Sacrifice

June 11, 2011

A passage from my journal:

482 Kilograms. We led it head-first off the truck through a dark hallway into a dimly lit room, one bulb hung from the ceiling. The bull didn’t resist. I wondered if he knew what was coming. The butcher was dressed in all white, I was nervous. His front legs were tied tightly. The bull reared up on his hind legs, buckled in front, but regained his upright posture, snorting occasionally. The butcher and his aids threaded a second rope loosely around the bull’s hind legs and in one well rehearsed motion pulled the rope taught bringing the legs together and knocked the beast onto its side. It bucked once or twice, then lay still. The butcher showed Ahmed were to cut, grabbing handfuls of skin by the bull’s neck.

The knife was sharp and sliced deeply into the animal’s neck. Blood spurted out from the incision and poured onto the floor. With each huff more blood spewed from his neck, now in pieces. The bull may have died after a few seconds but it continued to huff and jerk long after its neck lay in bits on the blood soaked floor.

Skinning was done carefully and methodically, beginning with one long slice from the neck to the anus. The butcher frequently sharpened his blade, cutting the skin from the bull’s contorted body.

We raised the beast off the ground to remove his insides. Cutting and pulling the butcher removed everything inside the bull, careful to separate what was edible from what was poisonous or inedible. The majority of this animal will feed families around Ahmed’s farm and those who work the land. Only a small portion will be ours to eat.

The bull cost roughly 12,000 Egyptian pounds, about 2,000 US dollars, a new MacBook Pro. It will feed tens of families.

I wish the bull had been killed quicker, almost guillotine style. I would have kissed it first, made it comfortable, given it a hearty meal before its death, then said a prayer before opening its neck. It shat as we tied its legs, just before we knocked it to the ground. I wonder what he was thinking, eyes wide scanning the room, moments before the knife touched his throat.

The atmosphere was relaxed. Butcher and aids smiled easily as they worked, not sickly, just casually, it was another day’s work. Blood and sweat soaked clothing. A cellphone rang every few minutes.

SF