The entertainment at noon was the slaughter of three bulls. Actually, two cows and a bull, but who's being picky. The event tomorrow--the dedication of a clinic to serve the Tzeltal people of Ocosingo, Mexico--is a three bull event. That means 2500 paper plates and napkins, a boatload of rice and beans, and women making tortillas literally all day today.
Two of the bovines were killed before we got to our perch on the upstairs porch of our "apartment" (another story). The third was being dragged/coaxed/beaten out of the field and into the shade for slaughter. Every time the cow moved, the men would whoop and whistle and she/he would stop and dig in his/her hooves or simply lay down. Kept thinking "what would Temple Grandin say?"
Two bovines were artfully skinned and cut into pieces. The meat was taken to the outdoor kitchen where women from local churches will prepare it for tomorrow's feast. The third portion of tomorrow's feast was tied tightly, laid on his/her side, and prepared for a slit throat...a necessary way to kill when you don' t have something to hang the meat on for the blood to drain out. Everyone working on carcasses paused when time came for the kill. My son got the honors...probably more to be laughed at, but he was willing and excited. FYI, cow hide is very tough. It takes muscle to break skin. (His Facebook comment, "I know I can't stab through a belt, but for some reason I thought when it was on the cow it would be like butter.")
After the initial laughter over Adam's surprise at cow skin, work stopped; people grew quiet and still. It could only be described as a respectful wait while the life drained out of the animal. The Bible school choir was practicing elsewhere on campus, so we have this still life: cloudless blue skies, gentle wind, human statues, strains of Hallelujah, Hallelujah drifting over the rooftops. We watched. A tired helium balloon floated about three feet off the ground, weaving in and out of the bystanders. Bienvenidos it read. Welcome. It floated through and off into the trees. No one reached for it, not even the children, who studied it, but didn't touch.
Vultures circled and sat on fence posts. Dogs begged to be invited to the feast, but the birds drove them away. They were the clean up crew, though not much was left. Someone from the village arrived and took the hides. In about sixty minutes, the smell of cooking beef and the promise of community feasting was all that was left.
Not exactly the memory I expected from the week.
No comments:
Post a Comment