7BACON AND BLOOD
"Aw, man. Mamaw used to cook mmm… the best bacon in the world, but I's just scraping along in comparison," the man said, and then sighed, "You gotta know what it's like, though. I mean, I didn't mean to be this way. I don't want to disappoint you, but you ain't nothing special. I's just trying to give you a good last meal, y'know?"
The girl strapped to the chair let out a low moan, but the gag stifled any real response. She was covered in brown splotches of drying blood and almost all of her was duct-taped to the peeling custard-coloured kitchen chair. The house around her was dilapidated and groaned, as if alive. It was situated in the middle of farming country, Texas. Even if she screamed, no one would hear her. Even if she ran, no one would find her.
She knew this as well as the man making bacon knew this.
The man picked up a piece of raw bacon and made it dance in his fingers a moment, "Y'know, I used to be embarrassed by this. Raw bacon. Now, I know that seems odd – actually, let me assure you, I truly know it is odd, but then, isolation breeds odd folk. You should see the Henleys, down the road 'bout thirty miles. Bitch is having her brother's baby. I may be a lotta things, but I ain't no hillbilly dick-sticker…"
He bit into the raw bacon and looked out through the window to the red and yellow expanse of farming land before him. The barbed wire fences looked like sutures in ruined skin. The man chewed as he spoke, "But I digress. When I was seven, I used to think there'n something wrong with Bacon. Big Chett – that's my daddy, by the way – Big Chett used to make me crawl under the tables during dinner, 'cause I was the youngest and we didn't have enough seats to feed us all. Why, just under where you's sitting, I used to take my meals there. Iss just, whilst I was down there, well, you can hear all them murmurs you're not s'posed to hear. And I heard Big Chett talkin' to my mamaw, mutterin'. I heard him doin' that a lot."
The girl let out a low, keening noise. The man's attention snapped to her, and he took another bite of raw bacon, "But I'm still fuckin' digressin', ain't I? I's always thought of sex as something pink and white, limp and cold… Kinda like… Raw bacon, I s'pose. The way you'd hear Big Chett grindin' way on Mamaw, well, you kind of got the impression it was a most undignified of affairs. 'Aw, baby! Aw, baby!' So I always kinda 'ssumed there was something filthy 'bout raw bacon."
The man seemed to mull something over a moment, "Seemed wrong to have them preach to us every single day in home-school that we weren't s'posed to fuck. That it was a sin 'less you did it for procreation, 'cause I could hear them goin' nearly every night an' there sure as fuck weren't more 'an five of us!"
"But then, that's life," the man said, putting the rest of the bacon in his mouth, "'Specially when you come from God-Fearing folk. They do what they do, and they try and raise you different. They lie to you to try and make you better. Iss 'cause they want a better life for us, I reckon. Make us more pure, or make us stay pure. Who knows? Big Chett said to me, one night when we were out buryin' this calf that'd died, he said, 'Little fella' – that was his name for me… He said, 'Little fella, there's three rules you need to be alright. One, hurt life before it can hurt you. Two, don't get swallowed by all that fem'nist bullshit. Women don't know what they want, iss why God made us to help them. Eve came outta Adam, and she's the reason why we's all ploughin' fields 'stead of being looked after by the sweet Lord.' And he said, 'Three, the Law don't know shit, and if the Bible don't say iss wrong, screw it."
Halfway through his monologue, smoke had begun to creep in turrets from the frying pan. The sizzling noise made it obvious it was burning.
The man turned back to frying the bacon, "Well, holy shit! I burnt this lot crisp! Me, yabberin' 'way. Guess I'll have to make some more. Sweetheart, you get to live a little longer! Thank whomever you're prayin' too. It musn't be my Lord, though, 'cause I haven't been struck dead yet."
The girl was seventeen. Her blue eyes followed the man as he left the room to rummage through the pantry. She wanted to struggle desperately against the duct tape, but she was raw all over. Just breathing hurt.
"Now, where was we?" the man said as he returned with more Bacon, "Mmm mmm mmm, gotta love the smell of bacon, even when it's burnt to a crisp. My mamaw used to burn it half the time, she was so stone-blind drunk, the crazy bitch. Even in the mornin'! Don't know where she got it from, though, but I reckon she was makin' moonshine. She went blinde one year, after I'd left, and though the 'ficial reason was somethin' like she took the Lord's name in vain – ayuh, and would you b'lieve most of by siblin's bought it? Anways, the 'ficial answer was God, but I reckon it was somethin' in the moonshine. Even I's not enough of a dipshit to ever try that, ne'er was, even when I's seventeen."
The man began washing the fry pan of the black gunk that clung to the bottom. Smoke still hung in the air. Outside, a lone raven cawed.
"I woke up to the smell of bacon most mornin's, burnin' or not. We usually had 'nough bacon to go 'round, and if we didn't, Big Chett would fin' a reason to punish one of us. Punishin' was what you could pro'ly imagine: hooks, belts, coat-hangers. Black eyes an' cigarette burns. Gave my older sister, Missy, one for lookin' at a boy in Church too long. Big Chett'd always been awful pr'tective of his women, you gotta understan'… We didn't get to eat meals, for punishment, either, 'til another siblin' fell outta grace with him. So's it was economical, I s'pose. I went ten days without, once, 'cause no other siblin' was willin' to take my punishment away. First time I ate, again, well my belly couldn't handle it! I threw right back up onto my plate, and then I was right back in Big Chett's bad graces…"
The man was scrubbing rigorously with steel wool, but he was looking out into the distance, where the Kansas sun hung to the West in the sky like a grease stain on a shroud, "Mmm, yessir, them were rough times. Rougher 'an rough. I'd been 'bout ten, eleven, an' that was when I started to get the dreams. I called 'em nightmares at firs', 'cause they were what I understood other people's nightmares to be like, but for me, they were actually sweet, sweet dreams. Blood and guts. I don' mean to squick you, but yes'm, they were like somethin' outta a horror show, on'y more vivid. I's always 'member the firs' one. I peeled a person's skin off their head like an egg. I was eight, but the hands that were doin' it, well…" the man put his hands out in front of him, so they partially blocked out the Kansas sun and cast shadow's across his face, "they were man's hands. The girls in the dreams ne'er 'specially mattered, they's just like an eisel to an artist. They don't mean much 'til you touch 'em."
The man finished washing the frying pan and began drying it with a dirty rag. He leant back against a wall opposite the girl and said, "Am I hurtin' your feelin's? Musn't be good to know you're gonna die. Or, it might… You can try an' fin' some 'propriate last words. Like, mmm, maybe a poet'y verse or somethin'. I'll let you have las' words, I promise. I'm all about death rights, truly am. Missy ne'er got death rights, but you will. All my girls do. See, I give 'em a last meal, and I give 'em last words. I let 'em know to begin thinkin' 'bout last words. I don't usually give 'em this sort of song-and-dance, though, this kinda chat, but you'll be dead soon, 'nyways, so you'll take all my secrets, s'well as my family's secrets to your grave."
The man looked back at the girl. Her fringe clung sweaty to her forehead.
His eyes seemed to soften a moment, "Missy used to sit there, y'know. She's sittin' in that very chair when Big Chett began beatin' her. We all got hidin's, but this one was worse. It was 'round the time I hadn't eaten for so many days, I'd lost count. I saw Missy goin' off into the distance one evenin' when Big Chett and Mamaw went off to adult church. Least, that's always where they said they were goin', but…"
Suddenly, the man's face twisted. He threw the frying pan to he ground. The noise made the girl jerk against the duct tape convulsively. She shrieked against the gag but the man didn't hear it.
He slipped slightly down the pea-green wall, his face twisted in agony, "Aw, man, I didn't mean for it to happ'n, though it serves her right for runnin' 'round with a nigger! I hadn't eaten for days and all the other siblin's were on their best behavior! I just sat 'neath the table all night, listenin' to them eat! Aw! I's just thought she'd gone to go play with the newborn lambs, which we weren't s'posed to do. I jus' thought I'd get 'er on that, tell Big Chett and get a decent meal for once! My stomach – you don't understan' the hunger… And I was 'xpected to do all my chores, too, dizzy-headed. I couldn't see. I knew my body, I knew I's dying! An' I was just gonna go catch her doin' it, an' wait 'til Big Chett got home and tell 'im and then everythin'd just be fine. Missy was puttin' it on, anyways, packin' on the pounds, and I kin'a thought I was doin' her a favour, y'know?"
The girl had ceased sobbing. She stared at the man in front of her with wide eyes. Fear seemed to swim through her.
"But she went and she met this nigger who sometimes worked on the farms 'round here. He'd go from one to 'nother, bas'cally beggin' for any work he could get. An' my Pa, Bigg Chett, he'd been good enough to even let the nigger sleep in the barn! For free! An' I was standin' 'neath the bale of hay, watchin' 'em in the barn an'…" the man let out a curiously strangled, dry sob, "My belly rumbled an' they were too busy to notice an' I just ran back to the house. This house. My house."
The girl was still.
"An'… I mean, I didn't… But Big Chett was home and he was mad… And he was screeching, 'Where've you been, boy?! I said stay in the house and y've been out! An' I would've thought you'd be tryin' harder to get back into my good books!' An' I was mad, too! Mad he hadn't noticed Missy was gone! Mad with hunger, too, mad an' dizzy an' almos' faintin'… I mean, I'm pretty sure I's near collapse, so I jus' hollered, 'Why don't you go find Missy and tan her?!' An' Big Chett kinda just looked 'round the room at the res' of the siblin' and he realized she wasn't there and he said, 'Where's Missy?' An' I said, 'She's been gettin' tang with the nigger that lives in the barn!' An' my father went to raise his fis' at me, but he must've 'membered somethin', maybe somethin' he'd seen Missy do that sudden'y made sense. An' he lowered his han' and he said to Mamaw, 'Get this boy some bread. I'ma gunna go look in Missy's room a moment.' An'… I was just so relieved… An' when Mamaw and the siblin's and I sat down for a supper, I's too busy eatin' to think… An' I could hear Big Chett, rummagin' 'round Missy's room, but my jaw jus' worked and I kept on swallowin' 'cause I hadn't eaten since fuck know's when. I needed to eat, y'know?!"
The man blinked, and with it, his mind seemed to calm. Emotion washed off his countenance. His face smoothed. He looked at the girl blankly, "'En Missy came in, an' her hair was mussed, an' she saw Big Chett was home an' we were eatin', and her mouth made an 'o' for jus' a momen'. Then she seemed to have realized Big Chett wasn't there yet. She musn'ta heard the racket comin' from her room or somethin', 'cause she sat down all calm-like an' said, 'Where's Daddy?' An' Mamaw jus' stared at her. So'd all of the other siblin's. I's too busy eatin'. Missy fluffed her hair and she said, 'Mamaw, can I have a piece of bread?' Mamaw's eyes darted to the ceiling, where the noise was comin' from, and she said, 'You want white or brown bread?' One of my Mamaw's better jokes, but it wasn't the place or the time. Missy jus' stared an' 'en her hand kinda tripped to her belly. Big Chett came down the stairs screamin' all of a sudden an' he wen' wild when he saw Missy 'ere. He was wavin' 'round this little pregnancy kit an' he was sayin', 'You's gonna have a nigger baby?!' I don' even know where Missy got the test from. Mamaw gasped and then, like a knee-jerk rea'tion, reached straigh' for a glass of whiskey. An' I jus'…"
The man kicked the frying pan away from him, and his voice was wet with emotion again, "I jus' kept right on eatin'! My father kep' on beatin' Missy and I jus' assumed it'd be alrigh', like she was jus' gettin' 'nother lickin'! As the other siblin's looked at whatever Big Chett was doin' to Missy, I scavenged the pieces of bread off their plates an' stuffed 'em into my mouth. I could hardly hear Missy cryin', or then, chokin'. I finished the last piece of bread as the rest of the siblin's started cryin'. I turned 'round and Big Chett had Missy all bundled up un'neath him and he was jus'… It was like my dreams. Y'know? It was 'xactly like my dreams! On'y it was my sis'er and I was still… It still 'xcited me, seein' that! An' when she wen' all limp an' the other kids were screamin', I jus' couldn't. Blood was wet like spit on the floor. Big Chett looked at me an' I looked at Bigg Chett, an' it was like we were kin… Like we both knew. So I's helped bury Missy. Her body was all pink and white, limp and cold… An' as we were buryin' her, near where we buried the calf, Big Chett turned to me an' he said, 'You's my favourite son.'"
The man smiled goofily, his eyes clouding over for a moment. Looking back at the girl wrenched the look from his eyes, and for a moment, something rather like compassion flittered across his features, like a shiver against a waterface, "You's look 'xactly like Missy. I couldn't believe you said okay to me at the bar. I's thought for sure you'd've known. Women's intuintion and that. That always works 'gainst me. I may have a pretty face but I's also got a cosmic stink. Women are like dogs, stupid bitches, they can pick up on it…"
"Obviously, you couldn't," the man said, looking back out to the Kansas sun for only a second before he went back to the stove, "An' I s'pose that's part fate an' part my God workin' 'gainst your's. If you b'lieve in God, that is."
The man turned on the oven, "Strangest things 'bout athiests. Their main defense is all the bad stuff happenin' to 'em proves God don't exist, but they don't seem to reckon the reason bad stuff is happenin' to 'em is 'cause they're athiests."
"But I'm losin' my manners," the man said, "this is no manner of talk for the dinin' room table. We's got to get you your las' meal, and then jus' get this over with. I'm not usually dramatic like 'is, with all my girls, but tonight's special, see. 'Fore I brought you here, maybe a week 'fore, I was diggin' 'round, lookin' for the money Big Chett buried somewhere 'round here, 'cause cashflow's runnin' tight, an' I foun' Missy's body. Or skeleton. An' inside her belly was this tiny, brittle, baby skeleton. She must've been much further a long than Big Chett thought, maybe even eight months along, 'cause that baby was bigger 'en they usually are… I wonder what she was plannin' on doin, if one day she was just gonna pop it out in the middle of homeschool an' say, 'well, how'd that get there?' Aw, stupid bitch…"
The man looked outside a moment, at the sun, which now was dropping towards the horizon of yellow, barren land. He turned back to the girl and grinned, "But, fuckin' fucker fuck! I've digressed 'gain, keep on digressin', don' I? Le's get you your las' supper prepared."
The man slapped a piece of bacon onto the frying pan. The sizzle seemed to sear itself onto the girl's very consciousness. Smoke began rising from it. The man looked over his shoulder at her, "How's 'em las' words comin' 'long?"
an/ gahhh. this is the first draft of 'blood and bacon'? anyone got any criticques/admonishments/lamentations/confessions to add with a lovely review? i return reviews always.