Cockfighter - Charles Ray Willeford [60]
“Well,” Ed said thoughtfully. He counted the money twice, removed the top five twenty-dollar bills and shoved the remaining four hundred dollars back across the table.
“Here!” he said angrily. “I won't hold you to the ridiculous price we agreed on, Frank. I'll just take a hundred as a token payment. Besides, I'm sick of looking at game chickens. I'm tired of the whole business! Come on, let's go get your damned rooster!”
By the time Ed finished talking, he was almost shouting and out of the nook and fumbling at the doorknob,
“Can't you wait until Frank finishes his breakfast?” Martha said, with quiet good humor.
“Sure, sure,” Ed managed to get the door open. “Take your time, Frank,” he said contritely. “I'll go on out to the runs and put Icarus in your aluminum coop. Also, those two battered Grays are in good shape again. You can have them and the game hen, too. I'll have them all in coops by the time you finish eating.” The door banged shut.
I wiped some egg yolk off the top twenty with a napkin and returned the money to my inside jacket pocket. The kitchen door opened again, and Ed stuck his head in. “Can you use some corn? Barley?”
I nodded.
“Good. There're about three or four partly used sacks of both in the feed shack. But if you want 'em, you'll have to carry 'em to the truck yourself. I'll be goddamned if I'm going to do it!” The door slammed again.
I wanted to follow him out the door but thought it best to finish my breakfast and let Ed cool off a little bit. He had never really expected me to show up with five hundred dollars for his pretty pet gamecock. But his astonishment was in my favor. He had been shamed into returning four hundred dollars, and now I was way ahead of the game. The Middleton Gray game hen was valuable for breeding, and the two Gray gamecocks were worth at least fifty dollars apiece.
“Don't you pay any mind to Ed's bluster, Frank,” Martha said gently. “He's just upset and doesn't mean half of what he says. I know how much store he sets by those chickens. Someday, he'll thank me, Frank. You think I'm unreasonable, I know, making him give up his chickens and stopping him from following fights all over the country, but I'm not really. Ed's had two heart attacks in the last eighteen months. After the last one he was in bed for two weeks and the doctor told him not to do anything at all. Nothing.” She shook her head.
“He isn't supposed to pick so much as an orange up off the ground. Why, the last time the doctor came out and saw that the roosters were still out there he had a fit! Now go out and get your chickens, Frank, and don't let Ed help you lift anything”
I slid out from the table and patted Martha on the shoulder. Ed Middleton certainly knew how to keep a secret. I hadn't known anything about his ailing heart.
“I know you won't say anything, Frank,” Martha said, smiling, “but don't look anything, either!” Despite her smile and the humor in her voice, there were sparks of terror in her eyes. “Ed hasn't told a soul about his bad heart, and I know he wouldn't want me to tell you. He tries to pretend he's as strong as he ever was.”
I wanted to say something, anything that would comfort the woman, but I couldn't. He was going to die soon. I could tell by her eyes.
I smiled, nodded and left the kitchen. The moment I was outside, I lit out around the little lake at a dead run to get my prize rooster before Ed Middleton could change his mind.
10
The scarlet cock, my lord likes best,
And next to him, the gray with thistle-breast.
This knight is for the pile, or else the Black.
A third cries no cock like the dun, yellow back.
The milk-white cock with golden legs and bill.
Or else the Spangle, choose you as you will.
The King he swears (of all), these are the best.
They heel, says he, more true than all the rest.
But this is all mere fancy, and no more,
The color's nothing, as I've said before!
This anonymous English cocking poem was thumbtacked to the wall beside my bed. I had