[Pt. 2 of 2]
So, after taking my ice-bath, I climb into the snow-white hybrid hatchback that is our company’s car, and I start its engine. Then I back out of the stall; yet I forget to activate the mechanical garage-door opener before doing so, therefore the garage remains shut while I’m driving in reverse and I end up breaking thru its door panels.
“Oops,” I say.
Now Monica Vitti bursts out our front door. She runs toward me and stops at the driver’s side of the hybrid and pounds on the glass. I roll down the window.
“Just remind me again what you meant by that word ‘exterminate’,” Monica cries; “I understand that you’re not intending to slaughter the entirety of the deer species, but I still don’t like the thought of ANY creature being harmed by a member of our co-op. That’s the reason I became an instructor of herdsmen in the first place: because of my deep love for animals. I truly believe the line from Blake that we inscribed over the lintels of our ranch-home’s door post: Every thing that lives is holy.”
“Oh, is that all that you’re worried about?” I sigh with relief. “I thought that you were running out here to admonish me for smashing thru our garage door again.” I point, and we both look for a few moments at the sight of the demolished panels burning on the driveway. “But if your concern centers upon the deer, then rest assured: they’ll be OK—” I take a drag on my cigarette. “By the way, are the others still sleeping?”
“Yes, they’re asleep.” Monica and I are referring to our fellow herdsmen, Fernando and Anna and Jeanette.
“You checked on them before coming out here?”
“Yes, I checked to make sure that they were all slumbering soundly in our bedroom before I left the house just now,” Ms. Vitti crosses her heart, to prove this assertion.
“Good,” I say. Now I lean out and look up at the nighttime sky, noting that the moon is full. Then, bringing my head back inside the vehicle very carefully so as not to muss my hairdo, I remark to Monica: “The moon’s still riding high in the saddle. All I’m gonna do tonight is help Mary Magdalene snuff out those deer, so that she can start turning a profit on all the garden supplies that she sells. If anyone calls for me while I’m gone, just take a message: tell them I’ll get back to them in five minutes; and assure them that if I take even a single second longer than that, I’ll render them my services for free.”
“Wait — ‘snuff out’ you say?” Monica Vitti looks exasperated. “I thought that you promised to corral the deer from Mary’s shop humanely, so that no one gets hurt.”
“I said ‘no primate gets hurt’ — haven’t you been hanging on my every word!?” I shout, undoubtedly disturbing all our neighbors. “Besides, corralling deer is an impossibility — Sir Thomas Wyatt warned us of this. All one can do is shoot them with rifles; then gut them and salt them. Wrap the meat in wax paper and freeze it. Turn their pelt into pants.”
Monica Vitti looks skeptical. “So you give me your word that you will limit your deer-killing spree to just the ones that are in Mary’s shop?”
“I give you my word,” I say this while I’m rolling up my driver-side window; I kiss my fingers and then place my whole hand against the glass that separates us, once the window is shut. Now I finish pulling out of the driveway and race off into the night with my tires screeching and leaving trails of flame.
§
Arriving at the Magdalene’s Houseplant Wholesaler, also known as The Refurbished Virgin Sun Parlor, I spot Miss Mary anxiously waiting outside the French glass doorway. The interior of the building is brightly lit, and I can see deer leaping about and grazing on the merchandise.
“Hi,” I say, extending my arm politely to the damsel, “I’m Bryan the herdsman; here to help.”
“Pleased to meet you. I’m Mary Magdalene.” (We shake hands.) “Thanks for coming over during the scary part of the night.”
“Nighttime jobs are my favorite kind,” I smile. “They almost always end up enjoyably. People get friskier, after hours.”
Mary blushes. “Let me show you to the sales floor, where the deer are.”
“Here,” I say, offering a firearm to my new acquaintance as we step into the establishment, “take one of my rifles.”
Mary looks shocked; “I don’t know how to operate one of these! I’ve never even loaded a rock into a sling shot; tho I’ve felled giants by other means,” (she winks,) “I’m afraid I was assuming that I could count on you to do all the hard work.”
I take a step back. “You seriously have never fired a rifle at a herd of deer indoors?”
“No,” Mary laughs; “is that a deal-breaker?”
I laugh as well: “No, we two will still end up in wedlock, I’m sure,” I then load both guns and get them ready for blasting. “That was a joke — sorry, I have a warped sense of humor.”
Mary has turned white as a ghost; but now she relaxes and laughs again. “Ooh, you had me worried,” she sez.
“Watch out,” I nudge her aside while holding both guns and squeezing both triggers.
Bullets fly throughout the atmosphere and lodge into all the invading deer. The villains drop like flies, whether they are in the act of leaping over the shelves that divide the aisles, or just getting ready to bite off and chew and swallow the flower of another plant. I then drag the carcasses out of the shop and onto the top of my snow-white hybrid. To secure them, I tie them up with hempen rope. Then I turn to Mary and say:
“Well, that’s the last of ’em. I’ll spare you the sight of me butchering and cleaning the corpses. But, if you’re interested, once I’m finished, I’ll send you some packages of freshly cubed venison on my sleigh. I always salt the meat thoroughly. It tastes a little gamey, but it’ll keep you alive.”
“Oh, thanks; I’d love that!” Mary Magdalene curtsies and blushes again.
“See you around!” I wave as I speed out of the parking lot with a tower of white-tailed deer carcasses on the top of my car.
§
“How’d it go” sez Monica Vitti, when I arrive back at our house. Then she looks out the window and sees the snow-white hybrid parked in the street with all the dead deer piled atop it. She blinks out teardrops initially, feeling sorry for the slain creatures; but then she toughens up and gets in touch with her inner carnivore: “Holy moly,” she sez; “that is a LOT of venison!”
“It sure is,” I smile. “I think I broke the world record.”
“Should we wake the others, so that they can help us process the meat?”
I think for a moment, then I say: “Nah, let ’em sleep. They need their beauty-rest. I’ll start hacking away at our score right here in the yard; it shouldn’t take me more than twelve consecutive hours, working alone without breaks. But, if you wouldn’t mind placing an order for about thirty more freezers, that will help, since we’ll need a place to store all this. I wouldn’t want the meat to rot; for then the poor fools would’ve died for nothing.”
“No problem,” sez Monica; “should I just order them online?”
“Yeah, and see if you can get a bulk discount and free same-day shipping.”
After a few seconds pass, Monica Vitti looks up from her computer and announces: “Alright, I’m done. They said they can get us thirty new meat lockers and have them delivered by eleven o’clock this morning. They’ll just dump them on our front lawn.”
“Is that a.m. or p.m.?”
“That’s eleven this morning.”
“Whoa! talk about lightning-fast service,” I say. “Guess I better get to work!”
“I got a really good deal, too — they had a ‘buy one, get one free’ special going on, which I was able to take advantage of.”
“Great to hear!” I say. Then I head outside with all my supplies. I have an assortment of knives, for cutting the meat; a salt dispenser, for seasoning and preserving the meat; and wax paper for wrapping up the meat. Then I load my sledge with the first hundred packages of venison and send it over to Mary Magdalene with a note that sez: “This is for you. Thanks for calling our Herdsmen Co-op. Yours truly, Saint Bryan.”
The next day, we receive a postcard in the mail from Miss Mary Magdalene. On one side, it has a full-color, well-lit photograph of herself posing apparently unclothed behind the fig leaves of The Refurbished Virgin Plant Shop in Southeast Paradise; and, on the other side is a message written in lipstick: “Thanks so much for all the deer meat. [Heart,] Mary! XOXO.” (Anna Karina explains to the rest of us herdsmen, since all of us are awake now, that the exes signify kisses while the ohs mean hugs.)
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