So I went in there and the basement seemed like the best place. It was dark down there, and nobody would see my meat unless he went poking around down in that basement with a flashlight. So I left it down there and went home.

The next day I came back and there were rats, so I got some rope and hung it up where they couldn’t get to it. It was dark and cool down there, so I felt like that would be a friendly place for me. It was, too. My meat lasted down there until I had eaten just about everything. I’d come back every day or maybe every two days. Or twice a day, sometimes.

No, they thought he’d run away. The police do that a lot, say he has run away, because then they don’t have to look.

What you really need is a good freezer, but if you don’t have one, there is still a lot you can do. You can rent a locker, too. That is what I did for a while. I knew how a butcher would wrap meat. The paper they use and the tape. I got a guy at work to tell me.

So I got some. And when I had meat I would cut it up and wrap it neat and everything. Then I would take it to my locker and people would think that I had paid for a side or killed a deer or something.

But like I said, I still had a lot to learn about meat. Old people are not good, did you know that? They are not. Younger is better until you get down to about ten, Father. After that, younger is just smaller.

You take this old guy Paul, or Bradley or whatever his name was. He was my foster father for a while, and I never did like him because he was generally mad about something, and I swear, Father, I could taste his pipe tobacco. I got some ketchup from the supermarket-just taking it you know because I didn’t have much money then. I put that on the meat because it was a pretty color and I thought it would cover up the taste. It didn’t, and he was the only one I ever put anything like that on.

Sure. All of it because I didn’t want to waste him.

Well, they put me in a different foster home after that, because with him gone the lady had to go to work. Only I remembered the old place and came back for this one girl. She was really, really sweet. It started me wising up. Younger was better, and girls were better than boys. They are not so tough, they don’t have that boy taste, and the fat runs all through everything. That’s the good way.

No, I have never felt sorry about it the way you mean, but I kind of missed a few of the people afterward. Then, too, when it was somebody that I knew the police would come around sometimes and say when did you see her? Was there any reason for her to run away? All that stuff. It always made me kind of nervous, because I knew they would never understand. So it was better if it was somebody I did not know at all.

Of course, that was the trouble with Paul, the guy who used to sleep in that bunk. He was locked in with me, so they’d know right off. Besides, I’d only get one meal off him before they took the meat away.

Yeah. Sometimes I would get up when the moon was coming in through the window. I would stand beside his bunk and just look at him. How would this part taste and how would that part taste? Would it be better to boil the hands and feet? I knew I couldn’t do it, but it was fun to think about just the same. Some nights I would think yes, and some nights no. Just eat the fingers, chewing up the bones.

Only some nights he’d wake up and get mad about me being there, and then I’d have to shut his mouth for him.

No, it’s not so bad being alone. I walk up and down the cell, three steps this way and three steps that way. It drives them crazy. Then at night I yell out the window and listen. Nobody has ever yelled back, but if somebody ever does, I’ll get out. I don’t know how, but I will. You watch.

Oh, sure. I know all about those psychologists. They bring one in because they want to get rid of me, only I do not want to get sent where I will be with crazy people all the time. So I smile and answer all their questions right; what day is it and why am I in here and all that. It’s all the same, and by now I know it better than they do. No, I don’t ever hear voices, doc-only sometimes I wish I did. Well, doc, I’m me. I give them my name and tell them about foster homes and going to vocational school and all that. Only not about Paul, or Nancy, neither. After that I explain how I am innocent and it is all a big mistake anyway. By the time I’ve finished with them I know they will say, “Dull normal” when they get out.

Well, I am not a child molester no matter what the screws say. All right I guess I am a murderer, maybe. That part is probably right. Only not a child molester. No way!

Sure, I went to school. My middle school grades were not so good, so I went to Braciola Vocational. They had meat-cutting. It was really big there, and it was what I took. The teacher said I was a natural, and I’ll tell you, Father, if my old teachers at the middle school had seen my grades, they would not have believed them. I got out pretty close to the top of my class. Only I used to see this one little girl.

You know where Braciola is, Father?

Well, it’s right next to Glazier Elementary School. So when we went out to play softball or anything I would see the little kids playing there on the other side of the fence. If my team was at bat, I’d have plenty of time to look at them. There was this one girl, pretty and filled out nice without being too fat. You know what I mean? She looked tender, but she looked solid, too. I kept thinking how nice it would be to follow her home. Not close, you know, but just keeping an eye on her. See where she lived and all that. She’d be heavy, but not so heavy that I’d have trouble moving her around. I could even pack her in this one duffel bag I had. That’s how I thought while I was still at Braciola.

Only I never did get to follow her because she got out of school before I did. So I thought probably she rides the school bus anyhow, and what good is that?

She was so pretty! You should’ve seen her, Father. Those wide eyes and that beautiful, innocent little face. You would have wanted her just like I did.

How old? Oh, I don’t know for sure. Eight, maybe. Or she could have been seven. But so beautiful. And not big, but solid.

Father, I thought she could never be mine unless I could figure out some way to find out where she lived. Only I didn’t want to ask any of the other kids about her. You understand what I mean? They would have remembered later. So I just watched her and thought someday I’ll get one just like that.

You never know, Father. God arranges this stuff. It’s not us, and it sure wasn’t me. I got out of school like I said, and I got a job at the packing plant. I joined the International Brotherhood of Meatworkers and everything. This teacher I had recommended me, and anytime he recommended a guy, the Human Resources guy at the plant jumped at him. Everybody told me that, and when I applied and gave him my letter, I found out it was true. It said I was good-natured, hardworking, and reliable. On the next page it said I had a natural aptitude few students possess. That was the big finish, you know? I still remember it, and I’ll bless Mr. Johnson to the end of my days.

I was walking back home from work one day and there she was. I guess she’d been kept after school for being naughty, or maybe there had been some kind of special thing at her school after classes. Practice for a school show, maybe. Something like that.

Anyway, there she was, and I followed her. It was broad daylight, so I wasn’t planning to do anything at all. That day I just wanted to find out where she lived. I had this little apartment by then, and a nice new freezer.

So I followed her, and this car came along. The guy stopped and said her momma had sent him to get her and take her home.

Sure I could hear him, Father. You would be surprised how good my ears are. It’s funny because I have a lot of color blindness. I know because they tested me at Braciola Vocational. So you would think my ears might be bad, too. Only they are a lot better than most people’s.