Never Stops Beating
It was a hunting trip, so the two of us were dressed in pseudo-military garb and my dad had some war paint on his face. We were moving quietly in the shadow, he gave me the signal to stop. Using the gestures he taught me, he indicated there were three deer ahead. I could not see them, but he pointed in their direction and asked me to use the scope on my rifle.
The weapon was heavy. The initial rush of holding a lethal object was washed away by the muscle ache it caused. Nevertheless, I raised it up and looked through the scope. There were two teens and one massive horned one. I knew it was the hunter’s obligation to shoot the old one, the young ones could still breed.
”Go for the buck,” my father whispered almost inaudibly. I thought about my brother Scott and me.
I released the safety. It was quiet, well oiled, slick. The weapon was now primed for the kill, almost vibrating with bloodlust. I put the cross hairs on the animal’s neck. Might not be the easiest shot, but the most devastating. I held my breath, like father taught me. I squeezed the trigger.
The shot echoed. The young ones scattered. We marched forward, my father’s hand on my shoulder briefly.
I propped the rifle on the wet leaves and stood awkwardly as father knelt by the fallen buck and pulled out a large knife. He then struck the animals side and carved open a whole. I felt sick, but did not let it show. I raised the rifle and placed in on my shoulders, that made me feel macho.
”Look at that, son,” he said, holding a bloody mess of flesh in his hand, “A deer’s heart keeps beating after you cut it out. You have to pierce it with the knife like so.”
I thought about the car back in the rest area. Mom’s sandwiches were in the cooling box. My video game was on the seat where dad told me to leave it. Beyond that, there was the road back into town and my room, so far away. I looked up at the woods in front of me. Somewhere beyond the trees, two young deer were trying to catch the scent of their father.
Posted by: Paweł Kowaluk