The Savages

by Matt Whyman

  ‘This is a joke,’ breathed Vernon, his teeth chattering with fear. ‘A sick joke.’

  Ivan returned to the cabinet. First he hauled out a pressure washer. Then he found a barber’s clipper which he placed on the plastic chair. Finally, after some rummaging, the boy returned with what looked like a short-handled hammer in one hand. As he twisted it in his grip, Vernon noticed that one side sported some nasty triangular studs.

  ‘Relax,’ said Ivan. ‘It’s just a tenderiser.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You know?’ he said, and patted the instrument in the palm of his hand. ‘It softens the fibres. Makes the meat easier to chew.’

  Vernon English struggled to take in what the boy was saying here. Gripped by panic, still hanging upside down from the beam, he began to tremble, twitch and gasp for breath.

  ‘Your dad said nothing about a tenderiser!’ he said in desperation. ‘A wash and a shave is all he asked you to do.’

  ‘It’s my first time,’ said Ivan with a shrug. ‘I want to do things properly.’

  ‘But you told me it wouldn’t hurt!’ he wailed.

  ‘It won’t.’ Ivan placed the tenderiser on the chair and turned for the cabinet once more. When he came back around, Vernon saw to his horror that he had just collected a bolt pistol. ‘You’ll be dead by then,’ he said, and pulled the bolt back on the spring. It locked into position with a click. Ivan caught his eye and smiled. ‘On the bright side, if I accidentally nick you with the clipper in a minute from now you won’t feel a thing!’

  ‘Don’t do this,’ whispered Vernon, as Ivan placed the bolt head to his temple and found the trigger with his finger. He drew breath to plead with the boy once more, only for a thunderous bang to mark the moment that his world went black.

  29

  For Titus Savage, a feast was always preceded by a day of preparation. Like his father, he considered it to be a kind of ritual that involved the whole family. There were tasks for everyone. Throughout the next morning, Sasha helped her mother assemble the side dishes, while Titus visited the market for those last-minute items. In the afternoon, having set out the place mats at the table, he found the mahogany box that contained the special cutlery and took it upstairs to his father’s room. Oleg liked to play a part, and polishing the silverware was something he had done for decades.

  ‘I hope you’re hungry,’ said Titus, as his father pushed his spectacles into place. He waited for the old man to find a cloth in his drawer before outlining what was on the menu. ‘We could’ve opted for something leaner, and less tearful about his lost opportunities in life,’ he pointed out, ‘but what else could I do?’

  ‘I hear that Ivan is in charge.’ Oleg shuffled across to the table under the skylight, where Titus had just placed the box. ‘I remember your first time as a little boy. It was a proud moment.’

  The pair exchanged a smile.

  ‘Ivan tells me everything went to plan,’ said Titus. ‘He stayed up until the early hours to get the job done. He hasn’t even surfaced yet.’

  Oleg picked a dessert spoon from the box.

  ‘I wonder if this is something Ivan will pass on to his children?’

  ‘Of course,’ said Titus without hesitation. ‘He’s a Savage. Tradition is in our blood.’

  Oleg focused on polishing the spoon for a moment.

  ‘Will Sasha be joining us?’ he asked.

  ‘She’s in the kitchen with Angelica right now.’ Titus narrowed his eyes, unsure why he would even check his granddaughter would be present. ‘Is something troubling you?’

  ‘Me? No!’ Oleg rubbed the spoon handle vigorously. Then he stopped and sighed. ‘We’re all Savages, Titus. We always will be in name at least, no matter how many of us gather round the table in future.’

  Titus looked baffled. He was standing over his father, who next selected a fork to polish.

  ‘Well, every one of us shall be eating this evening as we welcome little Kat to the fold,’ he said, and clapped Oleg on the shoulder as if that might reassure him. ‘You don’t need to worry about your grandchildren. It’s my duty to make sure they understand the importance of dining like this on a regular basis.’ Titus turned to leave the room. At the door, he stopped and addressed his father one more time. ‘You know, it’s true what they say that the family who eat together, stick together.’

  ‘Maybe not the family who eat people together,’ muttered Oleg.

  ‘I’m sorry?’

  The old man looked up and around. He seemed startled to find Titus was still there.

  ‘Oh, nothing,’ he said quickly and held the fork up to the light.

  Angelica hadn’t stopped all day. The menu, which she’d written out by hand, was stuck to the fridge using painted magnets from a local art fair. With Sasha’s help, the potatoes were peeled, the vegetables chopped and herbs picked from the garden. The only thing missing, in fact, was the meat. Still, Angelica had everything under control, with help from her eldest daughter. Sasha was at the stove, stirring a pepper and port wine sauce, while little Kat was on the floor by the French windows, her hands pressed to the glass, babbling at the birds on the feeder.

  ‘It’s going to be a late night for her,’ Sasha said.

  ‘You know how it is,’ said Angelica. ‘We don’t sleep until everyone is full.’

  By now, the sauce was beginning to simmer. Sasha turned the heat down by a notch.

  ‘Ivan says there’s a lot to share out this time.’

  Angelica had just finished refilling the salt cellar. She stopped and faced her daughter.

  ‘There’ll be even more to go round if you don’t join in,’ she said.

  Sasha focused on the sauce, which was still bubbling even on the lower temperature.

  ‘Will Grandpa be eating down here or in his room?’ she asked, in a bid to change the subject.

  Angelica wasn’t surprised, but persisted anyway.

  ‘This feast might be all about Katya,’ she said, ‘but I want it to be a celebration for you both. A welcoming to one daughter and a farewell to the other.’

  Sasha stirred the sauce a little quicker.

  ‘Mum, I really appreciate how supportive you’ve been to me these last few weeks. I’ll be at the table with you all. Nothing changes there.’

  ‘Everything changes,’ said Angelica to correct her. ‘A vegetarian will be eating among us.’

  ‘I’m not sure about the whole label thing,’ Sasha replied, as the sauce finally began to thicken. ‘It can feel a bit suffocating.’

  ‘Which is why we never call ourselves cannibals,’ said Angelica, prompting her daughter to catch her breath.

  ‘Mum!’

  Sasha looked scandalised. Like Angelica, she then scrambled to look as busy as possible when Titus appeared in the kitchen.

  ‘Did I just hear the “C” word?’ he asked, and inspected several dishes. Sasha stirred the sauce madly. Angelica tightened the top of the salt cellar, well aware that Titus was gazing directly at her. Just then, Ivan appeared at the doorway in his dressing gown. He yawned, stretched, and then dropped his arms on realising he had just walked in on something. Normally, his mother would scold him for lying in throughout so much of the day. Instead, Angelica shot him a look that told him he needed to be elsewhere.

  ‘I just wanted something to eat,’ the boy grumbled, and headed for the back door. ‘I’m starving.’

  As soon as he was outside, Titus addressed Angelica and Sasha once more.

  ‘We’re not cannibals,’ he said as if to remind them. ‘Cannibals boil people alive in cauldrons. I prefer to think of ourselves as evolved eaters. As a family, we’re at the forefront of fine dining. Human flesh is an acquired taste, and I’ve worked hard to give you all the chance to appreciate it for yourselves. It’s what keeps us tight, am I right?’

  Angelica glanced at Sasha, who looked back at the sauce, sighed to herself and then nodded.

  ‘Let’s all take a seat,’ said Angelica, and gestured at the kitchen table. �
�Sasha has something to share.’

  Vernon Savage saw a bright light. Having been dangling from the beam for so long, and in total darkness, the opening of the hatch caused him to blink and wince.

  It was the sight of the crazy kid, Ivan, easing his way down the rungs that persuaded him to stay still and silent. Vernon knew he was supposed to be dead. If he started shouting and screaming, Ivan might have another go with the bolt gun. Fortunately for the private investigator, the boy’s lack of practice meant the weapon had recoiled when he pulled the trigger. Instead of punching through his temple and into his brain, the bolt had simply knocked him out. Vernon considered this to be a small mercy given the indignity and horror of what had evidently followed. When he resumed consciousness, he found he had been stripped of his clothing, washed and shaved from head to toe with the barber’s clippers. Finally, he realised he’d been swaddled in what felt like a nappy made from kitchen foil. It crinkled every time he moved, which he tried to keep to a minimum on account of the pain he was in. Even without being able to see anything, Vernon knew that Ivan had hit him with the tenderiser at least a few times, but not enough to have much effect on his flesh. It left him wondering whether the boy was incapable of carrying out the job properly. If so, thought Vernon in his traumatised mind, Ivan’s inexperience might just save his life.

  It was for this reason that he played dead before Ivan hit the light switch. He then held his breath as the boy circled him. Whatever happened next, Vernon hoped this young psychopath would continue his hapless streak. With his head just above the ground, Vernon dared to glance up to see that Ivan, wearing his dressing gown, was clutching a short blade in one hand. He stifled a gasp. This wasn’t looking good, but what option did he have?

  ‘Oh yeah,’ said Ivan, as if he’d suddenly remembered something, and turned for the cabinet behind him. ‘A bucket for the bleed out.’

  On hearing this, Vernon’s heart began to hammer so forcefully he could almost hear it with his own ears. He let his eyes go glassy as Ivan came back and slid a rubber trough underneath him. On feeling the cold edge of the blade against his jugular, however, the man could take no more.

  ‘No!’ yelled Vernon angrily, and blinked back into focus. ‘Get away from me!’

  This time it was Ivan’s turn to cry out. He scrambled backwards, knife in hand, but not before scratching Vernon’s throat with the tip. It was enough to produce a bead of blood that swelled and dropped into the trough.

  ‘Ouch!’ said Vernon with a grimace. ‘Will you leave me alone?’

  Ivan looked aghast.

  ‘But I killed you,’ he said. ‘You’re dead.’

  ‘And so are you when I’m free,’ growled Vernon, the foil crinkling wildly as he writhed and bucked against his bindings. ‘Help!’ He cried out, filling his lungs. ‘Help me!’

  Panic-stricken, Ivan looked to the open hatch and back again at his captive.

  ‘Shut up,’ he said. ‘Shut your mouth or I’ll fetch my dad!’

  ‘Help! Someone, please help!’

  It was all too much for the boy. Dropping the knife, he raced for the rungs as Vernon continued to raise the alarm. Even with the hatch back in place, and the pit returned to darkness, the stricken private investigator continued to bellow while the trough below him collected his blood drip by little drip.

  30

  Titus Savage sat in grave silence. Across the kitchen table, his wife and eldest daughter looked on uncomfortably. Only Katya remained her sunny self. At that moment, however, nobody paid her any attention.

  ‘Who is responsible for this?’ asked Titus eventually, his voice on the verge of cracking.

  Angelica and Sasha exchanged a glance.

  ‘The boy I was seeing,’ said Sasha. ‘But it’s over now.’

  ‘I see.’ Titus furrowed his brow. ‘Couldn’t he have left you with something more traditional like a broken heart, maybe, or herpes?’

  ‘Titus!’ Angelica shot him a look. ‘Be civil. This isn’t easy for Sasha.’

  ‘It’s OK,’ Sasha cut in, and held her hands out to calm them both. ‘It was my decision to go vegetarian. Jack just introduced me to the idea, but this isn’t a question of who is to blame. It’s about understanding.’ She paused there and looked away for a moment. ‘Understanding and respect.’

  ‘What about respect for the family?’ Titus asked, and slammed his palm on the table. ‘You’re turning your back on a tradition that unites us in a shared secret. It grounds every one of us, so we can each make the most of our lives!’

  ‘And I’d still willingly take my place each time you sit down to feast,’ said Sasha. ‘I’ll just stick to the vegetables,’ she added quietly.

  Titus scoffed dismissively.

  ‘My daughter, the grazer.’

  ‘There you go again,’ said Angelica with a sigh.

  ‘Belittling me won’t change my mind,’ said Sasha, in such a way that commanded her father’s attention. ‘This is who I am now, and I just feel better for it.’

  Titus sat back in his chair, considering her.

  ‘What about the feast we had before Christmas two years ago?’ he asked. ‘You begged me to do the honours, and a very clean kill it was, too, but how does that sit with you, Sasha? Now that you’re better than us?’

  ‘Dad, I’m just trying to be true to myself. Isn’t that what you want for all your children?’

  Just then, the back door crashed open. Nobody at the table looked around.

  ‘Help me out, Sasha,’ said Titus, sounding a little calmer. ‘I’m struggling here.’

  It was Angelica who was first to look around as her son appeared before them. He looked wild-eyed and a little breathless.

  ‘Dad, I need your help.’

  ‘Not now.’ Titus kept his gaze locked on his eldest daughter.

  ‘But, Dad—’

  ‘I said not now!’

  It was a sudden outburst, delivered with such force that everyone present shrank into themselves. The silence that followed was only broken when Katya started bawling.

  ‘Now look what you’ve done,’ muttered Titus, and rose to collect her from the floor. ‘Go to your room, Ivan. And just stay out of trouble!’

  ‘I just really think you need to—’ Ivan stopped short as his father turned and glowered at him. ‘Fine, then!’ he grumbled before heading for the stairs. ‘Don’t blame me if dinner is ruined!’

  Soothing Katya in his arms, Titus stood by the French windows, overlooking the garden and the shed at the back.

  ‘It’s not too late to change your mind,’ he told Sasha. ‘You need to think long and hard about what this means for your family.’

  Sasha waited for her father to face her before she replied.

  ‘Would you say the same thing if I had just come out as gay?’

  ‘Is that your next bombshell?’ asked Titus, and turned to Angelica.

  ‘Just answer the question,’ she said, folding her arms.

  With Katya calm, Titus set her back down on the floor. He crouched there for a moment, offering one of her plastic bricks to play with. Finally, when he was sure of his composure, and that his voice wouldn’t crack, he rose up once again.

  ‘Of course I wouldn’t say the same thing. That would be different.’

  ‘So, would you rather I’d stayed quiet about going veggie?’ said Sasha. ‘This last month has been really tough. If it wasn’t for Mum’s support, I’d never be here now, being open about who I am.’

  ‘A month?’ Titus looked in astonishment at his wife.

  ‘Sasha needed time to work things out.’

  ‘I’m still a Savage, Dad,’ she said. ‘The only difference now is that I’m really happy being me.’

  By now, there was nothing Titus could do to stop a tear from tracking down his cheek.

  ‘Then I’m happy for you,’ said Titus, and wiped it away with his shirt sleeve. From across the table, Angelica mouthed the words ‘thank you’ at him. ‘It seems I have a lot to learn from this,�
� he added. ‘Perhaps I should follow your example.’

  ‘By giving up meat?’ asked Sasha, her mouth falling open.

  ‘Don’t push it,’ said Titus, and recovered with a grin. ‘I mean by being honest with myself.’

  Angelica was still watching her husband closely.

  ‘Is there something you want to tell us?’

  ‘Oh, it’s nothing,’ said Titus, batting away the question. ‘I’m just feeling a little restless at work lately. Maybe I’ve been in the business for too long, but I’m starting to wonder if I should move on to new horizons. A challenge, perhaps.’

  ‘Like what?’ asked Angelica. ‘You’re a natural at what you do.’

  ‘I’ll think of something,’ said Titus, who turned just then to inspect the dishes on the counter behind him. ‘For now, whatever anyone chooses to pile on their plates, let’s focus on making this feast one of the best we’ve ever had!’

  Without blinking, Ivan hammered at the trigger button on his handset. On the videogame in front of him, he was an effective killer. It helped him to block out what a mess he’d made of things in real life.

  ‘I’ll finish you,’ he muttered to himself, and not just to the women and children fleeing from the crosshairs of his gun. ‘You’ll see.’

  A knock at the door drew his attention from the screen.

  ‘Are you looking for the bathroom again?’ he asked his grandfather.

  ‘I don’t need directions,’ said Oleg, and showed him the box of cutlery he’d finished polishing. ‘Look at that. All ready for the feast.’

  ‘Whatever.’ Ivan returned his attention to the screen.

  Oleg watched him turn his sights on a fleeing crowd for a moment.

  ‘So, your father let you do the honours last night. Congratulations.’

  Ivan unleashed a storm of bullets, cutting down dozens at a time.

  ‘The kill is still alive,’ he said simply. ‘And he won’t shut up.’

  Oleg’s expression changed from concern to surprise.

  ‘But a kill is supposed to hang for twenty-four hours after death to improve the flavour.’ He checked his wristwatch. ‘We’ll be cooking shortly.’