Farm Kill

by Robert W Fisk

  Sally thought that he was exaggerating, blaming others for his own mistakes or the ageing of the farm. As the incidents piled up, Sally became upset and nervous, worried that the farm was so isolated and there would be no help from anyone except Philip so Greg stopped regaling her with the details. In fact, he didn't tell her when he found further problems. He didn't want Sally taking off as Georgina had.

  "Wayleggo!" yelled Greg, to which Tricksy responded by circling around then running between the sheep and their freedom down the long downhill run to the river. Then she stopped, head down, back up. Tricksy was an eye dog, using her stance and her eyes rather than her bark to manoeuvre the sheep. The lead sheep turned to her left, ready to bolt from this menacing animal. The sheep around her followed suit. When the lead sheep began to slowly move away from the stationary Tricksy, the dog moved up then stopped again, glaring at the sheep. Tricksy waited for Greg, who moved in from where he had been, narrowing the gap the sheep had chosen, before standing perfectly still. Tricksy brought the sheep into a milling group, which the lead sheep brought to a halt. Tricksy looked at Greg for instructions. Greg looked at the gap in the fence and took one step forward, which made the sheep turn away from him. Tricksy took two steps then put her head down again. Both the man and the dog were angled behind the lead sheep and her supporters.

  The sheep saw that their hunters had been foolish, leaving a wide gap for them to flow through. The dog and the human would not catch them now. They took a middle course between the two threats, racing forward for the gap in the fence and the open spaces beyond. Some jumped and bucked as they got to the broken wires as if to say, "Ha! Ha! You can't catch me!"

  Tricksy sat on the far side of the line of the fence, eyeing the sheep in case they decided to return through the twenty metre gap but the sheep were quite happy at having outsmarted their chasers and were happy to seek grazing among the stones and long grass.

  Greg unlatched the strainers that were used to keep the wires taught, and pulled the wires nearly clear at one end. Then he took the middle strand, number four, and holding the cut end, stretched it out until he reached its limit. He pinned it to the ground with a metal peg he carried for the purpose. Then he got the other wire and put the two ends together. The break had been clean. Using his fencing pliers, Greg made a loop at the end of the second wire, twisting the broken end round and round until it was firm. Then he picked up the other wire, threading its cut end through the first loop so he could bend the wire back to make a second, making the wires link together into one. It was hard work but the fencing pliers were designed for jobs like this.

  He went back to the strainer which was on a short piece of wire attached to the strainer post. . Using the strainer tool, he clicked the ratchet back to tighten the wire. The loops he had made flattened and tightened, making a neat join in the middle of the wire. It was a job he was getting used to.

  "Only six more to go," he thought. "Be lucky to get home before dark."

  "Joined together now, just like marriage," thought Greg. Sally had been a little happier lately but was still depressed and moody. He never knew when she was going to flare up over some little thing.

  He tackled the remaining six strands, one by one, while the afternoon grew longer and the dog lay watching.

  Down by the river, Sally left Philip and the shelter of the weeping willows to make her way back to the house. She had chickens to round up before nightfall, the pigs to feed, and the dinner to prepare. Mutton, of course. Chops tonight. Again.

  THINGS WERE ABOUT TO unravel in the lives of Sally and Greg Somerville. Matters were brought to a head by the heifers being in the dairy pasture beside the pond. Greg brought them down to the river flats where they had plenty of feed. They needed to be on good grazing if he was to get good prices when the heifers sold in a few weeks. Greg took Lance with him on most days now. As long as there was something mechanical involved, Lance would remain placid. He still did not talk, just 'Mum' and 'Dad', but he read quite a lot. That amazed Greg, who related an inability to speak to an inability to read.

  Mr Weatherall said that input through listening and reading was quite different to output through speaking and writing. He talked about Lance acquiring knowledge and skills but being unable to express these except though tactile experiences such as taking things apart. Had they tried art?

  Greg dreaded going back to Grantville with Lance, after the incident with the war memorial. He had to take Lance to see Mr Weatherall every three months, so on the next trip he arranged for Lance to attend an after-school art class. Grant explained to the teacher that Lance was autistic. Joan Armstrong explained that her son had been autistic and was now artistic. Greg felt encouraged.

  He stayed in the room with Lance, who went and sat on the floor in front of Mrs Armstrong with the rest of the children. He watched her make an African mask out of papier mache. The children all made masks and left them to dry. At the end of the morning, Mrs Armstrong invited Lance to her class in a week's time when the children would paint the masks.

  Lance had no idea of time and days of the week. He wanted to go the next day but Greg said, "Wait." He continued to ask until the week was up, when finally Greg said, "Yes, it is today."

  Greg and Lance left Sally to feed the chickens, a job Lance normally helped with. Sally seemed more than happy to do the job on her own.

  Lance again enjoyed his morning. He was very quick to understand processes, which made him sought after by some of the children who could not follow instructions beyond the first step. Mrs Armstrong watched Lance carefully. She instinctively knew that Lance's problem was expressing the ideas that swirled in his mind. Although he could follow complicated sequences of actions after seeing them only once, he seemed to completely lack ordinary commonsense. He had to see a process. It was no good just telling him what to do, so Mrs Armstrong checked his hearing by whispering his name when his back was turned. His hearing was quite normal. He just learned differently from other children.

  Greg stayed for the class, with Tricksy at his side. Greg thought the class was four hours long but it finished at noon. Consequently, he and Lance arrived home early, even though they stopped at the Te Kouka shop for an ice cream, a treat not allowed by Sally..

  Greg was bursting to show his mother his completed African mask. There was no sign of Sally. Dirty dishes were in the sink and the bed was unmade. No doubt she was off rambling by the river, something she did by the hour. Although Greg was worried about Sally's obvious depression; he didn't blame her, dealing with Lance on a minute by minute basis as she was. Lance drove Greg mad, and his contact with the boy was far less than hers..

  Greg gave Lance a sandwich and sat him on the carpet with his bulldozer, told Tricksy "Guard Lance" then set off to check the heifers. Tricksy saw Greg off then slipped back into the house, the only dog allowed access to the inside, and took her place by Lance.

  On her daily walks, Sally had made quite a trail across the field and down to the pond. It was not a large river but it was very peaceful and calm. Greg followed Sally's trail, straight down to the fence at the river, then along the fence to the right, towards the road across the dam.

  Arriving at the river, Greg leaned on the post and wire fence that kept livestock away from the water so that they could not contaminate the stream. The weeping willows on Philip's side of the pond hung down like curtains into the water. The pool was calm and mirrored the trees in deep mysterious reflections. The air was still with the curious sounds of Nature that sound like crickets chirping and bees in flight. There was a roadway across the end of the pool leading to a Y junction where Philip's road joined his. The two mail boxes, one for each family, were there, at the end of the Rural Delivery route. Sally walked to the mailbox every mail delivery day: Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday Greg noticed that Philip had taken to walking to the mail boxes and had made a path over the brow of the hill and down to the fence on the other side of the stream. It was nearly a mile to Philp's house. He probably did
other things along the way, just as Greg was doing now.

  Greg remember a time not so long ago when Zinsli had been a 'Midnight Butcher' who killed animals in his slaughter house. Because this was illegal he took his truck round his clients after dark. However, when Georgina loaned him money, he was able to develop his enterprise by building a purpose built slaughter house and cool store and to buy a refrigerated truck. The consequent plumbing and storage tanks for offal and liquids and the electrical air conditioning plant, supplemented by a diesel generator allowed Philip Zinsli to gain a licence for a farm kill abattoir. He used the large freezer to store the meat, which he brought through to the butcher's shop in front for his drive-in customers. As well, he had a large delivery round. He bred MeatMaster sheep, a breed originating in South Africa. Their meat fetched ridiculous prices MeatMasters did not require shearing and were heavy meat producers, a double win for the farmer. To make more money he bought sheep and cattle to fatten, and he took in other farmers' stock when they ran short of grazing in the summer.

  Greg was pleased that Philip Zinsli now had an abattoir licence and was running a profitable enterprise but he knew that Zinsli wanted his land to combine the two farms as a dairy unit. Perhaps in time he would realise that Greg and Sally were they to stay. No matter what.

  The heifers were fine. They came running to Greg out of curiosity and a desire for a handout. Greg stood still. The heifers soon lost interest in him and wandered off.

  Greg listened to the burble of the water. He heard birds singing. He heard someone having noisy sex. He recognised Sally's moaning.

  Greg spun on his heel and walked away. His emotions were mixed: he was angry, he was sad, he was disappointed, but mostly he felt ashamed that he had let matters go this far. When he got to the house he found Lance fast asleep on the floor with his arm over Tricksy.

  WHEN SALLY GOT HOME, Greg was waiting for her. This was unusual. Sally immediately thought that her father, who was not in good health, had been taken ill.

  Greg launched straight in to what was bothering him.

  "Are you having an affair?" he asked in a quiet voice.

  Sally blushed scarlet. She put her head down and said nothing.

  "I heard you today, at the willows."

  Sally's blush was fading to a pale pink. She kept her head down.

  "How long has it been going on?"

  Sally's face went white. This was the moment she had been dreading, hoping that it would never happen. Greg's quiet questioning cut her like a knife. She would have preferred anger, rage, even violence rather than this controlled questioning. Sally stood up from the table and went to the bathroom, where she locked the door.

  Greg continued to sit at the table. He stared glumly at the dishes in front of him: boiled potatoes, carrots, cabbage and the inevitable mutton. Cold meat; leftovers from the roast. Tricksy nudged her face between Greg's thigh and his wrist. She gave a little whine, sharing her master's unhappiness.

  Lance came from the lounge where he had been pushing his bulldozer. He had over time worn quite a bare patch on the carpet. Lance did not cuddle Greg. Instead he put his arm around Tricksy's shoulders. Greg was surprised. Lance normally lived in a world of his own, completely oblivious to anyone. Greg took two plates and put one where Sally should be sitting and the other in front of him.

  Tricksy moved next to Sally's chair. Lance followed her, holding the fur on the dog's back and levering on the dog as he climbed into Sally's chair. Greg served a full meal for himself and a smaller one for Lance. This was new: Lance had never come to the table before. He usually had to be carried there, screaming and kicking.

  Greg picked at his food. He felt too upset to eat but knew that he needed to satisfy his energy needs. He put his knife and fork together tidily to show he had finished. Most of the meal was left on his plate. A small hand reached over and pulled his plate away. Lance had finished Sally's unwanted food and now was eating what was left of Greg's.

  Sally was still in the bathroom when Greg put Lance to bed. Tricksy stayed with Lance

  "Tricksy, out," said Greg. For the first time that Greg could remember, Tricksy refused to obey, instead staying beside Lance's bed, with her head on the covers beside Lance.

  Lance reached out and put his hand on Tricksy's nose. Greg left, shutting the door but not completely closing it, leaving the boy and the dog together. He thought he heard Tricksy whimpering as he left, then realised with surprise that Lance was crying. He went back to the bed and put his hand on Lance's head. Lance jerked away from his touch.

  Greg sat a long time in his chair by the blank television set, with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. Eventually, he rose and checked on Lance. Tricksy was curled up beside the bed. As Lance was asleep and Greg didn't want to wake him, he left Tricksy there and made his way to bed.

  They didn't speak in the morning. During the night, Sally had made her decision. She was leaving. Greg found out when Sally telephoned Philip to say that she needed him to come to the house and help her with her bags as she was leaving Greg and moving in with him.

  "What about Lance?"

  "He relates more to you than to me," Sally replied. "I don't think Philip would cope with him."

  Truth to tell, Lance was a major reason for her leaving. Eight years with his tantrums and the guessing game that was needed to work out what he wanted to avoid violent conflict had worn her down.

  "Perhaps, when I've had a break and Lance has grown up a bit more ... " Sally left the end of her message unspoken.

  "Sorry, I've got to do the animals," said Greg, making an excuse to end what he found to be an excruciating moment. He had tears in his eyes that spilled over as he stood, and rolled down his unshaven cheeks. "Can you manage on your own? With the bags, I mean."

  Greg sounded quite assured but he was making an excuse so that he didn't have to stay and watch his world fall apart. Sally was too focussed on her own emotions to understand how Greg was feeling.

  "Come on, Tricksy. Round up the kid and we'll go and check stock," said Greg. Tricksy led the way to the bedroom where Lance slept.

  At eight, he could not dress himself. Worse still, he wanted particular clothes but he wouldn't say which. Sally had narrowed his choices, which helped enormously. Greg picked out blue shorts. Instantly, there was a loud scream, bunched fists went into Lance's eyes and his whole body shook.

  Brown shorts produced the same tantrum. Blue jeans were accepted but there was no way Lance was going to wear underpants today. The process continued until Lance was dressed, with one yellow sock and one blue sock, blue jeans and a red tee-shirt.

  "Let's go, Champ," said Greg. There were howls and screams. Lance threw himself to the floor and lay on his front, drumming his feet on the carpet. Greg had forgotten the morning shower.

  Off came the clothes, then there was a hunt for a suitable towel, red, yellow or white. Red was today's colour. Greg began to fret at the delay. He was already emotional, having trouble holding it together. Could the day get worse?

  Hot, warm or cold didn't matter to Lance as long as it was water falling on his head and face. He could not be moved until he felt he had had enough, then he screamed for Greg to turn off the water. Greg dried Lance carefully. As he bent over the boy, Lance grabbed Greg's hair in both hands and pulled spitefully.

  "Ow. Stop that!" Greg yelled. Greg had his head down and couldn't look up which made it difficult to prise Lance's fingers open, just as one had to with a baby. Lance's fingers were strong but he didn't seem to mind the force Greg had to use to get free. Lance showed no feeling over the incident.

  "Lance hurt Dad," said Greg."

  Tricksy had her head to one side, looking at the exchange. She came forward, got between Lance and Greg, and growled a deep throaty warning.

  To Greg's surprise, Lance looked upset. He threw his arms around Tricksy, who growled again, but softer, and pulled away.

  "Sorry, Mr Tricksy."

  Greg was absolutely dumbfoun
ded. Not only was Lance bonding with the dog, he was communicating, and with feeling.

  "Kiss and make up," said Greg, without thinking. He took Tricksy's collar and held her while Lance cuddled her.

  "Tricksy, help Lance choose clothes," said Greg. Of course the dog could not understand but she followed Lance back to the bedroom, with Greg bringing up the rear.

  Lance picked up the blue tee-shirt and held it for Greg to put it over his head. Next, Lance followed with clean underwear, with blue shorts.

  "Good girl, Tricksy," said Greg. "Thank you for choosing clothes for Lance." Tricksy looked a little confused at being thanked for doing nothing, but if Greg was happy, so was she. Tricksy heard a truck, coming in the distance. She growled again, pricked her large ears and looked at where the noise came from. Greg listened without moving until he could hear the Toyota Hilux that belonged to his neighbour. It was time to face the inevitable.

  He heard voices, then a door slam. The diesel motor was still running. Lance screamed as Greg left him. Going back to pick-up Lance and carry him through to the lounge room cost Greg time. Philip and Sally were just leaving.

  "Goodbye, Sal," said Greg. He was utterly exhausted and had no will to fight, no wish for a row. They had always said that if either of them found a better deal, they were free to go. If they really loved you, the other person would return. God knows, she had been through hell and back. He choked up. "Best wishes," he mumbled. Sally kept herself rigid, looking down at the ground. .

  Philip said nothing as Sally turned away, put her arms round Greg and kissed him.

  "Goodbye, Greg. You're a good man. This isn't your fault."

  It was like some corny film. Sally got into the ute, Philip drove off and Lance stood silently watching.

  "Breakfast," said Greg, trying to sound cheerful. There was no response from Lance.

  "Tricksy, please tell Lance that it is time for breakfast."