He stands at the counter, eyes glossed over, mouth curiously agape, body rigid. Thwack! His spell broken by a cleaver smashing into the chopping block, violently dividing a large section of meat.
Mind no longer wandering, Linder gazes lustfully at the fresh kill just a few feet away. Still coated in smears and splotches of red, that exhilarating smell gently caressing his senses. His salivary glands redlining.
A man wearing a blood-stained apron carefully wraps a generous clod of the bovine flesh and drops it in front of the perturbed Swede.
“Be after that sorghum later.” the butcher reminds.
Linder - burdened with his troubling thoughts - nods, grabs the package and stumbles out the door. For the entire walk back, he drifts into fantasy - squeezing the parcel tightly, imagining things so foul and profane - he would never dare speak them to another living soul.
Into the store, his eyes meet with those of the old man. He stands frozen just inside the doorway.
“Hell’s the matter with you?”
Linder had been caught daydreaming in full abandon.
“Bring it here!” barked the shop-keep.
The young man hurries to the counter, sets the meat order down and rushes to the store room. The old man burns holes in Linder’s back until he’s out of view.
Hours later, the butcher leaves with his grains, it was closing time. Linder sweeps up for the night while his boss goes over the ledger. The younger man returns the near worn-out broom to the back, stopping to glance his coat and lunch pail.
“Better come see.”
“What is it?” asks the bitter elder, eyes still on the page.
“Looks bad.”
The old man grunts, throws himself down from his stool and around the counter, making angry steps towards the problem.
“You’re so goddamn helpless, don’t know why I ever hired you!”
He stands in the small enclosure, looking around, then at Linder.
“Well what is it?
“Here.” Linder says, pointing to a broken shelf upon which a cracked glass jar sits.
The shop-keep bends down, leans in.
“This is what you bother me for, ya dumb bastard?”
He raises up, whips around and is met with Linder’s forceful right hand. A cloth soaked in ether covers the old man’s mouth and nose. Linder spins him, pulling his body close, clutching tighter as the rag begins its work.
The man - clawing at Linder’s arm, slowly giving in to the potion, falls limp. The younger man’s heart racing - drags his employer to the back door, dropping his vacant body onto a huge pile of conveniently placed burlap sacks.
Linder finishes closing the store. He waits until dark before loading the tied-up old man into the wheelbarrow in the alley, covering him with the sacks and taking him home.
He belonged to Linder now.
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