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Alejandro R. Roces
My brother Kiko had a
very peculiar chicken. It was
very peculiar because no one
could tell whether it was a
rooster or a hen. My brother
claimed it was a rooster. I
claimed it was a hen. We almost
got lynched trying to settle the
argument.
The whole question
began early one morning, while
Kiko and I were driving the
chickens from the cornfield. The
corn had just been planted and
the chickens were scratching the
seed out for food. Suddenly we
heard the rapid flapping of
wings. We turned in the
direction of the sound and saw
the two chickens fighting the far
end of the field. We could not
see the birds clearly, as they
were lunging at each other in a
whirlwind of feathers and dust.
³Look at the rooster
fight!|´ my brother said pointing
excitedly at one of the chickens.
³Why, if I had a rooster like that I
could get rich in the cockpit.´
³Let us go and catch it,´ I
suggested. ³No, you stay here, I
will go and catch it,´ Kiko said,
my brother slowly approached
the battling chickens. They were
so busy fighting that they did not
notice him as he approached.
When he got near them, he
dived and caught one of them by
the legs. It struggled and
squawked. Kiko finally held it by
both wings and it stood still. I ran
over to where he was and took a
good look at the chicken.
³
 it is a hen!´ I said.
³What is the matter with
you?´ my brother asked. ³Is the
heat making you sick?´
³No, look at its head. It
has no comb or wattles.´
³No comb or wattles!
Who cares about its comb or
wattles? Didn¶t you see it fight?´
³Sure, I saw it fight, but I
still say it is a hen.´
³A hen! Did you ever saw
a hen with spurs like this? Or a
hen with a tail like this?´
Kiko and I could not
agree on what determines the
sex of a chicken. If the animal in
question had been a carabao it
would have been simple. All we
would have to do was to look at
the carabao. We would have
wasted no time at examining its
tail, hooves, or horns. We would
simply have looked at the animal
straight in the face, and if it had
a brass on its nose the carabao
would undoubtedly be a bull.
But chickens are not like
carabaos. So the argument
went on in the field and the
whole morning.
At noon, we left to have
our lunch. We argued about it on
the way home. When we arrived
at our house, Kiko tethered the
chicken on a peg. The chicken
flapped its wings ± and then
crowed.
³There! Did you hear
that?´ my brother exclaimed
triumphantly. ³I suppose you are
going to tell me now that
carabaos fly.´
³I do not care if it crows
or not,´ I said. ³That chicken is a
hen.´
We went in the house
and the discussion continued
during lunch.
³It is not a hen,´ Kiko
said. ³It is a rooster.´
³It is a hen,´ I said.
³It is not.´
³It is.´
³That¶s enough!´
Mother interrupted. ³How many
times must Father tell you boys
not to argue during lunch?´
What is the argument about this
time?´
We told Mother and she
went out to look at the chicken,
³The chicken´, she said,
³is a binabae. It is a rooster that
looks like a hen.´
That should have
ended the argument. But Father
also went to see the chicken and
he said.
³No, Mother, you are
wrong. That chicken is a
binalake, a hen which looks like
a rooster.´
³Have you been
drinking again?´ Mother asked.
³No,´ Father answered.
³Then what makes you
say that rooster is a hen? Have
you ever seen a hen with
feathers like that?´
³Listen. I have handled
fighting roosters since I was a
boy, and you cannot tell me that
thing is a rooster.´
Before Kiko and I
realized what had happened to
Father and Mother were arguing
about the chicken all by
themselves. Soon Mother was
crying. She always cried when
argued with Father.
 ³You know well that it is
a rooster,´ she sobbed. ³You
are just being mean and
stubborn.´
³I am sorry,´ Father
said. But I know a hen when I
see one.´
Then he put his arms
around Mother and called her
corny names like my Reina
Elenea, my Madonna and my
Maria Clara. He always did that
when Mother cried. Kiko and I
felt embarrassed. We left the
house without finishing our
lunch.
³I know who can settle
this question,´ my brother said.
³Tenienteng Tasio.´
Tenienteng Tasio was
the head of the village. I did not
think that the chief of the village
was the man who could solve a
problem. For the chief was the
barrio philosopher. By this I
mean that he was a man who
explained his strange views by
even stranger reasons. For
example, the chief frowned on
cockfighting. Now many people
object to rooster fighting, their
reason being either that they
think cockfighting is cruel or that
they think gambling is bad.
Neither of these was the chief¶s
reason. Cockfighting, he said
was a waste of time because it
has been proven that one
gamecock can beat another.
The chief, however,
had one merit. He was the
oldest man in the barrio, and
while this did not make him an
ornithologist, still, we have to
admit that anything said always
carries more weight if it is said
by a man with grey hairs. So
when Kiko suggested consulting
the teniente, I voiced no
objection. I acquiesced to let
him be the arbiter of our
dispute. He untied the chicken
and we both took it to the chief.
³Tenienteng Tasio, is
this chicken a male or a
female?´ Kiko asked.
³That is a question that
could concern only another
chicken,´ the chief replied.
Both Kiko and I were
taken aback by this replication.
But Kiko was obstinate, so he
tried another approach.
³Look, teniente,´ he
said, ³my brother and I happen
to have a special interest in this
particular chicken. Please give
us an answer. Just say µyes¶ or
µno¶. Is this a rooster?´
³It does not look like
any rooster that I have ever
seen,´ said the teniente.
³It is a hen, then,´ I
said.
³It does not look like
any hen that I have ever seen,´
was the reply.
My brother and I were
dumbfounded. For a long while
we remained speechless. Then
Teniente Tasio asked:
³Have you ever seen an
animal like this before?´
Kiko and I had to admit
that we hadn¶t.
³Then how do you both
know it is a chicken?´
³Well, what else could it
be?´ Kiko asked in turn.
³It could be another
kind of bird.´
³Oh, God, no!´ Kiko
said.´ Let¶s go to town and see
Mr. Cruz. He would know.´
Mr. Eduardo Cruz lived
in the nearby town of Alcala. He
had studied poultry husbandry at
Los Baños, and he operated a
large egg farm. When we got
there Mr. Cruz was taking his
siesta, so Kiko released the
chicken in his yard.
The other chicken
would not associate with ours.
Not only did they keep as far
away from it as they could, but
they did not even seem to care
to which sex it belonged.
Unembarrassed by this, our
chicken chased and disgraced
several pullets.
³There!´ my brother
exclaimed.
³That should prove to
you it is a rooster.´
³It proves nothing of the
sort,´ I said. ³It only proves it has
rooster instincts ± but it could
still be a hen.´
As soon as Mr. Cruz
was up, we caught the chicken
and took it to his office.
³Mr. Cruz,´ Kiko said,
³is this a hen or a rooster?´
Mr. Cruz looked at the
bird curiously and then said:
³Hmmmm, I don¶t know.
I couldn¶t tell at one look. I have
never run across a biddy like this
before.´
³Well, is there any way
you can tell?´
³Why, sure. Look at the
feathers on its back. If the ends
are round, it¶s a she. If they are
pointed, then it is a he.´
The three of us
examined its feathers closely. It
had both!
³Hmm. Very peculiar,´
said Mr. Cruz.
 ³Is there any other way
you can tell?´
³I could kill it and
examine its insides,´
³No, I don¶t want it
killed,´ my brother said.
I took the plumed
creature in my arms and we
walked back to the barrio. Kiko
was silent most of the way. Then
suddenly he snapped his fingers
and said:
³I know how I can prove
to you that this is a rooster.´
³How?´ I asked.
³Would you agree that
this is a rooster if it fights in a
cockpit ± and it wins?´
³If this hen of yours can
beat a gamecock, I would
believe anything,´ I said.
³All right,´ he said, ³we
will take it to the cockpit this
coming Sunday.´
So that Sunday we took
the chicken to the cockpit. Kiko
looked around for a suitable
opponent and finally decided on
a red rooster. I recognized the
rooster as a veteran of the pit
whose picture had once graced
the cover of the gamecock
magazine ÿ


 . It was also
the chanticleer that had once
escaped to the forest and lured
all the hens away from the
surrounding farms. Raising its
serpent-liked head, the red
rooster eyed the chicken
arrogantly and jiggled its sickle
feathers. This scared me. For I
knew that when the gamecock is
in breeding mood it is twice a
ferocious.
³Do not pit your hen
against the rooster,´ I told Kiko.
That the rooster is not a native
chicken. It was brought over the
from Texas.´
³That does not mean leave through the back way. I
anything to me,´ my brother said. had the chicken under my arm.
³´My rooster will kill it.´ We ran towards the coconut
groves and we kept running till
³Do not be a fool,´ I we lost the mob. As soon as we
said. ³That red rooster is a killer. felt safe, we sat on the ground
It has killed more chickens than and rested. We were both
panting like dogs.
the cholera. There is no rooster
in this province that can take its
gaff. Pick on a less formidable ³Now are you
rooster.´ convinced it is a rooster?´ Kiko
muttered between breaths.
My brother would not
listen. The match was made and ³Yes,´ I answered.
the birds were headed for the
killing. Sharp steel gaffs were I was glad the whole
tied to their left legs. Kiko bet thing was over.
eight pesos on his chicken. I
only bet two. The odds were two
to one. Then I said a tacit prayer But the chicken had
to Santa Rita de Casia, other ideas. It began to quiver.
patroness of the impossible. Then something round and
warm dropped on to my hand.
The chicken cackled with
Then the fight began. laughter. I looked down and saw
Both birds were released at the ± an egg!
center of the arena. The Texan
scratched the ground as if it
were digging a grave for its
opponent. Moments later, the
two fighters confronted each
other. I expected our rooster to
die of fright. Instead, a strange
thing happened. A lovesick
expression came into the red
rooster¶s eyes. Then it did a love
dance. Naturally, this was a
most surprising incident to one
and all, but particularly to those
who had stakes on the Texas
rooster. For it was evident that
the Texan was thoroughly
infatuated with our chicken and
that any attention it had for the
moment was strictly amatory.
But before anyone could collect
his wits our foul rushed at the
red stag with its hackle feathers
flaring. In one lunge, it buried its
spur in its adversary¶s breast.
The fight was over! The
sentencer raised our chicken in
token victory.
³Tiope! Tiope! Fixed
fight!´ the crowed shouted.
Then a riot broke out.
People tore the bamboo
benches apart and used them as
clubs. My brother and I had to