Fiction

Raaks The Cock: A Short Story by A.A. Rufai

Unknown to her, Raaks the cock stared dreamily as Gimbi the hen scratched the ground for worms to devour, hot desire surged through him. True, Gimbi was a beauty queen. She had a fine crown-like crest; her feathers, immaculately white. She was the bloom of attraction, at least to the cocks in her village.

The cock-a-doodle-doo with which the cock greeted her was meant to be the most sonorous in the world. “Qoock…qoock…qoockoook!

Startled, the hen jumped, her eyes blinked repeatedly as she saw the cock. “Oh Raaks, you scared me,” she clucked. “I’ve asked you several times before not to sneak up on me like that.”

Unrepentantly, the cock crooned, “Gimbi…Gimbi my love, my sweetie, my angel, my…”

As he carried on, Gimbi went on clawing the ground, ignoring him.

“Come on, baby,” wooed Raaks, drawing closer. “You hurt me so each time you snob me like that.”

She sighed with exasperation and tried explaining yet again. “Raaks, this relationship can’t work. Forget about me. I’ve told you…I’ve told you, I’m engaged, please.”

“Okay, Okay, I’ve heard you. Agreed, you’re engaged.” Raaks paused briefly, only briefly. “But I mean, all I need from you is…you know…” he tilted his head to one side, his eyes winked exaggeratedly as he beamed before he uttered quite brazenly, “a quickie!”

In what sounded like a dismissive cackle, Gimbi hurriedly denounced, “Kwooak- woaakwoaaa…over my dead body!”  She abandoned her search for worms. Gracefully, she threw her legs ahead of her, a precautionary move she took to distance herself away from the cock. When she paced to a distance she considered safe, she added rather nonchalantly, “Why don’t you go have the quickie with your mother?”

Stunned! The cock could not believe his ears. He was struck dumb, his friendly disposition, gone.

“Is it because I have always been gentle with you?” he said when he regained his voice. “Y-o-o-u…y-o-o-u…you idiot!” he stammered. “You think you’re cute?” The cock’s plumage shook with rage like quivering leaves on an avocado tree. He cast a sinister glance at Gimbi. Before long, he was teetering towards her like a drunkard. “You bitch,” he snarled, “you need to be taught a lesson. Qwookorokoooo!”

Terrified, Gimbi took off as if it was judgement day. She went around in circles, sprinting, dodging, jumping, slipping and flapping her wings energetically in an attempt to even fly.   “Help!!! Help!!! Help!!!” she cackled.

Raaks pursued Gimbi with his wings stretched out like a jet gathering speed on a runway.  He actually rode the skies after Gimbi doing his super-cock cruise.

Kwaqkwakwaaq…” squawked Gimbi immediately Raaks mounted his hybrid bulk on her. Hard as she struggled, there was no escape. In the futile attempt to get up from underneath him, her legs – hot fowl legs – got soiled with dust: her head, twisting this way and that.

Raaks activated what he once told Gimbi was his Tomahawk-beak: something he employed “to tame unruly birds.” He used it on this occasion to nail the alabaster crest on Gimbi’s head, steadying her.

“R-a-a-k-s-!” thundered another cock.

Raaks blatantly ignored the outcry coming from behind. Brutishly, he nestled on the hen, pressing her to the ground.

Having succeeded in exposing Gimbi’s rump to broad daylight, he was finally bracing himself to shove her his solo thrust when like a charging bull, a white leghorn blasted him off Gimbi into space.

“Thank God for you, Rima!” panted Gimbi. She managed to struggle up and limped to take refuge behind her liberator. “This bully is trying to rape me.”

Raaks crashed back to earth: doosh!

“You behave like a billy-goat, Raaks!” raged Rima. “How many times will I tell you to keep away from my fiancée?” Rima appeared set for a showdown. His wattle hung down from his throat like the long beard of a caveman. His feathers were puffed up. He looked like a hydrogen balloon.

Raaks was now on his feet. He felt so hurt, but more from having been denied the opportunity to ravish Gimbi, than from the fall. He was already gearing for a fight. Spreading, were the quills that formed his rear, which seemed to emit hot exhaust of gas, like from a turbojet.

Raaks, a New Hampshire breed with yellowish skin and chestnut red plumage, kept bouncing like a prize-fighter. His deep sawed-comb, lavish as it was, danced on his head like the crown of a mad emperor. His good feathering fiercely blew out, resembling a porcupine ready for war!

“Hay Pals,” said one of two cocks that came passing, “you two should take it easy.”

“Please, what’s the problem here?” twittered his companion.

Raaks scowled at the two, his robust breast heaving like that of Achilles. “Would you egg-heads piss off?” he growled.

“Common on, Raaks,” began the first cock. He tittered, shifting nervously. “We’re only trying to…”

“Piss off!” Raaks left his Tomahawk-beak wide open. The resonance that came out from it was so horrifying.

The first cock thought that they must have met with an incredible chicken with a tiger’s head. He saw the red flames burning in Raaks’ baleful eyes and scampered away.

And instead of taking off like his companion, the second cock got vexed. “Raaks, you want to fight? Why don’t you take on someone your own size?” he challenged.

“And who could that be, Kaz?” retorted Raaks.

In response the challenger stretched out his wings with an agility that would have given one the impression that he had a black belt in karate. He flapped the wings in intimidatory fashion, then he stuck out his neck towards Raaks in a daring manner.  Though Kaz was not as big as Raaks, he was tough and often fearless in the face of trouble. He especially detested cocks like Raaks, who he knew was of the habit of pushing other chickens around. And he had sworn to himself that never would he allow Raaks to dictate to him.

“Kaz, this is not your fight. You better leave here now before I really get mad with you,” warned Raaks.

“Yes, he is right, Kaz, this is not your fight,” said the first cock who came running back to ward off his friend from any exchange of blows.

“Oh how I wish it is,” sneered Kaz. His companion hurriedly came between the two, while edging Kaz away from the scene of trouble, Kaz looked back and said, “Raaks, on the day you make the mistake of coming to step on my claws, if you fail to take my life, I won’t fail to take yours.”

“That’s a deal. We’ll see,” answered Raaks.

“Please, Kaz, enough,” begged his companion as the two finally went off.

“Who do you think you are, Raaks?” snapped Rima. “Since the day your owners brought you to Havendom, many chickens here have been living in fear.”

“Fear?” croaked Raaks, stretching his ruffled neck. “Ha! You wait until I show you a bit of what we do to rogues in my homeland, then you’ll know fear.”

“Listen to yourself talk. Raaks, you’re too arrogant. How I wish humans could speak Chickinish,” sputtered Rima. “I would have had a small chat with your owners to have you slaughtered!”

Faafaafaafaa…a violent fluttering of wings as the combatants rose in the air, attacking each other, displaying the latest chicken kung fu.

“Deal with him, Rima! Deal with him!” cackled Gimbi.

The soprano voice of his fiancée was more than any inspiration the drums of war could have spurred: Rima’s spirit was electrified. He swung his right wing aiming to finally knock out his adversary. Raaks ducked. The swing went over him and set Rima off balance in mid air.

“No, watch out, Rima, watch out!” cried Gimbi. Alas, the tattered feathers yanked off in the clash were swaying in the soft wind; like a scene filmed in slow motion, so it dawned on her. Transfixed in disbelief, Gimbi watched as the feathers were gently settling down on her better half, who was now sprawled on the battlefield, motionless. “Oh my God, Raaks, you have killed him!”

Raaks stood militantly over his opponent, a victorious smile playing on his hard beak. He had used his giant leg, the left one, to strike the Mediterranean breed a deadly blow. A handsome chunk of white feathers had been clawed off the leghorn’s chest, leaving a deep wound.

Gimbi held her breath, shocked. Everything she had longed to share with the love of her life had been thwarted, before her very eyes. She bent her head downwards, started shaking it, and began weeping hysterically.

Raaks had turned his back to the slain leghorn. He strutted about the place. In his strides, he felt the confidence of a conqueror: no, he felt more than that; he felt he was the owner of the world: yes, his enemy was dead.

But lo! Rima opened an eye, squinting. Neither Raaks nor Gimbi noticed him. He gathered all that was left of his strength, sprang up and bolted from his angel of death.

Raaks swung round, upon hearing the commotion. For a while he just stood there, agape. He couldn’t believe his eyes. Rima was not dead? He chased his foe, crowing in a bloodthirsty manner, “Come back here you demon!”

Gimbi’s hope upon seeing Rima obviously alive quickly turned to despair and anger as he made his escape. “Oh no, oh no!” she clucked. “Rima, Rima! Where are you going? Stay, stay, please don’t leave me a-l-o-n-e-!”

Rima was already miles away but his voice came echoing, “I’ll be back, Raaks!”

Raaks calculated he could not capture his archenemy for the meantime. He cried a triumphant cry, like an ill-tempered rook. “Qwooook…you coward! You can run but you can’t hide.” And so he negotiated a U-turn. He accelerated his velocity with the brilliance of an evil genius.

Gimbi saw Raaks spurting towards her, winging. “Oh dear mother, not again!” she wailed, racing off.

“You worm brain!” hurled Raaks. “So I’m the one you call a bully? I’m sure going to teach you a lesson today!”

The chickens tore past some date palms; they tore past the two passers-by that tried intervening earlier, who were at that moment obstructed from feeding on the scattered seeds of millet they were fortunate to have found.

Watching Raaks in pursuit of Gimbi, Kaz grew furious with himself for being there and yet doing nothing. His plume, a mixed colour of black and white, was ruffling. He had a mind to rush after Raaks and engage him head-on.

“This is not your fight, remember?” said Kaz’s companion who had obviously read his friend’s mind. Restrained, Kaz reluctantly looked on while the runners disappeared behind a group of ancient mud buildings.

“Chickens of Havendom, help!!! Help!!! Help!!!” And thus ran Gimbi’s SOS.

The two cocks looked at each other, Kaz barely able to keep his cool, shook his head pitifully, while the other resumed feasting on the seeds of millet before them.

Please leave a comment...

*