Vegan

by Erin Lee

  I wish we could just set them free. Like Noah on his ark, I wish I could lead them one by one back to the place that they came from. Unfortunately, all the cows in our herd were born in captivity. The only wild animal we’ve got is a floppy-eared rabbit named Meatball. And I think she ran away from one of the neighbors. She’s too friendly to have never been handled. I tried to send her back to the woods, but now, she just won’t leave. She lives in the barn with Daisy, Lucy, and the rest of the crew. It’s almost like she knows she belongs and that I refuse to do anything to hurt her. I’ve done enough.

  It’s true. I’m guilty. I’m not different than Vera. Hell, I’m worse. Vera works at a grocery store. Only a few months ago, I was helping Rancher with the butchering myself. I was packing that meat right up and sending it out. I was driving the truck with the cattle behind me to the bigger, commercial slaughter house.

  I pretend to be looking for cash in my Coach purse Rancher bought me for my forty-fifth birthday last year while she rings the order up. The smell of fresh leather tickles my nose, and I jump. Oh my God. Leather. What have I done?

  My purse slips from my guilty hands and falls to the grimy floor. I pick it up quickly, brushing it off like it’s some consolation prize to the animal I’ve helped kill for making him or her dirty. I’m going to fucking hell. We all are. Even those who judge me.

  Vegan

  Chapter Five

  Woe to you who are rich, for you have already received your comfort.

  THERE’S NO way anyone even knows yet. Just wait until he falls asleep and get out to that barn. Clean the mess up, get rid of the rest of her, and never look back. There’s got to be enough meat in there to get his numbers back up. You’ll know in two weeks after the new labs. Just keep cool. He has no idea. Hell, he liked the stupid meal.

  I rub my husband’s head. It’s impossible not to notice his involuntarily-non-naturally evolving bald spot. It’s been coming on for years now. It started when he was around twenty-five. But that was nothing compared to the giant disk of shiny head that now sits at the top of his skull. It perches there like a Jewish kippah, reminding me of his illness. When he doesn’t roll into me or pull me in, I realize he is already asleep. I lay my head against his bare chest to listen to the easy rhythm of his familiar heartbeat.

  A cool air blows in from our bedroom window. It’s unusual for this time of year. I pull the covers over him and then myself until we are snug as bugs. He barely flinches as I adjust the bedding. There was a time when he would have sprung up, looked around the room, or even double checked the locks on the front door. He would have mumbled under his breath about thieves, the animals, and expensive tools. But that doesn’t happen anymore. Lately, he’s just—missing.

  It’s almost like we’ve switched souls, if that were a possible thing. I fidget, trying to get a twitch out of my leg and telling myself sleep has to happen. I haven’t done it right in days and tomorrow I need to bring Rancher to yet another specialist. Between worrying about how to handle the insurance deductible and where I’ll put the rest of Virginia, sleep isn’t even an option. After resting beside him for an hour or two, I finally creep out of the bed.

  In the living room, I grab my oldest pair of sneakers, Rancher’s flashlight, a box of heavy-duty leaf bags, and head out to the old slaughterhouse. I’m hit with a wave of rotting flesh I hadn’t expected to come up on. I gag. I shouldn’t have left her this long. I should have known the heat would get to her. I approach her remains slowly, as if she might jump up and try to retaliate for what I’ve done. I shine the light on the pile that is now her and assess the situation.

  There, in the far back corner of our makeshift killing barn lies a pile of bones, her fully intact head, my blood-stained clothes, and seven bags of groceries. Flies swarm over all of it, like they’ve come to the grandest party in all the state. I wave my hand at them gently, shooing them away. Then, with bare hands, I begin picking up the remains one by one and putting them in the garbage bags.

  Thankful that I knew enough to cut her remains into piddlin’ chunks, I don’t have an issue filling two bags. In under twenty minutes, I have tied double knots and loaded the bags on the wagon I used to bring her here in the first place.

  Still breathing only through my mouth to avoid the smell, I pull the wagon out of the barn and park it to the side, where it could never been seen from the road. I walk slowly across the yard to the hose. The cows, mostly sleeping, barely moo as I again cleanse myself.

  It’s in the aftermath of sin that a person has the most time to think. Ironically, the thinking isn’t usually done while temptation is knocking. As cold bursts of water hit my face and hands, I struggle with regret. No. Don’t do it. It had to be done. Besides, she was only another killer. It’s a matter of survival. You need him better and there was no other way.

  I pray to whatever God there is above—I’m no longer certain of that since leaving the church—that he or she forgives me for what I’ve done. As if trying to reason with my maker, I tell whoever and myself that all creatures are created equal. I know I did what I had to do, but it doesn’t mean I like it. You were rich. I know she could have done the same to me too—that she has done it herself to animals—but it doesn’t make it right. You were comfortable. ...But you were too.

  I gulp down the regret, reminding myself that God is a forgiving one and that this was His will. It’s really very simple. If He’d wanted her alive, she would be. If the maker didn’t think it was meant to be, he or she would have saved her. It’s there, outside the cow barn, that I make my own rules. Taking everything I know of God, the church, love and forgiveness, I baptize myself in my own rules. My maker, after all, has given me this ability and my own free will:

  Do not mistake humble for weak, nor meek for frail.

  Don’t confuse empathy with stupidity, or honesty with foolhardiness.

  At no time underestimate the power of gratitude.

  Always be appreciative and sincere.

  Forever hold true the virtues of integrity and patience.

  Never assume.

  Expectations based on pretenses often come with a price tag too high for even the loftiest of egos. Arrogance is certain to find its way back to powerlessness.

  Those who put themselves first always die unaided, afraid, and eventually overlooked.

  Honor comes not with manipulation or forced servitude.

  What you give is what you receive tenfold.

  Truth is in action and intention alone...

  Freshly christened in where I stand and certain that I am doomed, I return to the slaughter barn for the wagon. Inside, I grab an old shovel Rancher must have forgotten about years ago behind the cutting block. I load that on the wagon too. Outside, I pull the rusty wagon handle with determined force to the farthest corner on the back of the lot. In only the light of a flashlight propped against a tree, I break into the earth, asking God to forgive me. I know exactly what wrongs I do. Yet I cannot stop. And the meek shall inherit the earth.

  Vegan

  Chapter Six

  Woe to you who are well fed now, for you will go hungry.

  “HAVE YOU SEEN GINNY?”

  I should never have answered the phone. I knew when Murray Anderson’s name popped up on my phone that it couldn’t be anything I was interested in speaking about. Still, it’s better to know what’s going on than to get caught with your britches down.

  “No, why?” I cover a slab of Virginia’s arm in barbecue sauce, hoping Rancher won’t mind me grilling tonight. If he weren’t so tired from today’s useless appointment two states away, I’d take the phone off speaker mode. But there’s no point.

  “She didn’t go to work last night, and Sue thought maybe ya’ll had seen her.”

  “No. Have you checked with the boyfriend?”

  “Naw. Don’t know his name.”

  “She’s probably with him. He’s been coming around more often.”

  “Yeah. That’s what I said too. But you know Sue. She
worries. Anyway, give us a ring if you hear anything. I’ll keep checking around.”

  “Will do.”

  “Oh, and how have you been? How are you guys making out?”

  I’m not sure if he’s asking about the sanctuary or my husband’s health. Word’s been getting around that something’s wrong. Of course, I’ve played it off. I refuse to make Rancher’s health fodder for the local gossip chain until the boys know exactly what’s going on with their Poppa. In six weeks’ time, they’ll both be home for the holidays. We’ll tell then and not a moment sooner.

  “We’re great. Looking for grants, that kind of thing.”

  I don’t mention that the garden is too small to keep up with our nutritional demands or that our last and even next meal won’t exactly be the kind made of a usual rancher’s herd.

  He laughs, causing the hair on my arms to stand up like soldiers during the national anthem. I grit my teeth listening to what comes next.

  “You two are darn near crazy. Can’t say I’d ever consider such a thing myself. Suzie either. No way, no how.”

  “No. You wouldn’t.”

  “I still don’t get it.”

  Jesus Christ. Who asked you, anyway? “And that’s okay. It’s just something we felt we needed to do.”

  He doesn’t ask why, and I have no interest in telling him about Lucy. It doesn’t matter that we’re on our last dime and living on credit. He wouldn’t care if he knew. Hell, he’d tell us it served us right for giving up our only true means of income.

  “Yeah. I guess. I just don’t get it.”

  “Well, you don’t have to.”

  “No. I guess not. You guys coming to bingo?”

  “I’m not sure. Maybe. We’ve got a lot going on around here, getting the sanctuary up and running. We have two lame heifers being delivered tomorrow.”

  “More to feed.”

  “More to love.”

  “Maybe if you didn’t name them.”

  “Maybe. But we’re happy this way, Murray. Don’t let it worry you.”

  “I’m not worried. That’s Sue.”

  “Sure.”

  “Okay then, have a great day and hopefully we’ll see ya’ll at bingo on Friday. People been asking about you.”

  “Well, you tell them not to worry, either. We’re just fine out here. And thank you. See you soon.”

  “If you hear about Ginny, let us know.”

  “Will do. Have a nice evening, Murray.”

  “Yeah. You, too.”

  I hang up the phone with a shaky pointer finger. The last thing I need is noisy neighbors judging us for every move we make. It’s been a hell of a day—hearing the words terminal and three years. I refuse to believe it. Doctors aren’t God. There’s only one of those. And even then, it’s a maybe. I’m not so certain about that anymore. Either way, I’m doomed. I refuse to think more than I need to about a situation that can only be lose-lose.

  I return to the meal I know I’ll have to force-feed my husband who, on our way home, asked me to put him out of his misery. I’m not sure if he was serious and there’s a part of me that thinks he knows. “I’ll do no such thing,” I said. “We’ll fight this to the very end. Besides, who are they to tell us how to live?” He hadn’t agreed—only shook his head.

  But I refuse to give up. There’s still life in him. Ten minutes after we got home, he asked me to get him a new leather belt. He told me that if we are back to eating meat, there’s really no harm in it. On that, I told him no. It’s no wonder he thinks I’m crazy—everyone does.

  I hunger for the old days back. I shoot an evil eye at Blueberry and instantly regret it. It’s not his fault. A parakeet certainly can’t control the rate a tumor grows or ailing kidneys. A bird caged can’t do anything about nosey neighbors with endless questions. A caged bird.

  I walk into the living room, opening his cage. He flies out, circling the still ceiling fan. Eventually, he perches on a picture frame from Abraham’s graduation. Wiping a tear from my eye, I move to the window beside it. I open it first, then the screen; I wave goodbye to my silly bird and walk back to the kitchen. Fly free.

  Vegan

  Chapter Seven

  Woe to you who laugh now, for you will mourn and weep.

  Two weeks later

  I CAN BARELY BELIEVE my eyes. I stare at my laptop, scrolling through a list of numbers and readings I’m only starting to understand on Rancher’s electronic medical file. His proteins are where they need to be. It’s the first time in nearly six months we’ve had a good lab report. And with the freezer now bare, I have no option but to stop. He needs more meat.

  How the hell am I going to do this? Where? Who?

  The police have been by, looking for Ginny. But only once have they been by, and it was only part of a welfare call probably driven by Susan Anderson. I’ve seen nothing on the news. There is no crime scene tape in her yard. The only sign of her missing is the wilted vegetables on her makeshift farm stand. I try not to think of the eggs and wasted baby chicken corpses. Even the ones I tried to save by moving them to my hen house never hatched. It was too late for them.

  I could do it. I have to do it. Hell, there’s no choice. It’s God’s will. He wouldn’t have allowed it the first time if he wasn’t okay with it. I can’t stop now. I’ve come too far.

  I’m a natural killer. All human beings are. But it doesn’t mean I like it. Most times, the things we are required to do out of need aren’t pleasant. I’ve come to know that no matter what moral code one lives by, part of life is breaking the rules. I sip at my coffee, trying to figure out who to kill next. I need them to be close. Or, at the very least, I need them to come to the property. I can’t bring a wagon to the grocery store and pick up an evil-eyed cashier. It needs to be a neighbor or someone I can access easily. But that would be suspicious with two of them missing...

  “Hey, hon,” Rancher slides into the living room and kisses me on the forehead.

  “How you feeling?” I slam my laptop shut. He winces, as though he knows there’s something going on but doesn’t have the interest in naming it. He probably thinks I’m having an affair.

  “Good.”

  “Good, good? Or good better than yesterday?”

  He shrugs. “Good in general.”

  “Well, your labs look better.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. Do you want to see?”

  “No. I don’t care. I trust you.”

  If there’s one thing Rancher hates, it’s technology. He’s forever calling utility companies asking why they won’t send a paper bill. He has no interest in going green and can’t get his head around paperless or online billing. I’ve learned to pick my battles with that one. I swallow my guilt at his words—I trust you—and am tempted to spill it all. If he knew what I’ve been up to, he might even help me.

  No. You’ve really lost it now. He has integrity. He can hate people all day long, but he couldn’t kill. He’s not you. Smile and keep your mouth shut. At least he’s feeling better. Laugh now; cry later. This isn’t the time for confessions.

  “Do you want to go out today? We could go grab lunch or something.” The moment the words leave my mouth, I regret them. If we go out, he’ll order a burger made of beef from a cow. I won’t be able to stop him. He’ll think he’s been doing it all along. No fucking way am I letting him kill an innocent animal. People are evil, not them.

  “No. I want to work on the garden. Besides, we really shouldn’t spend the money.”

  Thank you, God—you fucking exist. Amen. “Yeah. Good point.”

  “What’s your plan today?”

  “Well, the animal stalls need cleaning. I thought about doing that.”

  “No. I’m okay. Let me do it. You’ve done enough.” He makes a muscle with his right arm. His bicep, in spite of it all, is still firm. “I’ve got this.”

  I laugh, reminding him he isn’t going anywhere until he eats something.

  “Jesus, you’re like a Nazi. I’m not even
hungry. Soon, I’ll be fat if I keep eating like this.” He pets his perfectly flat stomach with both hands and turns to walk out of the kitchen.

  “I highly doubt that,” I say, guessing his current weight to be well under 170 pounds; a mere fraction of his normal 220. “Give me a second. I need to check on Jake’s plane tickets. Then I’ll make you something.”

  “Bacon.”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “We don’t have any. Besides,” I say, curtly, for a reason he can’t possibly understand. “Think of the pigs.”

  I’ve got to get more meat. And fast. ...Rebecca. Rebecca Johnson. Tonight.

  “For Christ’s sake. You change your mind more than your clothes.”

  “I’m a woman. It’s my prerogative,” I laugh. “And bacon’s expensive. By the time I get this ticket bought, we won’t have a grocery budget left.”

  He shakes his head. “Fucking kids. How much longer do we have?”

  “How do you not know this?” The second the question leaves my mouth, I feel bad. I never seem to remember that his medications can screw up his head. For him, it’s hard to pinpoint things like the kids’ birthdays or ages. “Three more years,” I quickly add, hoping he’ll let it go.

  He does.

  “Sick of this. And if we’re gonna start eating meat again, why not sell the herd?”

  “No. Not happening. We’re going to work on grants. We can make this work, I know we can. I talked to a few people at the P.E.A.C.E. association today. They gave me a bunch of links. I will send them to you and get started on them tonight. Stop trying to look backwards. You aren’t going that way. We aren’t.”

  He pulls out the tall oak chair at the end of the kitchen table. With one hand on his stomach and the other on the back of the chair, he sits down. He’s breathing hard, and I know something’s wrong, but Rancher isn’t the type to want a fuss when he’s in pain.