Historical Context:

Abraham Valdelomar was born on April 27, 1888 in the city of Pisco. He was born a few years after the war of 1879 against Chile, and was the youngest of six children. He had a simple childhood in a small village that could not provide him with adequate education and his family lacked economic resources. He was sent to the capital as a young boy to further his studies. His first poems were published in 1909. Themes of the family, the sea, the province, and his childhood were common in his works. He was inspired by the famous Peruvian Modernista writer José Santos Chocano, as he ventured back and forth between the then influential Modernista movement and the developing postmodernista style (Rodriguez-Peralta 26). Modernismo was a Latin American literary movement which took place in the late 19th to early 20th century. It is often associated with the Nicaraguan poet Ruben Dario and was inspired by French Symbolism as well as writers such as Edgar Allan Poe and Walt Whitman. Modernismo literature consisted of exotic landscapes, nobility, and aristocracy. These symbols opposed the materialism and vulgarity of the real world by creating an ideal world of endless beauty. 

The year 1911 was around the time that Peru started to face a new direction in literary writing. Previous literary traditions were met with new writers, who started to get recognition. Two years later, Valdelomar entered his short story, El Caballero Carmelo, in a literary contest organized by the newspaper La Nación in Lima and he won the first prize. This was his first and best known cuento (short story). Abraham Valdelomar was a pivotal figure in the transition between Peruvian modernistas and the next generation of writers, like César Vallejo (1892-1938), who became universally recognized. 

Valdelomar was considered a leader in the realms of literature and politics in Peru. His presence was known in different fields of writing, such as poems, essays, novels, theater, comic drawings, and journalism. His work initiated the transformation of Peruvian modernismo. However, he did not live long enough to completely transition out of this literary school. Valdelomar passed away at 31 years of age (Arrieta Espinosa 7-8). After his passing, he was recognized as one of the writers that had changed Peruvian literature.

Cockfighting Tradition:

Many historians have concluded that cockfighting originated in Southeast Asia. However, some experts also believe that cockfighting could have been around since the time of the Greeks and Persians. Cockfighting spread to Europe during the Middle Ages and became a very popular activity in England, which eventually spread to the English colonies (Hawley). The cockfighting tradition in Peru and other parts of Latin America possibly dates back to the 16th century, as an effect of Spanish colonization (“Cockfighting”). Currently, cockfighting is illegal in all fifty states in the U.S. yet continues to occur. In Peru, this activity continues to be a legal activity. Despite animal rights activists filing lawsuits to ban cockfighting and other similar activities such as bullfighting, Peru’s top court has rejected such lawsuits as it still considers these activities “cultural events” (“Peru’s Top Court Rejects”). 

As a very long tradition in Peru, the sport of cockfighting has a certain prestige. It occurs in official arenas as well as among the people in rural towns. Many people bet money on these events. It is common to use cockspurs in these fights, which are sharp and curvy blades that get attached to the chicken’s leg. Roosters are said to be naturally aggressive towards one another as well as territorial, so they usually fight until they die or become critically injured. Cocks can be trained for fighting by professional breeders to make them more aggressive (“A Cock Fight” and “Hard Crash and Cockfighting”). Many people in modern day society might find cockfighting to be quite violent and cruel, but since it is a longstanding tradition in countries like Peru, it is viewed by others as more of a communal celebration and cultural expression, especially during Peru’s Independence Day festivities.

Themes:

The text is narrated by the protagonist, who fondly remembers his childhood in the little town of Pisco. Through his nostalgic eyes, we can recognize three main themes in this short story. 

Relationship between Humans and Animals: 

The male and female characters of this story behave differently in relation to the animals; their attitudes and behaviors are influenced by traditional gender roles.The children of the family routinely take care and feed the animals. They develop close relationships with these animals, sometimes even viewing them as pets. The dad does not play an active role in taking care of the animals, instead, he participates in cockfighting activities because it brings a good reputation to the family. He does not have as close a relationship with the animals as the children do. As head of the house, he had decided to have the family eat Pelado because he broke a lot of expensive dishes.The mom felt bad for Anfiloquio and told him that they will not eat Pelado because he started crying. The mom and sisters of the protagonist think that cockfighting is cruel, and sisters start crying when Carmelo is taken to the fight. The men are the ones that own and represent the fighting cockerels and they are also the ones who bet on them; the cockfighting audience mostly consists of men, and the women of the narrator’s family do not attend the event. However, the narrator felt sad and hurt when watching the fight, and all he wanted was for Carmelo to survive. After the cockfight, the narrator and his siblings care for Carmelo in his last days and nurture him until he eventually dies. 

Heroism:

Carmelo is portrayed as a warrior who seems to give a life lesson to the protagonist. He wins against Ajiseco despite being older and seemingly weaker than the other cockerel. Ajiseco is Carmelo’s rival and the villain. Carmelo is noble and brave and fights fairly, while Ajiseco is cocky, ignorant, and plays dirty. He even taunted Carmelo during the battle when Carmelo had fallen down and everyone thought that he had lost. Because of his tenacity and bravery, Carmelo was able to muster up the courage to get back up and finish the battle, winning against Ajiseco. In the end, his arrogance cost Ajiseco his life. 

Memory:

The narrator is telling the story of his childhood as an adult. He has many fond and romantic memories of that time, including the valiant Carmelo, who represents virtue and family values. To the narrator, Carmelo was more than a cockerel; the story of the family hero brings vivid memories of the town where the protagonist grew up in as well as the land that surrounded him. There were many clear details of the land, the sea, the animals, and the locals, including his family as well as other residents of Pisco. Most of these descriptions have a nostalgic and positive tone. However, one should consider cockfighting and how violent it is and how that might have affected the narrator. Perhaps he chose not to remember the violence and instead only remembered the victory of his beloved Carmelo. In the story, the description of Carmelo’s fight is brief and delicate, for it does not focus on the gruesome details, but on the courage that the old cockerel demonstrated against a younger and stronger rival.

WORKS CITED:

Arrieta Espinosa, Dimas. El caballero Carmelo. Valdelomar y su narrativa fundacional. Suwa, 2013. 

“A Cockfight in Peru.” Kamran On Bike, kamranonbike.com/a-cockfight-in-peru/. Accessed 13 June 2024. 

“Cockfighting.” Oklahoma Historical Society | OHS, www.okhistory.org/publications/enc/entry?entry=CO012#:~:text=The%20history%20of%20cockfighting%20goes,it%20originated%20in%20Southeast%20Asia. Accessed 13 June 2024. 

“Cockfighting in Peru.” Antipode, antipode-peru.com/en-guide-cockfighting-in-peru. Accessed 13 June 2024.

Flores, Angel, translator. “The Good Knight Carmelo”. By Abraham Valdemar. Fiesta in November: stories from Latin America, Houghton Mifflin Company, 1942, pp. 448-457.

Ochoa, Danny. “Hard Cash and Cockfighting in Peru.” How to Peru, 30 Oct. 2019, howtoperu.com/hard-cash-and-cockfighting-in-peru/. 

“Peru’s Top Court Rejects Bid to Ban Cock, Bull Fighting.” Eurogroup for Animals, 28 Feb. 2020, www.eurogroupforanimals.org/news/perus-top-court-rejects-bid-ban-cock-bull-fighting. 

Rodríguez-Peralta, Phyllis. “Abraham Valdelomar, a Transitional Modernist.” Hispania, vol. 52, no. 1, 1969, pp. 26–32. JSTOR, https://doi.org/10.2307/337717. Accessed 13 June 2024.

Segura Zariquiegui, Ainhoa. "El Postmodernismo Peruano: Vida y Obra De Abraham Valdelomar." Cartaphilus (Murcia), vol. 18, 2021. 

Tamayo Vargas, Augusto. “Abraham Valdelomar: Vida y Obra.” Revista Hispánica Moderna, vol. 35, no. 1/2, 1969, pp. 1–44. JSTOR, http://www.jstor.org/stable/30207103. Accessed 13 June 2024.

Zubizarreta, Armando F. Perfil y entraña de “El caballero Carmelo” (el arte del cuento criollo). Editorial Universo, 1968.

"THE HONORABLE KNIGHT CARMELO" ("EL CABALLERO CARMELO, "PERU, 1913) BY ABRAHAM VALDELOMAR

TRANSLATED BY THAO BUI, EMELY MARTINEZ, FERNANDO RODRIGUEZ-MANSILLA

ENGLISH:

1

One day, after breakfast, when the sun began to warm, we were looking through the railing and we saw a rider on a beautiful Peruvian horse approaching by the end of the plaza (1); a handkerchief around his neck, which waved in the wind, a saddle blanket from San Pedro (2) of silky black leather, and a swollen saddlebag, he spurred on towards the house. 

We recognized him. It was our older brother who, after so many years, had returned. We rushed out yelling: Roberto! Roberto! 

The traveler entered the paved patio where the passion flower and the morning glory  entangled themselves around the columns like veins in an arm, and descended amongst us. How delighted my mother was! She touched him, caressed his tanned skin, found him old, sad, and thin. With his clothes still dusty, Roberto passed by the bedrooms surrounded by us, went to his room, walked to the dining room, saw the objects that the family had bought during his absence and arrived at the garden.

- And the fig tree? - he asked. 

Saddened, he searched for that tree whose seed he planted before departing. We all laughed: 

- You’re under the fig tree!...

The tree had grown and was swaying harmoniously with the ocean breeze. My brother touched it, affectionately clearing the leaves that brushed his face and later we returned to the dining room. On the table was the overflowing saddlebag. One by one, he took out the objects that he brought and gave them to each of us. Such delicious things! He must have really traveled! Fresh white cheeses tight with twine from the ravine of Humay; chancacas made with coconut, nuts, peanuts, and almonds (3); bean pudding from Chincha Baja, as the lid indicated, in round pumpkins painted on top with a rectangle made of the same filling (4); sponge cakes in their paper boxes, of egg yolk and potato flour, lightweight, spongy, yellow and sweet; little figures of saints made of Guamanga stone (5) carved in the mountain fair; boxes of caramel sauce (6), tejas rellenas (7), and a chicken’s leash with white and red colors. We all received the presents and as he gave them out he said:

- For mama… for Rosa…for Jesús… for Héctor…

- And for papa? - we asked when he finished:

- Nothing…

- What? Nothing for papa?....

Our loved one smiled, called the servant, and said:
-Carmelo!

Shortly after, the servant returned with a cage and took out a cockerel, that when freed, stretched out its tired legs, flapped his wings, and sang boisterously:

- Cock-a-doodle-doo!

-For papa - said my brother.

That was how this intimate friend from our childhood, who experienced a story worth telling entered our house; his memory persists in our home like a winged and sorrowful shadow: the Honorable Knight Carmelo. 

2

Dawn used to come happily to the town of Pisco (8). Against the agony of the nocturnal shadows, in the freshness of dawn, in the radiant awakening of the day, we would feel the footsteps of my mother in the dining room, preparing the coffee for papa. Then he would leave for the office. She would wake up the maid, the street door would creak on its moldy hinges; the call of the rooster that would be answered in intervals by others in the neighborhood; we would feel the stir of the sea, the coolness of the morning, the healthy joy of life. Then, my mother would come to us, make us pray, kneeled by the bed with our white nightwear. Afterwards, she would dress us. As we finished dressing, from afar, the voice of the baker could be heard. He would arrive at the door and greet us. He was a sweet and nice old man, and throughout many years, according to my mother, would come everyday at the same hour with fresh warm bread, mounted on his donkey, behind the two steel baskets, filled with all types of bread: loaves, rolls, buttered bread, and donuts… 

Mother always chose the bread and my sister Jesús put it in a basket. The old man would leave, and we would place the products on the dining table, covered with a bright oilcloth; afterwards we would go to feed the animals. We would take ears of corn, shell them in a basket, and we would enter the farmyard where the animals would surround us. The pigeons would fly, the hens would peck at the grains, and between them the bunnies would scurry away. After their light meal they would group around us. The goat would come over and rub his head against our legs; the chicks would chirp; the white bunnies would timidly approach, with their long ears, their bright round eyes and their mouths of a conceited little girl; the ducks, newly born, yellow like egg yolk, would climb onto a water basin; from his confined corner, Carmelo would sing; the turkey, always proud, fussy and unfriendly, would look at us with disdain, while the ducks would sway like fat ladies commenting under their breath, about the unpleasant and arrogant bird.

That day, while we observed the discreet animals, Pelado escaped the farm yard, a big chicken without feathers, that looked like a 17 year old youngster, skinny and ravenous; but Pelado, aside from that, was quarrelsome and scandalous. And that day, amid the peacefulness of the farm yard, the others eating meager grains, Pelado, in search of better food, had climbed onto the dining table and broke many valuable dishes.

During lunch we discussed Pelado’s fate, and when my father found out his misdeeds, he slowly said: 

- We will eat him on Sunday…

My third brother, Anfiloquio, his owner, defended him, pleaded and cried. He said that he was a rooster that would have good offspring. He added that ever since Carmelo arrived, everyone looked down on Pelado, who before was the hope of the farmyard and the only one who would maintain the aristocracy of cockfighting passion and pure cockerel blood. 

He said in defense of the rooster:

- How could you not kill the ducks that did nothing more than dirty the water, or the little goat that trampled a chicken the other day, or the pig that muddies everything and only knows how to eat and scream, or the pigeons that bring bad luck?... 

They gave reasons. The little goat was a beautiful animal, of soft skin, joyful, pleasant, restless, whose horns have barely grown; besides, we had not proved that he killed the chicken. The chubby pig had been raised in the house since it was young. And the pigeons, with their fan-like wings, were innocent. They flew to the ledge to talk in low voices; they made their nests with love and care, and they gave corn from their crops to their chicks. 

The unfortunate Pelado was condemned. My siblings begged for his pardon but the broken dishes were valuable. The unfortunate bird only had one advocate, my brother Anfiloquio, his master, with little say in the matter. After the trial and seeing how his defense had lost, he hung his head; Pelado would have to face the music. Two chunky tears fell on the plate, like a sacrifice, and he choked a sob from his throat. We all went silent. My mother got up, approached the boy, kissed him on the forehead, and told him:

- Don’t cry; we will not eat him…

3

Leaving the nameless plaza in Pisco, salty and calm, near the train station, turning onto Castillo Street extending towards the south, you find, at the end, a small square, where Judas was burned on Easter Sundays (9) to expel evil and begin a new year in spiritual purity. A desolate place in whose sandy terrain only grows wild mallow plants. Next to the west, instead of houses, the sea extends its green mantle and its foam weaves complex lace patterns as it kisses the damp shore. 

The port ends there and, continuing towards the south, through a narrow and sandy path, to the right, the sea, and to the left side, a narrow strip, sometimes fertile, sometimes infertile, but always rough. Behind the strip, to the east, extends the desert whose entrance guards from stretch to stretch, like watchmen, one or another unruly palm tree, some fig trees, sinewy and small, and the toñuces (10), always with large and fragile crowns. Fluttering in the field, the scorpion-weed plant (11), green and juicy at birth, brittle in its prime, and in its old age bright red like the blood of an ox. In the depths of the desert, as if afraid of the silent aridity, the palm trees unite in small groups, just as pilgrims do when crossing it, and as do men, in the face of danger. 

Following the path, one observes on the coast, in the hazy and vibrant marine vagueness, San Andrés de los Pescadores (12), the village of modest people, that raise their shacks between the murmuring shore and the barren desert. There, the palm trees multiply and the fig trees shade the homes, calm and cool, that they do not appear to be cursed by the good Lord, or that their curse was broken. Enough punishment was endured for supporting the traitor (13) in its branches, and all its flowers bear fruit that burst when ripe. 

In this bizarre village, of unconventional design, rise the shacks of fragile reed and light matting with the palm trees that guard the doors. Clean and bright, resting on the soft sand its wide hips, sleeps, at the door, the fishing boat, with its folded sail, its oars hanging like peaceful arms resting, among which lie, with its mute and symbolic majesty, the graceful rudder, the gourd that bails water out at sea, and the rope twisted like sleeping serpents. Covers, dutifully, the little boat, like a white cloak, the fisherman’s net adorned with light-weight cork floats. 

In the middle of the day, when the air in the shade invites sleep, next to the boat, the grandfather fisherman weaves the net. His coarse fingers tie the threads that are to entangle the surprised fish; the grandma scrapes the silver backs of those that the boat had brought in before. The scales, leaping into the sun, like sparks; the dog sniffs the remains. Nearby, in the yard enclosed by enormous whale bones, the children clambered up from the shore. Meanwhile, below the foliage, the strongest lad polishes the oar. The young girl, light and nimble, draws water from the well and the euphoric seagulls circle the modest mansion shouting strange calls. 

Next to the boat, sleeps the seaman, the strong lad intoxicated by the warm breeze and by the tepid emanation of the sand. He’s peacefully sleeping (14), in his short trousers, his muscular calves crossed, and on whose hard, round-toed feet, like scales, the tiny toes get lost. The face tanned by the breeze and the sun, the half-opened mouth that allows the passing of calm breathing. And the strong bare chest that rises up in sync with the rhythm of life, the most harmonious that God has placed upon the world. 

No people pass through the street at noon and nothing disturbs the peace in this village, whose residents do not outnumber the dates of its twenty palm trees. There was no church or priest in my time. On Sundays, the people of San Andrés, at the break of dawn, went to the port, with the donkeys loaded with fresh sea bass, and later in the chapel, honored God. Good people, with kind faces, a peaceful gaze, moderate and simple, Indians of the purest lineage, remote descendants and true children of the Sun (15). They travel all paths on foot, like they used to do in the Happy Age of the Inca (16), when they would cross the coast in an immense caravan to arrive at the temple and oracle of the good god Pachacamac, with offerings in their knapsacks, prayers in mind and faith in their simple spirits. Never any dispute tarnished their clear history; morals and austere, husbands’ lips always kissed wives’ lips; and love, an endless spring of hatred and curses, were among them, as typical and peaceful as any of their wells. Born from strong parents, without midwives, healthy youth, on whose limbs the skin made thick wrinkles. Sea air filled their lungs, and they matured on the warm sand, under the luxuriant sun, until they learned to launch themselves into the sea and handle the boats. Sinking in the waves, it taught them to tame the marine fury. 

Energetic, muscular, innocent, and good-natured, they exhausted their youth until the priest from Pisco united couples that formed a new nest, bought a donkey, and set off to happiness. Meanwhile the century-old turtles of the paternal home watched the hours unfold, apathetic. Philosophical, tired and pessimistic, gazing with tearful eyes from the shore, the sea, where they never intend to return. And at dusk everyday they wept, but when the sun set, they retreated their heads into the geometric shell and let life pass by. Full of experience, without faith, always lamenting the eternal evil, yet inactive, immobile, infertile and lonely…

4

Tall, skinny, slim, muscular, and well-behaved, his sharp red head was proud, noble, righteous and wise. Crimson gills, slim crest in the burning color, full-of-life-round-eyes, a fierce yet merciful look, a sharp steel-like beak. The tail made an arc of feathers like a sunflower, his caramel color body advanced courageously and toughly. The strong legs, covered in scales like Muslim warriors and sharp stakes (17), resembled an armed medieval knight. 

One afternoon, after lunch, my father told us the news. He had agreed to a bet for the San Andrés Cockfight, on July 28th. He could not avoid it. He had been told that Carmelo, who’s standing was greater than the mayor, was not a thoroughbred. My father was irritated. They exchanged words and bets; and he accepted. Within a month Carmelo would come across Ajiseco (18), a famous victorious cockerel, like ours, in many unique battles, whose owner was another cockfighting enthusiast. We received the news with profound pain. Carmelo would go to battle and fight to the death, skin to skin, with a stronger and younger cockerel. It had been three years that he had been home; while we had grown, he had aged. Why such cruelty to make him fight? 

The terrible day had arrived. All of us at home were sad. A man had come to our house six days straight to prepare Carmelo. They did not allow us to see him anymore. On July 28th (19), in the afternoon, the personal trainer came and took out a half-moon of steel with a strap from a box full of cotton. It was the blade, the soldier’s sword. The man cleaned it, tested it on his nail, in front of my father. After a few minutes, in silence, with tragic calmness, they took out the cockerel whom the man carried in his arms like a child. A servant carried the blade and my two brothers accompanied him. 

- What cruelty! - said my mother. 

My sisters cried, and the youngest one, Jesús, told me in secret before leaving:

- Listen, go with him…Take care of him….Poor thing!...

She brought her hands to her eyes, and started to cry and I left hastily. I ran a few blocks in order to reach them. 

5

We arrived at San Andrés. The town was festive. Peruvian flags waved over the houses for Independence Day. There they knew how to celebrate with a great show of cockerels to which property owners and rich men from the valley would normally go to wager. At the little taverns, the entrances had willow tree arcs wrapped in festive drapery, in which they hung bright crystal dreamcatchers. They sold chicha de bonito (20), butifarra (21) and fresh fish, roasted in coal and covered in onions and vinegar. Talkative and dressy with their best suits, the whole town would crowd them. The seamen wore new t-shirts with red and white horizontal stripes, straw hats, sandals and tied handkerchiefs around their necks. 

We walked to the field. A bountiful tree gave access to the arena under its arched branches. My father, surrounded by some friends, settled in. At the front was the judge and to his right was the owner of the defender Ajiseco. A bell rang, the people got comfortable, and the festivities began. From opposite sides two men came out, each of them carried a cockerel. They threw them in the ring with a singular gesture. The blades shined, the rivals looked at each other, two cockerels of a weak physique, and one of them sang. The other one responded furiously, moving to the middle of the arena. Intensely looking at one another, they stretched out their necks, lifted their feathers, and they attacked. There were wing noises, feathers that flew, shouts from the crowd; one of the cockerels had fallen. His sharp red head kissed the floor and the judge shouted: 

- Men, he has buried his beak! (22)

The winner flapped his wings. The crowd applauded, and both cockerels, bleeding, were taken out from the ring. The first round of fights had ended. Now our cockerel entered: The Honorable Knight Carmelo. A rumble of excitement vibrated in the arena. 

- Ajiseco and Carmelo!

- A bet of 100 soles! (23)...

The judge’s small bell rang and I began to tremble. 

In the middle of the general excitement the owners came out, each one with his cockerel. It caused profound silence and they let go of the two rivals. In comparison to Ajiseco, our Carmelo was an old and sickly cockerel. Everybody bet on the enemy; what a sign that our cockerel was going to die. Even though there were people who rooted for Carmelo, the majority of the bets favored the rival. Once in front of the enemy, Carmelo started to peck, flapped his wings, and sang noisily. The other one, who in reality did not appear to be a distinguished cockerel of fine blood and ancestry, did things as arrogantly as humans do. He looked at the other cockerel with contempt, and he strolled around the arena as if he owned the place. The enthusiasm of the opponents stirred up, they arrived to the center and they extended their bristly necks, touching each other’s beaks and without losing ground. Ajiseco charged first, the fight began. The people witnessed the unique battle and I prayed to the Virgin to save our old hero. 

He fought with every air like an expert warrior, used to the sinister art of war. He was careful to put his legs on the enemy’s chest, but he would never peck his rival, which is such a cowardly thing. While Ajiseco, cocky and ignorant, wanted to do everything with the movement of the wing and forceful blows. Out of breath, they stood still for a moment. A trickle of blood ran down Carmelo’s leg. He was injured, but he did not seem to notice his pain. New bets were exchanged in favor of Ajiseco and the people congratulated the owner of the coward. In a new clash, Carmelo sang, remembered his good times, and stormed with such fury that he knocked the other cockerel down in just one strike. The latter recovered and the combat became cruel and indecisive. Finally, one grave injury made Carmelo fall, out of breath. 

- Bravo! Bravo Ajiseco! - His supporters screamed, believing he won the battle. 

But the judge, attentive to all the details of the fight and in agreement with the rules, said:

- Men, he still hasn’t buried his beak!

Indeed, Carmelo did get back up. His enemy, as to humiliate him, got closer, without doing him any harm. In the middle of the pain from his fall, all the fury of the cockerels from Caucato (24) rose from within. Carmelo rejoined, like a wounded soldier, finally attacked his rival directly, with a stab that left him dead in place. It was then that Carmelo, who was losing a lot of blood, let himself fall, after Ajiseco had buried his beak. The fight was won and the incessant clamor intensified in the arena. The audience congratulated my father for the success. Since that was the most interesting fight, the people left the arena, while an enthusiastic noise resonated: 

- Long live Carmelo!

- My brothers and I took him home, going along the heavy path of the seashore, blowing liquor under the wings of the dying champion.

6

For two days the rooster received all types of care. My sister Jesús and I would give him corn, and put it in his beak; but the poor little thing could not eat it or sit up. Great sadness reigned over the house. That second day, after school, when my sister and I went to see him, we found him so debilitated that it made us cry. We gave him water with our hands, we caressed him, and we put red pomegranate seeds in his beak. All of a sudden, the rooster sat up. Evening was falling and, from the window in the room he was in, entered the blood red light of dusk. He moved closer to the window, looked at the light, shook his wings weakly and was for a long time contemplating the sky. Then, he nervously opened his wings of gold, took control of himself and sang. He moved back a few steps, bent his iridescent neck over his chest, trembled, collapsed, stretched out his weak scaled legs, and looking at us, ever so endearingly, passed away peacefully. 

We burst into tears. We went in search of my mother, and we never saw him again. The dinner was gloomy that night. My mother didn’t say a single word and, under the yellowish light of the lantern, we all looked at each other in silence. The next day, at dawn, in the agony of the nocturnal shadows, no joyful song was heard. 

This is how the forgotten hero passed through the world, that dear friend of our childhood: the Honorable Knight Carmelo, the best guardian and the last offspring of those roosters of blood and breed, whose unanimous prestige was the pride, for many years, of all the green and fertile valley of Caucato.

ENDNOTES:

1. In the original caballo de paso, which is a Peruvian horse breed, also known as the Peruvian caballo de paso.
2. San Pedro District is one of eight districts of the province Canchis in Peru, located between Pisco and Chincha Alta (AZ, 141).
3. chancaca: raw sugarcane juice in solid form.
4. Chincha Baja District is one of eleven districts of the province of Chincha in Peru.
5. Stone carvings or small sculptures for personal use of mainly religious themes. (https://museopedrodeosma.org/en/exhibition-rooms/huamanga-stone/)
6. In the original, manjar blanco, also referred to as Peruvian dulce de leche.
7. A traditional candy from the Peruvian city of Ica that consists of fruit or dried fruit, usually pecans, filled with blancmange and covered with a layer of fondant. (https://es.wikipedia.org/wiki/Teja_(dulce))
8.  A port city on Peru's southern coast in the Department of Ica, the capital of the Pisco Province. (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pisco,_Peru)
9. It refers to the Easter Sunday tradition of punishing Judas Iscariot, the disciple that rendered Jesus to his enemies. (https://www.enigmaperu.com/blog/easter-traditions-in-peru/#:~:text=While%20many%20of%20the%20traditions,up%20the%20sky%20in%20celebration.)
10.  A bush plant less than 2 meters tall with rough leaves and small flowers. (https://www.asale.org/damer/to%C3%B1uz)
11.  La hierba del alacrán also known as the heliotropium indicum or the Indian heliotrope plant.
12.  San Andrés is a small village with simple fisherman (A.Z 148). Currently it is a district in middle Pisco Province in Peru. It is bordered by the Pacific Ocean on the west, districts of Pisco and Tupac Amaru Inca on the north, Ica Province on the east, and the Paracas District on the south. (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/San_Andr%C3%A9s_District)
13.  Some Christians believe that after he was filled with remorse for his betrayal of Jesus, Judas hanged himself from a siliquastrum or what is now called the Judas Tree. It is said that this tree’s white flowers turned red with Judas’ blood and shame. (https://www.britannica.com/plant/redbud#ref14681)
14.  In the original, su dulce sueño de justo. It is an expression of  biblical origin; the righteous person rests well. 
15.  The Inca people considered themselves the descendants of the Sun. (https://studentsgoabroad.org/peru-children-of-the-sun)
16.  The nostalgia of Peru before the Spanish conquest came upon the Inca Empire. (https://www.udep.edu.pe/hoy/2020/04/la-felicidad-en-el-pasado/)
17.  In the original, estacas musulmanas y agudas. The adjective musulmana evokes the image of a Muslim warrior from Medieval times.
18.  The rooster’s back is the color of the ají seco, which comes from Peruvian “dried chili peppers”. 
19.  Independence day of Peru: July 28th commemorates the liberation of Peru from Spain. The following day, July 29th, celebrates the establishment of the Republic of Peru. Together these two days are called Las Fiestas Patrias and are by far the most important national holidays in Peru. (https://www.peruhop.com/independence-day-peru/)
20.   An alcoholic drink from Central and South America that is made from corn (https://es.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chicha). People are accustomed to adding the head of a bonito fish, which is a common fish in Peru (A.Z 153).
21.  A Peruvian sandwich with pork, lettuce, chillies, cheese, and olives. (AZ, 153)
22.  “He has buried his beak” refers to a rooster that has been defeated in a fight, and dies right where he is laying. .(https://elcomercio.pe/opinion/habla-culta/martha-hildebrandt-significado-enterrar-pico-346314-noticia/#:~:text=Esta%20locuci%C3%B3n%20verbal%20de%20la,aplica%20tambi%C3%A9n%20a%20seres%20humanos)
23.  Peru’s currency. (https://www.globalexchange.es/monedas-del-mundo/sol-peruano)
24.  A valley near the province of Pisco in the Ica Region.

SPANISH:

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TRANSLATORS' NOTE - THAO BUI, EMELY MARTINEZ, FERNANDO RODRIGUEZ-MANSILLA

El caballero Carmelo was originally translated by Angel Flores and published in 1942. This first translation has been the only English translation so far. It reflects the literary language and imagery of the mid twentieth century, which may be too dense for modern readers to interpret. 

The translator decided to translate most of the terms and concepts, including names and proper nouns. For example, the name of the rival Ajiseco was translated to Dry Garlic, which is imprecise. In other parts, Flores omits, simplifies, shortens or even adds words to facilitate the general comprehension of the plot, but missing cultural and linguistic insights. Our translation is based on the 1918 edition of El caballero Carmelo. This new translation maintains the proper names (like Jesús and Ajiseco) and original cultural terms (like tejas rellenas) in Spanish, including brief explanatory notes as needed, because there are no direct English translations to express them clearly. For some notes, we relied on linguistic explanations from Armando Zubizarreta’s critical edition of the text (quoted as AZ). This also meant that we had to find synonyms for words as well as rearrange phrases in order to ensure that the translation flows and makes sense. In conclusion, our mission is to accurately communicate in modern English language what the original text n Spanish is trying to convey.

CITATION:

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