Magnus stared out of the window.
‘It’s not bloody quick enough, Bruno. I don’t want to wait another day. Another hour. Another minute.’
‘We’re doing everything we can, Mr. Magnus.’
‘I know that, Bruno. Just do more of it. Otherwise, it’s going to look very bad on your CV.’
Magnus lit a new cheroot from the one he was smoking and crushed the first one out. His eyes defocussed. He didn’t notice Bruno studying his hand as he smoked.
‘Will there be anything else, Mr. Magnus?’
‘No. But hurry up with that veal. I’m fucking starving.’
The more he understood of the Chosen and their language, the longer each day at the plant became.
But Torrance – usually his greatest supporter and protector when other stockmen were ridiculing his refusal to use the MMP buses and his insistence on wearing a backpack that must have weighed the same as a stunned cow – had changed. Instead of watching him work with his usual air of pride and pleasure, now Torrance’s eye had become critical and overbearing. It was like he was waiting for Shanti to make a mistake, willing him to. There was something else about Torrance’s manner that disturbed Shanti, a kind of mocking disrespect.
Torrance and Shanti stood on the steel balcony that overlooked the many stations on the MMP chain. Torrance leant on the railings only half surveying the activity on the plant floor. When he spoke, he didn’t turn and address Shanti face to face. The words went into the void above the ceaseless slaughter just loud enough for the two of them to hear.
‘Your stun rate’s dropping, Rick. Are you sick?’
‘No, sir. I’m fine.’
‘You’re not fine. It’s not fine. I’ve got the speeds for the last month logged right here.’ He lifted a clipboard from the railing but didn’t turn. ‘Want to see them?’
‘No.’
‘I didn’t think you would. Because you know what they’ll show, don’t you?’
‘Yes.’
Torrance was silent. He looked out across the factory floor but didn’t seem to see it.
His pause was filled with the sounds of the plant: the sighs and hisses of the Chosen milling in the crowd pens, the hollow knock of struggling knees and elbows on buckling metal panels, the pneumatic stamping of the bolt gun, the rattle of chains, the harsh breath of the scalding vats, the succulent drawing of blades through warm flesh, bearings in the high runners like curtains being closed, the snap of severed joints, the thump of body parts onto rubber conveyors, workers sharpening knives on endlessly rotating whetstones. The sounds of men using steel to transmute life into meat.
‘Why don’t you take some time off?’
Shanti couldn’t imagine anything better but he couldn’t allow Torrance to discover as much. It was difficult to make himself sound shocked, offended by the suggestion.
‘I don’t want to, sir. There’s no need.’
‘There is a need, regardless of what you think you want, Rick.’ Now Torrance turned to him and Shanti didn’t care for his expression. ‘I can’t allow chain speeds to drop when demand for the flesh of the Chosen is so high. Besides, we have standards to maintain. We can’t be seen to do a poor job. But very specifically, we can’t let someone like you, the Ice Pick, be seen to lose his way. You’re a legend around here, Rick. An inspiration to the other workers regardless of your habits – we all get by the best way we know how. I’ve got no choice but to take you off the stun while your rate of efficiency is still relatively high. That way you’ll be remembered for the good things you’ve done here. I wouldn’t want it any other way.’
‘What are you saying, sir? Are you… firing me?’
‘No, Rick. I wouldn’t do that to you. You’re one of the best stockmen I’ve ever seen. You’re a credit to MMP and I want to keep it that way. What I’m suggesting is that we gradually transfer you off the high-pressure jobs and on to something less stressful. God knows, I’ve seen plenty of stunners lose it over the years, Rick. I wouldn’t want to see that happen to you.’
‘What is going to happen?’
‘I’m going to move you to other areas of the plant and keep moving you until we find you a new niche where you’re as comfortable as you’ve been here in the main slaughterhouse all these years.’
Shanti was amazed by his reactions. Despite having hated the job since the first day and now having come to a new understanding that filled each working moment with revulsion, he found himself hurt, upset, rejected. He was being reduced from the man he had been to a smaller man, a lower man. There were tears in his eyes.
‘My God, Robert… I… I just can’t believe what you’re telling me.’
He searched Torrance’s face and thought he saw something there, something that showed Torrance did care what happened to him. Was it pity? A kind of sufferance?
‘Rick, listen. If it was anyone else, anyone else at all, I’d be sending them home to look for a new job. You’re different. You belong here among the herds, working your magic on them and, in time, we’ll find you a position you’ll fill as well as you have your position in the slaughterhouse. I’m saving your life, here, Rick. I wouldn’t keep another man on if he was in your position. Do you understand what I’m telling you?’
Shanti nodded, his throat too swollen to speak.
‘I’m sending you home for a couple of days’ rest. No arguments. It’s official. My report will say you haven’t been well. When you come back, I’m going to reassign you. We’ll find you a better job.’
Shanti looked at his boss with undisguised anguish. Tears bled into his beard and were lost there. Torrance’s face hardened.
‘Just go home. Now.’
Between the two daily milking sessions, after they spray-cleaned the walls and floors, there was plenty of time for the dairy boys to sit around, play cards and smoke. Conversation inevitably turned to their first night out on the town.
‘Betty’s got a serious fixation with my cock,’ said Roach.
They’d heard his tale about a dozen times. Maidwell cut it short.
‘That’s not what she told me, Roach. After you passed out, she told me she was looking for a man with a real weapon.’
Roach was scarlet.
‘I… I did not pass out.’
‘Do you remember puking all over the back seat of the bus?’
‘No,’ said Roach, indignant.
‘That’s because you passed out.’
Roach looked at Harrison and Parfitt, then back to Maidwell. They all nodded.
‘Aw, shit.’
‘Don’t worry about it, Roach. Everyone was sick. We just managed not to get it all over the work’s transport. The girls were nice enough to give it a sluicing out but the bus still stinks. Everyone’s calling you Retch now.’
‘Fuck off.’
‘Cool name,’ said Maidwell.
Parfitt grinned but didn’t speak. The night out with Torrance was still troubling him. He didn’t think he was the only one. None of them had mentioned the bullfights and he didn’t believe it was just because they were illegal.
‘Anyway,’ said Maidwell. ‘The point is that I was able to give Betty what she wanted. She’s… an energetic lady.’
Harrison: ‘She’s no lady.’
Roach slid down in his seat and pretended to scrutinise his hand of cards. He’d come so close with Betty and then blown it. He couldn’t help himself, though. He had to find out.
‘So, uh… did you fuck her?’
‘Course I fucked her. I was doing you a favour. I merely gave her what you couldn’t provide. The least a mate can do, eh?’
Everyone chuckled.
Roach reddened again.
‘Are you… you know, will you see her again?’