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Show Chick Sales 17 Ben eyes the b u l l . "He's a b i t on the puny side, Alf." "What i s n ' t these days?" Ben grunts. " I have to go to the bathroom, Dad." Herman cups two hands over his genitals. "Not now son. See this through." "I have to go." "It can wait." "But...." "Shut up, son. Now." Ben l i f t s the sledge hammer. Herman looks out the door. A l f 's bony knuckles dig into Herman's backbone. "Stop crying, right now." The hammer strikes. Ben jumps down and l i f t s the side gate. The bull rolls out of the restrainer, rests near a depression in the concrete floor. Ben grabs a t in cup from the ledge, unsheaths his knife, and slashes through spirals of brown hair from the top of the throat to the breast bone. The blood sheets into the trough and spatters Ben's apron. Herman puts one arm over his eyes. Alf pushes i t back down. Ben holds the cup at the throat, s l i t open in a V. Blood on the tin handle, blood on Ben's wrists and in the cup until i t overflows to coat Ben's rubber boots. He gestures his cup toward Herman. "You like some, l i t t l e boy?" and takes a sip as he walks toward him. "No, Daddy. Don't let him come near me." Herman grabs his father's thigh. |
