Of Cattle and Men

by Ana Paula Maia

He’s not proud of what he does, but if someone has to do it, then let it be him, who has pity on those irrational beasts.

‘The worst thing about slaughtering cattle is looking into their eyes.’

Two enclosures, one for cattle and one for men, standing side by side. Sometimes the smell is similar. Only the voices on one side and the mooing on the other distinguish the men from the ruminants.

Not one glimpse of the unbridled horror behind something so tender and delicious.

‘As long as there’s a cow in this world, there’ll be a guy willing to kill it.’ ‘And another one willing to eat it,’

They’re all killers, each their own kind, performing their role in the slaughter line.

And so, by eating Christ’s flesh and drinking His blood, he feels part of Christ. But it never occurred to him that by eating the flesh of those cattle and drinking their blood, he would also become part of the animals he slaughters every day.

The dead cow cannot be saved. Not even he, who is still alive, can be saved.

Just as cattle resemble one another, the same seems to happen with men. It’s difficult to tell them apart.

‘They were fleeing the predator,’ says Bronco Gil. ‘There were no predators,’ snaps Helmuth gruffly. ‘You still don’t get it, do you Helmuth? Don’t you understand who the predator is?’ says Bronco Gil, glaring at him.

‘Edgar, they’re just animals. They have no free will. They don’t think about suicide.’ ‘I think they’ve grown fond of us.’

Those who eat are many, and they are never satiated. They are all men of blood, those who kill and those who eat. No one goes unpunished.