Reciprocation

This morning I awoke at 4 a.m. and I thought I was in Tarlac. Roosters were crowing. Living in San Miguel, Tarlac gives me the advantage of not being jolted from bed by an alarm clock that shocks me upright. Thanks to these elegant-winged birds of varied stock, I don’t need an alarm clock. Some are called Sweater Hatch, Sheldon Roundhead or Hoskins, after their breeders. Mr. Sweater McGinnis’s half-Boston Roundhead and McClean Hatch (named Sweater Hatch) with their yellow legs were sensational and sold for $500 back in the ‘60s. Now the original Sheldon Roundheads that a certain Sam Wactor bred were, to quote, “Heavy with oriental blood. Black and red were the colors of their eyes and their feathers were of black, black red and dark.” Hoskins were named after Ray Hoskins, one of the top US breeders. That’s about all I know about roosters: three sentences.

Whatever breed our roosters, they have one common denominator: their orchestra begins tuning up at 5 a.m. Hundreds of male and female birds take their curtain call like St. Peter’s rooster on Good Friday, forming a chorus of shiny, proud-winged animals standing on the rooftop of their triangular pens. Sitting behind my round desk in Manila, I swiftly discarded my daydreaming, realizing these birds who woke me up were going to create quite a stir and I wouldn’t be able to handle Sammy — our dog’s — objection to a rude awakening. Rightly so. His sleep was interrupted in an air-conditioned room under a Ralph Lauren comforter. The other two dogs by the bar, Reef and Quicky, howled as did our slowpoke Chow named Chewy. 

“Mom, Dad’s chickens are driving me crazy,” said China at 4:30 a.m. while I was writing this column. The three roosters were just outside her window in our Dasma house. How the grandchildren would have enjoyed peeping out from a window to see these browns and reds. Unfortunately, one of them — the rooster who had exhibited his spirit and cunning at Araneta Coliseum, emerging a winner — was injured and became blind. That story would have made Rafael cry. The other two hens from Peping’s winning line and Mr. Rooster would be taken care of by Major Mel Unos of the Mess Hall of the Police, Fire and Jail Academy at Silang, Cavite. (No, not as dinner.) Anyway the cadets wouldn’t mind the nature’s “early wakeup call” at the Academy where pineapple and papaya abound. They’re already properly awake by 4:30 a.m.

My thoughts drifted very temporarily to these fruits that surrounded Camp Castañeda and were once plentiful, planted in rows filing up hectare after hectare as far as the eyes, clouded by the dust, could see. Today, little starter houses selling at millions have taken their place. Now pineapples grow in the interiors. If you’re familiar with the culture of the military and the police regarding their upper- and underclassmen strata, you’ll understand this anecdote. The watchful eyes of the seniors or upperclassmen are like pineapples. They have hundreds of eyes to scrutinize the lower mates, or underclassmen, detecting every defect to reprimand them, more often than to praise them. Unluckily for the plebes, or first-year cadets, all other classes are upper class. As one Third Class Cadet remarked, “Mam, ang sa amin naman when we think of pineapple, we’re reminded of the plebe years, pinyang-pinya.” When no cadet would “take life.” That’s cadet lingo for violating rules, without the upperclassmen finding out, despite their hundreds of watchful eyes. Almost an impossibility. The Cadet added, “In the chain of command, may kabuluhan din pala. Everything in the Academy has a purpose, after all. Parang pinya, may kanyang kakaibang sarap, a unique sweetness of its own.” The class system thrives in the Corps of Pinyas — er, the Corps of Cadets.

Fiber and roughage from pineapples and papaya — to me, it’s all medicinal, whether sweet and huge or tiny. Both are sold in Tagaytay where the marketing of daily food for 1,050 cadets is done. Every time market day comes Major Unos would buy enough laxatives to last me a week. Reciprocation? Well, yes. I use papayas as an alternative medicine and Major Unos has his three chickens. Give and take.

So what about today? When the village neighbors’ dogs joined the ruckus, these beautiful fowls were quickly loaded in the car to be transferred to Silang for my major. China’s tossing in bed and covering her head with pillows ceased. Both she and her hairy Jack Russell again cuddled on a double bed. Just seeing them made me sneeze. 

But let me tell you about reciprocation again. These three dogs — Reef, Sammy and Quicky — are all brothers and sisters and yet they differ. Two are hairy and one isn’t fluffy at all. Their grandfather — Buzz — was Mikee’s guide as she cantered on her horse at Vicky Roycroft’s farm in Australia. After years of welcoming and guiding Mikee, Vicky gave Buzz to Mikee to bring to Manila. And seeing litter after litter of her doggie’s blood line was enough joy for Vicky. Not everything given and taken has to do with materialistic benefits and not all things end up for human joy alone.

As though bargaining for a last word, one persistent crow was heard as the car moved away. And me? I went back to my desk thinking this give and take is all about kindness.

My grandson Renzo stares at me as he listens to my voice. He vocalizes his loud “ahh”s and “eee”s. I don’t raise my voice nor look sternly at him. None of us do, that is why he’s always smiling and laughing until I hold a lollipop he wants to grab, and he succeeds in snatching it. Life for babies seems all “gives,” hah? For the time being, anyway.

Life is really about sharing. Renzo’s brothers know that, too. After cleaning up their plates to participate in the kitchen chores, they run to their chickens at the farm and cradle them like they were babies. Sure, the chickens who are poor victims of tossing and pulling have lost feathers from so many little arms, but Raf runs after them and picks them up by their tails. He’s learning! The cycle of not just giving away pineapples and roosters continues. I’m seeing a future sabungero like his lolo at the Araneta Coliseum, whose owner is the Ninong Nene of Mikee. One day she’s going to see her son cheering for his roosters at that big dome. Ah, that’s the cycle of life, too.