The Flesh Eaters (9 page)

It is feeding time. Sawney Beane and Meg sit on the elevated platform that serves as their bed. Their children are grouped about them on the floor of the cave. The family’s diet includes vegetables and fruit, but meat is what they enjoy most, not only for the texture and taste, but because of the way in which it is acquired. Everything is eaten raw.

The older children eat like their parents, cutting away flesh with their knives and popping the pieces into their mouths. The younger children eat like dogs, crouching, attacking a thigh bone with their teeth. There is not much meat left, and two small children fight greedily for it, growling and grunting, snapping at each other with their teeth, clawing with their little fingers. Meg reaches down and gives each of them a hard slap.

After the meal, their bellies full, Sawney Beane and Meg lie down to sleep. Often, at these times, when the urge is strong in him, Sawney Beane will hoist up Meg’s dress. He will squeeze her spreading breasts, lower himself between her heavy thighs. His fingers will dig into the cleft of her buttocks. A few quick thrusts—and then he will roll off her and go to sleep. Sometimes he takes her from behind, pulling her up onto her knees; he likes to feel the great weight of her breasts hanging down into his hands. The children always watch this activity with interest.

Today, however, Sawney Beane and Meg just go to sleep, as do some of the children. Others groom themselves, in pairs. One child sits in front of another. The one to the rear examines his partner’s scalp, separating the tangled, dirty locks, looking for lice and other insects. These are picked out and crushed. Then the children exchange places.

The younger children play a game of ambush. One child is selected to be the victim. He or she dresses up in an absurd parody of a real victim, wearing many items of fancy clothing, all far too large, and loaded down with rings and necklaces. The other children stalk the victim, hiding behind barrels and piles of goods.

Then they attack, roughly, viciously. As in real life, the prey never escapes. Always, the girls play as savagely as the boys, giving and taking punishment with equal vigor and stoicism.

An evening: The older children are grouped in a circle on the far side of the cave, away from Sawney Beane. Their discussion is animated, but they whisper so as not to be overheard. Eventually they reach a decision and, after much shuffling, cross the cave to where Sawney Beane sits.

First Hunter leads the group, followed closely by his brother Second Hunter and his oldest sister, Girl Hunter.

First Hunter has grown into a tall, gangling youth who moves with considerable awkwardness. His sunken cheeks are accentuated by a large, bulbous nose that seems to spread over his entire face. Huge red pustules cover the pasty whiteness of his face and neck. His small, closely-set eyes reveal viciousness, but little intelligence. First Hunter is the leader because he is the oldest, but he lacks the ability for leadership and compensates with an overwhelming slobbering nastiness.

Second Hunter is small and dark, his body lithe and graceful. He is the most intelligent of all the offspring, and his hooked hose and bright, dark eyes give him the look of a falcon. He is smart enough to know that he must defer to First Hunter, but he has also learned how to work his own will through his older brother.

Girl Hunter is two years younger than First Hunter, one year younger than Second Hunter. She looks much like Meg looked at this age, except that her body is slimmer and smaller. She has lost the angularity of childhood, and with the changes in her body she has come to savor the new experiences and sensations that are opening up to her. She, too, is learning how to use First Hunter for her own purposes.

The children stand silently before Sawney Beane, uncomfortable as he pretends not to notice them. They shuffle uneasily until he raises his head and fixes them with a cold stare.

“What is this?”

They shrink’ back from the malevolence of his gaze. The silence grows even more oppressive, and then Girl Hunter pokes First Hunter to respond.

“We want to start hunting by ourselves,” First Hunter blurts.

Sawney Beane continues to stare, showing no reaction.

Seeing that her brother will say nothing more, Girl Hunter speaks. “We can do it. You know we can... we want to... it is time for us to hunt alone.”

After a moment, Sawney Beane asks, “Do you all want to do this?” All the children nod. “And you are certain you can?”

“You have taught us,” Second Hunter replies. “We have learned our lessons well. We can do it.”

The others chorus agreement.

The request comes as no surprise to Sawney Beane. He has known it would come eventually, and though he is reluctant to surrender any control, he sees the necessity if the family is to grow stronger and develop. He studies the faces of his brood before speaking again. “Very well. It is time.”

The children start to cheer, but he silences them with a glare.

“You think you know what to do, but this is not a game. This is real.” He points to First Hunter. “He will be the leader. The rest of you must do what he says. If any of you do not, you will answer to me, and you will regret it.”

“They will do what I say.” First Hunter gives a harsh, confident laugh. His tongue catches a dribble of saliva from his thin lips.

“And
you
will do what I say!” Sawney Beane snaps at him. “You think you are a good hunter. Do not forget that the best hunter is the most careful one. There can be no mistakes. If anything goes wrong, I will make you wish you had never asked for this chance. Now, do you still wish to hunt?”

A tremor of fear stabs through First Hunter, but he manages a hoarse “Aye.”

“Tomorrow, then. We will see how good you are.” Sawney Beane turns his back, dismissing them.

The children restrain their joy until they have moved away from their father. When they reach the shadows of the cave, their excitement bubbles over; they hit each other playfully and fight mock duels. They act like children who have just received permission to visit the fair.

A man and a woman stride along the road, leading a heavily laden horse. The man is in his mid-twenties, stocky, with a full red beard, an open, pleasant countenance and cheerful eyes. His wife is younger, blond and fair-skinned. Her blue eyes radiate a serenity that makes her pleasant features seem beautiful.

The couple stops to rest for a moment. “We have made good time,” he says. “We should reach your uncle’s farm before sundown.”

“I’ll be glad to see him again,” the wife responds. “He has always been good to me.”

“He is still good to you—to us. This is a great opportunity he is giving us, to live in his house and work his fields. Things are so difficult now in the South that I don’t know what we would have done without your uncle’s help.”

“I wonder if he has changed much? It has been many years.”

“If we don’t step lively, he will change even more before we reach him. Come along now, woman!”

She smiles, then leans forward to kiss his cheek. His face turns as red as his beard, and a grin lights up his face.

As the couple walks on, they are watched by a girl hidden on a hill overlooking the road. Now she turns and whistles down the hill, a prearranged signal. Immediately, there is an answering whistle from First Hunter, who is hidden in the bushes next to the road.

First Hunter is eager to begin the hunt, but nervous about doing it properly. He turns to the children grouped around him.

“They are coming. A he and a she. You know what you are to do. Go to your places and wait.”

The children start off, rustling the bushes and making a fair amount of noise.

First Hunter grabs one of the boys and twists his arm viciously. He savors the fear in the child’s face. “Make no sound. Anyone who makes a mistake will answer to me. Now go—quietly.”

The children move off silently, except for one small girl. She has been cleaned up and dressed properly so that, except for her paleness, she resembles an ordinary child. First Hunter turns to her. “You remember what you are to do?”

She nods.

“Be ready. They will be here soon.”

He leaves the girl and goes into the woods.

Moments later, the red-bearded man and his blond wife round the bend and see a small girl sitting in the road, crying frantically.

“Here now! What’s this?” the husband says.

“It’s a little girl. We must see what’s wrong.”

“Now, wife, we have a long way still to go. Let us not delay for things that do not concern us.”

“John! She is crying her heart out! We must at least question her.” John opens his mouth, but she cuts him off. “And do not contradict me!”

Her admonition is accompanied by a smile, and John surrenders with good grace.

“You always get your way, don’t you? Sometimes I think your heart is much too good, but perhaps that’s what made you take pity on me and marry me.”

They go to the child, and the woman kneels in the road before her.

“What’s wrong? Why are you crying?”

“It’s my father,” the girl says through her sobs.

“Dry your eyes and tell us what happened.” The young wife applies a handkerchief to the girls, eyes and nose until the wailing ceases.

“We were walking there, collecting wood”—the girl gestures toward the trees—”and he fell down and hurt his leg. He cannot walk, and I am not strong enough to help him.” The tears come again.

The woman puts her arm around the child. “Now, now. Don’t cry. John, we must help this girl and her poor father.”

“What can we do? I am not a surgeon.”

“Perhaps he is not badly injured. If you get him out to the road, someone with a wagon will come along to help.”

John is clearly unhappy. “I don’t think it’s a good idea. We must keep going. There are stories of bandits in these hills.”

“Bandits? John! She is just a little girl. I’m ashamed of you!” She turns to the child. “Where is your father? How far away?”

“Not far. He’s just in there. Please help us!”

“John?” The woman’s blue eyes implore her husband.

John sighs. “I suppose I’ll get no peace if I don’t. And you’ll keep us here so we’ll never get to your uncle’s.”

“You are a good man.”

“I hope I’m not a stupid man. Come along, child. Show me where your father is. My wife must wait here and hold the horse.”

John follows the little girl into the woods. Before he disappears, he turns to look back at his pretty wife. He shakes his head resignedly. The woman laughs and waves.

The little girl leads John a short distance into the woods. They reach a small clearing, where she stops. Puzzled, John asks where her father is. The girl says nothing, but turns and grins at him. Something in her smile—perhaps the way her upper teeth press into her lower lip—makes him very uneasy.

From behind the trees and bushes, other children step silently out and form a rough circle about John. There seem to be ten or twelve of these children. They take several steps forward, tightening the circle about him. John is frightened by their appearance, by what is happening. The silent children are all smiling, but the coldness of their eyes makes their smiles sinister. John whirls within the circle.

He starts to ask a question, but it turns into a grunt of pain. He staggers, then looks behind himself to see the cause of the pain. Knives have been plunged into each of his legs behind the knee. The two children who have stabbed him are standing there, grinning. The fact that they appear to be only six years old heightens his disbelief and horror. As the pain of his wounds intensifies, he begins to realize what is happening, he screams. His first thought now is for the safety of his wife, and he calls out to her as he falls forward onto his knees.

“Help! Help! Ambush! Flee! Mary! Mary! Help!”

His cries spur the children to action. Though he tries desperately to draw his dagger from his belt, two of the children catch and hold his arm. Then Second Hunter steps calmly forward, raises his sword high in the air and brings it down on John’s wrist.

Unbelieving, as though it were happening to someone else, John sees the sword cut through his arm, sees his hand, still clutching the dagger, fall to the ground, sees his blood shoot forth in a mighty red stream. He screams in agony, and is pushed to the ground. The children swarm over him, frenzied, stabbing whatever part of his body is available. John’s cries grow weaker, then cease as foaming blood gushes from his mouth. The children rain blows on him long after his lifeless body has stopped moving.

Waiting patiently on the road, Mary hears a scream; it is indistinct, but she recognizes her husband’s voice. Uncertain what to do, she runs to the spot where John went into the woods, then runs back to the horse. She looks wildly up and down the road. Though she sees no one, she herself is observed. One of the older boys, called Bloody Axe, is watching her from the bushes. He is amused by her confusion and fear.

Mary hears another scream, and though she is terrified, it helps her decide what to do. She rushes into the woods, in the direction from which the cries came. In her flight, she brushes close to the concealed boy, but does not see him. He smiles and follows silently behind her.