5
“Gringo, what did you send me?”
“A gift.”
“I kill heads, I don’t breed them, okay?”
“Just keep her for a few days and then we’ll have ourselves a barbecue.”
“I don’t have the time nor means to keep her for a few days. I don’t want her.”
“I’ll send the men over tomorrow to slaughter her for you.”
“If I want to slaughter her, I’ll do it myself.”
“Then it’s settled. I sent you all the papers in case you want to sell her. She’s healthy, all her vaccines are up to date. You can also cross- breed her. She’s at just the right age for reproducing. But most important is that she’s an FGP.”
He doesn’t answer. El Gringo tells him that this female is a luxury, repeats that she’s got pure genes, as if he didn’t know it, and says that she’s from a consignment that’s been given almond-based feed for over a year now. “It’s for a demanding client who orders custom-raised meat,” he explains, and says that he breeds a few extra heads in case any die. El Gringo says goodbye, but first he clarifies that the gift is intended as recognition of how much he values doing business with the Krieg Processing Plant.
“Right, thank you,” he says and hangs up in a rage. In his mind, he curses El Gringo and his gift. He sits down and looks at the time.
It’s getting late. He goes out to untie the female from the tree where he left her. She hasn’t taken the rope off her neck. Of course, he thinks, she doesn’t know she can. He moves towards her and she begins to tremble. She looks at the ground. Urinates. He takes her to the barn and ties her to the door of a broken and rusted truck.
He goes into the house and thinks about what he can leave her to eat. El Gringo didn’t send any balanced feed; all he sent was a problem. He opens the fridge. One lemon. Three beers. Two tomatoes.
Half a cucumber. And a pot of leftovers from some meal, which he smells and decides is still good. It’s white rice.
He takes a bowl of water and another full of cold rice out to the barn. Then he locks the door and leaves.