Joseph D'Lacey - Meat

‘When you were a girl, Mrs. Shanti, people didn’t eat as well as they do now. Illness is not something to be taken lightly, as you would know if you read your Gut Psalter regularly. Illness is a matter to be taken very, very seriously indeed.’

Even at seven years of age the twins knew what ‘serious’ meant coming from the mouth of a Parson of the Welfare. They continued to eat their meals in silence.

Maya felt pale and cold inside. The Parson had stopped chewing her meat and was staring at her.

‘I like a bit of gravy with my meat,’ the Parson said. ‘Adds a certain sloppiness. I like my meat sloppy. Shame,’ she said, ‘that there’s no gravy.’

‘I can easily make some,’ Maya said. ‘It won’t take two minutes.’

Parson Mary Simonson smiled and thrust a dripping piece of flesh into her thin-lipped mouth.

‘Not to worry, Mrs. Shanti. I’m almost finished now. I wouldn’t want to put you to any trouble.’

‘Oh, it’s no trouble. No trouble at all. I just… didn’t want to spoil the flavour of the meat. I’m… not a very good cook, you see.’

The Parson snorted.

‘I think Mr. Shanti would agree with that. He hasn’t touched his food.’ She turned to Richard, appraising his lean features with what Maya took to be suspicion. ‘I hope you’re not feeling unwell, Mr. Shanti. Illness in the head of the family is not something that can be ignored.’

‘I’m fine.’

He smiled at the Parson. It had been so long since she’d seen his face in that shape that Maya barely recognised the expression. She certainly didn’t know that this was the smile he often cracked at work for his colleagues; the same smile that made him seem like a capable man who enjoyed his job. She thought it made him look insane. The Parson had seen the idiotic look he had. That was the end. They’d take the kids. Then they’d come and take him and that would be the end of her life as a respectable townsperson.

‘It’s been a custom in my family that we always let a guest finish their meal before we start our own,’ he began. ‘It’s old-fashioned, I know. Going back to those very first days when Our Dear Father made the flesh honourable and sacred. The Shantis have been involved from the very beginning, you know. If it makes you feel uncomfortable, I will gladly join you before you finish your meal.’

The Parson was silent for too long. Maya knew whatever Richard had said was wrong and that the stupid look on his face had cemented their destiny. But she couldn’t move, couldn’t even kick him under the table to make him stop. She looked at the Parson’s face. The woman had stopped chewing mid-mouthful and had yet to swallow. Finally she choked down the half chewed lump on her tongue and said, ‘I didn’t realise, Mr. Shanti. I do hope you can forgive my behaviour. I assumed that… well, never mind. I’d be honoured to finish my meal before you begin yours. And after that I’ll be able to make my report to Head Office. I can assure you it will be deemed entirely satisfactory.’

Richard performed a very small bow. Just a deep nod of the head really and the Parson finished her steak in silence.

Maya was stunned. The Shantis had been involved since when ? The report would be entirely satisfactory? What had just happened? She had no way to tell. The Parson pushed her empty plate away and stood up.

‘Wonderful food, Mrs. Shanti.’ She cast her eye over the rest of the family and around the dining room and adjoining kitchen area nodding to herself. She removed a clipboard from a leather satchel at her feet and made a few marks on it with a red pencil and then said, ‘Well, there we are. Everything’s in order. I shall say thank you and bid you all good night. May the Father bless you and fill your stomachs.’

She was gone before Richard had put the blade of his steak knife to the meat on his plate. All that remained of her was a memory of her layered red robes. For several seconds everyone was silent. Then Maya said, ‘Dear Father, Richard, what did you say to her? What on earth has happened?’

With four witnesses speaking against him and no one to defend his claims, Snipe’s ‘appearance’ before Rory Magnus was brief. He spent most of the time looking at the cattle-hair rug on which he stood in the giant man’s office. On the occasions he did glance up he saw a look on Magnus’s face he hadn’t expected. The man was not outraged by the charges. He appeared almost amused as he smoked a small black cheroot and sipped vodka. From time to time he didn’t even seem to be listening.

Snipe began to hope that what he’d done wasn’t enough to bring the full weight of Magnus’s might down upon him. Maybe they’d caught him on a good day. Maybe the rumours of Magnus’s punishments were no more than idle talk to make the workforce toe the line. After ten minutes, Magnus dismissed the dairy boys and Snipe was left alone with the Meat Baron and his bodyguard.

When the sound of the boys’ footsteps had receded down the stairs Magnus spoke directly to Snipe for the first time.

‘You’d be surprised how many cow fuckers I see in here, Snipe. Some of them like to fuck the veal calves, others prefer the steers. Doesn’t matter to me what they do because when I find out, they never do it again.’

Snipe couldn’t meet the man’s glare. Magnus’s dangerous joviality on top of his own shame was too much to bear.

‘Sex has always been a risky business at the best of times. You never know what you’ll catch off the scum that pass themselves off as women in this town. It’s no wonder the cattle look better to some of my workers than their own wives and squeezes. I don’t understand it, but I can see how it happens.

‘Unfortunately, that doesn’t make me any happier about the potential damage to, and disrespect for, my property. Every single beast in this town belongs to me and anyone that treats my beasts with anything other than respect is going to pay the price. What I can’t comprehend is why my workers haven’t got that into their tiny brains yet. It’s not written down anywhere, but everyone knows the penalty for messing with my business.’

Magnus leaned back in his chair causing it to creak.

‘I assume you’ve read The Book of Giving.’

Snipe was impelled to fill the silent void that followed the statement.

‘Yes, Mr. Magnus.’

‘You therefore know the punishment for ‘lying down’ with the Chosen, correct?’

‘Yes, Mr. Magnus.’

Magnus pressed his lips together in a look that seemed to bring the matter to a close in his mind.

‘In that case, I’ve nothing further to say to you. Bruno, arrange for Snipe’s introduction to the herd. Have it done here as soon as you can find Cleaver. Make sure Snipe is processed immediately. I want nothing but sausage to remain by this evening.’

He poured himself another vodka.

Bruno grabbed Snipe by the back of the neck, his customary grip, and propelled him towards a curtain at the back of the study. Pulling it open revealed a door in the wooden panelling. Bruno opened it and pushed Snipe onto a dark staircase that led straight down.

‘Oh, and Bruno, leave that open would you? I may pop down for a few minutes when Cleaver gets to work.’

Like many workers in the meat industry, Shanti was missing a digit. In his case it was the thumb of his right hand. Unlike the others, injured in the course of a day’s meat processing, he had lost his in an accident of which he had no recollection. It had happened before he was even a year old and he had learned to cope without the use of it very well. It didn’t hamper his use of the captive bolt gun at all.

As far as management were concerned, his dexterity was prized not because it was humane but because it meant more meat through the chutes each day. Shanti believed himself to be a kind, compassionate man and he dealt death as swiftly and painlessly as possible. He abhorred the thought of suffering in any creature but himself. What he saw each day was not a parade of mindless cattle, nor was it a queue of expressionless, animal faces. It was not lives he saw passing him by and winking out. No, that was too great a reality to take in. What Richard Shanti saw in the lines of Chosen that passed each day was a montage of eyes.