Early explorers in North South America, noting that the caciques (kings) of several smaller tribes invariably traveled with four of their numerous wives, asked why. They were informed that the woman had specific roles to play; two acted as the cacique's bed, one as his pillow, and the fourth was to be his dinner. If the trip was long, the "bed" and "pillow" could end up in the cooking pot as well. The astounded Spaniards disbelieved this until they witnessed one of the willing young women being killed and eaten.
Thomas looked around in mild confusion. "Well, I don't know," he replied. "I'm sure I'd be happy to eat with you, but--" he glanced around, gestured. "I see the fire, I see the cooking pot, but I don't see the food!"
The Indian chieftain laughed, as did the six warriors who'd been accompanying him. The four women, the ones he'd been told were the chief's wives, giggled as well. Trying not to look guilty, he turned his gaze to them rather boldly. All of them were young, all were attractive, and, as they relaxed in their camp, none of them wore any sort of clothing at all. The youngest, the one who'd said her name translated as "Mist Flower," grinned back seductively. He winced, not knowing how the chief would react if he knew that Thomas had, just the night before, committed adultery with his youngest wife. Not wanting to find out, he made sure he looked at all the women equally, and tried to keep his focus on their faces.
In the case of Mist Flower he couldn't, and it wouldn't have helped much anyway. Her body was, by comparison with the other three women, just a little plump; her breasts were a good deal larger than theirs, but charmingly rounded and firm. The slight bulge at her midriff complemented, if anything, her wide-eyed, always smiling, youthful face; on her a little weight didn't look at all bad.
"He does not see the food!" Mist Flower laughed merrily. She leaned her head onto the shoulder of the woman next to her and, after a moment, laughed even harder.
"Perhaps," this woman said, "his eyesight is not good!"
"Oh, I have found nothing wrong with his eyesight! He just doesn't know very many things, that is all!" She rolled her eyes. "I taught him a few things last night, though!" she remarked, and all the Indians present erupted into laughter again.
Thomas colored and began squirming uneasily, but the chief waved a hand. "Do not be upset, my friend," he said with a smile. "I know you stretched yourself out with my young wife last night. She told me, this morning."
The European stared. "You don't mind?"
"No. Why should I? Have you taken anything from me? No. If I had desired my wife for myself last night, I would have taken her. Since I did not, she was naturally free to do as she wished." He laughed again, squeezed Mist Flower's thigh. "Surely, there is enough for all! In all ways!"
She glanced down at his hand as it rested on her shapely brown leg. "You think so?" she asked.
"Has to be, doesn't it?" he asked with a chuckle. He brought his face down, inspected her thigh minutely. "Could use a little more, though."
She looked crestfallen. "My King, I have tried--!"
"Oh, don't let him give you a hard time!" one of the other women put in. "He's teasing you, can't you tell? You're perfect, and he knows it!"
She looked up at the chief's grinning face for a moment before her radiant smile returned. Then she pursed her lips for a moment. "I took you seriously!" she cried in mock accusation.
"Well, I was not," the chief said amiably. "I must agree. You are perfect." He turned to Thomas. "Don't you think so?"
"Well--uh--yes--"
"Good. Now then." He moved his hand, patted Mist Flower's stomach. "My appetite is beginning to rise--I believe we should get on with preparing dinner! It takes a while, you know!" He took out his knife, toyed with it, tested the edge. "Sharp enough for skinning," he said, as if to himself.
Mist Flower giggled. "Thomas still doesn't understand. We'll have to explain it to him."
The chief looked at the white man with some surprise. "You don't? You truly don't?"
"I don't know what there is to understand," he answered almost testily. "All I said was, I didn't see any food! And I still don't!"
"Thomas," Mist Flower said gently, "I know you must have heard. Our chiefs, when they travel, take six of their bodyguards and four of their wives. Two of those women make his bed, one makes his pillow, and the fourth one makes his meal."
"Okay. I have heard, about the wives being the bed and all that. So? So one cooks. Cooks what?"
Again, the entire company erupted in laughter. "You see?" Mist Flower cried, looking around at the others. Then she fixed her dark eyes on Thomas; they danced mischievously. "I will explain, then, Thomas," she said coyly. "But only for a price! Okay?"
He gave her a suspicious look. "Maybe. What's the price?"
She giggled for a moment. "Our food is meat," she explained, struggling to keep her face straight. "But it has not yet been slaughtered. If I explain, will you agree to do the slaughtering?" As she said this, all the Indians choked back more laughter.
Thomas was still suspicious. "What, you've got something tied to a tree somewhere? What is it, a jaguar or something liable to kill me?"
"No, no," she protested. "No, there is no danger to you, none at all. No, it is only that you must slaughter it as we say--with the chief's knife, no other way!"
He considered her offer for a moment, then shrugged. He'd killed animals before. "Very well, I agree," he said. "With the proviso that you've told me the truth, that I don't have to wrestle around with a jaguar!"
"There is no danger to you," Mist Flower reiterated. "But, as I said, you must slaughter it as we tell you. You agree?"
"I agree."
"You've given your word," the chief said. He, like Mist Flower, was fighting not to laugh. "Now, we may be laughing, but you know how seriously we take that!"
"Yes. You feel obligated to kill those who break their word. Don't worry, I won't back out! As long as this animal doesn't present a danger to me!"
"It won't." He handed Thomas the knife; it was long but rather slim, and it had two very keen edges.
"Okay." He looked back at Mist Flower. "So where is this animal I have to slaughter?"
Everyone laughed again, but Mist Flower was hysterical, doubling over with mirth. "Animal!" she cried. "A fine thing! And after last night!" She pulled herself under control and scooted over toward him until she was sitting with her bare hip pressed against his, her breast brushing against his arm. She tipped her head up toward his face. "You are looking at the food, Thomas!" she told him, giggling again.
He snorted. "I don't see anything!"
"Me!" she cried before breaking into new laughter. "Me! I am not the cook, I am the meal!"
Thomas stared at Mist Flower for a long time, then at each of the others in turn. When he found his voice he raged about being tricked, he called them barbarians, he shrieked and protested. They looked bewildered; he paused only only long enough to catch his breath before beginning his diatribe again. This time they waited patiently until he wound down, then reminded him that he'd given his word.
"But I can't!" he yelled. "You'll just have to kill me, because I'm not about to kill her!"
"Now that is just foolishness," Mist Flower insisted. "Do not imagine that you'd be saving me; I'd become the meal anyway, and you'd be dead, unable to do what you came here to do!"
"I want to find a way to save you!"
She looked genuinely puzzled. "Why? I have no desire to be saved, Thomas."
His confusion matched hers. "Why not?" he demanded. "You mean you don't want to live anymore? You want to die? Why?"
She chuckled and shook her head. "No, I have no desire to die." She paused, looked thoughtful. "Well, I guess I should say I have no desire to be dead just to be dead, because I do want to die, I do want you to kill me, because if I live on my chief and my friends will not have their meal! It is what I am here for, Thomas. I have prepared for it; I am ready. If you have a chicken you have fattened for your meal, do you hesitate to kill it? And besides--"
"God damn it, you're a human being!" he yelled, cutting her off.
"Yes. But this is our way, the way of our grandfathers. It is, if you will, my job. Before you say anything, Thomas, let me say this: if I had been a man, my job might have been that of a warrior. I might not want to be dead, not particularly, but if I died in battle no one would think it unusual. In the days of our fathers, Thomas, our men died in battle almost every day." She gestured toward the six male guards. "Those men have sworn to protect the chief's life with their own. What I do is no different."
"Yes, it is! There're a lot of other things he could eat!"
"No, I cannot," the chief put in. "It is tabu. Except for the flesh of our prisoners of war, I can eat no food that does not give itself to me. Such is the command of our gods. If a fruit drops from a tree, I can eat it; but I cannot pick it, nor can it be picked for me. And so, there are some foods I can eat--such as maize, which drops from the stalk--but of meats, only the flesh of those who offer themselves to me. As Mist Flower did, before we began this journey."
"And so you married her, just so--"
"No. She was already my wife. One of my favorite wives. I shall miss her, in truth!" He shrugged, grinned. "But, it is as it must be. And now, Thomas; it grows late. We must cook our first ceremonial meal, and then we must prepare the rest of her flesh; we do not want to waste her! So let me tell you how it is to be done: you--"
"No," Mist Flower put in. "Let me tell him. Let me tell him so that he knows I understand, that he knows it is what I want him to do!" The chief nodded, and she went on: "You must plunge that knife into me, Thomas. You must not slash with it, and you may not stab me to the heart or in the throat. Twice, and only twice, you may thrust that blade into me. Then you must begin the butchering. When I am dead, the others may complete it, but only you can cut my body while there is life in it. Do you understand?"
"Yes," he mumbled. "But Goddamn it--"
"Then do it, my friend. It is past time."
"Yes," the chief added. "It is."
Thomas held the knife loosely in his right hand; Mist Flower snuggled closer to his left side. "You should undress," she advised pragmatically. "You'll get blood all over your clothes--"
"That's the least of my worries," he grunted. He put his arm around her shoulders, gave her a squeeze. For the next few minutes he did nothing, he simply sat there indecisively.
Finally she looked up at him; her characteristic smile was there, and her eyes were as wide as usual. "You are stalling," she told him accusingly. "Kill me!"
He brought the knife up then, aiming it generally in the direction of her chest. His arm was trembling violently. She looked down at it, then back at his face.
"Oh, please, Thomas!" she said cajolingly. She shook her head and laughed. "Can't you give me what I want?"
"God damn it, I--"
"You promised! You promised you'd do it! Now do it, Thomas, do it! Stab that knife into me, kill me!"
"All right, God damn it! All right!" Still staring into her eyes, he brought his arm around suddenly; there was a thud and a ripping sound. She grunted, but otherwise she recieved the blade in silence. Her face tightened just a little, almost unnoticeably.
After a moment, he let his gaze drop to the wound he'd inflicted. He hadn't really aimed it; the knife had caught the lower part of her right breast a little below the nipple, and had passed through it into her chest. Blood was streaming out already, but less than half the blade was buried in her body.
She looked too. "Push it on in," she told him, her voice surprisingly strong and steady. "As deep as you can, as deep as it will go."
He didn't argue any more. Biting his lower lip, he held her shoulders and started pushing; the blade began sliding on in quite easily, quite softly. She watched it go, and, except for a few sharp intakes of breath, she still made no sound. Blood bubbled out furiously, and after a few seconds it made its appearance on her lips as well.
"Good," she said after the knife's guards had touched her skin. Her voice remained strong, and her face showed few if any signs of pain. "Good, good." She touched his hand lightly with her own, then looked up at the other women. "I can feel it within me," she said formally, her tone carrying more than a suggestion of pride. "It feels very warm. When I move or draw breath I can feel the point, down deep in my lungs, I can feel the edges cutting a little in there. There is pain--there was pain when it went into me. But it is a good pain, a comforting pain. I can feel my blood running out, and that, oh my sisters, that feels very good! Warm, comforting; my body begins to feel cold but my blood is hot! I can taste it as it flows from my mouth, it is hot, it is salty, it is sweet!" She turned back to Thomas. "Pull it out now. Pull it out and let my blood flow free!"
He didn't hesitate; holding her shoulder, he began withdrawing the blade. Again, she was quiet as it came free, her skin clinging to it as if it didn't want to let it go. Once it was out, her blood pumped out steadily, flowing evenly down her chest.
"Now, the choice is up to you," she told Thomas. Her manner was almost cheerful. "You may thrust the knife into me again, and so hurry my death. Or you may begin the butchering now. If--"
"No," he interrupted. "No, I didn't want to kill you in the first place. I surely don't want to make you suffer unnecessarily!"
She smiled broadly. "You shouldn't concern yourself about that. All is as it should be, Thomas. I am beginning to die, and that's what I wanted; still, I am in no hurry to finish, I want to experience it! But if you wish to stab me again, then go ahead!"
He aimed the knife at her again. "Damn it, can't you close your eyes or something?" he complained. "This isn't easy!"
"I could," she answered. "And I will if you want. But I'd think you'd rather look into them and see for yourself that you are only doing what I want you to do! Remember how you looked into them last night, as you coupled with me? It is really the same, really the same..."
"I can't see it that way," he grumbled. Then he fell silent and gritted his teeth; and, after a moment's hesitation, he drove the knife forward again. This time he took careful aim, striking her just under her breastbone, in the pit of her stomach.
And again, she accepted it in silence. Her body quivered as the blade pierced her, but she didn't even double over it, as he'd expected. As before, it was only half-buried; without waiting for any encouragement from her he pushed on it hard, and it slid easily and softly on in. Even when the blade had completely disappeared he kept pushing, pressing her body back against his restraining arm, grinding the blade deeper and deeper, working it up and down a little, trying to sever as many blood vessels as possible.
"There is even less pain than before, my sisters," she told the other women as he worked the blade around inside her. Her voice caught occasionally, but it was still surprisingly strong. She looked down at the knife that was buried in her, at the bright blood that was gushing out. "I feel very cold now, cold inside. My arms and my legs feel heavy... it is as if I wanted to sleep. I feel the knife cutting me inside but the pain is as nothing compared to the pleasure..." She sighed, leaned her head over on Thomas' shoulder, and closed her eyes for a moment. "Pull it out of me now, Thomas," she said. "Pull it out and begin the butchering. The meal has waited long enough..."
"I"ll take it out," he answered, starting to extract it even as he spoke. "But as for any butchering--well, you're losing a lot of blood and you're losing it fast--surely it can wait until--"
"No," the chief said, leaning over to watch the knife come free from her. "It cannot. As you agreed, you must go on. She will die, soon enough now."
Thomas protested, but it did no good; again, they held him to his word. Finally, he surrendered. "All right," he said resignedly. "What do I have to do?"
"Cut open my belly," Mist Flower instructed, her voice now noticeably weaker. "Take out my entrails. Cut off my breasts; take off my skin; cut off my arms and legs. Open my chest and take out my heart, my lungs! And at last, cut off my head! Come, my friend! I want to experience as much of it as I can, I want to share it with my sisters, who one day may do as I do! I am growing weak; if you wait I shall die of these two small wounds! Do not let that happen!"
He looked down at her, amazed. "You really want to be tortured like that?"
Her eyes were bright, intense. "It will not be torture for me! Oh, there will be more pain, I know that, but I shall hold it to myself, I shall live on, I shall be strong! You will see! But hurry, hurry, my friend! I grow weaker, weaker and colder!"
"God damn," he muttered. "You're crazy! But if that's what you want..."
"It is! Hurry, Thomas! Hurry!"
"Shit. All right, come on." He steered her over, laid her shoulder on his thigh, her head in his lap. She looked up at him with her eyes still wide, and her body merely jerked once when he reached over and stuck an inch of the blade into her lower abdomen, down near her pubic hair. After glancing back at her face and seeing only approval there, he started pulling it up toward her chest, angling it and pressing down hard with it as it came.
Raising her head, she trembled visibly as she watched it come, as she watched her skin part before it. "My body argues with me," she said. "It shakes, as if it were afraid. But I am not afraid, my sisters! I feel the knife cutting me, I feel a looseness in myself; oh my sisters, I cannot wait to be open!"
As she spoke, his incision reached and passed the wound in the pit of her stomach. He drew the blade out; her internal organs were bulging into the slit, shiny and glistening. With a set expression on his face he stabbed her again, driving the blade in just above the crease which showed where her thigh joined her body. Moving more quickly now, he cut over to his previous incision and crossed it, moving on until he'd cut a large cross into her lower abdomen. Blood was running everywhere as he stuck the blade into her once more, under her ribs this time. There was a distinct ripping sound as he pulled it across again.
Finally, laying the knife aside, he used his fingers to lift the flaps of her body, pulling them away to expose her viscera. In silence, she watched; her body continued to tremble but her eyes were very wide. She looked as if she was tremendously excited.
"Oh," she sighed, "oh, I am open--I can feel the night air inside me! Oh wait, Thomas--wait, touch me in there!" He did, running his hand lightly over the shiny mass of her intestines. She reached a shaking hand down and touched them herself, pushing her fingertips down into the coiled loops a little. "Take them out now," she whispered. "Take them out of me!"
Thomas was now beyond any protests. Reaching inside her with one hand, he lifted the mass of her entrails up and immediately began slicing at the connections with the edge of the knife. Her body went stiff and her face tightened but showed no lessening of her excitement; she still uttered no cries, no groans. She suffered all of it in silence, even when he cut the last of her intestines free and laid them on the ground beside her.
Blood rapidly filled the hollow cavity of her abdomen; her lips were turning quite blue, and her body was shaking violently. The other women came over, began gathering up the intestines; she glanced at them. "There is no pain now..." she told them, slurring her words. "None. But I feel so tired, so tired... Thomas, cut off my breasts, oh, quickly, I want to feel..."
Knowing she was dying, he responded quickly, lifting her right breast and slicing into it from the bottom. His strokes were long and smooth, and moments later her breast came free in his hand. Automatically, he handed it to one of the women, who started stripping the skin off it.
Through half-lidded eyes, Mist Flower was watching. "Cut me," she mumbled. "Take off my skin... cut off my legs... I cannot feel the pain, Thomas, make me feel pain again..."
"I cannot believe you're alive," he said, his voice hollow. Working quickly, he cut a ring around her remaining breast and sliced off the nipple. Then, laying the knife aside again, he used his fingers to tear the skin up and off of it. Only then did he take up the knife again and cut it free from her chest.
"I told you I would be strong," she whispered. "I told you..."
He handed one of the women the skinned and severed breast. "You are," he assured her. "You are." Then he put his knife down at her crotch and cut deeply into the joint between her thigh and her torso. More blood spurted; it seemed to him her blood was endless, that there was an ocean of blood in her body. He sliced down again, and abruptly her whole body shuddered, one long, smooth, rippling movement. The spurts of blood dropped to slow drains. He looked back at her face, at her glazing eyes, her still chest. Then he handed the knife to one of the women, and they moved quickly to continue the job of severing her legs. He turned away; he'd done what he'd given his word he'd do. He had no intention of partaking in the coming meal.