No Internet Month Diary 2017 (part 9 - I witness a murder)

19th December

Yesterday I had a massive headache as I drove down to Arrabe. I had to sit in the car with my head in my hands for a while. It was just outside the butcher shop.

A young bull was in a trailer, kicking at the bars. He knew his time would soon be up. I think he could sense it. He stopped kicking for a moment and looked at me imploringly, as if to say – Please help me. Get me out of here! I thought about setting him free, imagining him running through the streets of the town...

'Sorry my friend' I said with my eyes. 'I can't help you. Not today, not now.'
'Some friend' he snorted, and resumed kicking at the bars.

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I can't remember if I had any acid yesterday, or today. This scientific investigation is out the window anyway. I don't know what I'm doing any more.. Aim, Method, Results, Conclusion. That's how you do a scientific investigation. I can remember that much from school, if nothing else.

I don't know if the acid has got anything to do with my headaches. I don't know if it's my teeth either. After all, toothache is supposed to be in your teeth isn't it? Why would I be getting toothaches behind my left eye and in my left temple? Probably after I've got no teeth left, they'll discover it was in my brain all along...

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Still holding my head – massaging my eye and my temple, I did what shopping I needed to do. The girl in the baker smiled at me. I smiled at her and then we both looked away, embarrassed at what the look held.

I don't know what the chances are of a guy from the Jewish village on the hill, hooking up with an Arab girl from the town down the hill. It may happen very rarely round here. I can imagine the sort of stir it would create in both communities – not unlike the one it would have created if I'd freed that bull from its cage. And there's also the language barrier.

Going back to the car, the butcher was trying to coax the bull out of the wagon and into the concrete enclosure he has at the side of his shop. If I was the bull, I wouldn't want to go there either. The sight of the meat-hooks hanging from heavy chains would not set my mind at ease, or convince me that this was not to be the setting for some gruesome theatre in which I was about to play the central, tragic role.

The man himself looked like a bull. Wide, muscular shoulders, back, neck and arms. He called his son to come and help get the reluctant beast out of the cage. The son, about thirteen years old, was like a younger version of his father. He knew just what to do.

Together, father and son, using ropes and pulleys, dragged the young bull out of the wagon and tied the ropes so that it was splayed out on the floor – four ropes pulling each of its legs in different directions. Now the bull gave up the fight and resigned himself to his fate.

The son picked up a long knife and handed it to his father, who was standing over the animal, looking grim. The father took the knife and then with one swift movement, sliced across the animal's neck. With a final groan, the bull reared up his half severed head and then dropped back down onto the concrete floor, twitching a for a little while before becoming motionless. Dead meat.

The butcher looked at me. I looked at him. I nodded my head slowly, not knowing quite what to say, having just witnessed a brutal murder – but at the same time, a man plying his trade, passing on his knowledge to his son. I could see he took pride in his work, and rightly so. He was undoubtedly skilled and experience at what he did. His shop was clean and orderly. It was undoubtedly better than some industrial abattoir – at least in some ways. I couldn't have done what he did any more than he could probably build a guitar.

'How was my shochet?' he asks me. (Shochet is the Hebrew word for the ritual slaughter of animals according to Jewish laws of kashrut, which is the same as for Islamic rules of halal – using a sharp knife across the throat). Of course, I appreciate seeing someone work, when they really know their craft – and I wasn't about to do an Earthling Ed on the man.. so Iooking grim myself, I said, 'Very quick. Peace be upon you.' And then went on my way, thinking less of my headache and my other worldly troubles.

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This is Earthling Ed

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You can read my 'No Internet Diaries' from 2015 and 2016 at:

https://nim2129.wordpress.com

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