some　kind　that　I　couldn't　place　or　recognize。　He　walked　proudly　to　the　fence　a