Jack O'Connell - Word Made Flesh

Now this is the ventral incision. They will make a clean cut from the center of the chest downward to the anus. You are terrified of viewing a castration, I understand. But this is not their purpose. You have to trust them at some point, my friend. It is true they have no use for the genitalia. But their intention is not one of sadism.

You see here the natural genius of the body, how the ribs prevent them from cutting too deeply. And I want you to take special notice, this is surely of some importance, that they refuse to use anything resembling forceps. They peel back and hold the tissue with their own fingers. They have developed a highly refined strength and precision in this area.

Is the skin more blue than you would have imagined? Can you see clearly enough? Perhaps it is the contrast with the intense redness of the muscles below. Such great care they take as they move down through the abdominal wall. The concentration at this point is enormous. If they pierce through into the intestinal cavity everything could be ruined. They are very concerned with hygiene, have strict mores regarding purification.

You would never know how wildly the body should naturally be flailing at this point. The holders secure their grip so rigidly. If not for the bulging eyes and the well-muffled, but still audible scream you would have no indication of Leo’s discomfort. Surely he is working his way toward shock as we watch. The brain may begin shutting down consciousness at any time now. I would not be surprised if they decide to wait before rolling the body—

No, I am mistaken. They will take a moment to resecure their hold once he is in place on his stomach. There, now you are seeing the beginning of the dorsal incision, there along the center of the back, from the shoulders down to the rectum. Watch as they lift the tissue back, so careful to control the rate of force, the pressure constant, pulling the layers away from the meat beneath, see the cartilage resist then finally give way, fall back to the body. You might expect some tearing, and I am told it does happen on occasion, when the subject suffers from some epidermal disease. Apparently the ’Shank is in fine condition.

They seem to be after as large and continuous a sheet of tissue as they can extract. They do not like patchwork. At this stage, a scissors would make their job much easier, but again who can argue with ceremony? They will cut the flesh at the hip area and they may find it necessary to pop the leg out of the hip socket. For your sake I hope this is not the—

Again, I apologize. You would think Leo was beyond the capability of a scream of this magnitude. We never know how much strength and tenacity an individual possesses, do we? They will work their fingers under the skin here. The region of the tailbone proves very stubborn for some reason. At times they find it necessary to remove the legs entirely. This is a long and tedious exercise without the luxury of technology. Do our doctors fully appreciate the benefits of the high-speed bone saw? I wonder at times.

Those hooks and chains? This means we are entering the final stages. They will truss the body — yes, you see, lancing the main hook through the jaw and then hauling upward on the chains until fully suspended above the rock. An old and decrepit building like this, the approach gives you pause. But those beams survived the ’53 quake and I doubt even Tani can pull them down.

The way the body hangs, certainly life is now gone. Does it make the watching easier?

Gravity offers some assistance at this point. They move downward, faster now, the sheets of skin resembling, at times, small sails. Any one of them can manage this stage of the paring, but for the close work along the skull, only the most dexterous among them will be allowed to cut. The muscles at the base of the ears are small but particularly strong. And an apprentice will often make his first mistake at this exact point. Right there, around the eyelids. The lips are cut free and, though never collected with the rest of the tissue, neither are they discarded. I have no idea what use they could be.

That cloud? They are dusting the tissue with powdered borax. It makes the going somewhat easier and it begins the preservation process immediately. I am told you can also use cornmeal in a pinch.

This is distressing, I agree. Something about that final series of yanks to pull the entire jacket free.

I thought for sure you would look away. I suppose you’ve surprised us both.

They will do the curing elsewhere. A tedious procedure involving noniodized salt and formaldehyde as well as a mothproofing solvent and grain alcohol. But, believe me, with a gourmand like Leo Tani, it is the degreasing that will take the most time. All the cheesy fat of his robust appetites. That he was not a moderate man is self-evident. Look at him hanging there. Look at that world beneath the skin, the subterranean detail. Think of it as pure structure. Such intricacy.

You may despise them and fear them, but you must allow some degree of esteem for their talent. They are more force than creature, wouldn’t you agree? My God, look at the skill, the undiluted confidence with which they work, the instinctual grace. They are the surgeons of history. The pathologists of our shared memory. The skivers of our race dream. Some part of you can’t help but respect the genius of their craft, that level of intensity and shapeliness that elevates their practice into art. Admit that much to me. Be honest, at least with yourself. And understand that this respect cannot help but grow. Into admiration. And imitation. And ultimately, as the past has shown us so well and so thoroughly, into love.

Do not speak — I know what the question is. You are curious as to what happens to the epidermis itself, yes? You see them collecting it in the burlap sacks and you wonder what use it could possibly have. But everything has a use. I was hoping I could expect more from you. I must confess a small disappointment. Wouldn’t you agree that we invent the usage? Isn’t this what we have always done?

Even the tidying-up work is a solemn responsibility.

You are disgusted with the way they clean their tools? But I assure you, in their tradition the saliva itself is thought to hold many purging and strengthening properties.

As to Tani, the corpse will be left hanging. As a sign, I suppose. Eventually, inevitably, it will become one more dark myth from the belly of Gompers Station. Though the blood loss was spectacular, I believe the death certificate will make mention of absolute trauma. By the time the remains are found, by the train bulls or by the scavengers, a multitude of parasites will have swarmed to the open meat, drawn by the immediate initiation of decay; a veritable legion of vampiric organisms will have massed upon the bare altar of the ’Shank’s subcutaneous corpus. They will give nothing. They will only take. Because they can do nothing else. Because that is the nature they were born with. There was a saying back in Shinar—

I’m sorry, but they appear to have spotted you.

No, there is nothing you can do.

You may know other ways out of the station, but sooner or later they will find you.

You have been the witness.

That was your choice.

You were warned at the very beginning.

Someone must have been telling lies about me is all Gilrein can think as they squeeze open his mouth and lay the barrel of the Glock on his tongue. Softly, as if it were a communion wafer.

The tall one with the ludicrous overbite asks again, “Where is the package?” the voice accented and a little phlegmy.

The one with the face made of burn scars and the eye that won’t close drives a fist into Gilrein’s stomach and they all lurch away from the wall for a second, then they push Gilrein back against the bricks, drive the gun farther back toward the tonsils until the choking starts.