10/13.

my name is humberto alvarez. i have a huge mexican stomach, long wiry black mustache and an affinity for skinny jeans. my family relocated from san gabriel to portland in search of work and a better life. i was only two years old.
as a baby i earned the nickname 'el gordo' for my bulbous belly. my father and uncles would take me every where they went. i spent the night watching them salsa dance and drink beers with my mother and her friends. during the day i stayed home, with my mother and watched television while she cooked and cleaned. my father was a heffe for a small residential construction company. he would come home smelling of cement, but would always stoop to kiss my mother's forehead and tussle my hair.
it was in my thirteenth year that i started cock fighting. at first it was a way to raise money, but soon it became my passion. i started a gym in the back yard, for the birds. while others were out cavorting around town i was studying the movements, the attack strategies of the birds. the losers were pushed out of the community while the winners were bred.
it was three months later when the black tornado was hatched. he had blood shot eyes and would move in a violent circle of claws and beak. the black tornado would give a high pitched battle wail as if to warn his fellow combatant of the forth coming onslaught.
soon enough i had moved the black tornado out from the practice gym. he was decimating my fowl population and his violence did not end there. the tornado destroyed everything in his path, from coop to car tires. the tornado had to be graduated. he trained against stray cats, dogs, raccoons anything i could get my hands on.
no matter the size of the foe he would come out on top. the neighbors began to post signs and inquire into if i had seen their lost cat or 'whoever that bastard is that is poking these dogs eyes out and slashing their legs.' to which i would bow my head and say, 'i understand' all the while feeling the cold red stare of the black tornado.
it was during this time that i became aware of the national tournament in los angeles. it seems that portland had been chosen as a qualifying circuit, that the winner would receive gas money and a free hotel room if they won.
the black tornado made quick work of the northwest birds. we accepted our trophy and winnings amidst the back drop of blood stained walls. there had been gasps and fainting during the battle so that now, while accepting the award, the room appeared to have been visited by a chain saw.
the first time i had hear of el diablo was while searching for training tactics. el diablo, it had been told, was the greatest fighting bird of all time. this cock had been known to gut and murder a human adult male. el diablo has never suffered defeat but also he never has brought forth a male heir.
there were rumors about los angeles, rumors that el diablo was coming out of retirement. there were rumors that his owner, javier jiminez believed the fights would cause his testosterone to rise and thus give way to a male heir. we drove all night arriving in los angeles during the predawn traffic jam. the black tornado rode in the passenger seat, proud his elegant black neck and head bobbing out the window watching the scenery crawl by.
when we arrived in the hotel room there was a envelope on the pillow to greet us. inside were the details, we were to meet at sunset, meet at the vacant meat packing building and bring only ourselves our cocks and gambling money.
it was a room full of mexicans. we strutted about the place nodding silently looking under each others arms and inspecting the competition. there was no sign of el diablo and with out that mythical foe the room appeared to be nothing special.
black tornado made quick work of his first toe foes causing the crowd to lean into each other and whisper. while the fights would go on i noticed a man in dark sunglasses, hair slicked back and a gray shirt with only the top button buttoned. this man had a stack of cash in his right hand, the left he used to wave over a bald man to which he whispered and gestured.
the third bird to face the tornado was ballena asesina, this fowl was titanic. from beak to ass it measured more than five feet, with claws as long as steak knives, a beak that glistened as cold steel in the light and eyes of cold black.
as they met in the center of the ring the ballena asesina lay all it's weight on tornado. the tornado fought to break free from underneath such a gigantic stomach. once free the black tornado turned away to catch its breath. this moment caused ballena asesina to strike. using those long claws he caught tornado underneath the right eye. there was a hush in the room. both birds staring at the other, then suddenly there erupted a wail from black tornado who spun a three sixty to land atop the body of ballena asesina to be joined three seconds later by it's now severed head.
the crowd sat in stunned silence then broke, erupting into ovation. tornado strutted about the ring as if asking, 'is there not one who can stand with me?' and right on cue there descended from the ceiling a fire colored bird that hollered and rattled against it's cage. this bird caused the building to shake from it's movements, it caused the skin to crawl from it's blood thirsty call and as the cage landed on the battle room floor it attacked smashing into the gate, smashing through the gate and standing beside the wreckage in all it's glory...el diablo.
there may be grander birds, larger birds, but none that contained such anger and strength. el diablo was a sea of muscle that caused it's feathers to ruffle as it puffed it's chest. when it placed it's foot down the floor shook and the black tornado looked on.
there was a tense stare down before the battle. the black tornado looking ahead, unblinking into the eyes of el diablo. el diablo looking deep into the soul of the black tornado and when each had their fill the moved. there was a fight but one could not have seen it. for the birds moved too fast for the human eye and when it was over there lay both birds. black tornado with it's right leg, one eye and half a wing missing. while el diablo was missing parts of both legs, it's lower beak and three quarters of it's wings.
both birds fighting to the end, both supreme competitors. as they lay bleeding, dying before our eyes myself and the owner of el diablo did what is in cock fighting tradition we made love to them as they passed from this world.
i am a man, but i am man enough to say i cried that day. while we consumated black tornado's life with such a tender display, i cried. i cried for the memories, for the victories, for how far we had come from our oregon home.
two days later, as i held his body at his favorite fighting alley we all said a prayer in remembrance before my girlfriend veena cooked him. that night we partied and i swear i could hear black tornado's victory wail and as i sucked the meat from his breast i knew life was good.