“Nobody’s gone up there for the past five years,” the old grizzled man said to Andrea and Paul.
“Are you sure?” Paul asked, “My uncle sent me a letter, and he gave that place as the address.”
“Old Rome is up there all right, but he’s a bit of a hermit. He’s got his own solar panels and water and grows his own food. He never needs nobody.”
Andrea asked, “He is not some crazy man is he?”
“No, we never hear anything bad coming from there.” He coughed and spat. “He is a hippy though. Believe in all things organic.”
Paul said, “Sounds like a harmless fellow. Guess there is no harm in going up there.”
“Let’s get some food first,” Andrea said then went to the freezer and dug through the food inside. She brought beef cuts, a chicken and a string of sausages to the counter.
Paul stared. “What do you need all that food for?”
“Since we are out here in all this lovely fresh air, I thought we might do a barbeque.”
Paul concurred: Andrea was right. He should have thought of bringing something up, but it slipped his mind.
Once they were back on the road, he was glad that he had rented a four-wheel drive because soon the clay path disappeared under a bed of weeds. Just before dusk they climbed a low mound and looked down to see a quaint cottage nestling in a shallow depression in the hill slope. To one side was a waterfall so deep that it threw sprays into the air and hung a rainbow in place. Paul saw that there was no way down for the car.
A thin old man in threadbare cotton shirt and faded pants came up a staircase which had been carved into the side of the hill. He squinted and called, “Is that you Paul?”
“Yes, Uncle Rome. I’ve brought a friend with me. I hope you don’t mind.”
“The more the merrier, I suppose,” he said and limped towards them. “Let me help you carry some of those.” He picked up the grocery bag and almost immediately dropped them. “What is that smell?” he demanded.
Andrea said, “We got some meat at the store for a barbeque. The man there swore that they were fresh.”
“I don’t want none of that in my home. I am a vegetarian.” Again he picked up the bag, but this time he threw it down the ravine.
“Are you insane?” Andrea screamed, “That was dinner.”
Without bothering to respond, Rome turned back to the staircase and led the way down. Behind him, Andrea nagged and whined. She couldn’t believe he threw away the meats. Did he know how much they cost? She had vegetarian friends too and they let her eat whatever she wanted. He should show her more respect.
Andrea continued her tirade even as he showed them into the cottage. Finally Rome said, “I have some meat. If a barbeque means that much to you.” Then he walked out to a shed in the back.
Paul glared at her, but all he got in return was a triumphant smile. “See,” she said, “all you need is a little persistence and you can get anything you want.”
He shook his head. “You really should learn to back off a little,” he said before he stormed out of the cottage and went to the shed, where he found Rome chopping firewood.
Without turning, the old man said, “You know how to start a fire?”
“Yes, sir. My dad taught me. I’m really sorry about what happened, Uncle Rome.”
“That’s alright. After you’ve started the fire, come back here and help me prepare the meat okay?”
“Yes, sir.” Paul walked out with an armload of wood and arranged them in a shallow pit in front of the cottage. He soon got the fire going with some tinder and scrap rubber. A chainsaw sputtered in the background then its sound disappeared into the bass of the waterfall.
Andrea came out, put down a pot filled with water and root vegetables, stretched her hands over the fire and said coyly, “Where’s the meat?” Paul threw an ember close to her feet. She hissed, “Make sure it’s not rat meat. I will eat anything but rat meat.”
Paul glared at her then walked away. He stepped into the shed and stared in disbelief. On the tool table was a bloody chainsaw, and lying next to it was an arm that had been sawn off. Rome looked up from where he was sitting, his face pale and sweat glistening on his brow. Around the remaining stump of his arm was a tourniquet. The room reeked with the smell of iodine.
Rome said, “Good. You are here. I’m afraid you’ll have to chop that thing up.”
Paul trembled. “I couldn’t. I couldn’t,” and he sobbed.
“Use the electric knife. It should work good. I’ve charged it this morning.” But Paul shook his head and mouthed an inaudible ‘No’.
From the fire pit, Andrea called, “Paul! Where’s the food?”
“She’s hungry, Paul. You best feed that woman before she starts to nag again. God knows what I have to cut off next.”
Paul wiped his face on his shirt and picked up the knife. He cut the arm crosswise and stripped off the skin by cutting it away. When he reached the hand he looked up, dazed and unsure.
Rome said, “Chop it up into little pieces. Get rid of the nails though because they are a bit gritty. She can put what’s left in her stew.”
Paul nodded, half-horrified and half-tickled by the idea of feeding parts of his uncle to Andrea. Once done, he arranged the pieces on a metal tray and brought them out to the fire.
“About time,” Andrea said as she got up to transfer the crosscuts onto wires placed atop the fire. “Obviously these aren’t rats.”
“No. They are not,” Paul said without any emotion in his voice.
Andrea took the tray from him and poured the bloody contents into the now bubbling pot. “See, isn’t this nice? Where’s your uncle?”
“I don’t think he will be joining us.”
“Why? Is he crying in some dark corner because he had to kill an animal?” She laughed, but when Paul turned to leave she said, “Hey, I was just kidding. Come back here.” She stood up and called, “Tell your uncle there is vegetables in the stew.”
When he didn’t respond, she shrugged and returned to her cooking. From a window at the shed, Paul watched her eat.
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