Devolution: A Firsthand Account of the Rainier Sasquatch Massacre(27)

I could be reading this completely wrong. I know I am. You and I talked a lot about projecting and I’m sure I was projecting my own guilt of spying on Tony. He didn’t have anything to feel guilty about. He was going for help. He was doing that for us! And the way he acted in front of us. He was tired, that’s all. Poor guy’s probably been up all night. I’m sure once he gets a good night’s rest, he’ll be back to the old Tony, the real Tony.

Did I just write “real”? What does that even mean? I shouldn’t be doubting him like that. I feel guilty now just writing this part down, just like I felt guilty watching him disappear back into his house.

That was when Mostar tapped my windshield.

“Katie!”

I practically jumped out of the seat.

“Katie!” She was whispering loudly. “Quick before it leaks through!”

She was holding a Whole Foods bag, something bulging at the bottom with a spreading red stain.

I reached for my door, realized I’d put on my seatbelt (habit?), then followed her into my house.

Opening the door, she rushed past with a whispered, “Quick, shut your blinds!” She ran over to the counter. “I would have done this at home, but I need you to see it.” She reached into the bag.

My back teeth locked at the first hint of bloody fur, then a protrusion, long and thin. An ear. She told me to get out a bowl and a wide pan or a cookie sheet, and the sharpest, smallest, thinnest knife we had. As I turned, she added, “Oh yes, and some rubber gloves. We don’t know if it has fleas or ticks.”

I didn’t want to look, didn’t want to acknowledge what I knew had to be coming. And it did. I turned back, gave a pair of gloves to Mostar, and tried to keep my eyes averted. But she wouldn’t let me. “You have to watch.” She snapped on the gloves, slid the dead rabbit out into the saucepan. “You have to learn every step.”

I can’t see death. You know that. I’ve told you about that time in New York when I couldn’t walk through Chinatown with all the ducks hanging in the windows. I told you about how I can’t even eat at any of those restaurants with the lobsters in the tank because it feels like death row. I told you about when Dan and I went out to Catalina for Valentine’s Day and I got seasick down below because our spot on deck had this dead fly crusted to the railing with one of its wings flapping in the wind.

I know it’s hypocritical. I eat fish and chicken. I wear leather and silk. I enjoy all the benefits of killing without ever having to do it myself. I know all this but I just can’t. I can’t see death.

“Look!” Mostar demanded as she held up the bloody rabbit. “You can’t miss this.” I was so light-headed, so sick to my stomach, I didn’t even think to ask why. Why can’t you be the animal killer and I’ll take care of the garden?

It was similar to the rabbit I’d seen running before. Grayish brown fur, long ears, white feet. Big brown eyes. Open eyes. Looking right at me.

As she held it up, I could see the wound marks on its belly and back. Mostar smiled, without looking at me as she reached for the knife. “The trap worked! I dug a hole right by the apple tree, lined the bottom with sharpened sticks, leftover chopsticks just sitting in a drawer. I made a roof of twigs and leaves and baited it with apple chips and the last of the maple syrup.”

She held the rabbit up by its head, over the sink, then massaged her hand down its body.

“We have to squeeze out all the pee from its bladder.”

She then laid it out in the pan, on its back with the knife at an angle to the chest.

“Just pray that the sticks didn’t puncture any of the organs. If they leak out onto the meat, it’ll taste terrible.”

I grabbed the end of the table, steadying myself, as Mostar sliced into the fur.

“From the neck down to the anus,” she said. Then setting the knife down, she stuck her fingers right into the incision, and started to peel the skin away.

“So far, so good. I don’t smell anything.”

I felt the bile rise.

“We’re also lucky that I heard it thrashing around in there. If I hadn’t gotten there in time to snap its neck, it might be too stiff to work on.”

I burped a metallic sting.

“You need special care with this step.” The blade cut into the bloody wound. “Not straight down and not too deep so you don’t accidentally pierce an…oh…here we go. Through the heart and…yes, the intestines. You smell that? At least we got to it early enough before the contents could saturate the flesh. We can still wash it, and with a little extra spice, maybe some paprika or cumin…or Vegeta. You can pretty much save anything with Vegeta.”

Some organs were pink, others gray. They came out easy, one slow, gentle pull.

“Here, this one is for the parts we nicked…”

WE!

“…oh, looks like we got the stomach too.”

Both bowls filled with the slippery little bits while she went to wash her hands in the sink.

“Can’t waste anything. Can’t afford to now.”

Back to the fur, peeling it away.

“See how you can pull the legs right out? Just like removing your trousers. Grab the foot…look…just like so…with one hand and pull the leg out slowly with the other.”

Both hands on the counter now, my mouth filling with hot saliva.