FICTION

What Is a Man Without His Cock?

Delusions of grandeur and cockfighting

Dante was staring at a motionless cock.

A pool of blood started to rally just beneath the bird’s breast. The surrounding audience, most of whom used a rude amount of borrowed money for their bets, went silent in excited anticipation.

The referee picked up the rooster and confirmed what its owner already knew — it was to be served for dinner. Red triumphed over blue, and luckily for Dante, his rooster’s corner was that of the crimson stain on its feathers.

Dante’s homegrown cock, proudly named Manny (after the Filipino boxer-senator), just won the “Royal Rooster Championships.” Manny was now officially the toughest fowl in all of Metro Manila.

The crowd roared, almost in tandem with its proud and mocking crow. You couldn’t tell which patrons were disappointed or ecstatic. They were all similarly noisy. But to Dante, their voices were muffled.

He just won 300,000 pesos. That’s one-fourth of the price of his employer’s Patek Philippe, but his aching head couldn’t currently process that much cash.

Dizzily drenched in sweat, he dashed onto the dusty arena to pick up Manny. “I knew you could do it! They told me to stop, but I knew it in my heart! We’re going to be rich!” Dante said to Manny while untying the blade equipped on its left spur.

Manny stared tiredly in reply, and Dante understood. “Just rest up. It’s only a small scratch; you’ll heal up and fight again,” he said with forceful assurance.

“I’ll pay half the hospital debt, then my second payment for the motorcycle, then I’ll post bail for my older brother,” he excitedly told his cock. It stared blankly in reply.

“Then I’ll buy a laptop, so Bea doesn’t have to borrow any more,” Dante said with half his heart.

“Then gin! And lots of beer!” he exclaimed. Manny remained silent.

“Then I’ll buy you a hen!”

“KAA! KAA!” Manny crowed in reply while viciously flapping its wings. The bird had a distinct way of yelling.

Dante laughed at his flustered fowl. He would have to again pay for its pills, food, and training, but he was already convinced that this cock would be his ticket out of poverty. He wouldn’t have taken on debt initially if he wasn’t so sure.

Dante also knew that, apart from the alcohol and hen, he wouldn’t be spending a single centavo on the things he just told Manny. Why would he? When his rooster wins the next derby, he could have a proxy bet and double his prize. He’ll pay for those things after.

Victory felt good but surprisingly hot. Dante was uncomfortable.

“Manny! Manny! Manny!” the crowd cheered, similar to how drunk Romans cheered while watching gladiators fight to the death. Dante raised his cock for them. “Dante! Dante! Dante!” they worriedly shouted.

His mind was slowly sobering up from the win. The once muffled voices were now clear. They sounded eerily familiar.

“Dante! Dante! Dante!” the crowd said once more. Then Dante felt someone pull his sweat-covered collar. His drinking buddy yelled:

“Wake up, you drunk son-of-a-bitch! Your house is on fire!”

Apart from taking in the scent of burning wood, Dante’s nose was assaulted by the odor of beer and vomit. The last thing he remembered before passing out on the street was laughing at Philip — a man who had just lost a dangerous sum betting on the wrong cock.

It was late. Dante wanted to go back to sleep.

Manny and Bea were still inside the house. It was burning.

“SHIT!” squawked Dante as he remembered that Manny was still inside.

He took off his shirt, covered his face, kicked down the door, said a quick prayer, and entered the inferno. He squinted through the holes of his shirt and saw many things that weren’t fully his burning a bright orange-yellow color. The painting of a baby Jesus that Bea once won in the parish’s Christmas party was on fire. Dante would pray to it before risking his meager wage. He realized that this was a bad omen and that he needed to find Manny quickly. The smoke made it harder and harder for him to see, so he decided to trust his ears.

“KAA! KAA!” Manny shouted desperately from his cage.

Dante immediately recognized the sound of his cock. It had a distinct way of scratching Bea’s mother’s ears at five in the morning. When she was coughing out blood in the hospital, Dante said that she sounded just like Manny. He thinks it might have been the last thing he said to her.

“KAA! KAA!” said Manny, even louder now. Dante was close, but he was disoriented by the frighteningly similar sound of “PA! PA!”

It was Bea. She was distracting.

Dante felt guilty. He was undeterred.

If he was going to save Manny, he needed to focus on its crow. And so he did. Just like in the arena, he drowned out the distracting voices of other people and concentrated entirely on Manny. According to his own mythology, if man and fowl were one in spirit, they would overcome any obstacle. If he focused enough on Manny to erase his senses, surroundings, worries, guilt, pain, trauma, truths, and consciousness, then he could change fate. In this state, Dante escaped himself.

Those tranced moments always led to victory.

So Dante closed his eyes to look for his cock.

Then there was silence, then heat, then darkness.