Mercy

"Whats the mercy for?"

He nearly says it with a growl - just nearly though. His eyes are a bit too soft for me to be worried. There's something behind them, nerves maybe?

He's playing with the knife in his hand, and I think that there might be a tremor present. He's all talk - always has been - and he twists the blade in between his fingers like he's playing a game.

It is a game, just not the one he has in mind.

"They have a conscience, too, Jack." The deer is bleeding out just a few feet away. The snow is pink, like the color of cherries. Or strawberries, Jack likes those. He's chewing on his lip, like he's unsure again.

"Shouda shot it in the gut." He grumbles under his breath, "woulda been cool to see it twitch."

"And then the meat would have been ruined. Do you want to chew on buckshot? Do you want a bullet in your gut? Don't be stupid."

"Dad isn't actually gonna make us eat it!" He protests. He won't step in the pink snow. "Looks like crab juice on ice, ya know, the ice at the supermarket. Kinda smells like it too." He's still playing with the blade, and he has a scrunched look on his face. His nose is wrinkled, and he's smelling death. There's nothing else in the air.

The storm last night cleared the air. It washed away any pollution from campers, and the river is running clean. I'll have to come back down to get a few gallons to bring to the cabin. It'll be nice to have some of the stream, freshly boiled, instead of water from the well. Juliet will be able to do laundry in the river, too. Laundry always smell freshest when we wash it like that.

But, now, we're out of meat. Juliet needs to practice preserving meat and canning it, too. We can't keep going to the market, Dad says, we need to rely on ourselves.

"Hold the hind legs," I motion for him to grab them, "spread them, don't drop them."

"I have to touch it?" He nearly squeals.

"What happened to showing no mercy?"

"Paul," he whines, "it's eyes are still open. Don't make me touch it!"

"I thought you were tough. Dad said you should be the one doing this, but I'm gutting her for you. I'll skin her for you. I just need you to hold the hind legs. If not, I'll tell Dad."

"Don't!"

"What's the mercy for?" I mimic him. He's got that crease on his forehead, but he goes and grabs her legs. He's looking at her face, his eyes following her blood. I got her right under her ear, a good spot to hit. She didn't feel anything.

Jack had dropped the knife to the ground, and I go to pick it up. He watches what I do, but I know it's only because he doesn't want to look at the cherry snow anymore. He watches me circle her privates, not enough to tear the skin, and he flinches when I do it again. The blade sinks into her a little too easily, and as soon as the circle is done, I drag the knife forward right along her belly, all the way up to her chin.

There's cherries everywhere now, and I can see Jack's knees wiggling. He's holding her legs just fine though, so I go and reach my hand in. It's hot, it's sticky, but Dad told me just to ignore it, so that's what I do now.

I take her heart and lay it by my feet. Then her lungs, liver, kidneys, and all those twisty intestines. I use the knife a little, but most of it comes easily. "Paul?"

"What?"

"What are we gonna do with those?" His voice is quiet, and his face is drained of all color.

I shrug my shoulders, "Leave 'em. We don't need them."

"Won't Dad be mad?"

I shake my head, "Nah. We'll leave 'em for the mountain lions. Better hurry up here though, don't want them coming early and ripping your head off. I bet they've already smelt the blood."

His eyes widen at that, and he gasps. He almost dropped her legs, but he tightened his grip again as he composed himself. There goes Jack again, trying to be strong, trying to be older than he really is.

He's just a stupid little boy, but he's good at dragging her through the snow. Our gait is awkward: me at the deer's head and him in the back, but we weren't too far from the shed.

"Do you want to take her head off?" I ask it casually but that might have been the wrong approach because it looks like Jack is the one jumping out of his skin. "I take that as a no."

"No!" He flinches at his own voice, "I can do it!"

I cock my head a little, but I hand him the ax. "It's sharp, only a few swings will do the job. You know where to aim?"

He nods, sticks his tongue out, and I notice that there's blood on his boots. The first swing lets out an audible crack - a real nasty sound that makes my body break out in chills every time. Jack doesn't look any different, and he's already dragging the ax out of her skin to haul back up behind his shoulders.

The next two swings are quieter. They don't do anything to either of us, and her head is gone with the third. Jack drops the ax, and he looks to me. I nod.

Together we tie her feet to the rope that's attached to the banister and pull. Jack has helped Dad and I do this before, so he's not so shell shocked. As she hangs, Jack's getting queasy again.

This is the part where Dad would always tap him on the shoulder, say 'good job, kiddo,' and send him outside to go meet up with Juliet and Ma. This was always the end for Jack, and his eyes are frozen on me.

Her eyes are watching us, and they are not empty. She stares at me as I cut the skin around her ankles with the knife, slicing at the muscles and yanking her fur downwards. I yell at Jack to help, and he starts pulling too, only stopping when I have to cut a little more at ligaments - I think that's what Dad calls them.

Once we get the skin around her belly, it slides. The blood acts as a lubricant, and we're finished within minutes. Jack's shaking. I'll have Juliet come grab her hind in a few hours.

There's little spots of cherry on Jack's skin, mine too. He keeps catching her eyes.

"Wanna name her?" I ask. I have to clean the blood off the knife and the ax before we hike back to the cabin, but I can tell Jack is done.

"No." He's barely speaking, and I think he's gonna be pissy with me for making him do his chores. We all hate our chores, but Dad'll be mad. Besides, Jack won't be complaining in the morning.

"Fine, I'll name her." I place the ax back in place, put the knife in a belt loop. "We'll name her Lady. That's a nice name. Or, would you prefer Hope?" Jack won't look at me, just Hope's eyes.

"Kick that out of the shed, we don't need it." I order, "but be nice, Hope didn't deserve this, but you do know that it had to happen this way."

Jack nods. He doesn't pick her head up though, and I have to do it. I place Hope at the base of a tree, and I know that she'll be moved soon enough. Animals, Dad, something will move her. Jack will never see her again, and I tell him to say goodbye.

He doesn't. He starts walking ahead of me, and his footsteps leave little cherry stains in the snow. They start to fade, eventually, and I follow after him. I guess he's not so tough anymore. He stopped pretending. That's a good thing.

I don't want false bravery. I don't want someone who doesn't pretend to feel. We killed Hope, and Jack needs to feel that. He took her head off, he peeled her skin off like she could not feel it. But, Hope's eyes watched us. I know she felt it still. I know that Jack knew that, too.

We need mercy in this art. Jack'll know that all too well soon enough.

Back at the cabin, Jack and I share a bath. I tell Juliet to go clean the hide, to put it away properly. After that, I get a bowl of cherries for Jack to eat.

In the morning, I'm woken up with the smell of breakfast in the air. Juliet and Ma are cooking, and Dad is sitting at the table waiting to be served. I take my seat next to him, my deserved place.

"Morning, Paul."

"Good morning, Father."

He nods, pleased, and Ma let's us know that the meat is done. Juliet sets down the plates, then the forks, in front of every chair. Ma pours us all glasses of juice, and sets them down. Jack finds his way out, and he sits down next to me.

"Morning, Father." Dad grunts, unhappily.

Ma serves us all some grits, and Juliet puts a slab of meat on each of our plates. "It's deer for breakfast." She's happy, it's one of her favorites.

"It's Hope," I clarify.

Ma and Juliet take their seats, and we wait for Dad's approval before we start eating. He enjoys Hope; she made an amazing breakfast. Jack, however, is not eating.

Dad has noticed too, "Do you not like it?"

"No." He is filled with guilt, but we both know what Dad will say next. We know that after that, Jack will be forced to eat Hope. There was never any other outcome. When Hope was born, this was her only fate: to be our breakfast.

"Just try it."