Tender is the Flesh(15)
The shorter applicant points to heads that have been branded with a green cross. “What do the green marks on their chests mean?”
“Those heads have been selected for the game reserve. The specialists examine them and pick the ones in the best physical condition. The hunters need prey that challenges them, they want to chase after the heads, they’re not interested in sitting targets.”
“So that’s why most of them are males,” the taller man says.
“That’s right, females are generally submissive. They’ve tried with impregnated females and the result is very different because they become vicious. Every so often we get requests for them.”
“And what about the ones with the black crosses?” the shorter man asks.
“They’re for the laboratory.”
The man tries to ask him something else, but he keeps walking. He has no intention of saying anything about that place, about the Valka Laboratory. Even if he wanted to, he wouldn’t be able to do it.
The employees examining the shipment greet him from the cages. “Tomorrow the heads that have just arrived will be taken to the blue cages and from there they’ll go directly to the slaughter,” he tells the applicants, as they go downstairs and walk to the box room.
The smaller man slows his step to look at the heads in the blue cages and motions to him to come over. The man wants to know if the heads are going to be slaughtered that day. “Yes,” he says, and the man looks at them silently.
On the way to the box sector, they pass special cages that are red in colour. The cages are large and each of them contains a single head. Before the applicants can ask, he tells them that this is export-quality meat, that these heads are First Generation Pure. “It’s the most expensive meat on the market because it takes many years to raise the heads,” he says. Then he has to explain that all the other meat is genetically modified, so that the product grows faster and there’s a profit.
“But then is the meat we eat completely artificial? Is it synthetic meat?” the taller applicant asks.
“Well, no. I wouldn’t say it’s artificial or synthetic. I’d say modified. It doesn’t taste all that different from FGP meat, though FGP is upper grade, for refined palates.” The two men stand there in silence, looking at the cages containing heads that have the letters FGP branded all over their bodies. One set of initials per year of growth.
He notices the taller applicant looking a little pale. It’s not likely he’ll be able to handle what comes next, he thinks, he’ll probably vomit, or faint. He asks the man if he’s okay.
“Yeah, I’m fine. I’m fine,” the man answers.
The same thing happens every time with the weaker applicant. The men need the money, but the money is not enough.
He’s so tired it could kill him, but he keeps walking.
11
They enter the box sector, but stop in the lounge, which has a large window that faces the desensitization room. The place is so white it blinds them.
He has them wait there and the shorter man asks why they can’t go in. The taller man takes a seat. He answers that only authorized staff wearing the required uniform can go in, that all the necessary measures are taken to ensure the meat isn’t contaminated.
Sergio, one of the stunners, waves to him and then comes into the lounge. He’s dressed in white, and has on black boots, a face mask, plastic apron, helmet and gloves. Sergio gives him a hug. “Tejo, where have you been, mate?”
“On the meat run, dealing with clients and suppliers. Let me introduce you.”
He goes for the occasional beer with Sergio. He thinks he’s a genuine guy, one who doesn’t smirk at him for being the boss’s right-hand man, who’s not trying to get something from him, who has no problem telling him what he thinks. When the baby died, Sergio didn’t look at him with pity, or say, “Leo is a little angel now.” He wasn’t silent around him, not knowing what to do, and he didn’t avoid him, or treat him any differently. Sergio hugged him and took him to a bar and got him drunk and didn’t stop telling him jokes until the two of them laughed so hard they cried. The pain was still there, but he knew that in Sergio he had a friend. Once he asked him why he worked as a stunner. Sergio answered that it was either the heads or his family. It was the only thing he knew how to do and it paid well. Whenever he felt remorse he thought of his children and how the work enabled him to give them a better life. He said that even though the prohibition of original meat didn’t eliminate overpopulation, poverty and hunger, it did help fight them. He said that everything has a purpose in this life and the purpose of meat is to be slaughtered and then eaten. He said that thanks to his work, people were fed and that was something he was proud of. Sergio kept talking, but he couldn’t listen any longer.
They went out to celebrate when Sergio’s eldest daughter started university. He asked himself, while they raised their glasses in a toast, how many heads had paid for the education of Sergio’s children, how many times he’d had to swing a club in his life. He offered Sergio the chance to work by his side, as his assistant, but the man was blunt: “I prefer striking.” He valued the answer and didn’t ask for an explanation because Sergio’s words are simple, clear. They’re words that don’t have sharp edges.