WHO’s HUNGRY? or THE ESCAPE ARTIST I had no idea what time it was when I woke up on the bedroom floor of my benefactress’s apartment but she wasn’t around anymore and her roommates were being loud in the other room, having an argument. (She must have covered me with a blanket and put a pillow under my head sometime after I had fallen asleep because I woke up equipped with both; and I know for certain she wasn’t around when I fell asleep there on her hardwood floor without these things because she had gone out with friends and had not invited me. This was no surprise though as I had never been invited to go out with her despite my most earnest wishes for it! I slept right next to her bed, which is a small one and one I had never even been allowed to sit upon until all this happened.) Anyway, being waked in this way, I neither tossed nor stretched, but listened briefly to the argument going on in the other room and I soon realized that it was me whom they were discussing and, what’s more, found that neither was on my side! I stirred and roused myself as quietly as I could and crept like a slithering snake to the door to put my ear against it. What I heard astonished me to no end: one of them, the first one, was saying it would be better to bake me; and the other, the second one, was saying it would be better to boil me in a broth! Wishing neither to be baked nor boiled, I dashed away from the door on my tiptoes—so as not to make any sound—to the window, which providence had left open for me. Ready to make my escape, I looked down and saw that I didn’t have my shoes on so I tiptoed quickly over to them—imaging to myself that I looked like a little devil scuttling across the room on his little hooves. I already had my socks on and I listened to the roommates again while I put on my shoes, and the moment I got my first shoe tied and my second shoe on, I heard the second roommate suggest they might snatch me up now and decide how to cook me later. The sound of an agreeing handshake and approaching footsteps followed. Luckily I was so close to the door that I was able to reach out and lock it without having to take any steps, before darting back to the window where I noticed that my second shoe had not been tied. And I could not jump out of the window with it this way, lest I roll an ankle and immobilize myself. Thinking fast, which is one of my gifts, I pulled my loose laces tight and tied them together into a single knot that I would fix later, when the coast was clear. Then, at the exact moment I grabbed the laces in my hands, the roommates began banging on the bedroom door and yelling at me to open it. I didn’t waste any time defenestrating myself, and I did so, I might add, with surprising grace, landing on my feet without tumbling, but using my hands to catch myself, like a kitty cat, I sprang up in a sprint and disappeared around the corner where the sun was. Having successfully eluded my predators, I tied up my shoe and found myself walking the busy city streets with nothing at all to do and much to think about. What struck my curiosity most was why the roommates had so suddenly wanted to cook me up after all these years of having never shown any desire to do so. Perhaps they were hungry and did not want to go to the store, or maybe someone suggested to them that I might taste good. But no, neither of those reasons made any sense. In fact, nothing made any sense—it was beyond any logical explanation, which confused me a great deal. So much so that I soon began to think that I might’ve imagined it entirely. After all, I had only just woken up and I might still have been dreaming. Thinking on it some I found that this was the only thing that made any sense. Having come to this conclusion I began to feel much better and even started to giggle at myself for thinking the roommates wanted to eat me! Strolling down the sunny side of the street laughing and laughing with the sun on my face and my soul light as a giddy bird, I saw that I was coming upon Elm Street and, like the dog salivating at the sound of a bell, I began to rub my belly in hunger. It was hunger for something specific: a goat-cheese sandwich from Collodi’s, which is on Elm Street, two blocks from where I was. Taking my wallet from my back pocket to see how much money I had, I turned the corner and counted thirteen dollars—which was more than enough for a goat-cheese sandwich. Then I was at Collodi’s ordering a sandwich from a lady who treated me a bit curiously, but not so much that it struck me (it only strikes me in hindsight) and then took to my seat in the corner, between a window and the kitchen door. Waiting, my mind began to wander back into fearfulness and I wondered if maybe I hadn’t just imagined the whole thing and that the two of them wanting to cook me was an actuality I would again have to confront. And if that was the case, how was I to escape being cooked? Certainly I couldn’t go back. No, I would have to find a new bit of floor to sleep on and I knew of no one who had a vacant bit of floor aside from my current benefactress. Besides there is no better benefactress than the one who benefits me now. And how was I to ever sleep again without a bit of floor to lie upon? Questions like these riddled my brain but by using proper reasoning I began to come up with a plan: First, I would have to find out for certain whether my benefactress’s roommates really wanted to eat me or whether I was simply in that state of complexity between dreaming and waking, where things get confused. But how was I to do this? I could not find out firsthand by confronting the roommates, for if they really did want to eat me well they probably could! Certainly they’d be capable of overpowering me, as there are two of them and both are much larger than the one of me. And I could not confide in my benefactress because I never knew where she went when she wasn’t at home. I would need to find her… But then my contemplating was cut short by a whispering I caught coming from the kitchen (had it not been a whispering I would not have heard it, for there is nothing to hear in chatter but much to hear in whispers) so I pricked up my ears and began to listen. There were two voices, the first wet and gruff like a drowning moose, the second was quick and light and like a tiny chicken and it belonged to the lady who treated me curiously at the counter. I distinguished these voices and what they were saying with little difficulty because of my astounding hearing abilities, and, to my great astonishment and dismay, made out that they, too, were speaking of me and of ways in which I might be cooked! “Can we slice and dice him first?” said the first, gruff voice. “We have to,” said the second voice quickly. “He’s too big to be fried all at once. We’ll have to fillet him though, no dicing—he’s not an onion, he’s got bones.” Hearing this, I paled white as a rat and scurried like one out of Collodi’s, back onto the garbage-lined streets without the predators noticing. I ran and I ran and a whole whirlwind of worries and wearisome possibilities flooded my mind and plunged me into profound distress. I shrunk into myself and walked along frantically, hurriedly, with my head bowed, down the side streets of our city,—which were scattered here and there with fellow passersby,—shifting only my eyes and never my head to look about my surroundings—inconspicuous, like a murderer, watching out for any who might attempt to make me their prey. I needed a safe place to lie low, outside the reach of they who wished to partake of my flesh. But, having no friends, I knew of nowhere to go aside from the bedroom of my benefactress and I couldn’t go there because that was possibly the most dangerous place of all, tied with Collodi’s. Unless, of course, my benefactress were around to protect me—but there was no way of knowing that. My thoughts continued on in this manner for about two minutes but were then interrupted by a small black dog appearing from around the corner I was coming upon. The dog immediately spotted me and screwed up his eyes and ears and then began sniffing at the air, at first curiously, then, almost in the same instant, quite ferociously. I understood at once that this dog also found me alarmingly appetizing, so I made a run for it down an alleyway to an escape ladder I spotted. I ran and jumped for it, and even took hold of it, but did not succeed in evading the dog’s hungry teeth which had fastened into the flesh of my right buttock. I cried out in pain and hurriedly tried to climb the ladder. Its teeth were really sunk into me and it dangled and wiggled around in the air and growling like it had a demon. I dropped from the ladder and the dog did not let go as we fell, so I grabbed the animal and ripped it from all but an apricot-sized chunk of my buttock that the dog took with it in its teeth and choked down violently as I shoved it in a filthy dumpster, slamming the heavy lid and cursing in great pain. I knew now that I had to find a safe place to hide that was completely secluded. The idea of climbing the ladder and hiding out on the roof occurred to me so I climbed up and looked into the windows to see if anyone inside might spy me. No one did but when I got to the roof and peeked over the edge I caught the sight of some roofers, working on the roof. Luckily they didn’t notice me and I was able to climb back down to ground. But once there I still had nowhere to go and the alley I was in was small and the dog was barking so loudly in the dumpster that I was sure someone would hear it and come to investigate. So I ran out of there lickety-split and as soon as I did, I immediately ran into a small throng of passersby. This left me no choice but to quickly slither through them; and I did so as skillfully as a pickpocket, for no one was able to detain me, though many, if not all, turned their eyes and noses to the air and started smacking and licking their lips as I hurried through them like a thief in a forest. Once through the throng and at supposed safe distance I turned back to see whether any were attempting to pursue me and saw that none had made any effort to do so. They were busy with something else—something quite revolting, even to me: each was taking a turn licking the hand and arm of a young girl whom I had happened to get my blood on! Taking licks and saying things like “Delicious!” “So tangy!” “So sweet!” “You could put this on anything!” “Tell me, honey, where did you get it?” and all other kinds of nonsense I didn’t wait around to hear. Instead, I sprinted off around another corner and did not stop running for a long time. I ran and ran and ran in no particular direction but changing my course every time I spotted someone until I got winded and had to slow down. Then, when I had slowed myself into a steady pace I realized that my instincts had led me in the direction of my benefactress’s apartment. I was not but a few blocks away. I began again to consider my situation and reasoned that instead of the whole city after me, which I hadn’t any doubt that they soon would be, I would only have the two roommates after me, who, as I stated above, could overpower me with ease—but, BUT, if my benefactress happened to be around, she could likely keep the roommates at bay, or perhaps help me reach safety in some other place, where people did not want to eat me. She was the only one who could help me! So I decided that’s where I’d go and when I was just two blocks away another thing happened which complicated my situation. The companion of the first roommate—the one who preferred to bake me—a man about my age, recognized me from across the street and ran over to me. This was very frightening to say the least, for I was still out of breath and could not outrun him; instead I froze up like a little rabbit in the spotlight of hunter’s shotgun as he ran up and pressed my shoulder, looking me up and down and deluging me with questions: “Hey buddy—huh? what’s this on you? Blood? Why are you out of breath? What’s happened to you? Tell me.” He raised his thin little eyebrows high above his dark, purplish eyes and scratched his stubbly cheek like he had a mosquito bite. “Well? Go on,” he said, but before I gave an answer, he inhaled a big whiff of the air through his angular, pockmarked nose, his thin nostrils turning up to reveal deep recesses that must have been the same shape as his soul. “Do you smell that?” he asked, licking his twig-like lips with his lizard-like tongue. “It’s astounding, that smell—wonderful! Where could it be coming from? Is there a restaurant around the corner? Somebody cooking in their kitchen—no but it’s a fresh smell, something raw, uncooked.” Then he fixed his eyes on me again, “tell me you know where it’s coming from.” “A new place down that way,” I pointed down a side street and started to turn away, hoping he would run off and leave me, but he didn’t fall for it. “So you lie now, too!” He shouted, slapping me on the back and walking with me, leaving his hand there on my shoulder. I don’t know what he meant by the ‘too’ but he said it probably just to push my buttons—but I was so full of adrenaline that none of my buttons could be pressed. “I was just down that way, ten minutes ago and there was no restaurant there! If you don’t know where it’s coming from you can just tell me that. No need to lie.—Oh but it’s so strong…” he tightened his grip on my shoulder and brought me to a halt, then he turned me around to face him—and face him indeed, for he brought his greasy, crooked nose to my cheek and started sniffing me. I immediately shoved him away and sprinted off as fast as I could but it didn’t do any good because I didn’t push him very far and he is much faster than me. But, then again, maybe it did do some good because instead of grabbing me again, he simply caught up with me and ran alongside, saying: “What’s the big deal? I wasn’t going to bite you! but it’s you—you that smells so good, isn’t it? How is it that you smell so good? Let’s have a lick, yeah? Just one or two licks, for a friend.” Knowing there was no use in picking up my pace, I slowed down, but none too drastically, and thought that the best I could do was to play the ignorance card, so I played it. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said shrugging. “Licks of what? Quit playing games, I’m in a hurry.” “In a hurry? But we’re going to the same place. Where else would you be going? Stop a second and give me just a little lick, enough to tide me over till we get back home. Then we can discuss all this further, with everyone.” “I’m not going there,” I lied, not knowing why I was lying. “Sure you are! Why wouldn’t you be?” I was so nervous at this point that my mouth spoke for me, without my commanding it. “The roommates want to cook me,” I admitted. “Cook you?” he said screwing up his eyes. “What kind of madness is that? Why would they want to cook you?” “The same reason you want to lick me!” “No, no,” he said, putting his fingers to his chin, “you would be much better raw. Why cook away all those wonderful nutrients? Let’s get home and discuss it.” “There’s nothing to discuss. You can’t eat me!” “Eat you? Well, no, not now, not here in the street. Only, I would like a lick.” “NO!” I shouted like a stubborn child. “You can’t lick me either!” “No licks?” he asked, astonished that I might deprive him of such a thing. “Why no licks? I won’t even use my tongue I’ll just dab my finger here on your pants like this, see—” and he reached out and succeeded in showing me, despite my best efforts to dodge him. Then he stopped in his tracks, straightened his back, and put his long finger into his mouth and I saw his stupid, purplish eyes go wide with a kind of carnal delight as he let out a sustained and satisfied “Mmm…” I started running again but he immediately overtook me and wiped his finger on my pants then stuck it in my face and said: “Try some! Seriously, buddy, it’s—you’re so good. What’s the matter? You’ll like it, I promise.” I twisted away from him like a wasp and I must have been frightened out of my wits because I screamed at the top of my lungs something to the effect of: “No! I don’t want to be eaten!” which turned out to be unwise for it drew the attention of some passersby and led them to approach us, sniffing the air like a pack of wild dogs. Seeing this, I fled at top speed to my benefactress’s apartment, the roommate’s companion close at my side, intermittently taking his finger from his mouth to reproach me for having been so loud and drawn so much attention, for indeed a small crowd had followed us to the building’s front door, but they did not come in because we closed it and locked them out. I flew up the four flights of stairs and stopped at the threshold of the hallway and the roommate’s companion, who was at my side, took another wipe of my blood, this time dabbing his fingers right near the source, which had now begun to hurt quite a lot. I winced. “What’s the matter?” he said. “Why’d you stop?” “I…I can’t go in unless my benefactress is there,” I said, formulating a new plan that would not work. “What? Yes you can, don’t be silly,” he said, wiping his finger on my pants. “I can’t. She won’t allow it anymore. You have to go first and make sure she’s there.” “Pah!” he laughed, slapping me on the back again. “You’re such a funny little liar. You’re afraid I and the roommates will eat you up without the protection of your benefactress—but what do you plan to do if she’s not home? Run out into the hands off all those people out there, gathered at the front door.” Here he leaned over the balustrade and looked out the window. “There’s even more of ‘em out there now. Look for yourself. No? Well come on. I promise you won’t be harmed, or nothing will happen till she’s home at least—your benefactress. I’ll make sure of it. What do you say?” His logic was sound. I had no choice but to walk down the hallway to my destiny. Tears welled up in my eyes and snot dribbled from my nose. We progressed a few steps, a few more, I shook my head like a seismograph and muttered ‘please, please, please, please, please’ over and over, praying that my benefactress would be home; then we were at the door and it opened of itself. Of course it didn’t really open of itself but a roommate opened it, I don’t know which one, but the door opened to reveal them both. When they saw me they screamed out in sheer delight as if they were little children whose father had finally brought home for them a long-wished-for puppy. I tried running off but the roommate’s companion snatched me by the back of my collar before I completed my first step. I was now at the peak of despair—a deluge of tears and wails came from my eyes and mouth and then my bones and muscles stopped working. I would have collapsed to the carpet but I was still being held by my collar, so I kind of did look like a dog when held by the scruff of the neck. Then they brought me inside, each talking over the other—I discerned nothing and fell for an instant into a profound and melancholic daze which was followed by a dead faint. My benefactress was not there. I came to my senses without having been eaten, though the three of them were crowded around me on the floor and had their fingers in their mouths and my blood on their hands. Then I noticed a chain around my ankle and I almost vomited. “Look he’s unfainted,” said the first roommate as I rose and scuffled as far away as I could, which wasn’t very far because the chain was short. “What are you so worried about?” asked the second. “He thinks you both want to cook him,” said the first’s companion. “But we do want to cook him—preferably in a nice broth,” said the second. “And make him all soggy!” the first shouted. “Soggy! It won’t make him soggy,” was the second’s dissent. “Just nice and juicy—so nice and juicy. Mmm…” and then they took more of my blood without asking for it. “I don’t understand why either of you want to cook him at all and ruin all his wonderful nutrients. To cook out all the goodness out of him and add things to him and all this nonsense, is to paint eyebrows on the Mona Lisa!—Don’t you think he tastes wonderful just like this? A little of his sauce as an appetizer, then we can just dig in when his benefactress gets here.” “She won’t let you eat me!” I shouted, having full faith in my convictions. “You’ll see. She’ll protect me. In fact, it would be wise if you unchained me before she gets here.” “Why wise?” asked the addled second roommate. “It’s only so you wouldn’t run away. She’ll reward us for not letting you run away.” “Besides,” said the first’s companion, “I promised I wouldn’t let anybody harm you till she got here remember? I’m good on my word, you’ll see.” “When is she supposed to arrive, anyway?” asked the second roommate, “I’m hungry.” “Nobody knows,” said the first. But at that very moment a sound was heard. “Oh, look,” said the roommate’s companion pointing to the door, “the door, it opens— Why hello dear lady.” It was true! My benefactress appeared before us carrying a basket of fruit which she gets from our neighbor upstairs who was a garden in her living room. I cried out in joy and began rambling on and on to her—probably incoherently—about all the troubles of my day; and the others all did the same, briefly. Briefly because my benefactress held up her hand which meant we all had to be quiet, and so quiet we became. “What on earth is that wonderful smell?” she asked and we all spoke up at once, only for her to silence us again. Then she pointed at me and said “Why is he chained up and bleeding?” Then we all began speaking at once again so she shushed us and asked me to answer the question. “Well, my most honored host,” I started, shakily. I was immeasurably nervous. “I woke up this morning and suddenly everybody wanted to eat me and I don’t know why! First the roommates wanted to eat me but I escaped out the window, then I thought it had all been a dream so I went to Collodi’s and the people there wanted to eat me, too! and then a dog ate a little piece of me and everyone wants to eat me and I don’t want to be eaten! And they—they chained me up so I wouldn’t run away but I don’t want to run away!” I looked up at her with my crying eyes. “Please say you don’t want to eat me too!” She knelt down beside me and sniffed her nose like a little bunny rabbit does and while she was sniffing the roommate’s companion interrupted and, pointing to my bloody leg, said “Try some! It’s—he’s so yummy.” Then he tried some more himself. This amused my benefactress and, when she tried some for herself, her eyes lit up like they were diamonds and she looked at me: “O my darling, but we could make a fortune with you!” then she turned to the others and said: “We mustn’t eat our dear little friend. No, he must be harvested!” “Harvested?” asked the second roommate, not quite understanding—though to be honest I didn’t quite understand either, none of us did. “We could bleed him for a pint per day rather than waste him all in one hungry go,” said my benefactress, dabbing her finger in my wound—it was painful but I bore it. “Yes but if his blood tastes this good,” the first roommate began, “then think how delicious the rest of him must taste once baked…a nice crispy skin would be such a treat—“ “Or juicy hunks of boiled meat,” interjected the second. “Or prepared raw, as is, uncooked and sweet,” came the third opinion from the first roommate’s companion. I couldn’t take it any longer—not for a second!—I shouted and raved that I did not want to be eaten and that they had no right to eat me and, contrarily, I had every right to live! The scene I made was not very pretty and it took some time for my benefactress to settle me down. I, of course, was reprimanded for this behavior but only because I had made it difficult for my benefactress to get a good dab of my blood, what with my writhing and wriggling around so much. But then, when I settled down some, we were all able to have a proper discussion; which led to my still being alive and able to write this. My ranting and raving ended with my benefactress getting a good amount of my blood on two of her fingers and standing up. And as soon as she stood up, we were no longer on equal footing and had to listen to what she had to say because she stood so tall above us. Of course she always reigns supreme but there is something to say about the relationship between those who are on the floor and those who are standing up—like God and other mythical creatures that live in the sky. And so, standing and taking her pretty fingers out of her mouth, she spoke: “And why is it we can’t have both? Yes both. We can harvest him for a while, get a good stock of his blood while we fatten him up, then eventually, when he is good and fat—because, well look at him now, there’s not much to him—then we can eat him and have plenty more.” “But, my most benevolent benefactress, I don’t want to ever be eaten!” I said, standing up and clasping my hands together to let her know that I was pleading. “I want things to stay how they are!” The others stood up and began speaking all at once but my benefactress held up her hand again and all went suddenly quiet. “No one can be heard if we all speak at once,” she said. “Now, since I am his benefactress and the three of you are not, it is therefore up to me to say what shall be done with him and me alone. But to keep you all feeling that you had a say, I will allow there to be a discussion at the dinner table immediately following this last word.” And with that she walked to the dinner table and sat at the head of it. The others followed and I shouted that I needed to be unchained in order to join them. They looked to my benefactress and the first roommate said: “Do you think we should? He might start trying to deprive us of our licks, by running around like he does—if we unchain him.” “That’s true,” said the first roommate’s companion; then none of us would get to eat him.” “Well then we must vote,” my benefactress said with benevolent authority. “But of course I can veto any vote I choose, remember. Still, out of fairness, we will take a vote. “Who votes to unchain him?” “I vote to unchain me, my beloved benefactress!” I shouted with all the vigor of my soul. “And who votes to keep him chained?” she asked “I do,” said the second. “I second it,” said the first. “And I third it,” said the first roommate’s companion. “It benefits the more of us to keep him this way, in chains, in case he gets wild again and tries to run from us.” “But how can I be part of the discussion if I’m not at the table?” I was nearly whimpering. “It’s my life you’re talking about and I deserve to be part of the discussion!” “Does he though?” said the second roommate who was somehow genuinely confused. Then my benefactress spoke up on my behalf, making me feel much better. “I will allow for him to be part of the discussion,” she said, giving a slight and happy grin. “And I would like some more of him—look I’ve cleaned off my fingers already,” and she held up her hand for all to see. “But we already voted to keep him chained up,” the second roommate argued, “and we would have to unchain him to let him be a part of the discussion.” “And then he could run away,” said the first roommate. It seemed they had forgotten that if I ran away it would only be into the open mouths of the hungry people who were no doubt still waiting outside. “I won’t run away, I promise!” I was shouting now and very scared. “Let me at least speak for myself, please!” After I shouted the three of them who weren’t my benefactress all started speaking at once again but my benefactress held up her again and all went quiet. “I’ve solved the problem: The three of you can unchain him, but only for long enough to bring him over to me and chain him up again. That way he can still be part of the discussion, and in chains. That would be fairest, for he must be able to speak for himself when we give him his options.” “Well, we don’t have to,” said the first roommate confidently. “Of course we don’t have to,” said my benefactress, “but I think he’s kind of funny and we’re trying to be fair nowadays, remember. So go, bring him to me,” and she motioned them away with a flick of the wrist and they came and unchained me then carried me over to her and chained me again to the new table. My benefactress wiped her fingers on my buttock and put them in her mouth and let out a hum of delight. She opened her pretty little mouth to speak but at that very moment a very loud roaring came from outside. She ordered the roommate’s to go see what it was and they went to the window on the other side of the room. It was the people, they said, and they had gathered in great multitudes and were chanting. “Well what do they want?” asked my benefactress. “I think they want to eat him too,” said the first roommate’s companion as he pointed to me. “We had to run away from them earlier, only there wasn’t this many—maybe six or seven—but now there are hundreds.” “Hundreds?” “Hundreds. Come see for yourself.” So she went and saw for herself, and when she did, she let out a mighty gasp and said: “Find out what they want, quickly before they do something,” then she noticed she had licked off all my blood and came running back to me to get more. “They want to eat him, too,” said the first roommate’s companion. “That’s what they want.” And as he was saying this the two roommates went and opened the window and let in the sound of the roaring crowd. Then they stuck their heads out of it and the second one yelled “What do you want?” In response the people roared more loudly and the second roommate held up a hand and the roaring stopped. “No one can be heard if you all speak at once.” Then there was a murmuring amongst the people and several voices coming from different places began to call out different things all at once again and no one could hear what was meant to be said. The second roommate turned to my benefactress and said: “They still keep talking all at once. I can’t get them to settle down.” “Hmm…” my benefactress put her soft fingers to her healthy pink lips and fell into a brief pondering. “Well, if they want to be heard and we want to be fair we must let them speak somehow… Why don’t you tell them to send up a spokesperson?” “A spokesperson?” asked the second roommate, who was confused again. “A representative,” said the first roommate’s companion to make it clearer for the second roommate. “Oh yes, a good idea,” said the second roommate, who now understood, and, turning back out the window, said, “Why don’t you send up a spokesperson if you want to be heard?” Then there was a great murmuring amongst the people and I was afraid. “Well?” said my benefactress, after a moment of waiting. “Well?” said the second roommate to the people. “We’ve picked a spokesperson,” called a voice from the people. “But they need to be let in because the door is locked.” “They need to be let in,” said the second roommate. “But what if it’s a trick,” said the first. “What if they blitz us as soon as we open the door? I don’t think we should let them in. It’s goes against our best interest.” “But they need to be part of the discussion,” said my benefactress, “’tis only fair.” “We could command them to move all the way across the street while we open the door for their spokesperson. That way they wouldn’t have time to blitz us,” was the first roommate’s companion’s idea. “Good,” said my benefactress, “tell them to move across the street while their spokesperson comes in.” The second roommate did this and again there was a great murmuring. Then the second roommate told my benefactress that the people had obeyed. “Good,” said my benefactress, “now someone go and get the spokesperson.” But nobody moved to go and get the spokesperson, they all just looked at each other and waited for someone else to go. “Well?” said my benefactress, wiping my wound again. “Why do you all just stand there staring at one another?” “Well,” said the first roommate, “I was thinking that—and maybe this is the other’s thinking as well—that the spokesperson might have a knife or something, or maybe a club, that they would, you know, get us with as soon as we opened the door and then the people would blitz us.” “That’s a good point,” said my benefactress airily, interested more in licking her lips than the possibility of danger. “In that case why don’t the two of you go and get the spokesperson together—they couldn’t possibly knife both of you. And just to be extra safe tell them to put their hands on their head—or maybe have them blindfolded. Just, you know, disable them in some way so they can’t get you as easily, should they want to.” “It’s true you never know,” said the second roommate. “That’s true,” said the first. “And it’s in our best interest to keep safe.” “Good, now go.” And, as soon as they went off, leaving me and the first’s companion alone with my benefactress, I began to sob and plead for my life like a little baby about to be cast off to hell. But my benefactress didn’t like this and so she shushed me and said: “Don’t you be like this or I’ll be quicker to barbeque you. I like it when you’re funny, remember? That’s why I’m your benefactress! So you can make me laugh with your jokes and tricks. Not so I can hear you cry like this. Besides, it’s unbecoming, as they used to say.” Whimpering and shaking all over, I said: “I’m sorry, it’s just that I’m very afraid. I don’t want anybody to eat me!” “And why not?” she asked. I understood her question but I didn’t understand why she asked it. “That’s what I asked him,” said the companion. “Because it would mean my death and I don’t want to die!” Oh that they couldn’t understand! “But we would make it a good death, an honorable one,” said my benefactress, more concentrated on taking another wipe from my wound than her words. “But—” I began to shout but the roommates came back with the spokesperson and as soon as the spokesperson saw me, she came running over to dip their fingers in my blood as well. “Good you’re here,” said my benefactress to the spokesperson, “now the discussion can begin.” “What are we discussing, exactly?” asked the second roommate. “Why, we’re discussing what to do with my funny little pet,” said my benefactress, patting me on the head. “Right,” said the second roommate, lifting a finger. “I propose that we boil him in a broth.” “And I propose we bake him!” said the first roommate, also lifting a finger. Then the first roommate’s companion shouted: “No! But he’d be so much tastier raw!” “Raw?” asked the spokesperson, turning to the first roommate’s companion with her eyebrows raised. “But what if the boy has salmonella—you could spread disease to the people by distributing him that way.” All eyes turned to the spokesperson and my benefactress’s eyes were the widest, she said: “Distribute him? Why should I distribute him? He’s my property. You should be lucky I allowed you a lick.” “But we the people deserve our share!” shouted the people’s spokesperson slamming her fist on the table. “We raised the boy up, harvested his food, paved his streets, filtered his water, built his schools, wrote his books and painted all the pretty pictures he likes so much—invented toothpaste!—and we did it all with our bare hands and our machines. If it wasn’t for us this boy wouldn’t be worth a thing, not a thing at all. We the people demand our rightful share of him!” My benefactress seemed to be confused by the spokesperson’s tirade. She lifted her eyebrows, took another helping from my wound, and said: “But I am his benefactress, and that, as you know, is sacred. Just as you can’t take away a child from its mother, except by due process of law, neither can you take a boy from his benefactress.” “But we the people don’t mean to take the whole boy,” the spokesperson countered, “just our share. We the people are not so greedy.” “I hardly think there’s enough of him to go around, don’t you?” asked the first roommate’s companion. “The people are many, and, technically, each of us here right now belongs to the people, not just you. So in that way, the people are getting their share, just not all of them.” “Right,” said the second roommate. “And if there isn’t enough for everybody, then not everybody can have some. So why don’t we, the five of us, just boil him up in a big pot and we’ll be able to eat him for the whole week.” “They’re both right,” affirmed the first roommate. Then he turned to the spokesperson and said: “And since you, a representative of the people, are receiving your one fifth—the people get their share, because you represent them. You could even give your one fifth to the rest of the people if you felt like it but there still wouldn’t be enough for everybody. So you might as well keep it for yourself and your friends and family, if you’ve got any.” Now that everybody was beginning to be fair to one another, a greater wave of anxiety crashed over the already big ones that had been keeping me silent all this time—and somehow this greater wave pushed me to speak. I rose, and my rising interrupted them so that they quieted down. “May I please have my say now!?” I shouted, but not very loud because I was addressing my benefactress. “Oh yes!” said my benefactress, becoming excited. “I want to know what you have to say right now very much. —Shh… let’s listen to him.” I took a deep breath and then went right into it. “Look, why—why do you have to eat me at all! Can’t you just have little bits of me here and there—like you’re all doing now? I’ll do like you said earlier, my beloved benefactress, you can harvest my blood all you want and I’ll keep making more for you all the time! Because—because that’s what bodies do and you can sell it to the people and make a fortune, just like you said, and then everybody gets some! I could make enough for all the people to have a taste couldn’t I? Even without dying at all; because blood regenerates but flesh does not! Just don’t eat all of me up! I don’t want to die! I like it here, with you, doing funny things for you that make you giggle,” here I tried to do my little monkey dance but I was all chained up and couldn’t do it very well so really I only attempted to begin it and got no further, “—and you don’t mind if I go out of the house during the day time. And—it was your idea that you keep me alive and harvest my blood and you’re my benefactress and you have the final say and everyone has had their say now and you’ve been so very fair to listen to them, you, the fairest benefactress in all the land! Your judgment is sound and your thinking is clear. Oh please, my benefactress, don’t have me die!” “That’s true!” said my benefactress, beaming. “I did think of that, didn’t I? And what a good idea it is. Yes, well then. Let’s go around the circle and all have a final say and then we can vote on what to do with you. And since you just had your final say, and it’s most fair to go clockwise, it can now be the first roommate’s companion’s turn to have a final say.” “I, too, am all for harvesting his blood;” said the first roommate’s companion proudly. “It’s a wonderful idea, anyway—but for how long? Indefinitely? Or will we eventually get to eat the good stuff too? Because I thought that’s what this discussion was originally about—how to prepare the boy, that is, when he’s ready. But then when the spokesperson came up, we all got to talking about distribution and other such nonsense—but, wait… distribution might not be that bad of an idea…” Here the first roommate’s companion momentarily fell into a deep but momentary contemplation. “Yes, actually distributing him isn’t a half bad idea—for all that means is to split him up into portions and that would enable each person to prepare him however they desire…! But then that brings us to figuring out which parts of him each of us get...” “Is that your final say?” asked my benefactress. The first roommate’s companion put his fingers in his mouth and nodded. It was now the first roommate’s turn. “I’m fine with harvesting and splitting him up between us, but if we’re going to harvest him we should also fatten him up, like we mentioned earlier. So when we do eat him, there will be lots more of him to eat.” “Oh I like that final say a lot!” said my benefactress with a grin. “But my benefactress!” I shouted. “I don’t want to die, ever—not even when I’m fattened! Please don’t eat me, please oh please. If you eat me, that’s it—there’s no more of me to go around, you must think about the long run!” “You’ve already had you’re final say, sweetie,” she told me, patting me on the cheek. Then she turned to the people’s spokesperson and said: “And what is the people’s final say?” And the spokesperson cleared her throat and said: “We the people demand more than one fifth of him. One fifth is not enough. We the people are thousands while you are four. He should not be split into fifths but into as many units as there are people in this great city. Why should only a select few have so much, while we the people have so little? No! We demand an equal share for all! Not just one fifth!” “That was my least favorite final say of all,” said my benefactress, interrupting. “Let’s hope yours is better,” and she looked to the second roommate whose final say was this: “I agree that the people’s speech was my least favorite of them all, even compared to your little sweetie’s. Otherwise I agree with most of it. Harvest and fatten, yes and yes, but split into portions would be to ruin him. We ought to boil him whole, just like a lobster in a nice buttery broth with spices and vegetables. Eventually his good fleshy parts will slide right off his bones, which we would take out after the flesh falls off and suck out the marrow. His innards, too, coalescing with the broth into a nice thick stew…and that way everyone can have a bit of each of his bits—for it wouldn’t be fair, like you said” (they looked at the first roommate’s companion) “if everyone got different portions because some parts are better than others. And since it’s best to be fair, it’s the most fair that everyone get equal shares of him not just in volume but also variety. That’s my final say.” “I think you could have said a better final say but that’s okay,” my benefactress said. “And I only say that because if we boiled him into a stew, that wouldn’t leave us with any variety at all—all we would have is stew. Do you see now how you’re wrong?” The second roommate was very confused but still nodded all the same. “Good. And now that I have heard everyone’s final say, I will say my own final say and then we can vote.” She cleared her throat, not because it needed to be cleared but because she needed an introduction to her speech. “One pint of blood every day for three years. A portion of his juices, which will be greatly diluted, will be sold to the people at a price of my choosing and for those who can afford it, several pounds of meat will be set aside, also for purchase, or more likely up for bid. And since the three of you,” she directed her attention to everyone but me and the spokesperson, “are the people, too, as you as has been readily confirmed, will also be subject to these prices. Now don’t get upset—for that’s not all. After three years and when he is big and fat, we will split him up and each of you will prepare a meal for all of us however you desire—the people can, too, if they like, but only really you,” she was talking to the spokesperson now, “which is fair, because you represent the people and that’s the same thing as being them. Don’t you agree? Anyway,” she turned to me, “what I have to say now will make you very happy, I should think,” and she petted my head and tickled my nose. “I’ve been thinking it over,” she stood up and began gesturing, “about what is most fair for everybody, especially you, my little cutie, and it just isn’t fair for you to not get anything but eaten out of this deal. So, with that said, I’ve decided to reward you by lavishing upon you all the delicacies and wonderful luxuries of the world. You’ll be treated as my equal, the people will love and honor you! We will erect a statue of you right in the center of the city! There will be books written of your heroism! The world will know your face and your sacrifice! You’ll kind of be like a modern day Christ—actually that’s exactly what you’re like and I had never even thought of it till now that I’ve started talking about making you famous,” she became thoughtful for a moment, “You’re sacrificing yourself for the people so that they may partake of your flesh. And I’m just like God sacrificing my only begotten for the betterment of the people! Oh this just keeps getting better! Yes, yes. You can be just like Christ now! You’ll be known for thousands of years after you’re gone and also receive honor and fame now, in your lifetime! and not just after! Not many people are both famous and honored in their lifetime—that usually comes much later. But for you, you will have both! How does that sound, sweetie? Doesn’t it sound just wonderful?” “I don’t know,” I said. Her reasoning was sound and her voice reassuring. “But I think perhaps it is better to live a long life in the sewers and escape being eaten.” “But that’s why I gave you three years! Three years is a long time to enjoy everything you could want from life. I’ll even let you go on vacation! Oh, and I would take you out with all my friends and show you off to them, and—“ “You’d take me out with you?” I asked, my lips quivering. “Of course I would! How else would I show you off? Besides it would be silly not to take you out with me considering how famous you are now. (Though we will probably have to hire body guards for us.) Look now, out the window, can’t you see? Great multitudes have come just for you! They come for you! They want you, you who’s never amounted to anything more than a jokester! You have the opportunity to sacrifice yourself for the betterment of humankind—to sacrifice your life, as did our lord and savior Jesus Christ, so that we might savor you. You’d become…a true American hero!” “You mean,” I said, my eyes all full of tears, “I’d get to go out with you to all the parties?” “Sure!” she said, her eyes all full of sparkles. And I moved my lips to speak but words did not come; instead my heart rate went through the roof and the room began to spin in vast, wobbly circles; and then I fainted once again. When I awoke I found myself in my benefactress’s bed hooked up to a great many tubes that were extracting my delicious blood little by little. The wound on my buttock hurt less than it had before and there was music playing. Outside I could see that the multitudes were dancing and chanting my name as if I were their great savior. I looked to find my benefactress and could not see her so I called out and she rushed into the room with a cornucopia of delicious foods and drinks which she laid before me and said: “Oh my sweetie, you must be very hungry, here, now it’s your turn to eat!” and she kissed me on the forehead. I’m due to be sacrificed in three weeks from tomorrow. There is a great celebration scheduled in which I will be hung upside down from a great tower that has been designed to support my enormous weight and my throat will be sliced so that my blood will flow out in a great flood and splash down over all the people of this beautiful city. A glorious death! And I will forever be remembered as one of the true and few saviors of humankind! But this fate will not come to me… No, it will not come for I, with my new fame and fortune, have been able to make arrangements for another great escape.